A/N: "Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply; and it must be by a long and unnatural estrangement, by a divorce which no subsequent connection can justify, if such precious remains of the earliest attachments are ever entirely outlived." - Jane Austen.

Rated for a bit of mild swearing.

It was raining: a cold, dreary, grey day. Few mourners were there, as few as there had been at another funeral not so long ago. The Dumbledore family had always kept to themselves.

Strange, thought Bathilda, standing there and shivering in the drizzle, to be mourning a girl you barely knew existed. She looked peaceful, lying there without the tiny, vaguely confused frown she had worn the few times Bathilda had caught a glimpse of her. And they were next-door neighbours, had been for years.

Bathilda shivered again. She could have put an Impervius charm on herself as Albus had done on the open coffin, but it seemed disrespectful somehow, especially when Aberforth and Albus seemed completely unaware of the rain, staring silently at the pale, cold body of their sister. Honoria was fidgeting and looking around, clearly tempted to at least conjure herself an umbrella, but her nerve failed her and she clasped her hands tightly together.

The little bald wizard leading the funeral droned on and on, and Bathilda caught a few words here and there, most of which struck her as being singularly inappropriate: "…dearly loved and missed…" and both her brothers looking like they had been carved out of stone, standing stiffly side by side, "…the many fond memories her friends had of her…" why, hardly anybody even knew she existed, "…a tragic calamity that took the life of this poor, young girl…" at least he had something right, then, it certainly was a tragedy, especially since Kendra's funeral hadn't been that long ago …

The rain slowed to a barely perceptible drizzle, then stopped. The Ministry official finished his speech and gestured to Albus, who stepped forward and closed the coffin. Together, the last two members of the Dumbledore family picked it up and lowered it into the gaping hole in the earth, then, as was traditional, shovelled dirt over the coffin. The Ministry official waved his wand and the granite tombstone next to it seemed to grow, spreading across the ground until it covered the newly made grave as well.

"I'll leave the inscription to you, lad."

"Thank you, sir," answered Albus.

"I'm sorry, Albus, Aberforth," said Honoria, approaching them awkwardly and holding out her hand. "This must be a hard time for both of you – especially you, Albus, so young and already responsible for the whole family…"

"Thank you for coming," said Albus. He was behaving beautifully, thought Bathilda. She could see the shadows underneath his eyes, the paleness of his face, but despite his sorrow, he never forgot what was due to others, she had to say that for him.

How unlike him Aberforth was, whose eyes were gleaming with some repressed emotion, grief or anger, maybe, and who was flatly refusing to acknowledge Honoria or shake her hand. Perhaps Honoria hadn't been the most attentive aunt, but who could blame her, after Perceival had been imprisoned in Azkaban and Kendra had moved the family away to a prison of her own making in Godric's Hollow?

Bathilda began to move forward, to offer her own condolences, but Albus was raising his wand now, cutting words into the smooth granite below Kendra's dates of birth and death.

And her daughter Ariana.

Albus paused for a moment, then his jaw tightened and with a firm hand, he wrote:

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

A strange kind of quote, Bathilda reflected, more like a reminder to the living than a tribute to the dead. Then again, Albus Dumbledore was a genius, so who knew what he was thinking?

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she glimpsed a spasm cross Aberforth's face, and wondered at it. Was he angry that he had not had a choice in his mother's and sister's epitaph?

But Albus had lowered his wand, tucked it away, and surely she had to say something now.

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss," she began, looking at Aberforth first, but his features were rigid. Putting the best face she could on his odd behaviour, she assumed that he would rather be left alone and addressed Albus instead. "Ariana was so young, poor girl. We all feel terribly…"

Words were such useless things in the face of death, she thought, but persevered on. "I'm sure your mother would want the two of you to stick together from now on," she said. "There's only the two of you left…you've got to take care of each other, Albus, you've got to take care of your brother. I'm sure your parents are thankful that you're such a mature, responsible person –"

And the next thing she knew, Aberforth had swung around and punched Albus full force in the face.

Bathilda shrieked and leapt backwards, while behind her Honoria screamed, "Boys! Boys, don't! Don't! Oh, what would Kendra say?"

"You bloody self-righteous bastard!" Aberforth was roaring into his brother's face as Albus staggered a step back, blood pouring from his nose. "Mature, are you? Responsible? You're responsible all right, you two-faced hypocrite, you're responsible for her death! It's your fault she's dead! It's all your fault!"

The terrible words seemed to reverberate in the air. Rooted to the spot, Bathilda waited for Albus to say something, to refute Aberforth's wild accusations.

"Now, boys…" said the Ministry official weakly, "Albus…Aberforth…"

"Nothing to say, big brother?" said Aberforth, advancing on Albus. "What about the greater good, aren't you going to talk about it? Why not? Why not!"

Albus had to have seen the next punch coming, but he did nothing, didn't even raise a hand or brace himself against the next blow that knocked him to the ground. Aberforth's hands were shaking, his knuckles split and covered with his own blood and that of his brother's, but still he struck Albus a third time.

"What price Hallows now?" Aberforth yelled, but Bathilda could hear the trembling, the crack in his voice that betrayed him. "You're free now, aren't you? Aren't you glad, Albus, why aren't you jumping for joy? You're free now, don't you get it? Ariana's gone. She's gone. You can go get your treasure now. Isn't that what you've been hoping for for so long? You're free now, you're free, damn you, you're free!" A fourth punch, and there was a sickening crunching sound, the sound of bone breaking and Albus's blood mixed with the rain pooling on the ground.

"Here, stop it!" said the official sharply now, trying to pull Aberforth off. Aberforth didn't even seem to notice him, shaking him off as easily as he would a fly and throwing him to one side. The wizard's face turned a dull red as Honoria wrung her hands helplessly. He got up angrily, righting his hat, and raised his wand. Aberforth staggered back, off Albus, straining against some invisible force, still screaming at his elder brother.

And now Bathilda could see Albus's face, and he was crying, Albus Dumbledore was crying, silently, tears running freely from his tightly-shut eyes, his body shuddering with his sobs, and he made no move to even wipe the blood and tears off, and that scared Bathilda, because why didn't he do something, why wasn't he saying anything, if it wasn't true?

"You're no head of the family, Albus," said Aberforth, his voice shaking, tears dripping down his cheeks. "You're no head of the family. There isn't any family."

Aberforth turned and walked away. As he disappeared across the cemetery, Bathilda heard a great gasping sob float back on the chill air.

Finé.