Palette

Albus enjoyed almost all of the subjects they studied at Hogwarts, and almost all of them he mastered. There was one exception as there usually is one exception that proves the rule, and for him it was flying on a broomstick which, thankfully, was quickly over with the first year of Hogwarts. He wasn’t just bad at flying, he was absolutely terrible at it, much to the delight of his younger brother Aberfoth. He would taunt Albus, call him “a wet hen on a broomstick” and laugh so heartily that even Albus himself wouldn’t be able to resist the smile forming on his lips. He admitted his flaws, and his awkward and clumsy attempts to learn flying came to an inevitable end when he got a scar under his knee after a very unpleasant encounter with a roof of their house while trying to help Aberforth train for the quidditch team. “This is unbelievable,” Aberfoth said afterwards. “You might very well be the worst wizard ever to fly a broom.” “A remarkable achievement indeed,” agreed Albus and added. “Would you say I am the worst wizard to fly a broom in the History of Magic?” Aberforth rolled his eyes and pretended to be on the verge of throwing up. His younger brother Aberforth was never a scholar. He was quick-tempered and excelled in duelling thanks to both his intuitive magic and his wits. The moment Aberfoth was about to lose a duel, he would fight with his fists the way Scottish wizards of the past would. There was no shame in losing if your opponent had also lost, at least, a tooth. Aberforth wasn’t a bad student, but there was one subject he hated with all the passion of his fiery Gryffindor heart, and that subject was History of Magic. Aberfoth was the first to call it the most boring, stupid and unnecessary lesson of all, and he didn’t just struggle with it, oh, no, he was in the active stage of war with the whole History of Magic and Professor Bins. The latter would have been utterly surprised to learn that he was at war with anybody, by the way. On a warm and sunny day of summer, just a week after their returning from Hogwarts, Albus walked in a garden with a book only to see his younger brother building a fire in the farthest corner of their backyard. It was a small but fierce fire, just as small and fierce as Aberforth himself was. “What is happening here, Aberforth?” Albus asked and came a little closer to have a better look. Aberforth was feeding the fire with parchments and papers, and he looked delighted by doing it. “It’s the past,” said Aberforth with a grin and added another parchment to the fire. “It is burning down.” Albus raised his eyebrow. “The past?” “Yeah. We have to choose subjects for next year. And I decided to drop History of Magic. I’d rather pick up something useful…” “Like what?” “Like a quidditch bat to play for the team,” Aberforth grinned. “Because some of us can actually fly, you know.” For a moment Albus was tempted to say that Aberforth had got it all wrong. He wasn’t going to choose which subjects to study, all the subjects were there to stay. He would have to choose extra subjects to learn… Then he looked at the fire again. “So, correct me if I am wrong… you decided to drop History of Magic…” “Yes.” “… and you dropped it into the fire.” “I did. And don’t you dare to spoil the fun for me!” “Oh, I would never,” Albus smiled. “Have fun.” He went on to read his book and decided to leave it up to the Head of Gryffindor House to break the news to Aberforth. After all, he was a wet hen on a broomstick, he wouldn’t dare to spoil the fun for his brother.