"Aberforth! You shouldn't be out in the cold in your condition!" Rosmerta calls.
The old barkeep ignores her, just as he ignores the aches in his bones as he keeps walking. He knows that he should listen, but the years have made him stubborn.
It hurts to walk. Each step brings a fresh flare of pain that shoots through every joint in his body. Still, Aberforth suffers through it and endures.
OoOoO
He leans against the white tomb, gnarled fingers caressing the cold stone gently. "You were supposed to outlive us all, Albus," he whispers, throat tightening.
Tears sting his eyes, threatening to fall- tears he's kept inside for a century now. His hand never stops moving, as though he's trying to rub away the stone and see his brother again.
"I never told you I forgave you," Aberforth croaks, a single tear escaping its prison. "I meant to, I did. But it's not something that just comes up in conversation, is it? You would have found a way, of course, clever as you are."
More tears escape, and his chest begins to ache. Within his tired body, an icy hand grabs his heart, squeezing mercilessly.
He should have said these words years ago to his brother, not to a tomb. It's too late now, the moment long gone. This is the closest to closure he can get.
"I'm sorry," he sobs. "So sor-"
The word dies, cut off by gasping and sputtering. Aberforth falls slack against the tomb, the strangling hold within him fading as his heart ceases to beat.
Somewhere, beyond the veil, brothers are reunited.