"Elphias Doge mentioned her to us," said Harry, trying to spare Hermione.
"That old berk," muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. "Thought the
sun shone out of my
brother's every office, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the
looks of it."
Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about
Dumbledore that had
riddled him for months now. He had made his choice while he dug Dobby's grave, he had
decided to continue
along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by Albus Dumbledore, to accept that
he had not been told
everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust. He had no desire to doubt again;
he did not want o hear
anything that would deflect him from his purpose. He met Aberforth's gaze, which was so
strikingly like his
brothers': The bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the
object of their scrutiny,
and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking and despised him for it.
"Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much," said Hermione in a low
voice.
"Did he now?" said Aberforth. "Funny thing how many of the people my brother
cared about very much
ended up in a worse state than if he'd left 'em well alone."
"What do you mean?" asked Hermione breathlessly.
"Never you mind," said Aberforth.
"But that's a really serious thing to say!" said Hermione. "Are you - are you
talking about your sister?"
Aberforth glared at her: His lips moved as if he were chewing the words he was
holding back. Then he burst
into speech.
"When my sister was six years old, she was attacked, by three Muggle boys.
They'd seen her doing magic,
spying through the back garden hedge: She was a kid, she couldn't control it, no witch or
wizard can at that age.
What they saw, scared them, I expect. They forced their way through the hedge, and
when she couldn't show them
the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it."
Hermione's eyes were huge in the firelight; Ron looked slightly sick. Aberforth
stood up, tall as Albus, and
suddenly terrible in his anger and the intensity of his pain.
"It destroyed her, what they did: She was never right again. She wouldn't use
magic, but she couldn't get rid
of it; it turned inward and drove her mad, it exploded out of her when she couldn't control
it, and at times she was
strange and dangerous. But mostly she was sweet and scared and harmless.
"And my father went after the bastards that did it," said Aberforth, "and attacked
them. And they locked him
up in Azkaban for it. He never said why he'd done it, because the Ministry had known
what Ariana had become,
she'd have been locked up in St. Mungo's for good. They'd have seen her as a serious
threat to the International
Statute of Secrecy, unbalanced like she was, with magic exploding out of her at moments
when she couldn't keep it
in any longer.