A/N: Okay all, I've read many a story, but never have I written one, this is my first one. And it will be containing slight Spoilers for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, so if you don't want them, leave.
I got this idea the instant I read/ heard the second chapter, the one with Dumbledore's obituary. It is probably terrible, but anything I can do to better it please tell me. And keep in mind, this is my first and only, also a one-shot.
Never Enough
"What do you see when you look in the mirror?" the lad asked me.
Something personal, very personal. Though, with all I must hide from him, protect him from, perhaps this small truth is best... I remember, once again, the first time I confronted the mirror; Having read much about it, I thought myself prepared...
Looking into the mirror, I see all I have lost over the years; Father and Mum. Both of them are healthy, and it is as though none of all that passed had ever happened.
I see myself, young again, happy, with Aberforth by my side. Friends, brothers once again. Gellert; in the mirror-world, I succeeded where I failed in this one. He is happy and well, saved from his darkness, with me.
But more than that, more than any of that, Ariana, sweet, innocent, Ariana. Sane, happy, and whole, standing between Aberforth and myself, protected from the world.
Memories swirl and rise to the surface, after it had happened.
In an empty house, before a crackling fireplace, though it was a rather hot and humid summer, four people stood.
"But Mum, why do we have to move?"
"Albus Percival," Kendra Dumbledore exclaimed sternly. "I've told you more times than I can count! We are moving for your sister's health. She is unwell and the air in Godric's Hollow can only help her."
"We keep her inside all the time," another, slightly younger boy stated. "What good will country airs do her, stuck in a house?"
"That's not all the treatment Ariana will receive," stated a rather put out Kendra. "I will be teaching her to sing."
A disbelieving silence settled over the pair of boys, as the small girl in question stood by her mother, hugging a stuffed toy.
"To sing?" Both of them queried, unable to believe such a thing could help their sister.
"And knit," she added, the current expression upon her face would later be likened to two very similar witches. "I will also be teaching Ariana to knit."
"What ruddy good will knitting needles do Ariana!?" The younger boy nearly shrieked. "She's ill, not looking for hobbies!"
A slap to the head silenced Aberforth Dumbledore.
"Language! These things focus the mind; allowing one to direct their feelings." She explained. "Ariana needs these things. Furthermore," she continued. "I charge you to find any witch, no, woman, worth their salt who cannot knit. A proper woman, a good woman, will be able to knit."
"Yes mum."
"Now then, we've got everything?" she asked, peering over them, to look for any loose articles they might have dropped. No one speaking up she stepped forward with Ariana's hand in her own. "Let's go then, remember, it's 'Hivery Place'." With that, Kendra Dumbledore, a formidable woman, and mother, stepped into the roaring fireplace, and disappeared.
She was right, of course, she nearly always had been.
Never did Ariana ever look more like herself than when she sang, sweet, clear, and melodious. Nor did she tremble or falter when she knitted, needles working shapes from simple yarn. It was during these times that all seemed well, Ariana's voice floating through the house, singing. More than singing though, Ariana loved knitting; she progressed rapidly through the basics, surprising even Mother.
It was as if, I once mused, she was working her magic through ways I was unable to. From simple scarves she moved on to many other things, jumpers, socks, even a small bear she made. And I remember that one Christmas day, the day I received a gift I will always remember and treasure.
Christmas carols rang throughout Hivery Place, brightened even more by fresh snow. A roaring fireplace with a Yule log crackling merrily, warming the house. And beneath a large Fir be-decked with fairy lights and tinsel that sparkled on its own, presents were guarded by its boughs.
"Happy Christmas Arri!" Aberforth said, clamping her in a hug, handing a small, rectangular package wrapped in parchment.
A look of far-off delight shone in her eyes as she neatly undid the parchment.
"Oh Abby, new knitting needles! Thank you thank you thank you!"
"I wish you wouldn't call me that..."
Jumping over to the tree, she picked up two lumpy parcels.
"Here Alby, Abby! I made them myself." Pride shining in her every movement. Aberforth and I both opened the gifts. In Aberforth's hands, a stuffed, knitted ram, and in mine, a plethora of thick, woolen socks.
"I know," she explained. "I know you said it gets cold at Hogwarts in the winter, I hope they help."
"They're lovely Ariana, I shall never take them off." I honestly replied.
"Alby, that would smell horrible!"
"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
The lad stared at me, certainly thinking I was mad.
"One can never have enough socks," I explained. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."
With that, I left.
No, it will never be enough.