Godric’s Hollow

It was cold, but the picturesque snow-covered cottages of Hogsmeade looked cozy from frost-covered windows full of glowing light from the fireplace. The smoke from the chimneys zigzag slowly in the sky leaving a trail from the light, but chilly wind. The Christmas decorations are already up with bright wreaths hanging on my doors and a sparkling Christmas tree that can be seen from the front cottage windows of the home.

On such a night, many residents of Hogsmeade would take shelter in their homes or at the nearest inn or pub. Unfortunately, for them, the Hogs Head Inn was closed that evening. A large sign was posted on the door that read, "CLOSED for CLEANING." With a smaller note below in warning that reads, "Intruders enter at your own PERIL."

A few rowdy members of the village had already attempted to force their way into the inn to only forcibly be blasted into piles of snow, while others were painfully hexed. Stunned the figures play in piles of snow, before recalling that the fact that now and again the Hogs Head Inn would close for cleaning. At first, it had been a strange miracle, but now it was becoming a commonplace event. No one knew when it would happen or why, but it simply would. And really, the pub did look much nicer after being cleaned.

The onlookers help those laying in the snow up, before wisely retreating to the Three Broomsticks that evening. Besides the bar owner, Madam Rosmerta was a sight for sore eyes and made for an enjoyable evening of observation. Aye, she was a fine witch curved in all the right places. A shame though she was apparently divorced as rumor would have it, and a divorced witch was far more trouble than her worth, or at least that was the general sentiment among wizards.

Up rickety stairs, there and down a door is the family living room. A warm fire is blazing and shedding a gentle light upon the old bookshelf and the recently dusted old furniture. As usual, the frame of Ariana Dumbledore hanging on the mantelpiece is spotless. Her chest-length golden hair is neatly pulled back as her bright blue eyes stare straight ahead all the while cradling a book in her arms.

Sitting in one of the two newly cleaned armchairs is the gruff figure of Aberforth. His spectacles hang on the tip of his long nose as he carefully opens the sealed letter from Rodolphus Lestrange that had been sent via a goblin carrier. It had been a bit of surprise, but at least the goblin had the intelligence and common decency to knock on his back door rather than enter through the front door of the pub.

His wiry grey hair is pulled back with a tie and is his gray beard is neatly trimmed. He was dressed in simple, dark, but clean robes. He would be going out shortly, and he had not had time to read the letter until now having been too busy cleaning the pub. Not that he had another choice otherwise the excuse would be seen as a lie and that would only bring out more suspicions against him. The eyes cast upon him had slowly begun to wilt away to nothing, but he still could not trust that it was safe nor much less invite those pairs of eyes to return.

Aberforth's brilliant blue piercing eyes resemble far too much that of his elder brother, Albus. The brilliant blue eyes focused on the opened letter. He intently begins to read the following,

"Capricorn,

I will keep my message brief and simple. Riddle has lost his clouded rage and grows more calculating with every passing hour. He has gained possession of a deadly serpent that is far more intelligent than any animal ought to be. The serpent is even capable of understanding the human tongue and conveys any information heard to him. Nothing can be even be whispered under breath nor messages be written lest the lurking serpent see and report.

A portion of the prophecy was heard and was confirmed. It has been conveyed to Riddle. Riddle grows more desirous to retrieve the prophecy but is distracted by other priorities. It is perplexing and concerning for Riddle seems to doubt the past.

Giants approach from over the north and will arrive within a months' time at most. The great snowstorms will provide cover for their arrival and permit them to land unobtrusive. Watch for rumors of a sudden typhoon on the shore that destroys muggle fishing boats and the nearby muggle village. Death will only be left in their wake.

Trust none, Capricorn.

Crow."

Aberforth furrows his brow at Rodolphus' words. The giants were expected and were no surprise. Neither was the prophecy, but rather the serpent and Riddle's regained mental facilities. Riddle would become a far more dangerous enemy and the serpent was a most unnatural and deadly foe. The serpent would only serve to augment the prowess of the dark wizard.

Tearing the letter neatly into four pieces, Aberforth rises and moves towards the hearth. With care, he drops the torn parchment into the hungry orange flames. The paper is quickly consumed turning black and curled until nothing, but ashes remain. Satisfied, he turns towards the portrait of Ariana, and says, "I'll be back soon, Ari." The portrait of Ariana does not move nor react to his words remaining gazing into the distance.

Aberforth nods his head, before making his way out of the living room and down the rickety stairs. He emerges out through the back door and firmly locks the door behind him. His goats happily bleat at him especially the spotted goat named "Butter," who sticks its head through the pen fencing to receive a head or chin scratch.

Aberforth snorts but still pauses to scratch the goat gruffly behind the ears, before hurrying away. If he waited, he'd suddenly find himself petting all the goats. By Merlin's Beard who knew how long it would take hm to escape afterward!

It was dark and cold as Aberforth made his way to the edge of Hogsmeade. The road on the outskirts of the village were muddy and showed signs of countless muddy tracks from carriages and footsteps. The cowl of his cloak was pulled up, but still he carefully checked around him, before apparating towards his first destination. He would apperate several times to throw off any possible spy following, before at last apparating to his true destination. Some might even call him paranoid, but it had kept him alive all these years.