Author's Note: This was written for the Before I Fall Competition by MelodyPond77, level 1. My quote was "He says it dramatically, like he's doing a voice-over for a movie" though I changed 'movie' to 'play' to make it more appropriate (which Mel said I could do!) and my character was Aberforth Dumbledore

Last Day 1

My muscles were weary as I clambered down the stairs that morning, my whole body aching. I was ageing, I knew so much, but I was too stubborn to allow magic to heal me in any way—to ease the pain. Ageing was a natural process, and I had vowed not to interfere with anything life-threatening. Not since... that dreaded day.

Ariana's face was every bit as beautiful as it was the day she died, now preserved only as that delicate painting, and as a memory in my heart. I wondered whether my delightful elder brother ever spared her a second thought—whether he ever spared me a second thought as I hobbled around in that creaky old bar.

"Good morning, Ariana," I greeted the portrait in my gruff voice, the same routine every morning.

Ariana's image offered a polite smile, emphasising every gentle detail of her young face. Oh, how I longed to see that face as something other than paint on a canvas. No, it was because of her that I would suffer through the agonising pain of ageing. She had been denied life; magic could not cure death, and magic would not prevent me from death in the way it had condemned her. I detested the thing and wanted as little to do with it as possible. If magic had not been involved in my life, I would still have a little sister. I would still have an older brother, too, for he had turned his back on us in pursuit of knowledge. For the greater good. I scoffed.

I was surprised to find a customer already in the Hog's Head. Business had been uneventful recently, with only a few stragglers in the evening—weary travellers passing through, or men in hooded cloaks conducting illicit trades. What went on in my pub was a matter of secrecy. As long as they paid me, I left them alone to whatever private meetings they may be attending.

This fellow looked shifty, not in a suspicious kind of way, but an uncomfortable one, as though he was nervous. He wore a thick, black cloak—not unusual for travellers in my pub—with some kind of, what looked like an ink marking, trailing up his arm. I had seen such marks before, knowing they were associated with dark magic, but that was no concern of mine.

I had considered closing the pub that day; business was dull, and today was a day of grieving, of mourning the loss of my sister on that very day all those years ago. Despite his attire and sinister appearance, it was clear that man possessed more fear than I did. He would be obliging if I asked him to leave—telling him the pub was closed—and, if he refused, I knew I could overcome him, despite my age.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I grunted, perhaps a tad too impolite.

The stranger looked up in shock as I addressed him. "I'm just"—he hesitated—"waiting for a few... acquaintances."

So we were expecting more? Still, I was uncertain about having the Hog's Head open. It was not a day to be pleasant and social. Not for me, anyway. But could I really turn away the only proper business I'd had in weeks? "These... acquaintances," I repeated, drawing out the word just as he had, "how many am I to be expecting in my pub?"

The stranger looked even more uncomfortable, as though he expected me to demand what sort of business was going on there. I admit, I was now more than a little curious. "Ten, perhaps," he said cautiously.

Ten customers? I nodded in approval. Ah, well, Ariana wouldn't want me to shut myself out from the world and to retreat into the darkness. She had been a selfless creature.

Unlike the monster that had taken her life—our own humble brother.

My curiosity increased with each new arrival that came throughout the day, until at last the sky was darkening and a whole huddle of these cloaked figures—most of them men, though I was sure I'd identified at least once high-pitched cackle, which could belong to a woman—now filled the Hog's Head. Infuriated as I was that they seemed to merely be using the pub as a meeting place, rather than actually buying anything, I froze in my tracks as I'd prepared to march out there and demand they either leave or pay up.

A cold, snarling voice hushed the crowd. "Quiet, you fools. Don't you know who that man is?" he hissed, no doubt referring to me. "Aberforth." There was a silence that followed. "Aberforth Dumbledore," he clarified, prompting a few startled murmurs, though I couldn't make out anything intelligent.

"Do we kill him?" somebody asked in an eager whisper. I instinctively grabbed for my wand, and shuddered. How dare they force me to grapple for that devil stick—the source of all that I truly hated—and in the defence of my own life, no less.

The one who was clearly in charge dismissed the idea. "I shan't think that necessary. We have strict instructions to kill one Dumbledore, and one Dumbledore only." He said it dramatically, like he was doing a voice-over for a play.

It was all I could do to suppress a gasp, clutching my wand even tighter in my hand until my knuckles turned white. Who were these people? Surely they did not intend to kill my brother—but what else could they mean? If not me, then only one Dumbledore remained to die, and he was locked up safely in Hogwarts. Surely those fools must have known they couldn't possibly stand a chance.

"Your son is supposed to be taking care of that, Lucius," a female voice declared ruthlessly. "If he should fail then I say we kill as many as we can."

If it was true, that they were honestly plotting to take my brother's life, I felt powerless as I pressed my ear to the door—just a thin, peeling piece of wood that separated me from a room of callous murderers.

Pushing the door open just a crack, I could just make out the dark group, all clad in black. The one who addressed the others had his back to me, but the sleek blonde hair that trailed down his back was familiar to me. I had seen him at least once in this pub before, but his name escaped me. Lucius, was it? I was sure that's what the woman had said.

Even from that distance, I could see the grotesque symbol that was branded onto their forearms. Dark wizards, every single one of them. I could kill them right there as I stood. Or, at least, some of them. Whilst I possessed the element of surprise, I could easily kill a fair few of them, cast a Shield Charm to protect myself, and then apparate to safety. But I was not a murderer, especially not when magic was involved.

My fingers itched as I ran them over the solid wood of my wand. A simple flick, and I could end their lives. Instead, I ran. I could faintly pick out words as I retreated from my own pub—my own house!—but they meant nothing to me. Vanishing cabinet, Draco, Knockturn Alley, Severus Snape...

Wheezing as I went, verbally cursing the disheartening effects of having seen so many years, I made my way to the castle, unsure of what was driving me. Compassion? Fear?

Oh, it had been many years since I'd set foot on that winding path and made my way up to the great castle that loomed before me; yet, there I was, hurtling towards it with desperate purpose burned into my body, forcing me forwards. I knew precisely how to enter the castle, despite all the protective enchantments set on it—Albus had taught me, should there ever be an emergency—and I was sure he would forgive me for entering the school to warn him of his own death plan.

The corridors were unfamiliar, but my feet guided me, as though they had walked them a thousand times. I was drawn to the Astronomy Tower, though who knew for what reason I felt so inclined as to head there.

From within the shadows, I stared up at my older brother, so noble and heroic as he spared the boy who could not kill him—a sobbing, mess of a boy, so pathetically feeble. I felt disgusted, and I felt helpless. There was movement above and suddenly voices; nearly all of them I recognised from the group in the Hog's Head. They travelled fast, I thought in alarm. They must have known some other way to get in.

I regarded the dark-haired boy that stood only a few feet away from me, the unmistakable scar seared onto his forehead, frozen firmly in place by a spell I was sure Albus had cast to protect him. So humble, so self-sacrificial, I thought bitterly. Spare the boy, but not your own sister? My disgust deepened, yet just like this poor boy, I was frozen. Not due to magic, but paralysed by my own fear, with a Disillusionment Charm cast over myself to render me invisible to any of the others.

I wondered if Albus knew I was there—if he could somehow sense my presence. But as I fought back the bitter sting of tears, a different question swam in my mind: Could I save him?

Did I even want to?

I could kill some of the others, or even merely disarm them. I wasn't a fighter, but how could I let my own flesh and blood be brutally slaughtered before my own eyes? Family at least meant something to me, even if he had not extended that affection to dear Ariana. I could sacrifice myself—the final action of an aged man living a life of sorrowful regret. I could be every bit a hero as my brother Albus always tried to be.

But I was not a hero; I was a coward. And that was the only thought in my mind as I watched, with breathless grief, as my brother fell to his death, crumpling before my eyes as I witnessed the last of my siblings have their life ended whilst I stood idly by.