After leaving the Gaunt ancestral home, Dumbledore summoned Fawkes. Crimson flames surged up in front of them.
"Phew. That was quite the adventure," Dumbledore said, stroking Fawkes's feathers. He glanced sideways at Lucien. "How about we grab a bite? We can talk more about the Resurrection Stone and the Deathly Hallows while we're at it."
Lucien had no reason to refuse.
The red flames wrapped around them both and vanished.
...
A moment later the fire faded. The two of them stood in front of a rundown tavern.
A battered wooden sign hung above the door, fixed to the wall by a rusted iron bracket. Painted on it was a severed pig's head wrapped in a bloodstained white cloth, the red seeping through so thoroughly it looked fresh and dripping. One glance was enough to make most people want to look away.
Lucien eyed the "very characterful" sign and blinked. That pig's head was…
He turned toward Dumbledore just as the headmaster pushed open the greasy, heavy wooden door. The hinges let out a long, ear-scraping creak.
Lucien pulled his gaze from the sign and followed him inside.
The second he crossed the threshold, a thick wave of goat stench hit him square in the face, mixed with the smell of old wood and dust. Lucien wrinkled his nose, half tempted to open a window for some air.
The room was small. A few crooked tables and chairs with wobbly legs sat scattered around. The bay windows were so thick with grime that almost no light made it through from outside.
At first glance the floor looked like packed dirt, but when Lucien stepped on it he realized it was the original stone, buried under layer after layer of years of filth. It had a faintly sticky, slick feel underfoot.
Behind the bar stood an old man—tall and thin, with a wild mess of gray-white hair and beard that covered most of his face. He was slowly polishing a glass.
He didn't look up. His voice came out rough and gravelly.
"We're not open. And even if we were, I couldn't afford to serve the great Headmaster of Hogwarts—"
Dumbledore acted like he hadn't heard a word of the dismissal. He simply started ordering.
"I'll take today's special, please."
The old man ignored him completely and kept wiping the already gleaming glass with his rag.
Dumbledore didn't look the least bit embarrassed. He turned and pointed at Lucien.
"It's for this young wizard. He saved this old man's life today. I specifically brought him here to try the best food in the world."
At the words "saved my life," the old man's polishing hand paused for a second. He finally lifted his head and looked at the two of them.
When the old man raised his face, Lucien got a clear look. Tall and thin. Wild hair and beard. A grim expression that carried a faint, uncomfortable edge.
But his eyes—those eyes were the exact same deep blue as Dumbledore's, the kind that looked like they could see straight through a person.
Lucien's gaze lingered on the old man's face for a moment. The pig's head on the sign outside, the open hostility toward Dumbledore, and the goat smell filling the tavern…
He recognized him instantly.
Aberforth. Aberforth Dumbledore.
The younger brother of the headmaster standing right beside him.
Aberforth set the glass down. "So you sweet-talked another young idiot into running your errands? Same as that Hufflepuff kid years ago."
He looked Lucien over with open appraisal. "Hey, kid. Which house?"
"Ravenclaw."
Aberforth shook his head. "Tch. Ravenclaws are supposed to be the clever ones. And you still let yourself get talked into this?"
Lucien silently noted that when it came to Dumbledore's habit of "using people," Aberforth and Tina seemed to share the exact same opinion. Those two would probably get along great.
Aberforth said nothing more. He turned and headed for the stove in the back, boots thudding heavily on the floor.
Dumbledore led Lucien to a table toward the rear and sat down.
"This is Hogsmeade. You'll be free to come visit next term."
From the stove, Aberforth tossed in a flat, uninterested correction. "Only on certain weekends."
Dumbledore acted like he hadn't heard. "This one here was sneaking into the Forbidden Forest for fun as a first-year. A trip to Hogsmeade is nothing for him, right?"
Lucien's face went a little awkward. He ducked his head and pretended to study the stains on the tabletop.
Aberforth made a vague "ooh" sound from the stove.
"Kid's got a death wish. How the hell did the Sorting Hat not dump you in Gryffindor?"
Only a few sentences later, Aberforth was already walking over with a plate. He dropped it unceremoniously on the table in front of Lucien.
On the plate sat a grayish lump of mush—not entirely gray. Bits of green, yellow, and red were mixed through it, like leftover scraps of food had been stirred together.
Naturally, there was nothing for Dumbledore.
Aberforth turned straight back behind the bar, picked up the glass again, and resumed polishing it like he was trying to make it bloom flowers.
Dumbledore didn't care in the slightest. He kept smiling. "Don't be shy, Lucien. Dig in. It's excellent."
Lucien stared down at the gray mush on the plate and stayed quiet for a second.
This is actually edible… right?
Under Dumbledore's encouraging gaze, Lucien finally lifted the spoon, scooped up a bite, and shoved it into his mouth.
The moment the flavor of the mush bloomed across his tongue, Lucien's eyes lit up a little.
Whoa.
You really couldn't judge a mush by its looks.