Post by Asphodel on Aug 21, 2007 18:58:24 GMT -5
A/N: My first prompt response! Albus seems to have been mysteriously replaced by a chatty little old lady in this fic. My apologies. Also, I’m rather sure a group of baby goats is not referred to as a litter, and that, quite possibly, they don’t even come in groups. Oh well! Minnie is a goat I’ve always thought Aberforth would have, which he named Minerva because he thought it was a good joke. The real Minerva didn’t return the sentiment.
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Dear Aberforth,
How are you? Are Minnie and the kids doing well? I imagine the kids are reaching their teething stage, aren’t they? So you will, of course, forgive me for writing you a letter instead of dropping by: If you’ll remember, your last litter of goats ate my favorite boots during their teething stage.
Minerva and I are doing quite as well as can be expected, though she did run into a spot of trouble involving Neville Longbottom, a melted cauldron, and an accidentally concocted batch of catnip. In young Mr. Longbottom’s defense, he did not intentionally create the catnip, and a somewhat less-than-sober Minerva is enough to amuse the best of us, though perhaps the boy oughtn’t have burst into laughter at the sight. A sight, which, funnily enough, involved a ball of yarn and a toy mouse one of the Slytherin students transfigured.
I wouldn’t mention that story to Minerva when you see her next, Aberforth. I simply wouldn’t advise it.
That debacle aside, the most spectacularly peculiar thing happened to us last week. Minerva and I went into Edinburgh for our monthly Saturday exploration of the Muggle world- which she really does enjoy, Aberforth, whatever she’s told you. She’s just never quite gotten over the fact that it was her idea for me to try those sherbet lemons in the first place. After all these years, you’d think-- well, at any rate, we’d been having an excellent morning, and decided to stop in for some coffee and biscuits (the latter for me, of course. It’s Ginger Newts for Minerva or nothing at all, as she tells me every single bloody time I offer her something else. She’d like my lemon biscuits, she really would, if she’d just try them, but no, she’s just too bull-headed about the issue. Which I found out the last time I tried, if you’d like to know. She turned me into a biscuit, which she said ought to be a lovely treat for me, but it really wasn’t because being a biscuit is very boring, Aberforth, and I thought I smelled absolutely delicious but I couldn’t eat myself. Even I, after all, have some limits on what I would deem ‘An Exceptionally Undignified Death,’ if also a very tasty one.)
I wouldn’t mention that story to Minerva, either, by the way.
I’m certain you’ve forgotten what I was talking about by now. Edinburgh, Saturday, a café for coffee and biscuits. Myself and Minerva. Right. So at any rate, we’d just sat down with our coffees (Mine a double mocha java cappuccino delight with extra sugar. Minerva’s a plain, black, boring coffee, but by this time, I’m learning it’s simply better not to argue.) inside this quiet little shop on the edge of town. Minerva wanted to talk about an article in Transfiguration Today-- a fascinating read, Aberforth, if only you’d ever bothered to learn actual words, instead of your ridiculous Grecian Rune translations-- and we’d just begun a very entertaining discussion on the matter, holding hands across the table as we only dare to do outside the magical world, when a woman positively bursts into the café, glaring at us furiously.
She was a muggle, thin, and blonde, and I can say quite positively that neither of us had ever seen her before in our lives. She apparently recognized us, however, and we’d done something to, well, Aberforth, she was rather pissed off, to quote a favorite phrase of Ronald Weasley.
We watched her as she stalked over to us, her eyes flashing down to the table angrily. “Stop doing that!” She hissed- yes, hissed at us. My eyes followed her gaze down to the table, where my hand was pleasantly intertwined with Minerva’s, a fact which seemed to be causing the woman some ire.
“I’m sorry?” I asked her, feeling, quite understandably, bewildered. “Stop what?”
“Stop that!” She told me, motioning to our hands.
I heard Minerva make her angry noise. This is almost always a bad thing. “What on earth do you mean by--” Minerva began, but was cut off quickly.
“You two are just friends!” She said in a loud whisper, now peering down at the two of us as though we were a pair of badly behaved dogs.
“Eh?” Sometimes even I lose my trademark eloquence.
“No idea what you think you’re doing!” The strange muggle woman continued. “I never even hinted at anything like this, anywhere! And I’ve already told everyone you two weren’t involved! So if you would please, kindly desist in this entirely out of character behavior I would very much appreciate it!”
I can safely say I’ve never been so confused by a muggle in my entire life.
“What are you bloody going on about?” My Minerva, ever to the point, was glaring right back at the woman, who only let out a huff.
“Very well then. I’ve already explained this to several hundred thousand deluded people, but I apparently let you two slip through the cracks. It’s like this: Not everybody falls in love with everybody ELSE!” We stared at her. “You two are just friends.”
I felt at this point, whoever and whatever this poor woman was, I really had to correct her on the fact, Aberforth. While it is very true that everyone does not fall in love with everyone else --wouldn’t that be a mess? Can you imagine, the entire populace struck by sudden spring fever and-- well, at any rate, while the first point was true, however random, she’d gotten the second quite wrong.
“I’m afraid, my dear, that you must have us confused with someone else,” I told her kindly. The look she gave me in return possibly made my beard smoke a bit. “You see, we-” I reached over to hold Minerva’s hand with both of mine. “are not, as you put it ‘just friends’. In fact-”
“Stop!” She said loudly, looking down at our hands in agitation. “This was not in any of the books!”
But I felt I had to continue and set her straight, though she was obviously not quite right in the head. I went on, speaking a little more loudly so she might not interrupt me again. “In fact, we have been married for over twenty six--”
“JUST. FRIENDS. ” She declared again, very nearly yelling. Minerva made to speak here, but the muggle woman made a violent shushing noise, and she fell silent. “Now,” said the blonde to us, after taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to hear about any more of this nonsense, yes? You two are just friends, I’m sure you see that, now.” She began to sound a bit dazed, as she backed away from us towards the door. “After all…I didn’t write it!” Then she glared at us one more time, and disappeared from the café with one more scathing, backwards glance.
I’ve no idea who the woman was, Aberforth, really, but I thought you’d like to know that apparently, Minerva and I are ‘just friends.’ We haven’t been married over twenty six years, and in love for thirty seven. We’re just friends. On I side note, I rather think we’ll wait awhile before trying Edinburgh again. Even if the biscuits were excellent.
Firecall when the kids have outgrown their teething, dear brother, and Minvera and I will swing round dinner, shall we? Now I’ve got to go translate this thing into runes so you can read it (which will take hours, you ridiculous man, but better this than answer the stack of letters from Cornelius sitting on my desk. At this point, Aber, I’m, afraid one of your goats would make a better Minister. At least they wouldn’t deny it after they’d destroyed everything. And I rather think someone might even give them an award if they managed to get their jaws on Cornelius’s ghastly green bowler. Merlin, Third Class, at least, for ridding Wizarding Society of it’s real greatest evil.) Ah well. Cheers!
Love,
Your Brother,
Albus.
--------
So, I've actually been out of town for a month with no computer. Coming back to news about the interview was a bit... disappointing, so I decided to vent a little this way. I have to say though, don't take this too seriously, yeah? JKR is still a godess in my eyes. She just, er...made a mistake. ;D
-------
Dear Aberforth,
How are you? Are Minnie and the kids doing well? I imagine the kids are reaching their teething stage, aren’t they? So you will, of course, forgive me for writing you a letter instead of dropping by: If you’ll remember, your last litter of goats ate my favorite boots during their teething stage.
Minerva and I are doing quite as well as can be expected, though she did run into a spot of trouble involving Neville Longbottom, a melted cauldron, and an accidentally concocted batch of catnip. In young Mr. Longbottom’s defense, he did not intentionally create the catnip, and a somewhat less-than-sober Minerva is enough to amuse the best of us, though perhaps the boy oughtn’t have burst into laughter at the sight. A sight, which, funnily enough, involved a ball of yarn and a toy mouse one of the Slytherin students transfigured.
I wouldn’t mention that story to Minerva when you see her next, Aberforth. I simply wouldn’t advise it.
That debacle aside, the most spectacularly peculiar thing happened to us last week. Minerva and I went into Edinburgh for our monthly Saturday exploration of the Muggle world- which she really does enjoy, Aberforth, whatever she’s told you. She’s just never quite gotten over the fact that it was her idea for me to try those sherbet lemons in the first place. After all these years, you’d think-- well, at any rate, we’d been having an excellent morning, and decided to stop in for some coffee and biscuits (the latter for me, of course. It’s Ginger Newts for Minerva or nothing at all, as she tells me every single bloody time I offer her something else. She’d like my lemon biscuits, she really would, if she’d just try them, but no, she’s just too bull-headed about the issue. Which I found out the last time I tried, if you’d like to know. She turned me into a biscuit, which she said ought to be a lovely treat for me, but it really wasn’t because being a biscuit is very boring, Aberforth, and I thought I smelled absolutely delicious but I couldn’t eat myself. Even I, after all, have some limits on what I would deem ‘An Exceptionally Undignified Death,’ if also a very tasty one.)
I wouldn’t mention that story to Minerva, either, by the way.
I’m certain you’ve forgotten what I was talking about by now. Edinburgh, Saturday, a café for coffee and biscuits. Myself and Minerva. Right. So at any rate, we’d just sat down with our coffees (Mine a double mocha java cappuccino delight with extra sugar. Minerva’s a plain, black, boring coffee, but by this time, I’m learning it’s simply better not to argue.) inside this quiet little shop on the edge of town. Minerva wanted to talk about an article in Transfiguration Today-- a fascinating read, Aberforth, if only you’d ever bothered to learn actual words, instead of your ridiculous Grecian Rune translations-- and we’d just begun a very entertaining discussion on the matter, holding hands across the table as we only dare to do outside the magical world, when a woman positively bursts into the café, glaring at us furiously.
She was a muggle, thin, and blonde, and I can say quite positively that neither of us had ever seen her before in our lives. She apparently recognized us, however, and we’d done something to, well, Aberforth, she was rather pissed off, to quote a favorite phrase of Ronald Weasley.
We watched her as she stalked over to us, her eyes flashing down to the table angrily. “Stop doing that!” She hissed- yes, hissed at us. My eyes followed her gaze down to the table, where my hand was pleasantly intertwined with Minerva’s, a fact which seemed to be causing the woman some ire.
“I’m sorry?” I asked her, feeling, quite understandably, bewildered. “Stop what?”
“Stop that!” She told me, motioning to our hands.
I heard Minerva make her angry noise. This is almost always a bad thing. “What on earth do you mean by--” Minerva began, but was cut off quickly.
“You two are just friends!” She said in a loud whisper, now peering down at the two of us as though we were a pair of badly behaved dogs.
“Eh?” Sometimes even I lose my trademark eloquence.
“No idea what you think you’re doing!” The strange muggle woman continued. “I never even hinted at anything like this, anywhere! And I’ve already told everyone you two weren’t involved! So if you would please, kindly desist in this entirely out of character behavior I would very much appreciate it!”
I can safely say I’ve never been so confused by a muggle in my entire life.
“What are you bloody going on about?” My Minerva, ever to the point, was glaring right back at the woman, who only let out a huff.
“Very well then. I’ve already explained this to several hundred thousand deluded people, but I apparently let you two slip through the cracks. It’s like this: Not everybody falls in love with everybody ELSE!” We stared at her. “You two are just friends.”
I felt at this point, whoever and whatever this poor woman was, I really had to correct her on the fact, Aberforth. While it is very true that everyone does not fall in love with everyone else --wouldn’t that be a mess? Can you imagine, the entire populace struck by sudden spring fever and-- well, at any rate, while the first point was true, however random, she’d gotten the second quite wrong.
“I’m afraid, my dear, that you must have us confused with someone else,” I told her kindly. The look she gave me in return possibly made my beard smoke a bit. “You see, we-” I reached over to hold Minerva’s hand with both of mine. “are not, as you put it ‘just friends’. In fact-”
“Stop!” She said loudly, looking down at our hands in agitation. “This was not in any of the books!”
But I felt I had to continue and set her straight, though she was obviously not quite right in the head. I went on, speaking a little more loudly so she might not interrupt me again. “In fact, we have been married for over twenty six--”
“JUST. FRIENDS. ” She declared again, very nearly yelling. Minerva made to speak here, but the muggle woman made a violent shushing noise, and she fell silent. “Now,” said the blonde to us, after taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to hear about any more of this nonsense, yes? You two are just friends, I’m sure you see that, now.” She began to sound a bit dazed, as she backed away from us towards the door. “After all…I didn’t write it!” Then she glared at us one more time, and disappeared from the café with one more scathing, backwards glance.
I’ve no idea who the woman was, Aberforth, really, but I thought you’d like to know that apparently, Minerva and I are ‘just friends.’ We haven’t been married over twenty six years, and in love for thirty seven. We’re just friends. On I side note, I rather think we’ll wait awhile before trying Edinburgh again. Even if the biscuits were excellent.
Firecall when the kids have outgrown their teething, dear brother, and Minvera and I will swing round dinner, shall we? Now I’ve got to go translate this thing into runes so you can read it (which will take hours, you ridiculous man, but better this than answer the stack of letters from Cornelius sitting on my desk. At this point, Aber, I’m, afraid one of your goats would make a better Minister. At least they wouldn’t deny it after they’d destroyed everything. And I rather think someone might even give them an award if they managed to get their jaws on Cornelius’s ghastly green bowler. Merlin, Third Class, at least, for ridding Wizarding Society of it’s real greatest evil.) Ah well. Cheers!
Love,
Your Brother,
Albus.
--------
So, I've actually been out of town for a month with no computer. Coming back to news about the interview was a bit... disappointing, so I decided to vent a little this way. I have to say though, don't take this too seriously, yeah? JKR is still a godess in my eyes. She just, er...made a mistake. ;D
I love the letter format, it made it interesting to read. Awesome job! 
