This is an old one-shot I wrote for a competition I was in on a website a few years ago and I decided to post it. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling and I own nothing.

You lie hidden beneath the long, unclipped grass, your knees tucked beneath you as you stare solemnly at the ground in front of you. Your eyes harden as you take in the smooth, grey surface of the gravestone that is planted above her grave. Kendra Dumbledore, it reads,A Beloved Mother. You cannot pretend that she is not dead for any longer: the proof resides in front of you, openly and clearly.

You clench your fists tightly, but not because of the bitter, harsh cold that hangs around the graveyard at these late hours. If you were afraid of the cold, you would not have come here tonight, during these bitter cold months. After all, December always brings heavy blizzards and freezing snows to Godric's Hollow, as you have noted for the past six years. No, it isn't the cold that sets your heart beating so fast every single night that you almost fear it's your dying day, nor is it why you lie awake for hours on end, tossing and turning until shadows develop beneath your eyes.

It is her death, and the responsibility that comes with it.

You always knew that you would never be able to cope by yourself. You always knew you didn't have the strength to look after both of them. You always knew that it was only Aberforth and her who could understand your troubled sister. You had always been the one who avoided Ariana because of all the shame and embarrassment she caused. You never bothered to walk into that room- that dreaded room that haunted your thoughts night and day- and give her a smile or even a look that showed your sister that you cared. Only your mother and brother looked after her. And now, because of all that fierce emotion Kendra had held for her daughter, she was now dead. That love had only caused her to meet an unhappy fate.

"You knew I could never look after them! So why did you die and leave me to be their provider? I- I'm only eighteen! Why is there all this injustice in the world? I…love my sister and Aberforth…but it's not fair that I have to be tied down with them," you cry, your voice sounding childish even to your own ears. You bury your face in your frozen hands and feel your lips go numb from the cold. What is the point of yelling at a dead person? Kendra is dead and gone; you have no one to turn to anymore. Your father has died in prison and now she is dead.

"Man up, Albus! You can't always spend your time in your room, trying to fill your head with knowledge and information. Life isn't only about logic and being smart, you know. There are some things more important than that- things like love! When was the last time you ever even bothered looking at Ariana? When? You'd better change before it's too late, Albus. Someday, you're going to have to accept your fate and your responsibilities, and pay more attention to them than being the 'Golden Boy'."

His words cut through you like a knife. Everything he had said that night- that night when you had both sat silently next to your dead mother, after watching the life drain out of her slowly for hours on end- had been true, but you had refused to acknowledge it at the time. Now, only a week later, you know how right he had been.

Albus Dumbledore, the Golden Boy. The boy who had conquered the most difficult and complex of spells at only twelve; the boy whose name had appeared on the most advanced magical texts and books when he had only been sixteen. The boy all the teachers loved, the boy all parents prayed for. What went wrong with that perfect picture?

Ariana.

Once again, you feel your blood boil as you think of her. You know it is wrong for you to blame her for everything that has been dropped onto your shoulders now, and yet you are incapable of blaming anyone else. And what's not to blame? It's her fault your mother is dead, it's her fault your father rotted away in Azkaban, and it's her fault you have to stay home like a babysitter!

Frustrated, you run a hand through your long, ginger locks and kick angrily at the ground beneath you. You give your mother's grave another long, angry glare before standing and walking away through the large grave-yard.

It is a clear, cloudless night. The moon shines fully and brightly in the dark velvet sky, with stars strewn out randomly across the heavens. Tufts of snow fall fast, leaving the grave-yard grounds covered in a thick blanket of pure white flakes. You shudder slightly, as a harsh wind blows over the solemn graveyard, sending shivers down your spine. Shoving your hands deep inside your pockets, you bend your head down to ward off the worst effects of the bitter cold, and trudge slowly in between the graves, feeling your boots crunch through the soft, melting snow.

As soon as you are outside the boundaries of the grave-yard, you slowly turn on your heel and apparate back to Godric's Hollow. You feel the same swooping sensation as you travel through time and space and close your eyes, waiting to feel solid ground underneath you. Sure of that, you open your eyes and blink a few times, trying to adjust to the dim lighting. Looking at the huge clock on the side of the village post office, you can see that it is nearing twilight. Sighing, you make your way slowly down the empty streets towards your home.

It is Christmas Eve and the roads are empty, save for a few tired Muggles hurrying back from their jobs, their faces twisted into expressions of sheer exhaustion. You look at them briefly and take in their tired looks and their Christmas shopping bags that are filled to the brim. You have never had a proper Christmas. It was never deemed safe to celebrate with a child as unstable as Ariana in the vicinity. You turn away angrily to look at the snow-covered road and kick it with your feet. Why did everything always have to be about her? Your parents had never paid any attention to you; it was always Ariana, Ariana, and Ariana. He didn't care if those kids had tortured her to the brink of breaking. He just wanted to once, once, get the impression that his parents had ever loved him.

Yet they were now dead, and it was useless to fantasize about what could have been.

You reach the gates of your small home and push open the metal bars, revealing your secluded home. After your mother's funeral, you had neglected to water her small flower bed and now the lilies and roses had wilted and died. You feel a burst of anger rush through you but you don't care. "It's snowing anyway," you mutter, "They were going to die whether she liked it or not."

Brambles and thorns run up the brown brick walls, entwining themselves tightly around each other until they reach the red rooftop. The windows are all sealed tightly, the curtains pulled over them so that no one can see what goes on beyond those sealed doors. You feel your temper rising again. It's all Ariana's fault. All this- all this privacy and seclusion has all been done just so that she could be safe. You snort to yourself. She doesn't deserve any of this. All Ariana has ever done is take away both of your parents and leave you an orphan.

You try to calm yourself down and you make your way down the gravel pathway that leads up to your door. Your hand is barely on the doorknob when you hear footsteps approach from inside. Moments later, the door has opened and a small, dark haired elderly woman is standing in front of you, a large hat fixed over her long hair.

"Oh Albus," she says, her expression softening, "It's you."

"Ms. Bagshot," you murmur in response. Bathilda Bagshot has been your neighbor since before you can remember. She was one of the few who had known the truth of Ariana's mental state. You look beyond her into the dark house and turn to her in response. "Where's Aberforth?"

"He went out to get a present for Ariana, the poor soul, in this weather. I told him not to, but he didn't listen. And you were out, so I came to look after her. Such a sweet boy to his sister, though he gets into all those fights. She's so lucky to have a brother like that." You see a smile cross over her features as she thinks of her your brother and your face heats up. It is uncomfortable to stand here and watch her muse over how sweet your younger brother is.

Suddenly, as if for the first time she is realizing that you are there, she jumps and clutches her purse and gives her hat a firm tug. "Well, I must be off now, dear, but do go keep an eye on your sister. I have to get back home. My nephew is coming you see." She throws a pointed look in his direction. "It's high time you spent some time looking after her, Albus. If you only took the time to love her and appreciate all her good qualities, it would do you good. Get a little Christmas spirit in this house. It's what Kendra would have wanted." She looks at you again and then grabs your arm, pulling you into the house after her. You watch in silence as she drags you down your staircase into the basement and thrusts you inside. She nods curtly, and then, with a firm goodbye, walks up the wooden staircase and out of your house.

You look around the dark basement, which is only lit by the faint glow of a lantern which has been placed on a table in the middle of it. You shut your eyes, hoping you are not stuck alone with your sister. Running a hand through your hair, you breathe out slowly. Maybe it'll do you good, a voice in your head whispers, maybe you'll finally understand her.

Your eyes open and you find yourself staring at her. She is standing still below the only window in the room, through which a slice of moonlight is coming through. She is wearing a white nightgown, with her long, dark red hair loosely falling down her thin back. Her fragile hands are picking at the wood slowly, her dark eyes tilted upwards towards the window frame. For a moment you ponder at what she is thinking of and find yourself calling out to her.

"Ariana." Your voice sounds weak and pathetic even to your own ears. You find your anger has melted away, replaced by a sudden wave of sadness and pent-up emotion.

She barely acknowledges your presence. She simply turns her head to the side and gives you a sad smile, before resuming her silent stare at the window. You look down at your hands, suddenly ashamed by your behavior. Ariana has never been able to speak; she has only been able to communicate through actions instead of words. This does not bother you- instead, it's the fact that she has refused to even send anything but a smile in your direction. You have witnessed what happens when your brother enters the room. She always rushes up to him with a gleeful smile, her arms thrown out in a hug. But she has always loved Aberforth more. She has never loved you that way, and you know now that it's past the time to make amends.

Or is it? It's never too late to apologize.

You jump as that voice runs through you, and shudder. How can you apologize to her for acting like she never existed? How can you say sorry for never showing her you cared for or loved her? How can you say sorry for all those years you stood around, ashamed of her- speaking openly of her to public just to avoid being called a liar who stood up for a mental head-case?

A tear slowly runs down your cheek. It was wrong of you to do that, you now realize. What good has it ever done to you? You watch her as she smiles at a butterfly which is fluttering outside her window and redden again. You take back all those things you ever said back about her. She is just an innocent, loving little girl, who had a horrific experience that a small child should never have had to endure.

And you have never been there to support her.

"I'm sorry for everything," you whisper to her quietly, "I'm sorry for acting like I never cared. Because I do care. I love you so much Ariana. You are my sister, and from now on, I will do anything to try to make myself worthy of being your brother."

You don't want to leave her standing there, but you can't help it. All that guilt is growing inside you, and you feel like at any moment you're going to crack. You slowly make your way up the stairs, but a sudden tug on the back of your coat stops you.

Turning around, you see Ariana standing a little ways behind you, her hands cupped out in front of her. She has a small, serene smile on her face. You watch as she looks down at her hands and then opens them. You look at her face as her smile grows wider, and feel her eyes sparkle brightly as she hands the object in her hands towards you, and then turns around.

It is a small lily. Not dead nor wilted, but alive and blooming, its petals a little wet, as if it has been standing in water. For a moment, a smile crosses over your solemn features as you realize something.

Sometimes, all it takes is a single smile to change a man.

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