"You understand nothing, Jon Hart!" Aberforth Dumbledore said sternly.
Jon froze, staring at Aberforth in surprise.
"Mr. Dumbledore, I don't quite understand..." Jon said earnestly.
"Do you really understand my brother?" Aberforth Dumbledore asked bluntly.
"I think... maybe..." Jon began hesitantly.
But Aberforth cut him off harshly.
"My brother—the great Albus Dumbledore—very few ever truly saw him for who he was. He's been keeping secrets and telling lies since we were children. That's how we grew up. Albus... he's a genius at it."
The old man's eyes drifted toward the portrait of a young girl hanging above the mantelpiece—the only painting in the entire room.
"He's always shown the world his noble, righteous side," Aberforth said quietly. "He's gifted, talented, and always hungry for recognition and glory."
"His ambitions were always hidden beneath that courteous exterior, masked by his gentle humility, and later disguised by his detached, playful attitude... Even I was fooled by that false facade once."
"Surprised?" Aberforth sneered. "Not quite the Dumbledore you imagined, is he?"
"He's a deeply selfish man—cold, too. Far more selfish and cold than you could ever imagine. He's never cared about anyone's feelings but his own. When he was young, he chased after his grand, impossible dreams. And when he grew older, he started sacrificing everything for what he called 'justice.'"
...
Aberforth Dumbledore drew a long, heavy breath, as if those words had been trapped inside him for years.
"Did he ever mention me?" he growled suddenly, looking up. "His only living relative? Did he ever speak of his sister—the one he killed? Did he ever mention Ariana?"
"If I remember correctly, he did," Jon answered calmly.
Aberforth's expression faltered.
"It must've been this past January," Jon continued. "When Professor Rubeus Hagrid's half-giant heritage became public, Dumbledore mentioned you to comfort him." Jon paused for a moment, then mimicked the old man's tone perfectly:
'My dear brother Aberforth was prosecuted for inappropriate use of magic on a goat. The papers were full of it, but did Aberforth hide? Not at all! He held his head high and carried on as usual! Of course, I can't be sure he can read, so perhaps it wasn't courage…'"
Aberforth's face twitched, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief.
"And during the home visit after second year," Jon went on, "he told me and my parents that his nose was broken by a goat."
Jon shrugged. "If it really was just a normal goat, I'd imagine fixing his nose wouldn't have been much trouble."
"As for Miss Ariana Dumbledore..." Jon looked up at the portrait on the wall.
The little girl in the painting smiled gently and waved at him.
"In first year, Professor Dumbledore taught a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson about Boggarts," Jon said quietly. "When the Boggart turned to face him, it became a shapeless black mist."
"And the Mirror of Erised... Harry Potter once told me that Dumbledore saw himself holding a pair of thick woolen socks in it. Poor Harry thought that was just a joke—but I don't believe it," Jon added.
A heavy silence settled over the basement of the Hog's Head.
In the painting, the girl wiped away a tear at the corner of her eye.
Aberforth did the same; faint tears glistened on his weathered face.
...
"You're clever, Hart," Aberforth Dumbledore said after regaining his composure. "But you still... understand nothing."
"I know, Mr. Dumbledore," Jon replied with a shrug. "But I can guess."
He added lightly, "Not to brag, but I'm usually pretty good at guessing."
The girl in the portrait let out a soft giggle. But when she noticed her brother and Jon both staring at her, Ariana Dumbledore quickly covered her eyes in embarrassment.
"I've heard that," Aberforth said dryly, not particularly surprised.
"Mr. Dumbledore," Jon countered, "if your brother truly was as terrible as you say, then why have you stayed here in Hogsmeade, hiding your name, for over half a century?"
"How do you know I've been at the Hog's Head for half a century?" Aberforth asked, narrowing his eyes.
"This time it really was just a guess," Jon admitted with a grin. "Though I do have some evidence—the furniture upstairs looks like it hasn't been cleaned in fifty years."
"Fifty-two years, to be exact," Aberforth replied. "When my brother became Headmaster at Hogwarts, I moved here with Ariana."
The girl in the portrait nodded, agreeing with her brother's words.
"Well, that explains it," Jon said with a small laugh.
"But you still don't understand a thing, Jon Hart!" Aberforth Dumbledore suddenly lifted his head, his expression fierce.
"Do you know why my brother values you so much?" he growled. "It's because he sees that person's shadow in you. Do you really think this will end well for you? No one who follows my brother ever meets a good end."
A loud thud echoed from behind Aberforth.
It came from the portrait—Ariana Dumbledore had dropped the book in her hands.
"I'm sorry, Ariana," Aberforth said quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "That was poorly said."
Ariana didn't look at her brother. Instead, she lifted her eyes to Jon and shook her head softly.
...
Aberforth Dumbledore escorted Jon to the front door of the Hog's Head and watched as he slipped the ring back onto his finger.
"Remember what I said today, Hart," he muttered close to Jon's ear. "One day, you'll regret it... because my brother is far more selfish than you could ever imagine."
The pungent smell of goats filled Jon's nose.
"What a bloody awful day…" Jon muttered to himself ten minutes later, as he reentered the Hogwarts grounds and submitted to Filch's inspection.