She was now, predominately, his greatest regret.
But then, she had always been, first and foremost, his largest inconvenience.
He supposed she could have been pretty, she could have had a brilliant smile or contagious laugh. Instead, she had a depressing aura and an overwhelming sense of regret, madness, and rather keenly, pity.
She could have been brilliant, theoretically. She could have outweighed Albus in even his greatest achievements. She could have been Ana, or Anne, or little sister or chatterbox or stubborn or brave.
Instead, she was a limitation, an obstruction in Albus' bright, and prospering future. She could have been someone, but instead she was no one.
Gellert had mentioned she held him back, as if Albus did not know this, as if he didn't angrily pound on his bed frame as she screamed in the night, praying silently that Aberforth would handle it.
But Albus did not care, not with Gellert. Because the way Gellert speaks so passionately, and so stronglyas he doodles a triangle, and a circle and a wand is both seductive and terrifying. Albus should have seen then that such an ambition would end Gellert Grindelwald, would twist him into an ugly thing wrapped in darkness and filth, with a seductive smirk that no longer had Dumbledore dizzy with desire and eagerness, but a world weary sense of dread and regret.
But then, Albus was blinded by Gellerts' golden hair, boyish smile with a sense of rakish trickery and wild recklessness. Albus should have known then, the secret smiles and quick winks, the teasing fingering of his collar as he dipped his head back languidly, gazing at Albus with unashamed amusement as Albus stared at his long, hollow neck.
Gellert loved to trick people, and later, to manipulate his friends.
He liked Gellert significantly less than he hated his sister, and the hindrance she place upon him.
She could have been anything, but instead, she was no one.