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[Hogwarts] Ch 164: Aberforth Dumbledore
🕑 Added 2025-08-18 00:52:47 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
"Hey, barkeep, time to come down and do your job!"
Tom rapped the table, utterly unfazed.
BANG
The door upstairs slammed open, and an irate old man stormed out.
The man was disheveled to the point of caricature. His long white beard was so tangled it looked like it had started to knot, his hair was a wild bird's nest, and he hadn't even bothered to change out of his nightclothes.
When his bleary eyes registered that his uninvited guest was just a boy wizard, his anger spiked.
"You little brat! Sneaking out of school—best tuck your tail and scurry back before I call your professors to drag you off!"
Tom flicked out a signed note and waved it lazily. "Ever heard of connections? Who said I snuck out?"
"Professor Dumbledore gave me a special pass, and Professor McGonagall herself saw me to the gate. Think I'm scared of you tattling?"
That only poured fuel on the fire. Aberforth roared like some cornered beast.
"Damn that old fool! Coward, senile antique—this is how he runs the school? Kids like you should be rotting in hell!"
Plenty of people disliked Dumbledore. Voldemort probably hated him most. But few cursed him this viciously. Most folks only dared mutter snide remarks behind his back.
Tom, however, stayed perfectly calm and asked inwardly, 'What do you think, Ariana? Has Aberforth mellowed at all?'
Ariana giggled from within the study space. "Not a bit. He's exactly the same. Back when he and Albus fought, he'd always start with a Silencing Charm on me… not that it ever stopped me from noticing."
Finding someone familiar in this time—her own brother, no less—had brightened Ariana's voice. Unlike Andros or Grindelwald, who were sharp enough to adapt to anything, Ariana was still just a fragile girl scarred by tragedy. She'd had to come to terms with her own death, then with the fact she was now decades in the future. Fear had never truly left her.
"Good. Then we'll come tease the old man now and then."
"But he's got a temper. He might actually hit you."
Tom smirked. "That's fine. I'll just call out Andros to take the beating for me."
"Then don't go too far," Ariana chided, half-laughing.
Tom wasn't just being cautious for show—Aberforth was no lightweight. Far stronger than Snape.
In his youth, he'd even stood alongside Albus during that fateful three-way duel with Grindelwald.
And when Grindelwald unleashed a Killing Curse during the Qilin election, Aberforth was one of the only ones who reacted fast enough to counter.
That had been Grindelwald at his peak, Elder Wand in hand. To resist him even for moments was no small feat.
Tom had once asked Grindelwald about Aberforth's power. Grindelwald only scoffed that he'd beaten Aberforth bloody once and called him useless. But then, to the "King of the Century," everyone was trash.
Tom and Ariana kept chatting, ignoring the furious old man. Aberforth, incensed at being treated as though he weren't even there, stormed down the stairs, intent on physically throwing Tom out.
Tom waited until he was nearly within arm's reach, then said evenly, "Alright, enough games. Aberforth Dumbledore—I was sent here to find you."
Aberforth froze mid-step, eyes narrowing sharply.
"You… know who I am?"
"Newt Scamander sent me. He told me a little about you. And about your son."
That much was true. Aberforth's history, and his son's tangled enmity with Grindelwald, were secrets to the outside world. But inside the right circles? Common knowledge. Half the world's mysteries boiled down to whether you were in the circle or not.
Newt's reputation spoke for itself. Aberforth's expression shifted; he still hated his brother, and though Newt often worked for Albus, Aberforth could never bring himself to dislike him. The man was too honest, too steady—a friend you never had to fear would stab you in the back. They'd worked together more than once over the years.
"What's your name, then? And what's Scamander to you?"
"Tom Riddle," Tom replied casually.
Aberforth blinked. "…Say that again?" His stare turned strange.
"Tom Riddle. What, even the owner of a dingy pub in Hogsmeade has heard of me?" Tom asked, pretending to be surprised.
"Oh, I've heard," Aberforth said with a crooked grin. "That name carries… quite the reputation. Tell me, boy—how old are you, and which House?"
"Second year. Slytherin."
Aberforth burst out laughing. A deep, unrestrained laugh that shook his shoulders. "Perfect! Slytherin suits you. A Tom Riddle belongs there."
'How poetic,' he thought. The boy had no clue who his "predecessor" was, nor what that name would come to mean. And yet here he was, bearing Albus' trust in the form of a signed pass.
Did fate have a sense of humor? Or did my brother love fucking himself?
Aberforth shuffled behind the bar, pulled down a bottle of rum, and took a swig as though it were breakfast.
"So, Tommy. If Newt told you about me, he must really trust you."
"What message are you carrying?"
"He needs news about poachers," Tom said. "Two Louisiana Horned Serpents were stolen from the swamps recently. He thinks they might be headed this way."
"Horned Serpents?" Aberforth muttered, frowning. "Rare creatures. Rare enough I'd be tempted myself. But I haven't heard a thing."
The Horned Serpent was one of the most iconic magical beasts in North America—important enough that Ilvermorny had named a House after it.
Its crown jewel, the literal gem on its head, granted it flight and invisibility. Wizards coveted those gems for making advanced Invisibility Cloaks, far superior to those woven from Demiguise hair. Which, of course, made them prime targets for poachers.
"I'll ask around," Aberforth said finally, tapping the bar with one finger. "If I hear anything, I'll let you know. Tom Riddle. Now shoo. Let me get back to sleep."
He yawned loudly and started up the stairs again. The Hog's Head was always busiest deep into the night, and he hadn't slept more than a few hours.
"Not so fast." Tom stepped into his path. "Newt's business is done. But I've got business of my own."
Aberforth shot him a look. "What kind of business could you possibly have? Need someone to do your homework?"
"Already got that covered." Tom smirked, thinking of Hermione. She was probably scribbling away at his homework right this second.
"I need a batch of Runespoors. Male and female, both. Price isn't a problem."
If there was one material that mattered most for his enchanted notebooks, it was their skins.
Runespoors were three-headed snakes, smallish in size, but adored by dark wizards. Their skin was etched with natural runes that carried magical inscriptions better than almost any other substance.
The whole "WhatsApp" notebook system he'd invented basically worked like coding. The runes were the base script: they resonated when linked with magic, allowing words to be written in one book and translated into readable text in another.
An adult serpent barely grew over a meter, but its intact skin could fetch a hundred Galleons—enough to make five notebooks. That meant just the raw cost per book was twenty Galleons.
Runespoors were native to Burkina Faso, Africa. Several ministries had monopolized the trade, which meant anyone else had to rely on the black market to get them.
Tom had done the math. Breeding them himself would cost less than a third of buying them. Monopolies really were the most profitable racket—he wasn't about to keep lining greedy middlemen's pockets when he could raise his own stock.
"Runespoors aren't easy to get," Aberforth said, scratching at his beard. "If it were just eggs, that'd be simpler."
"Don't insult me," Tom rolled his eyes. "Anything that makes it this far as an egg is already a dead egg. Useless except for potion-making."
"You're planning to breed them?" Aberforth narrowed his eyes. "Kid, you really think Albus would let you get away with that?"
"This world doesn't revolve around Albus Dumbledore."
Tom pushed a fresh notebook into his hands. "Everyone's got their own ambitions. Runespoors are important to mine. If I have to break a few school rules for the sake of the greater good, so be it."
Aberforth's face flushed. The words grated in his ears. "Who taught you that line?"
"What line?" Tom tilted his head, feigning confusion.
"For the greater good."
"Oh, that? Slytherin's motto, isn't it? Ambition, cunning, putting profit first. Sounds about right to me."
Aberforth looked down, lost in thought.
Tom didn't press. He just explained how the notebook worked, weaving in a little misdirection, until the older man's attention was fully caught.
"You're telling me this thing's your invention?" Aberforth tapped on the cover, skeptical that something this clever had come from a second-year student.
Tom offered one name and killed the doubt instantly. "My teacher is Nicolas Flamel."
Aberforth's eyes flicked up again. A boy Albus treated differently, close with Newt Scamander, apprenticed to Flamel? What made this kid so special?
"So the snake skins are your main component?"
"Exactly. And if I'm going to distribute them widely, I need to cut costs. Buying isn't sustainable. With my own pocket world—like Newt's—I can raise hundreds without issue. A Runespoor sheds once or twice a year. Control the humidity and heat right, and you can speed it up even more."
"But what's in this for me?"
Tom didn't bother answering with words. He upended his dragon-hide wallet. A flood of gold spilled across the counter, glittering until it piled into a small mound.
"Three hundred Galleons per adult. However many you can get, I'll take."
Aberforth whistled through his teeth. "You didn't knock over some pure-blood vault, did you?"
"Of course not. Some of this is pocket money from my future mother-in-law, the rest's from my own stash."
"Your mother-in-law?"
"The Greengrasses."
Aberforth bared his teeth in a crooked grin. "Kid, you are just like me when I was your age."
"Then we've got a deal?"
"Yeah. Fits nicely, actually—I was planning to lease a pasture for goats anyway. I'll take the job." He eyed the gleaming heap. "And put this away before I decide to rob you after all."
Inside the study space in Tom's mind, Ariana covered her mouth, laughing softly. "Aberforth still loves goats. Even his Patronus is one."
"Mr. Aberforth, Consider it an advance."
Aberforth chuckled. "Brave little bastard. You're not worried I'll just take the gold and vanish?"
"I'd almost prefer it. Albus would feel obliged to pay me back double, and I'd still come out ahead."
With a lazy flick of his wand, Aberforth stored the gold away. "You're sharp, I'll give you that. And gutsy. Fine. I'll get in touch when I have something."
Tom stood. "I'll look forward to it. And next time I'm here, I'll try your cooking. Newt swears your smoked cod hash is excellent."
"He remembers that? Alright then. Just don't come in the morning. I don't start serving till three in the afternoon."
Tom gave a little wave on his way out.
...
Out on the street, Ariana's voice was soft with gratitude. "Thank you, Tom."
[Ariana's trust in host exceeds 50%. A random gift will now be unlocked…]
[Talent obtained: Obscurus]
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Orion Chung
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