"Ugh." Dumbledore gently patted Hector's back while Hector retched repeatedly.
"First-time Apparition is quite normal, my boy. You'll get used to it soon enough." Hector waved a hand, took a deep breath of fresh air, and rubbed his temples to ease the severe nausea.
"Mr. Dumbledore, where is this?" Hector stood up and looked around, seeing a quiet, deep street lined with houses that retained a distinct nineteenth-century style.
"This is Hogsmeade, Hector. Feeling better? We still have a short walk ahead of us."
Dumbledore took Hector by the hand, led him down the main street for a bit, and turned into a small alley next to the post office.
"Aberforth has never liked me Apparinating directly to his pub." Today, Dumbledore was unusually gentle as he patiently explained, "We have a bit of a minor disagreement; he's never wanted to see me, but I think today should be an exception."
Dumbledore stopped outside a pub bearing a swinging sign of a severed boar's head and saw Aberforth standing right by the door.
Aberforth stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his clothes filthy and his hair unkempt, hanging about him in a wild tangle. There was fury and contempt in his gaze. Dumbledore let go of Hector's hand and stepped forward.
"Albus, I expect you to give me a reasonable explanation." Aberforth clenched his fists, glaring viciously at the brother who looked so strikingly like him.
Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached behind him and guided Hector out into the open.
"Oh, don't you dare tell me you sent Fawkes just to show off—" Aberforth's sneer caught in his throat, choking off mid-sentence. He stared wide-eyed at the thin child who had just stepped out of the darkness, his ferocious face melting into boundless astonishment.
Aberforth crouched down first to examine Hector's face closely, then glanced back at Dumbledore, who gave him a reassuring nod.
Aberforth turned, strode into the pub, and banged furiously on the counter.
"We're closed for the night! Clear out, all of you, right now!"
Aberforth still carried enough intimidation. Even a few stubborn patrons trying to argue for their rights or squeeze out a cheap drink caught sight of Albus Dumbledore walking in right behind him, and obediently filed out of the pub.
Only after everyone had cleared out did Aberforth turn back to face Dumbledore.
"Albus, are you certain?" Aberforth's face was flushed red with urgency.
"Calm down, Aberforth." Dumbledore gave his wand a few waves, and a thick book materialized before the three of them.
"Sit down, child. You too, Aberforth." Dumbledore sat down at a table and with a gentle flick of his hand turned the pages straight to the entry recording himself and Aberforth.
Aberforth first pulled out a chair to help Hector sit, then took a seat at some distance from Dumbledore.
"I need a drop of your blood, Hector. Don't worry, it won't hurt at all." Dumbledore looked at Hector with a benevolent expression.
Hector held out his hand. Dumbledore tapped it lightly with his wand, drew a single drop of blood from his fingertip, and let it fall onto the open page.
The drop of blood vanished straight into the paper. Immediately afterward, a brand-new line branched out beneath the name Aberforth Dumbledore, first blooming with the name Chris Dumbledore, followed instantly by Hector Dumbledore.
Aberforth seemed instantly revitalized, his face brimming with joyful smiles. He looked at Hector with a mixture of sheer disbelief and the overwhelming joy of a long-awaited reunion.
Aberforth jumped to his feet, paced back and forth across the small tavern a few times, and then crouched down in front of Hector.
Hector was naturally well aware of the current situation. He knew the ritual to officially trace his lineage back to the family was complete, and from this day forward, he could walk through the magical world with his head held high. No matter what Malfoy or Burns you threw at him, in front of a Dumbledore they were nothing more than fragile clay chickens and slaughtered dogs. If you have any objections, why don't you try stepping outside to trade blows with my grandfather?
Triumph aside, Hector still needed to project the image of a pitiable, obedient, sensible good boy, so he remained exceptionally well-behaved.
"Albus, come here for a moment." Aberforth stroked Hector's cheek with his rough hand, stood up, and headed toward the door, speaking to Dumbledore just before he stepped outside.
Dumbledore rose and glanced at Hector. Hector looked back, meeting a gaze full of a grandfather's tender affection and warmth.
"You don't need to go out, child. Stay and sit for a moment." Dumbledore walked over, gently stroked Hector's cheek as well, and followed Aberforth out of the tavern.
"Albus, tell me about this child." Aberforth stood with his back to Dumbledore, staring up at the moon, refusing to turn around.
Dumbledore briefly described what he knew. Watching Aberforth's rigid back, he sighed. "Aberforth, we need to have a serious talk about this boy."
Aberforth whirled around, fixing his eyes on Dumbledore's. "What are you trying to do? Let me tell you, Albus, you have no relation to him whatsoever, and I will not allow you to meddle in his life!"
"Don't be so dramatic, Aberforth. He is my grandson too." Albus met his brother's glare head-on.
"And Ariana was your sister too!" Aberforth shouted at Dumbledore.
"Aberforth, we agreed never to speak of that again!" Dumbledore's eyes flashed with anger. Shedding his grandfatherly warmth in an instant, he looked like a lion ready to strike.
"There is nothing to discuss. I won't hand him over to you."
"Aberforth, a child has to go to school."
"Hogwarts isn't the only school in existence. I can send him to Beauxbatons! Durmstrang Institute isn't out of the question either!"
"Hogwarts is the finest school of magic, and I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts!"
"Just because you're the Headmaster of Hogwarts!"
The two brothers clashed like rival lions fighting over territory, glaring daggers at each other without an inch of compromise.
"Mr. Dumbledore." Hector, who had been watching from the sidelines for quite some time, interrupted their quarrel at precisely the right moment.
"Is there anything to eat?" The loud rumbling of his stomach provided the perfect cover, giving Hector the ultimate excuse to mediate.
Aberforth shot Albus Dumbledore one last vicious glare before his expression softened instantly as he looked back at Hector. He forced a stiff smile and said, "Hector, I'll go make you something right now. And, you know, you can call me Grandfather."
Just a moment ago, Aberforth had been bursting with fiery hostility, but now he scurried eagerly into the kitchen to cook for his precious grandson. Albus Dumbledore took Hector by the hand, and the two of them sat down at a table.
"Child, how old are you?"
"I'm ten, Mr. Dumbledore."
"Ten years old." Dumbledore looked at Hector's thin, drawn face. There was nothing here that resembled a normal ten-year-old; severely malnourished, he looked at best like a child of six or seven. The thought brought another pang of sorrow to his heart.
"My boy, you can call me Grandfather too, you don't need to call me Mr. Dumbledore." Dumbledore paused for a second before continuing.
"You'll be starting school next year. As you heard just now, if it were up to you to choose, which school would you pick?" Dumbledore looked at Hector with a warm, amiable smile, knowing he couldn't easily convince his stubborn brother, so he decided to work on his dear grandson instead.
"Oh, by the way, I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, you know." Dumbledore blinked with a smile, dropping a heavy hint.
"Hector, don't listen to him, we are not going to Hogwarts." Aberforth carried over a plate of what could only be described as strangely shaped food, patted Hector on the head first, and then glared viciously at Albus Dumbledore. "I think Durmstrang is wonderful, or Beauxbatons. The food there will certainly suit your tastes."
"Aberforth, let's leave the choice to Hector."
Hector picked up a spoon, tentatively touched a bit of the mush to the tip of his tongue—not out of distrust for Aberforth, but because this gelatinous lump honestly didn't look like anything safe for human consumption. While one could certainly make internet jokes about rugged survivalist cuisine, nobody actually wanted to become a test subject for it.
To his absolute surprise, the mush tasted exceptionally good. Hector immediately began to devour it ravenously, instinctively tuning out the conversation between the two magical heavyweights.
It wasn't until Hector had swept the plate clean like a gale-force wind that he realized both elders were staring at him with looks of utter fondness and affection.
"Sorry, that was just so good." Hector rubbed his long-parched stomach, a satisfied smile blooming across his face.
"Dumbledore... Grandfather, what were you two talking about?"
"Hector, about that question from earlier—which magical school would you like to attend?" Dumbledore pressed on.
Three famous schools lay before him: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Hector naturally knew all three. Without a moment's hesitation, he settled on Hogwarts in his mind.
Please, I'm a Dumbledore. Is having Hogwarts as my personal playground not a perk? Is the Dumbledore surname not powerful enough? Buddy, being the ultimate insider at Hogwarts beats running off to France or the icy north where I'd have no roots whatsoever.
Besides, staying under Old Dumbledore's nose was the safest bet. Speaking of which, what year was it right now?
"Grandfather, what year is it?" Hector looked at Aberforth. Aberforth was thoroughly pleased by the title of grandfather and answered immediately, "1990, Hector."
1990? Doing the math, Harry Potter would be coming to Hogwarts to go to school next year. This was indisputably the child of prophecy, the bone-fide Chosen One of this plane.
Hector wasn't arrogant enough to think he could defy the heavens and reach a level where he could punch the Chosen One and kick the Dark Lord. Anyone wrapped in a protagonist's halo should be befriended; crossing paths with them as an enemy was the worst possible idea.
Besides, while going to school at Beauxbatons would technically keep him away from the conflicts on the British mainland, his roots were firmly planted right here in Britain. In the original story, the Albus Dumbledore sitting right in front of him would eventually sacrifice himself heroically to completely eliminate Voldemort. If you lived it up in France only to come home and find out your house had been stolen while you were away, wouldn't that ruin everything?
With that thought, Hector looked once more at the silver-haired, serene-looking old man before him. In this short span of time, Hector had quite naturally built up a sense of trust and reliance toward him.
For this old man's sake, it is my absolute duty to choose Hogwarts!
Definitely not because I want a giant pillar of support to lean on later—nope, definitely not!
Hector glanced at Aberforth, then back at Dumbledore.
"Grandfather, can I choose Hogwarts? I don't want to leave you guys anymore." Hector looked pitifully into Aberforth's eyes.
Both Dumbledores felt a pang in their chests. Men who valued family ties as deeply as they did could never refuse a plea like that.
Aberforth looked at Hector, then threw a glance at Albus, and let out a sigh.
"Alright, Hector." He stood up and patted Hector on the head. "Hogwarts it is."
Aberforth turned his gaze back to Albus, still speaking with a sour tone, "Is there anything else, Albus? You know you've never been welcome here."
Albus Dumbledore stood up as well, his bright blue eyes brimming with joy. He gave Hector a wink and turned to leave.
His relationship with Aberforth had always been strained, but now, with Hector here, everything was bound to change. Fawkes descended from the rafters and landed gently on Dumbledore's shoulder.
"What a wonderful evening, wouldn't you say?"
Fawkes's birdsong was crisp and melodious as Dumbledore walked away with a lightness in his step he hadn't felt in years, vanishing into the darkness.