This drabble was written for the August 25th prompt from Hogwarts Online.

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"Time is chasing after all of us."

-'Finding Neverland'

Currents of pain seared from the tips of his fingers and into his heart. He could feel the darkness coursing through his veins, poisoning him. With every beat, his heart was pumping death around his body. All but paralysed by the blinding agony, it was only the most basic of survival instincts that enabled Albus Dumbledore to tug the ring from his finger. His injured arm cradled against his chest, the Headmaster of Hogwarts reached for his wand with trembling fingers.

For a moment, he could think of no happy memory.

They would never forgive him.

There was to be no absolution for the wizarding world's hero in his twilight years. He could never atone for past mistakes. Not that Albus believed he deserved it.

Ariana, dead.

Pain set his nerves alight.

Her copper hair had pooled across the floor like blood that was too pale – the blood of a girl half ghost. Her eyes were wide and trusting, their once vivid blue forever dulled. Albus was just about to kneel beside her, to tell her that he was sorry and he loved her and she wasn't a burden, she was his sister. Aberforth pushed him savagely, his features contorted with an expression more terrible than rage: hatred. He lifted Ariana's limp body in one arm and pointed his wand at Albus' heart, roaring all the while.

He was dying.

Horrified, Albus backed away. Gellert grasped his arm. He recoiled in disgust.

A tiny part of him had always known that Gellert Grindelwald had cast the curse, but it was his fault that Ariana had died. Albus had known that if he had told his brother, there was a chance of forgiveness. He hadn't taken it – he knew that he didn't deserve it.

Ariana would have forgiven him, or so Albus liked to think, when he allowed himself the comfort of such thoughts. He pictured her impish grin, dreamy eyes. Albus? She had tugged on his sleeve whenever she had wanted to show him something. Ariana had treated a fallen leaf, a smooth pebble, a bubble, like it was a miracle.

"Expecto Patronum!" Albus waved his wand, and the room swam as a phoenix burst from its tip. "S- Severus."

He slumped forwards against the desk, sending its contents flying, among them the ring. It clattered against the wooden floor with unnatural loudness, which alone penetrated the fog of his pain. The ring bounced. Once. Twice.

"I'm sorry." He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to block out the sensation of death surging through his veins.

And Albus Dumbledore was indeed sorry; sorry that he had lived. Sorry that he would die. Sorry that he couldn't have been better. Sorry that he was a better wizard than he was a man.

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