The Gauntlet- Hogwarts First Writing Maze.

By Lurid, of Ravenclaw House.

A wizard sat in the shadows of a vacant pub. The fake dawn could be seen as a mere glow between grime lines on the stain glass windows. There was a sign swinging back and forth outside, squeaking with every movement. A bell tinkled quietly in the rustling wind, and Aberforth could have sworn he heard a rustle of wings.

His hands supported his elderly frame on the scrubbed wooden tables, and shook in the candle light of the stubs that were near to extinguished. His velvety violet dressing gown floated up off the ground weightlessly and his knotty graying beard hung below his belt line.

He picked up his spork with a shaking hand, and almost had the scrambled eggs to his mouth when suddenly, a tawny owl flew full pelt into the window.

“A fat hog’s warts!� he exclaimed, brushing the disobedient eggs from his elegant purple dressing gown. The owl flew inside eagerly, hovering and swaying slightly as Aberforth leapt in the air trying to catch the hooting bird. Air pushed the twittering bird sideways. Aberforth chuckled, and then leant against the cool glass to see whether any more owls would be rudely interrupting his breakfast.

The owl swooped overhead, and from its claws dropped a pale, creamy coloured envelope. Aberforth bent over it, and impatiently tugged his beard into the pocket of his trousers. He tugged the envelope open, and pulled out the first sheet of parchment.

He squinted at the words, and rubbed the whiskers on his face. His face brightened as he tore out a screwed, blurred looking wand and stabbed it at the parchment. The words magically exploded ten times their size, and Aberforth’s mouth tweaked as he slowly sounded out each word silently.

He fumbled for a moment, and then began to read aloud in a harsh, croaky voice, not at all used to the brisk air of morning.

Irresistible lure,
Custom-built prize,
Awaits the doer
who makes it in time.

Just for you,
was this treasure made,
Collect the clues,
and survive the maze.

If you can name it,
this thing with danger bought,
then you can claim it,
but don’t get caught.

Outside the doors
at ten tonight
with skills yours
your glory will shine bright.

The envelope gave a warning shake. Aberforth turned it over and slowly read the words, ‘Warning - spontaneously combustible.’ He hooted enthusiastically and threw it up in the air as it burst into flames, spilling scrambled eggs all over himself as he nearly overturned the table in his glee.

“To Hogwarts, then Dumbles; Hogwarts! Off you go, now Dumbles!� he cackled, waving his arms extravagantly around in the dusty, mildewy air.

He threw the plate across to the bar where it clattered loudly, spilling more eggs onto the table. Aberforth shook his head. There were still eggs left on the plate? He picked up the fat envelope, minus the letter and tucked it into his gown pocket. He raced outside the Hog’s Head, banging the door loudly.

The loud bleat from a goat was heard, then a “Yah! Yah!� from Aberforth as he raced to Hogwarts.

---

Aberforth arrived outside Hagrid’s hut just as the sun was glaring overhead the Hogwarts’ grounds. Hagrid stumbled out of his hut, blinking his eyes blearily in the early morning sun.

“Who are yeh?� Hagrid said suspiciously, squinting blindly at Aberforth in his velvet gown and fluffy slippers.

“Aberforth Aelfwine Millard Daley Dumbledore at your service,� he said with a tip of the head. He slid off the panting goat. “Where might I park my goat, sir?� he beamed at Hagrid. Hagrid’s eyebrows met in confusion as he stared at the poor goat.

“Erm, well, I ‘spect yeh’ll tie ‘im up near the maze, righ’?� he said.

Aberforth smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Maze, what maze, oh, good, fine sir?� he bowed low, and Hagrid guffawed.

“The maze you’ll be started outside of, at ten tonight, I’d say.�

Aberforth nodded. “And refreshments for my goat and I?�

Hagrid shook his head. “Barmy old codger,� he said under his breath.

---

Aberforth suspiciously stabbed a sausage, sniffed it, and then held it out to his goat to smell.

“Alright, you think Chuck?�

The goat merely bleated half-heartedly, and Aberforth could hear giggles resonating throughout the Hall. He looked along the High table to see many professors burying their faces in their hands, and poor little Professor Flitwick had even disappeared under the table.

He drew a disapproving glance from Minerva McGonagall, and winked charmingly.

“Why, ‘ello Miss Minerva!� he said loudly. McGonagall’s mouth became impossibly thinner, and Aberforth giggled. “O’ right, that’s right, you’re not to be called by your first name then, love.�

“Mister Dumbledore, must you embarrass yourself in front of the students? You are supposed to be setting a good example in the absence of your brother.�

“Ahh yes,� he said sadly. “Ol' Albie must have set a very straight backed, old man smelling example to the corridors of the castle. Best to ignore it, in my opinion.�

Minerva rose from the table. “Mister Dumbledore, I shall meet you outside of the Herbology greenhouses at ten tonight. Do you understand? Greenhouse Five, thank you, and do your best to be on time.�

---

Aberforth bounded along the cobbled, mossy path, leading Chuck by the leash. The goat was looking extremely tired. Aberforth was once again wearing his dressing gown, and his fluffy slippers were tinged green on the bottom.

He cheerfully bounced to a stop in front of the glass greenhouse door. He started to hum a disjointed tune, and before long was met by Minerva McGonagall, leading three of what Aberforth assumed to be students. Either that, or midgets. He shrugged, and extended his arm.

Minerva stepped forward, ignoring the outstretched arm. Aberforth stuffed it inside his coat pocket and withdrew some Goat Treats, and threw them to Chuck. He smiled at Minerva. She gave him a suspicious look in return.

“As according to Professor Dumbledore’s rules, you will all enter the maze at precisely ten o’clock. Your object is that of the letter. You are to enter to maze, and retrieve an item that has been custom made for the winner. Only one will claim the prize, and let that be all I say. You may now enter,� she said in a curt voice.

The clock struck ten somewhere in the middle of the Hogwarts grounds, and Aberforth dropped the leash and ran into the humid, leafy, dark green abyss of the Greenhouse.

The sticky air hit him full in the face, and his shook his head slightly to clear it. It was only then did he notice the vastness of the greenhouse.

Aberforth pressed his hand to his mouth in wonder. He’d never set hide nor hair near the Greenhouses in all his time at Hogwarts. He had the odd tendency to break out in bouts of Pox every time the words ‘plant’ or ‘Herbology’ were mentioned. His nose twitched at the thought.

Privet and Yew trees lined the periphery of the garden area forming a strong solid hedge. But it did not feel as caged, oppressive and close as the rest of the Maze.

The grass around the small brick path was of varying shapes and hues, and the odd Geranium and Daisy could be seen as well. He wandered underneath a narrow cobbled stone bridge, and emerged a few seconds later. A small path branched off to the left where the clearly discernible orange of pumpkins could be seen, and beyond that, a large stone arch.

The main path seemed to lead to a dead end as well. Aberforth heard the pitter-patter of students’ footsteps behind him, and rushed forward, pumping his arms and burying his head down. As Aberforth made his way along the path, he was suddenly struck with a bout of violent sneezing. The small, seemingly harmless plants swayed innocently in the wind, but he knew a sneezewort when he saw one. He wiped his dripping nose half-heartedly on his dressing gown sleeve.

Passing the ginger and valerian roots rather quickly on tiptoes, Aberforth sighed as he strode his way to safety over a small hand-made bridge. The moss covering the well-worn wood made it quite slippery, and Aberforth tipped forward, and rolled to a stop before the stone bench. Many jars and containers of dried roots and plants lined the far end of the table and a small sack was sitting close to the Mimbulous Mimbletonia to the left, but in the middle sat a small Dragon-Leather notebook.

Intricate markings covered the front page. Aberforth cautiously picked himself up and reached for the book. Squinting his eyes, he turned the book upside down, and chuckled to himself as he realised that the intricately inscribed designs were in fact, words.

In my midst, you’re sure to find
Plants and Herbs of every kind.

Search me well and you will see
Fluxweed, Hellebore, Gillyweed.

Beware the Mandrake’s cry if you
Should ever dig for Gurdyroot.

Before you leave me, you must bring
Lovage, dittany and Shrivelfig.

And in my pages you must write
The other names of aconite.

With that, the door will open wide
And you may take of what I hide.

So stop to ponder if you will
The Malowsweet won’t make you ill.

Aberforth grasped the sack and began to shove different herbs and bottles into the sack sitting there. He looked around quickly, and then tore the page straight out of the book. The book snapped shut. A jar slipped out of Aberforth’s hand as he jumped as a cold, wet nose pushed up against his ankle above his slipper.

“Chuck!� he exclaimed. “Minnie won’t be happy you’ve followed me in! And, you’ve broken your beautiful leash!�

Chuck just bleated happily in reply. Aberforth quickly re-tied the leash together below the buckle, scooped up his bag, and began to buzz around the enclosure.

Three walls bore the signs of plant life, the fourth being the path and the bridge he had recently fallen down. The signs even seemed to be made of leaves. He nodded seriously at the goat, then proclaimed, “Eeny, Meany, Miney, MOE,� and spun around, his arm pointed out straight in front of him.

His arm pointed down the path to his right, and he happily jerked the leash in the same direction.
He parted a curtain of vines and found himself in a humid swamp. The high ceiling of the greenhouse seemed to disappear behind the leaves for top most reaching trees, and the pebbled path was almost indefinable from the earth that surrounded it on all sides.

A mouldy decrepit looking desk was centered between many different gardens. It was heaped with potting mix, rolls of old, rotten parchment, and broken pots. There were dark green leafy plants potted all around the table, and Aberforth tugged Chuck over to the nearest and knelt down.

A smudged, blurry sign that Aberforth could barely make out said,

A Gurdyroot pulled from the earth will stop those stupid notorious Gulping Plimpies from attacking you while you’re bathing.

Aberforth’s eyebrows rose and he did a double take. “Great Scott,� he murmured. He took a close look at the plants surrounding the lone sign. It seemed to Aberforth that there was only one Gurdyroot. The only problem, however, was the Mandrakes situated at very uncomfortable lengths from the roots. Aberforth was sure that if he were to take the Gurdyroot, he’d pull up a Mandrake, and be a goner.

His blue eyes flitted around quickly. On top of the table was a pair of fluffy earmuffs Aberforth was sure had not been there moments before. He hooted with glee at them, for they were luridly pink and fluffy all over. He snapped them on and proudly walked back over to Chuck. The goat bobbed his head in silent affirmation and let out a silent “Baaaaahhh…�

Aberforth dug his heels into the soft earth around the Gurdyroot. He took it below the leaves and heaved with all his might.

It came free with a silent “POP,� and Aberforth found himself falling backwards into a puddle of water that had been concealed by freshly grown moss. He trudged back over to the table where he had dropped his bag, put the Gurdyroot inside, and turned to glare at Chuck, whom he assumed was chuckling in his own goatish way.

But Chuck wasn’t gloating or bleating. He was staring transfixed at the freshly pulled Mandrake baby, and was swaying from side to side sleepily. Aberforth bounded forward and without drew his wand.

“ Silencio! � he proclaimed, flourishing his wand towards the plant. The mandrake closed its mouth and gave Aberforth a filthy look. Aberforth snapped off his earmuffs with a triumphant look and pocketed them. There would always be a use for fluffy pink earmuffs.

He noticed what look like a carrot, went to pull it from the ground to treat Chuck, and discovered it was an ingredient on his list- Lovage.

“Sorry ‘bout that matey,� he said sadly. “Looks like it’ll be no carrots for you today.� He patted Chuck on the head briefly, and then went back to his bag.

He pulled out the crinkled piece of paper from within his robe pocket, brushing earth from its’ surface.

Search me well and you will see
Fluxweed, Hellebore, Gillyweed.

Aberforth stared up into the sky. It seemed an odd coincidence that there would be a full moon exactly when it was appropriate, but Aberforth figured it was all fate’s way of telling him it was his turn to win. Either that or it was a balloon full of helium.

He turned around to see that the puddle in which he had landed had turned into silvery mist, and underneath shone a metal staircase which lead to below the garden. He eagerly gallivanted down the stairs, hitting the bottom step with a loud thud.

A putrid rank smell of mould, earth, and compost hit his nostrils, and his face blanched. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clothes peg, and tweaked it atop his long, slightly off-centre nose.

His eyes roamed the small room. Bookshelves were loaded with indescribable bottoms, jars, books, and silvery instruments. The floor was dotted with various types of gardening tools, and Aberforth’s eyes zoned in on a small selection of jar, their slimy contents glistening within.

He reached over to the shelf, stepping in compost doing so, and plucked the jar labeled WEED from the shelf.

He turned it in his hands, and realised the jar actually bore the name, GILLYWEED.

He hooted, and did a little jig. He turned around, bounded back up the stairs with shook under his exuberant steps, and went back to the main garden to place the newfound item in his bag.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he sensed something was wrong. The enclosure had darkened, and Aberforth receded into the bushes.

“Chuck? Chuckie?� he whispered nasally. The goat came trotting out from the shadows calmly chewing on a trailing of a green leafy plant. Aberforth reached out to grab the weed from the goats’ mouth, only to realise it was the precious and most poisonous Hellebore plant he’d been looking for.

Chuck licked Aberforth’s hand, eager for more food. Aberforth supposed that the hellebore must not harm goats, possibly only humans. He wasn’t too keen to find out, however. He had to find the rest of the ingredients.

Once again, he looked down at the list.

Search me well and you will see
Fluxweed, Hellebore, Gillyweed.

Beware the Mandrake’s cry if you
Should ever dig for Gurdyroot.

Before you leave me, you must bring
Lovage, dittany and Shrivelfig.

Aberforth shook his head sadly. He wasn’t going to be finding any more of these ingredients here. He’d exhausted all resources. He picked up his bag from where it had dropped on the ground, and trailed back through the curtain to the main area. He slouched up over the bridge, taking care not to slip again, and sullenly conjured a quill and poised it over the paper of the Dragon-Skin book.

“Chuck, you know, my writing’s gotten much better since that lovely Lady Rosmerta offered to help. She’s a right looker, too!�
Chuck nodded in agreement. Aberforth grinned. “Now, down to business.�

“The big straight circle… the smile… the crown… the shoe… the stick, then the half-smiley, then we put… a… squiggly… line… done.� He signed his name, quickly scribbled down the words ‘wolfsbane, and monkshood,’ and made to turn around to the path. Something on the right caught his eye, and he steered Chuck around. Chuck bahhed, and out of the bushes stepped Dobby.

“Dobby was told to give you this, sir, Mister Dumbledore sir. Dobby was told you is to finish the maze. He was instructed, sir, to follow you just in case.�

He dropped bundles of Dittany and freshly picked Fluxweed into Aberforth’s astonished outstretched hand and scattered some Shrivelfig pods around Aberforth’s fluffy feet in a ceremonial manner before bowing so that his pencil nose tapped the ground. He straightened up, shot a nervous glance and Chuck, then scuttled off into the bushes.

Bemused, Aberforth picked up the pods and walked back over to the book. The words shone silver, and the book melted away to reveal a pull-ring, which Aberforth promptly heaved upwards.

Inside lay a box, and his fingers twitched slightly as he opened it. Inside was a bundle wrapped in butcher’s paper, and he unraveled it to reveal a chunk of Malowsweet.

He looked at Chuck seriously and said, “Chuckie, someone up there likes us.�

Chuck nickered, and ducked his head appreciatively, and Aberforth bent down to ruffle Chuck’s fur when a loud thunderclap echoed throughout the greenhouse.

Lightening zigzagged haphazardly across the indigo sky, and Aberforth fell to the ground and cowered against Chuck. Apart from plants, the only other thing Aberforth hated was lightening.
He supposed it might have something to do with when, years ago, he and Albus stood in the middle of the Shire paddock with a Muggle umbrella just to see what would happen, but he didn’t like to think back on such events.

Aberforth looked around wildly for cover, and found that off to his left, directly across from the vine curtains that lead to the swamp, was a pebbled path. Aberforth pushed himself up, and pelted towards the path, dragging the leash with him. Chuck cantered alongside him down the path, bleating loudly in fright.

They hurtled down the path and Aberforth came to a screeching stop in front of a big, cast iron door. Chuck careened into the heavy door, hitting it with a loud thud, and hopping backwards, a dazed expression in his eyes.

Aberforth stopped to consider that there might not be cover within the door, but he was so traumatized by the lightening, and when it struck again, he let out a little scream and yanked open the iron door, pulled a scared Chuck in with him.

The door slammed shut with a heavy clang , and it echoed horribly through out the room. Aberforth looked upward, his heart beating a rhythm against his sternum, and sighed with relief as he noted the roof was enclosed and he couldn’t see the star strewn sky. A few stubby candles could be seen as pinpricks of light against the dark at the very end of the hall, where another large door glowed against the heavy, brick wall. Chuck, whose ears were pricked, listening for a sound, could only faintly hear the rolling and cracking sound of thunder. It suddenly occurred to Aberforth that this ‘maze’ was not a physical maze, so much as a mental trap.

All of a sudden, Chuck bleated and trotted to behind Aberforth, cowering. A furious cold washed over Aberforth. His teeth began to chatter, and mist rolled in from somewhere to rise up lazily about his feet. The whole mood was eerie, and Aberforth panicked when he sense a dense chill radiating from the depths of the room. The candles extinguished themselves, trails of acrid smoke wandering up towards the ceiling. Aberforth started to breathe deeply, coughing when he inhaled putrid, foul air.

Again he sucked in a breath of disgusting befouled air. His eyes widened, and he quivered to the tips of his fluffy slippers when he discovered the cause. A Dementor was slowly gliding its way toward him; its arm outstretched reaching for his throat.

The Dementor swooped forward, and Aberforth squinted his eyes shut in fear. The thunder could be heard rolling over head, and the sound of Chuck’s hooves chattering on the ground was deeply annoying.

A rattle escaped the Dementors mouth, and Aberforth shuddered underneath the foul, reeking smell. The stench of death and despair washed over Aberforth, and he nearly keeled over under the effect it had on him.

A putrid rank hung in the air like clotted cream dangling, impervious to the clear, crisp scent of the night. The Dementor moved its cowled head forward, and rattled again. It was mere inches from Aberforth, and he could feel a heaving in his stomach, not unlike that when he was about to vomit. It had a deeper feeling to it, however, and Aberforth could swear he thought his very insides were about to come vomiting out of his mouth.

The Dementors hood fell back a couple a centimeters, and all was black except eyes that were deep, endless pools, which at the bottom shone pinpoints of light, like stars in the black of night. Aberforth felt himself being sucked eerily in. The Dementor was floating eerily inches from his long nose, and Aberforth suddenly felt two bony fingertips clamp up around his neck and lift him up off the ground, the joint pressure of the gritty bones on his windpipe.

Cold fury burned in Aberforth’s eyes, and he flailed his legs around. The Dementor hissed angrily at the movement, and dropped him. It swept up into the air, and rippled like a shadow against the high ceiling. Aberforth scrounged round in the dark, and an indignant bleat told him he had found Chuck.

“Chuck, mate…� he licked his lips. “Chuckie, I want you to know, you were the best goat a wizard could have. You were always there to eat my ice cream that had dropped on the ground, always there when my bar needed a’cleaning, and always there when me special plants out the back started to wilt. You know the special ones I keep hidden from you, the five starred ones? But I forgave you, ‘kay mate? Remember the good times?�

He stared seriously into the goats’ dark eyes. Chuck regarded him seriously, then opened his mouth, and gave Aberforth the smallest of licks, but it spurned Aberforth into action. He patted Chuck heartily on the back, and raised his eyes to the Dementor, which was swooping over him like a magpie swoops over intruders at spring. He ducked, readied himself, and then sprinted for the end of the room, Chuck hot on his heels.

He wrenched open the door, letting out a cry of, “Dementy! Follow me, if you please!� and ushered Chuck through the door.

He almost chortled. He darted quickly out of the door, only to realise that he was back in the original garden. The storm was merely dark menacing clouds, circling overhead, the occasional white streak breaking the monotony of darkness. Raindrops splattered heavy and fat onto the glass overhead, and Aberforth turned his attention away from the grim sky to the tools off to the right of the leather bound book, still residing where Aberforth had left it comfortably. His eyes flicked casually over the bag of leaves that were sitting there, so innocent, yet so deadly.

He ambled over just as a chill settled over the serene garden. The flowers that were once bright, lurid colours, dulled, and frost had developed on the petite petals. A cold air breathed over the entire enclosure, making the bushes shudder with a chill, and the grasses pale to a sickly white colour.

The Dementor lowered itself nearer to the ground and advanced closer, leaving behind it a frozen path. Aberforth swung around, yanked out his thin, slightly whippy wand. He jabbed it towards the bag of leaves.

“Vercundus Caputcapitis! � he cried, lifting the leaves into the air.

The bag flew full force into the Dementor, and the putrid, rotting smell of the leaves mixed unpleasantly with the decaying stench of the Dementor. The Dementor swept backwards, away, and swooped down over him menacingly.

A determined look on his face, Aberforth tucked his beard into his robe waistband and gritted his teeth into a smile. He bore several alabaster teeth, and a cold malice lay within the pupils of his eyes.

The Dementor stopped advancing. It took on a wary stance, but Aberforth went closer, like a grey lion, fearless and protecting his own. He jabbed his wand to the burlap bag, now floating in mid air, and yelled –

“ Combiblio! �

He swung his wand around his head and pointed it straight at the Dementor with a brisk crack.

The Dementor let out an unearthly howl as it was sucked backwards into the funnel. First, it was the long, cowled robe, followed by a terrible rattle as the fog, a bad aura surrounding it turned solid under the pressure of the sucking. Aberforth stood his ground as bit by bit, the Dementor’s scream was silenced, and the wind whipped around his head.

The screams subsided, from both the Dementor and a frightened Chuck. The Dementor was now safely entombed within the burlap bag, which had floated down beside Aberforth and was sitting there beside him, innocent once more.

Aberforth jumped with joy and went over to console Chuck, and in his haste, accidentally kicked the edge of the bag. It slid slowly sideways, and smoke began to waft out, along with a putrid rank not that different from goat manure. Chuck bleated warningly, shaking his head in the direction, the whites of his eyes showing the pupils barely pinpricks.

Aberforth swore, running over to flick his wand again. The bag instantly re-righted itself, and a rope appeared out of no where and knotted itself neatly three times before lying to rest. There was a groan, a shudder, and the burlap bag of leaves lay still. Aberforth reached over and hugged the shaking Chuck, hooting gleefully.

“Chuckie! We win again! Thwarted are thee, AGAIN, stupid Dementy!�

Giggling and giddy with glee, Aberforth ran back towards the turn-off from the main path. His footsteps made an earthy thump as they hit the dirt floor. He was sprinting to the end of the hedge-lined corridor. He veered off to the right, into the pumpkin patch, and continued down the lane. The air was humid, and Aberforth skidded to a stop at the arch, panting heavily.

“Care to give us a drink, Chuck?�

Chuck stared at Aberforth. He bahhed angrily, shaking his head so that his ears flopped about. Aberforth chuckled, and then winked.

He continued through the arch and found himself at a door illuminated by two torches either side, rusting slightly with age. Again, it occurred to him that this was just another task. It would aid him, slightly or not. He swallowed loudly and noisily, and exhaled deeply.

He pushed the door lightly, and a faint tinkling could be heard inside. A gold light emanated from inside, and it lit up the plaque that had been carefully placed on the door.

People like me turn lead to gold,
Mystic cures, my craft unfold.
I start nowhere and end well;
My name is an easy one to tell.

The door swung shut slowly again, and shut with a metallic click. Underneath the plaque, Aberforth observed, it said, In memory of Nicholas Flamel .

Aberforth closed his eyes briefly. “Alright Chuckie, in we go. It’s time we caught up with Mr Flamel.�

He pushed open the door further. He was bathed in golden light. It seemed to emanate from all over the room, from the high stone ceiling to the warmth of the terracotta-tiled floor, to the rickety wooden shells, heaped with silvery trinkets, some rusted with age.

He stepped further into the room, and sighed in satisfaction. There was no hint of the rain that plowed down outside and no steady rhythmic drumming could be heard on the thick sandstone. He could sense some dampness higher up, but was distracted by the warmth lower down, which defied all logic. Aberforth’s teeth had stopped chattering, however, so he chose to ignore it. After all, they were at Hogwarts, and anything was possible.

There was a slight pattering noise coming from the far right corner, where a fire was crackling merrily underneath a bubbling cauldron, and a light silvery aura surrounded the surface of the bubbling concoction.

Aberforth was amazed that all these rooms were in fact, inside the Greenhouse. He supposed Greenhouse Five was more of a private store, full of mystery and lore. He ran his finger over one of the dusty shelves. An inch thick came away with his finger, leaving a long, slender shining strip on the glowing wood, which Aberforth now saw to be of high taste and highly varnished beneath the dust.

He blew softly, and the dust motes flittered above in the warm, stuffy air. It was only then he registered that the door had shut behind him. He regarded this calmly, and then turned to Chuck, who had been walking carefully behind him and said wisely, “Everything happens for a reason, Chuckie. Everything happens for a reason.�

He nodded solemnly, and Chuck ducked his head in an almost human form. Aberforth found himself suddenly riddled with a sad, morose feeling. It was very rarely he had an in-depth conversation with anyone. He was quite sure that Chuck understood him at times, but there was the speech barrier. As clever, witty, and talented as Aberforth was, he couldn’t speak goat.

He noted the stain glass windows. They seemed to be crying as imaginary rain thrashed against their panes, and a howling wind could be heard drifting above them, way up in the high sandstone ceiling. No gust reached down and touched Aberforth’s slight hair, though, so he assumed it must merely be an imprint, an illusion created by whoever lived here.

“Why can’t you talk, Chuckie,� he said sadly, “I wouldn’t be as lonely as I am, you know. No one in the Hog’s Head is of my flavour, you know? No one get’s me, no one understand me. Especially not since Albie died. You know that half those people don’t even know who I am. Moreover, the other half writes me off as a village idiot? It’s a sad life, Chuck. Without Albie, I’m not sure what to do.�

He pulled out a great purple spotted handkerchief, and blew noisily into it. It was such a trumpeting sound, that it blew a gale into the fire, and caused uproar of flames.

Aberforth coughed and tripped backwards into a shelf. It came crashing down around him, and from a low, arched tunnel directly across from him, flitted a shadow, and a young man’s voice.

“Who goes there, intruder into my lair?�

Aberforth started quivering to his fluffy purple slippers. “’Tis Aberforth Dumbledore, Sir,� he said bravely, the end of his knotty grey beard dancing in the firelight, casting obscure shadows over the walls. “And who might you be?�

The young man’s voice revealed himself as a person. “Why, it is King Arthur, the Alchemist, and apprentice to Sir Nicholas Flamel. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Sir Aberforth.�

Aberforth became flustered. Never had he been called ‘Sir’ before! The young man bent into a knee-deep bow, resting his hand on his chest. He wore medieval clothing, and brilliant silver chain mail covered his entirety beneath a fine scarlet cloth that served as a bib across his broad chest. Intelligence and authority sparkled in his eyes, and a gay smile crossed his face to reveal very straight, even teeth, albeit a little stained.

His hair was a little messed as he straightened up and shook Aberforth’s hands energetically between both palms, shaking away a defiant lock that feel across his eyes.

“I’d been ‘specting to find Flamel, see... but... well…� Aberforth trailed off, but Arthur appeared not to have seen nor heard his expression or tone of voice.

Arthur turned with delight to Chuck, who was hiding warily behind Aberforth. He turned to Aberforth with an expression of glee on his face. “Why, good man, who is this charming fellow of yours? Surely, he is your truest of friends! Why, look how he turns to you for protection! Please to meet your acquaintance …�

“Chuck,� Aberforth supplied, nudging Chuck out from behind his plum robe with a nudge of the fluffy slipper.

Arthur reached down and grasped Chuck’s hoof in his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Chuck,� he said happily.

He drew himself up to his full height again, and the glow from the fire lit up his face. He beamed. “Well, friends. To what honour to I stand in your presence?�

Aberforth considered for a moment. “Well, you know… King Arthur, the path lead us this way, and I don’t s’pose you’ve got any liquor?� he said slowly.

Arthur face crinkled for a second. “Path, man? What is this path you speak of? Surely not the one that lead to my triumph? The path to greatness? And please, good Sir, refer not to me as King, but merely, and humbly, Arthur.� He bowed low again.

Aberforth chuckled, “Oh, mighty no. No, no. Chuck and I are on a challenge!� He puffed out his chest proudly, and Chuck did the same. Arthur burst out laughing. It really was quiet absurd, actually.

“Well, I don’t suppose you noticed the plaque on the door, fellow? I’m quite lonely here by myself, you know.�

Aberforth nodded gravely. “Aye. Nicholas Flamel was a dear friend of my brother. I only knew him in passing, but he was the dearest of friends to Albus.�

Arthur’s face seemed to radiate with glee. “Surely you speak not of the great Albus Dumbledore? The very same who defeated Grindelwald in my time?�

Aberforth’s voice was gruff. “Well, yes of course lad! The one and the same. Very famous, he was, my brother Albus.�

Arthur’s face fell. “Was? You cannot possibly mean Albus Dumbledore is no more? Why, preposterous! Scale the fiend who ever suggested such a disgraceful assumption!�

Aberforth stared at him directly. “My brother was murdered under no uncertain terms. On this very ground, as a matter o’fact.�

Arthur stared at the ground sadly. “Time escapes me here, friend. Always has, always will. My work with dear Sir Nicholas was cut short by his imminent death. He too, had had enough of taking our precious Elixir to further preserve life as it is. I too, grow weary of this everlasting life.�

He lowered his eyes. “When came his time of passing, I retreated here, away from people. You see, Sir Aberforth, Nicholas was my dearest friend. Moreover, ‘twas not Merlin that aided me in my quest so much as three knights.�

His face radiated happiness. “Nicholas, your Albus, and Merlin all equally aided me in my task to find Excalibur. You see, friend, you brother holds indeed the truest compass of all. He holds the brother sword to my Excalibur. I believe it now resides up there, up where the student’s flit unknowingly of their castle’s past, or indeed, the future.� He nodded wisely.

“Those three helped me, Sir, and now, all are lost to me. All that remains is my sword.� He gestured to the corner, where, tucked away neatly rested a sword with a ruby set into the hilt, and a power reached Aberforth even from the other side of the room.

Aberforth stared at Arthur, a sad expression on his face. “You must get very lonely down ‘ere all by yerself. Nothing but your potions and your gizmos.�

He motioned to the bubbling cauldron in which he saw a leaping, simmering potion of the purest silver he had ever seen. He assumed this was the Elixir, and thought briefly, how long Arthur had been down here unaccompanied.

Arthur raised his glittering eyes to Aberforth’s own. They had a hungry lust to them, and Aberforth suddenly felt his blood run cold in the heat of the stuffy room. The tunnel that lead further underground had melded magically back into the sandstone wall, and the door remained shut behind him.

He glanced at the windows shortly, and Chuck’s pitiful bleat reminded him they were merely magical, just like the rest of this room and its occupants. He casually slid his wand hand inside his robe.

“Stay, stay here with me,� whispered Arthur softly. “You’re brilliant, just like your brother. You’d stay here, and be my companion! I could offer you happiness! Gold! Jewels, company, life ! I could offer you all of this, if you’d just stay with me!� he clung to Aberforth’s wand arm, and to his dismay, he felt his wand clattered to the floor.

“You can stay here with me! You can work with me!� Spittle flew from Arthur’s mouth. His pupils were dilated in the shadows cast by Aberforth’s height.

Aberforth tried to wrench his arm out of Arthur’s grasp. His mouth was a gaping hole in his face, and Chuck was bleating in shock and confusion. He ran crazily around, all the while Arthur and Aberforth were wrestling. Aberforth was desperately trying to get his arm out of Arthur’s desperate, iron grip, but was failing. Chuck bleated in fright for his friend and ran directly at the door, his head lowered and ready to charge.

With a might butt, he threw his weight against the door, and it opened with a groan. Chuck flew, aided by momentum out of the room, and skidded to a stop.

He swiftly turned around and ran back into the room, where smoke was now pouring copiously from the cauldron. Arthur still clung to Aberforth’s arm, and was still pleading with him to stay. Chuck readied himself to charge. He lowered his head again.

“Please, Sir Aberforth, good, kind, Aberforth. Stay here with me! I’m so lonely- arrriiigghh!�

Chuck butted him severely in the thigh, and Arthur tumbled back into the room, falling over some copper kettles and pot bellied porcelain china tea sets, black with soot from the fire that was now billowing smoke all over the room.

Aberforth rushed out, scrabbling for his wand as he leapt out the door. Arthur crawled to the opening, his arms outstretched.

“So lonely, Sir Aberforth, lone-�

Aberforth shut the door swiftly on Arthur, and he heard a strangled outburst of pain.

“Colloportus,� he said quickly, pointing his wand at the rusty, iron keyhole.

A real gust of wind blew overhead, and he blew down with it in his exhaustion. He buried his face in his hands.

“Chuck, with all these dead ends; I doubt we’ll ever reach the end of this blasted maze.�

Chuck nuzzled up against Aberforth, and Aberforth raised his azure blue eyes to the sky in deep thought.

A sudden crack drew his attention away from the tear-streaked glass, high above. Dobby was running full pelt towards Aberforth, pumping his little wrists up above his ears. Aberforth scrambled to his knees and threw out his right arm to catch Dobby around the middle.

His eyes were swimming with tears. “Dobby is sorry, Mister Dumbledore Sir. Dobby lost track of time, and he fears a student is to win the prize! Dobby is eternally sorry, Sir, for he knew the very prize which you must claim!�

Aberforth’s head spun. It was over. It was all over. “Elf,� he said shortly. “I’m finished. Me and Chuckie; we’re not going any further. We’ve run out of time.� He pointed to the watch that Albus had left him in his will.

The watches arms were rotating counter-clockwise, and skimmed over moons, stars and indigo back round. Lightning glinted off the gold rim and face of the watch, and Aberforth raised his eyes to Dobby’s tennis ball ones.

Insurmountable urgency rose within Aberforth as he gazed in Dobby’s large, watery eyes. Dobby sniffled, and then broke into a toothy smile.

“Oh, Mister Dumbledore! Follow me, please!�

He sped off through the arch, and into the pumpkin patch. Aberforth leapt to his feet, and Chuck was soon behind him. They sped across the small room quickly, and Aberforth grinned widely on sight of a long and narrow rickety looking stone cobbled bridge. On the other side shone a glass door.

Aberforth bounded over to the bridge, briefly wondering where Dobby had gotten to. He was about to set foot on the first mossy step, when a waist-height body thumped into his hip and sent him flying.

He landed comfortably in the bushes, and Chuck lowered his head and snickered silently. Mischief glinted in his eyes. Dobby ran up after Chuck, panting slightly.

“Mister Dumbledore,� he gulped in some air, “You almost stepped on that bridge, you did Sir!�

Aberforth chuckled from his awkward position among the ferns. “Well, of course I did, matey. You see, there’s the end of the maze!�

Dobby shook his head fearfully. “But Sir, I was watching before, and students almost toppled down, they did! Dobby had to intervene to make sure there were no casualties, he did.�

Aberforth dismissed Dobby with a wave of his hand. “Dobby fellow, we’ll be fine. A few short bounds across, and we’ll be on the other side!� Chuck bleated in affirmation, digging his hooves into the soft earth of the garden.

Dobby sighed. “It is at your own risk, Mister Dumbledore.� He bowed low, and extended a hand towards the bridge.

Aberforth promptly stood up, brushed the earth from his gown, and took a confident first step onto the bridge. He winked roguishly at a trembled Dobby. “See, lad, everything’s fine!�

Dobby shivered, and then continued onto the bridge with them. “If you say so, Sir.�

About halfway across, Aberforth looked down with delight. “Look, Chuck! That’s where we came in!�

He pointed to behind them to the right, where the heavy door could be seen, and then motioned to the left, where further down the path, a cluster of bushes and a bag of leaves could be seen propped up against a tree.

Dobby continued to walk warily, and Aberforth strutted confidently behind him. Three quarters of the way across the bridge, Dobby stopped. The bridge had been escalating at a slight slant, and they found themselves walked without knowing above and over a hedge. Directly below them, a stream bubbled and frothed across the grassy valley below. Ripples of water grew behind rocks and leapt across, white and foamy from the speed and effort.

“Look, Sir!� said Dobby, pointing to below them. Aberforth snorted.

“’Tis just a bit of water, Elf. Nothing of great harm. After all, blood is thicken than water. And my blood is true, good Elf, for we are at the door to the end of the maze.� He stomped his foot triumphantly down on a loose bit of the bridge to demonstrate his point. Aberforth’s expression wavered slightly, and Dobby gave a frightened squeal, and disappeared with a whip-like crack.

Aberforth turned around in a panic, and cursed as the bridge beneath his feet cracked and he plummeted feet into the frigid, fast paced water below.

Dobby appeared with a crack safely on the other side of the bridge, next to the door. Chuck had leapt to safety at the very last second, and was bleating in fright for his master.

“Mister Dumbledore, Sir,� Dobby wept squeakily.

Aberforth stayed submerged for all of a second before bobbing to the surface like a cork. He was sure, however, that he heard a quaver of the purest music in that split second, though.

He bobbed there in the freezing water, shivering. The rapids weren’t incredibly wide, but it was too difficult to think straight. He couldn’t discern exactly how deep the water was, but it had made his toes go numb just plummeting a few meters down.

A wave crashed over his head, and he coughed and spluttered. Another wave broke over a rock, and he frantically searched in his pocket for his wand.

Aberforth began to sink below the surface of the water. “S… S… Surculus!� he choked, squeezing his eyes shut and pointing his wand at his head before going fully underwater in a haze of bubbles, sounds and strangled breath.

His eyes were still squinted shut when he realized the haggard sounding breathing sounds were in fact, coming from him. He held his hands in front of his face, and was amazed to see the and feel the water ripple over them. He looked up, and saw a translucent force field and raging overhead, churning rapid.

A song of the purest notes captured his interest. He whipped his head around, and his grey hair floated behind him weightlessly. He upturned his head to the left, and listened with all his might.

Twisting, Turning
Tumbling, Churning

He strained his ears and swam tentatively towards the sound. A ghostly shadow passed in front of him. Scales glittered in the murky light coming down from above the surface, and Aberforth saw a pointed green leer aimed in his direction. The Merman twisted through the water, jabbing to a large pipe with his long, jagged, spiked tail.

Aberforth murmured his thanks. “Bringelly. Thank you.�

The Merman nodded his ascent briefly, and motioned to the pipe. The water was rushing towards it at a furious pace, and Aberforth could see light shining dimly through the murky haze of the water.

He kicked hard, propelling his way through the water with his slender hands and long legs. About five feet from the pipe; however, he stopped swimming, and instead was sucked through the tunnel.

A few moments of blind and eerily silent confusion followed as he inhaled copious amounts of water, and felt it navigate its’ wave up his nose and down his throat. Aberforth’s hands scrabbled against the insides of the narrow pipe, but the walls were smooth run from the years of water rapids.

He was ejected into the open abruptly, and gulped in grateful bursts of the cool air night.

He blinked the water out of his eyes, and shook his head like a mad dog. He was sitting waist deep in a shallow stream, and all around him were students, looking extremely waterlogged in their sodden robes. Some were shivering, wrapped in blankets with steam coming out of the ears, and others were sobbing into their friends’ shoulders.

He stared bemusedly as McGonagall made her way over stiffly.

“Well, Aberforth,� she said lightly, “It seems you were not to succeed this time around. Perhaps, next year.� She walked off straightly, and stopped in front of a Gryffindor student, Dean Thomas.

“Well done, Thomas. Was it that you retrieved from the Room? Let me see boy, and one hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor.�

Dean, who was grinning ear to ear, handed Professor McGonagall a heavy leather case. She opened it, and smiled appreciatively at the wide variety of potions, brushes and paints used in the wizarding world.

She handed it back to him with a smile. “Well done again, Mr. Thomas.�

“Thank you Miss,� he said, smiling toothily.

She raised her voice slightly. “All the rest of you, you’ll be escorted to your temporary quarters, and will be asked to attend the Breakfast in honour of the Champion later in the morning.�

Aberforth stuck a finger in his ear and shook out the water again. Dobby came out of a door near the pipe Aberforth had recently exited, leading Chuck by his knotted leash.

“Dobby brought your goat, Mister Dumbledore. Dobby tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen,� he said earnestly, shrugging his bony shoulders.

Aberforth chuckled. “That’s alright, Dobby,� he said kindly. “You weren’t without helping, lad.�

He patted Dobby on the back, and led a crestfallen Chuck up to the castle with the other students.

---

“And a big congratulations to Mr Dean Thomas of Gryffindor for safely navigating his way though the Hogwarts Gauntlet Maze! I think a round of applause is in order!�

McGonagall clapped politely and stepped aside for Dean to stand up the front of the great hall, clutching his leather briefcase. Aberforth smiled half-heartedly, and lead Chuck out through the open doors and down into the Entrance Hall.

He bent down on one knee to the loud applause within the Hall and ruffled Chuck’s ears.

“Chin up mate,� he said seriously, looking into Chuck eyes. The goat snorted, ducking his head briefly, and then raising his hairy chin happily.

“There’ll be next year. S’long as no twittering birdies do interfere with my eggs, you hear?�

Chuck bleated happily, and trotted off through the Main doors. Aberforth gave a last, longing look around the Entrance Hall, and then he too, exited through the main doors to enjoy another glorious morning.

Fin.