Mirroring
Author's Note: Originally published on March 3, 2011
The old man looking back at him from the small square mirror was tired.
He supposed he had more to worry about than most.
It was with a sense of relief that he approached his waning days, content with the inevitable outcome. He examined his blackened hand, a grim smile on his face. It was just the latest price he paid, a harsh reminder of a lesson learned long ago.
No, this time he would not seek to conquer death. He would embrace it and use it. Yet, it was difficult not to look back on his long life, his regrets weighing heavily.
Putting down the mirror, he opened the drawer and extracted a photo of a family, one which he found himself looking at more and more as his time dwindled. He focused on the two young boys—identical in looks, but certainly not in nature. His greatest regrets echoed in his worst nightmares.
He sighed as he gingerly rose, slipping the mirror into his cloak. The short walk to Hogsmeade seemed to lengthen infinitely when the Hog's Head was his destination.
They had made their peace in the years past, a grudging civility.
He was going to die knowing that he would never earn Aberforth's full forgiveness, knowing that he didn't deserve it and never would.
Fingering the square mirror, he was certain his brother still had a role to play.
Not for the greater good, as had once been his ambition, but for the triumph of goodness.
He collapsed in a rickety old chair, drained. It was usually tense when his brother paid a visit, but this time it was much different. For once, Albus confided in him.
Albus was dying.
He didn't know how to feel. Too many years of anger pulsed beneath the surface, their relationship long since warped from that of loving siblings. It was difficult to observe his brother so weak and frail. Despite his personal feelings, he never doubted his brother's strength of will.
His loss would be a blow to everything they spent years fighting for.
He had forgiven his brother long ago, enough for them to work together in the Order. Glancing up at the portrait of Ariana, he knew he could never bring himself to excuse Albus for her death.
Anger seized him, that unspoken rift between them clouding his thoughts—only to be replaced with regret. Regrets of past actions done in temper. Regrets of their broken family and the sense of abandonment his brother had selfishly instilled.
He peered at the mirror, its magical properties explained briefly and its purpose made clear regarding Harry Potter. No further explanation was given by his brother.
Secrets and lies—his schemes and plans seemingly unending. Yet he still believed in his brother enough to take on this task, knowing Albus entrusted him to watch over Potter, understanding that the boy may be the key to peace.
He may not completely forgive his brother, but he hoped Albus also found peace.