As the most notoriously crooked merchant in Hogsmeade, Aberforth despised two things above all else.
The first was anyone praising Dumbledore in front of him. It didn't matter who said it or how—it could be as harmless as a comment on the color of Dumbledore's beard. Aberforth would quietly hike up that customer's tab by 30%.
As for those who dared slander Dumbledore... Well, even though most patrons of the Hog's Head were the reckless sort who lived on the fringes of the Wizengamot's good graces, few were foolish enough to badmouth the Hogwarts Headmaster this close to the castle.
But if some boneheaded loudmouth ever tried, Aberforth would simply raise their price by 50%—enough to remind them just how dangerous that sort of talk was. In short, the name "Dumbledore" was essentially banned inside the Hog's Head.
The second thing Aberforth hated was people commenting on his beloved pet—the goat behind the counter that was always chewing something.
If anyone so much as joked about it, or worse, got drunk and started running their mouth, things usually didn't end well.
Over time, the bar's regulars learned the rules and rarely tried to provoke him.
But today, two clueless out-of-towners had wandered in.
"I'm telling you, leg meat should always be grilled—black pepper to cut the gamey flavor and bring out the richness. Even Headmaster Dumbledore agreed with that," a red-haired teenage boy said seriously, perched at the bar.
Next to him, a middle-aged man shook his head. "No, I still say Dumbledore preferred it stewed."
Their words left the entire room stunned. Though the two were merely discussing cooking methods, their frequent glances toward the corner of the bar made it quite clear—the "ingredient" in question was very likely the goat's sturdy hind leg.
And of course, the two were Kyle and Dumbledore.
Why the Headmaster of Hogwarts had insisted on using Transfiguration to disguise them both before entering was anyone's guess.
"You just don't get Dumbledore," the teenager declared, slapping the counter. "Stewing makes the meat too gamey. He'd definitely prefer it grilled."
Perfect. There was now no doubt—they were talking about that goat.
Chatting casually about Dumbledore in the Hog's Head while discussing the best way to cook the owner's goat... things were about to get interesting.
Around them, the patrons perked up. Drinks were set down, conversations hushed, and nearly everyone subtly shifted their attention toward the mismatched pair at the bar.
And sure enough, the pub's owner drifted over like a ghost, stopping right in front of them.
"You two... are planning to serve my goat as a delicacy to Dumbledore?" Aberforth asked slowly, eyes narrowing.
At first, Kyle felt a bit tense. Sure, he'd led Aberforth around like a Niffler not long ago, but that had been under very specific circumstances.
Now, Aberforth was just shy of a hundred years old—and with that surname, Kyle was genuinely worried he'd see through the disguise spell.
Fortunately, Dumbledore's magic was still a notch above. Aberforth didn't seem to notice anything unusual, treating Kyle as just another unfamiliar patron.
"What goat? Watch your mouth," Kyle said, now emboldened. He sneered and tilted his head back. "That goat of yours is so filthy, even a Muggle's mop that hasn't been washed in two years is cleaner."
A twitch ran through the corner of Aberforth's eye.
He bathed that goat more often than he bathed himself. Filthy? Absolute nonsense.
This kid had to be looking for trouble.
Aberforth narrowed his eyes, already weighing the best way to toss this mouthy brat straight out the door.
Dumbledore gave Kyle a subtle nudge, clearly signaling him to rein it in—but Kyle either didn't notice or didn't care. He kept going with a smirk.
"That thing wouldn't last five seconds at Hogwarts. The house-elves would chuck it out with the trash. You think Professor Dumbledore would eat something like that? Talk about slapping a Galleon on your own face."
"You're not trying to cozy up to Headmaster Dumbledore, are you? Hoping his name might help you save this... dump of a pub?"
"You think I want to cozy up to Dumbledore?" Aberforth growled, teeth clenched, eyes now practically burning.
The onlookers could hardly contain their excitement.
From the moment he walked in, this cocky kid had managed to step on every single landmine—three times, in fact. There was no way the boss wouldn't toss him out next.
It happened all the time. Despite his age, Aberforth could eject a man faster than you could blink—and he didn't pull punches.
Watching someone get chucked out and left to "play piano on the family tree" outside was a beloved pastime here. Educational, even.
Some were already pulling out pocket notebooks, ready to take notes.
But to their surprise, Aberforth didn't snap. He didn't hex him. He didn't even raise his voice.
He just pointed toward the door and said calmly, "Out. You're not welcome here."
The boy played along. Though he continued grumbling, he still walked out—and the man beside him hurried after.
That was it?
The crowd groaned in disappointment. That was way below expectations.
"I was hoping to learn a few new insults for Old Ab," muttered a witch with her face wrapped in a headscarf. "Don't tell me the Hog's Head owner's been replaced."
Most people nodded in agreement. In their minds, the real Aberforth would never have let someone off that lightly.
But was that really the case?...
"You really shouldn't have provoked him like that."
Outside the Hog's Head, Dumbledore said with a sigh, "Aberforth's always hated being compared to me. Ever since we were at school. The moment anyone brought it up, he'd throw punches first and ask questions later—just to prove he could stand on his own."
"Professor, that was over the line," Kyle said, shooting him a look. "You were the one stirring up trouble—I was just playing along."
"I only wanted to see him lose his temper. I didn't mean to actually provoke him," Dumbledore replied, perfectly matter-of-fact.
Kyle stopped walking and stared at him in disbelief. "Professor, you're getting more shameless by the day."
"Likewise." Dumbledore waved it off. "Oh, and by the way—watch behind you."
Just as he finished speaking, Kyle instinctively turned to the side.
A pale red spell zipped past his ear—it looked like a Stunning Spell.
An ambush?
Kyle froze for a second. After leaving the Hog's Head, neither he nor Dumbledore had any particular destination in mind. They'd just picked a direction and started walking.
Given that the Hog's Head sat at the very edge of Hogsmeade, it wasn't long before they'd wandered near the Forbidden Forest. There wasn't a single light around—completely dark. A perfect spot for an ambush.
But who would be after them...? Someone from the Hog's Head?
Kyle's hand jerked to his wand, ready to spin around and get a better look.
But someone else was faster.
Dumbledore, as if already expecting it, spun around with astonishing speed. He didn't even bother with his wand—he just threw a punch.
Crack!
Thud!
There was a dull smack, and a figure collapsed to the ground.
"Aberforth?" Kyle blinked, staring at the man now lying flat in the dirt.
Whether by accident or not, Dumbledore's punch had landed squarely on the bridge of his nose.
And Kyle was almost certain that the first sound he'd heard was Aberforth's nose breaking.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize it was him," Dumbledore said casually.
Kyle slid his wand back into his sleeve and gave a cold laugh.
He had every reason to believe this was intentional—Dumbledore finally getting revenge for that broken nose Aberforth had given him ninety-seven years ago.
Back then, when Aberforth believed Ariana was dead, he'd lashed out in grief and punched Dumbledore at the funeral, breaking his nose.
Dumbledore, who also believed Ariana was dead, had never healed it—almost like he saw it as penance. And ever since, the bridge of his nose had been crooked, oddly out of place.
Kyle glanced again at Aberforth, unconscious on the ground... even the angle of the break looked exactly the same. If that was a coincidence, it was one hell of a precise one.
Honestly, Kyle was more inclined to believe that the moment Dumbledore found out Ariana was alive, he'd come racing over to settle the score.
No wonder he'd been hinting that Kyle should try to provoke Aberforth before they entered the bar. Kyle had thought he just wanted to stir up some fun—not this.
This petty old bee... not only did he take revenge, he tried to pin the blame on a kind, innocent young wizard. When did he get this shameless?
"Professor..." Kyle stared at Dumbledore with a blank expression, clearly waiting for an explanation.
"It was a misunderstanding. I thought he was a Death Eater," Dumbledore said smoothly. "But since we're here—could you do me a favor and get Aberforth back to the pub? I need to meet up with Ariana."
He gestured off to the left.
In the shadows, a hooded figure stood silently, watching.
"Ariana?" Kyle frowned. "What are you two going to do?"
"We're smoothing out the effects of time travel and preparing for the next journey," Dumbledore replied. "Crossing nearly a century's worth of time is bound to leave loose ends... like two dragons that appeared out of nowhere, and Ariana's now-empty grave. We need to take care of those potential complications."
"Dragons... Is there anything I can do to help?" Kyle asked seriously.
"No. You don't have to do anything—this is my task," Dumbledore said with a reassuring smile. "Your job is simply to wait for the day you'll go back. Leave everything else to me."
There was a quiet, steady confidence in his voice—an unshakable belief in his own strength.
"Well, all right then." Kyle shrugged. "Good luck, Professor."
"Just one more thing... You really didn't come here just to get revenge on Mr. Aberforth?"
"At first, no," Dumbledore said, blinking innocently. "But since you handed me the opportunity, it would've been a shame to waste it. That punch of his... I've felt it for ninety-seven years."
...
Dumbledore vanished—along with Ariana, still standing quietly in the shadows.
Kyle turned and glanced at Aberforth lying on the ground, and for the first time, felt a flicker of sympathy for the poor man.
When he was young, he'd spent his school days being constantly compared to his genius of a brother. Now, even in old age, he wasn't allowed to be the first to learn that the sister he'd always mourned was still alive. On top of that, he'd just been toyed with by said brother and knocked out cold with a punch that shattered his nose.
Thinking back to all the things he himself had just said, Kyle felt a twinge of guilt.
Poor old man... I'll be nicer to him from now on.
With a sigh, Kyle drew his wand and gave it a gentle wave.
Aberforth's shirt lifted into the air, the sturdy fabric tugging him upright as if someone had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
Just like that, Kyle dragged him toward the Hog's Head, leaving behind two long scuff marks in the dirt—just as he had when hauling him downstairs in Godric's Hollow.
And why this method? Well, it was simple—it was convenient. He certainly wasn't going to carry him. He hadn't even carried Kanna like this before, let alone an old man.
Besides, the guy was unconscious. He wouldn't remember a thing. Kyle would start being nice after he woke up.
...
Dumbledore had timed the punch perfectly. By the time Kyle reached the pub's doorstep, Aberforth was already starting to stir. First a twitch of the leg, then a slow return to consciousness.
Kyle quickly released him and slipped off to the side.
Aberforth wobbled as he got to his feet, looking groggily at the door in front of him, clearly trying to piece together what had just happened.
But once he fully came to, a sharp jolt of pain surged through his face—so sharp it made his eyes water.
"AAARGH!"
"Bloody hell—whoever did this, you'd better pray I don't find you!"
"*****!"
Across nighttime Hogsmeade, every witch and wizard nearby heard the pained howl echoing through the air, followed by the soft, familiar plink-plink of piano keys tapping out a tune on the family tree.
Not far away, Kyle watched him yelling with full lung power, nodded in satisfaction, and calmly Apparated back to Dorset.
...
The moment he stepped through the door, he spotted Newt hunched over the table, writing.
"All done?" Newt looked up.
"Yep." Kyle nodded. "Also ended up taking the fall for the Headmaster."
"What do you mean?" Newt set down his quill, curiosity piqued.
"We went to the Hog's Head," Kyle began, recounting the events in detail. "All that scheming just so he could punch his brother in the nose—and then he dumped the blame on me! Honestly, that level of shamelessness makes me question whether I brought back a fake Professor Dumbledore."
"Can't argue with that," Newt chuckled. "I've felt the same. Ever since he came back, he's... different. I never expected Ariana's influence on him to be that strong."
"It's a knot that's bound him for over a century... It makes sense, in a way," Kyle said, letting out a sigh as he sat beside Newt. "But honestly? It might be a good thing."
"You're right... Oh, here—this is for you." Newt reached for a suitcase and handed it over.
"While you were away, I sorted out the accommodations for your Magical Creatures. But I need to warn you—Dementors aren't truly immortal. You can't starve them for too long."
"I know, I just forgot..." Kyle scratched his head, sheepish.
"I've been researching what kind of food works for them. It's all here." Newt passed him a sheet of parchment. "Thanks to you, this was my first close contact with a dark creature like that. And with the Liondragon and Lochneal's new species, the next edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them is going to be at least thirty pages longer."
Wait—food that can substitute for joy and hope... this is new?
Kyle clicked his tongue. He'd assumed Newt had figured this out long ago—turns out, it had just been discovered.
Say what you want, when it came to magical creatures, no one could top Newt. It was almost ridiculous.
Kyle took the parchment.
It lined up pretty closely with what he'd heard from Dobby, but it was far more detailed—how to use a Patronus to alter herbs, precise measurements for adding Wyvern saliva... everything clearly written.
"Keep it safe," Newt said. "Preferably away from prying eyes."
"Got it," Kyle nodded.
He wasn't sure whether Dementors would still have a place in Azkaban after this, but methods like this—ways to influence or control them—were better kept under wraps.
If word got out, Kyle had no doubt someone out there would try to domesticate them. For most wizards, Dementors were a nightmare without a solution—almost invincible.
He gave the parchment one more careful read, memorizing every line, then tossed it into the nearby fireplace without hesitation.