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Albus Dumbledore was old and he held no delusions about his age. He could feel his age in his bones, deep in his soul, and he could see it in the mirror every time he cared enough to look. He hated looking in the mirror. The mirror knew everything, and yet it said nothing.

But it said everything.

The mirror was his enemy. He could see his broken, crooked nose where Aberforth had punched him and blamed him for Ariana's death. He could see the small freckle under his left eye that Gellert used to lovingly stroke when they had just been two foolish young boys in love. He could see the vibrant blue of his eyes, the exact same shade as Ariana's when she would smile adoringly up at him and call him "Al". He could see everything in the mirror.

He hated the mirror.

When he was a young and naïve boy, he'd thought that he could change the world with just a few nice words, he could help the people that needed it the most, and he could have the power to change the world for the better. The world was a horrid place as it was, but Albus was an intelligent person, a genius even, and he could help them change. He could have the man he loved stay with him forever and ever. Love was everything in his life and he would always have it with him.

He was nothing but a fool.

Watching the light fade from his beloved sister's eyes – and why, why, did he ever think she was a burden? – and watching the man he loved run away like a coward, and watching his brother break down and cry over their sister's coffin, he'd stood there and had known without a shadow of a doubt that he was going to hell.

Burning in eternity would be his next 'adventure'.

He knew that he was going to hell when he heard rumours of his beloved killing people and simply turned a blind eye like the coward he was. He knew that he was going to hell when he ignored the articles about Gellert Grindelwald killing muggles while his brother spat abuse and sneered at him. He knew that he was going to hell when he resolved to kill Gelllert, promised it to eager listeners, and then couldn't bring himself to kill him and instead locked him in his very own prison.

Liar, liar, liar.

He couldn't do it. He looked into the eyes of the man that he loved, that he hated, that he despaired over, and couldn't muster up the resolve to rid the world of a mass murderer. He was a coward, and he lied to everyone.

What sort of cowardly liar didn't go to hell?

He knew that power was his enemy, and yet there he was with the most powerful wand in existence sat in the palm of his hand. The irony made him laugh and cry with madness. Years and years searching for something to share with Gellert, and now there was no Gellert to share it with. He briefly contemplated killing himself, but he was a coward. If he ran away from life he was a coward, and if he died then he would find out the truth about the very girl whose death destroyed him, and he couldn't deal with that.

He was a pitiful coward.

Power was his enemy, and when he'd been offered the chance to be the Minister of Magic he'd trembled with fear. Fear that he would ruin everything he touched. Fear that people would know the truth about him. Fear that he would fall prey to the allure of power once more. Fear and lies and cowardice. His life was a cacophony of deceit, and yet he was being offered the chance to be in control of them all? He'd wondered what was wrong with the people of Britain and if he could help them change.

He rejected the offer immediately. Temptation would only lead to ruin.

Being a teacher was a good thing for him, he could be a source of guidance for the young people of their world. Being a headmaster was a great thing, he was the school's ultimate source of guidance. He had power, but it was a position that he could be pushed out of if he became too much. It was perfect.

His memories were not perfect. They say the devil is in the details, and he was aware the details existed to mock him eternally.

He'd already messed up with Tom. He was a boy who had wanted to be recognised, and all he'd seen in the haughty face was himself before Ariana died. He'd recoiled from the boy, pushed him away. He'd told himself that the boy was powerful, that he would make mistakes, that he would ruin everything. But Albus Dumbledore forgot one thing.

The boy was not Albus Dumbledore.

The boy had wanted to be loved, not revered. He had wanted to learn, he didn't want power. He had wanted a life, he didn't want to rule over people. He had wanted desperately to be known as a person, as an individual, not to be known for accomplishing something that would elevate him above all others.

He was not Albus Dumbledore, never was and never would be.

As the boy grew he became everything Albus had feared, yet still he did nothing. He had seen the powerful boy as his enemy, watched him as those charismatic eyes turned upon him with accusation and mistrust. Albus had known that the boy would become his enemy.

In the years to come he would be proven right.

The Headmaster guides and cares for his students. The Headmaster ensures the safety of his students. The Headmaster makes sure that the students get along with each other. Surely, he would do the same?

His life was built on lies. A deck of cards waiting to fold.

He watched as the students in green were hated by all others, but he said nothing. He saw when curses flew through the air, hitting young children in the back, but he didn't stop them. He heard about a student being goaded into coming face to face with a werewolf and nearly dying, but he did nothing.

He did nothing. Nothing, then nothing, then nothing.

That seemed to be the catchphrase for his long and badly-navigated life. He could see it clearly, carved into a smooth gravestone, 'Here lies Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore: He did nothing'.

He told himself that his power would go to his head, that he would ruin things, that he would destroy everything. Lying to others, lying to himself, lying to Hogwarts, lies, lies, lies. The life of Albus Dumbledore was built on lies. Lies and mistakes.

Lies and mistakes that ruined lives.

He'd lived in a state of suspended animation, waiting for his mistakes to come back to bite him. His mistakes would eventually come back and ruin everything. His mistakes had always had a habit of being the worst they could possibly be.

He'd been right.

Tom. Tom had been so smart, so brilliant, so charming. Why? Why did this happen? What went wrong? You didn't help him. You made another mistake. You didn't see what was in front of you.

You were ignorant, and you did nothing.

He always did have the habit of seeing what he wanted, not what was there. He had seen Ariana as a burden, not his sister. He had seen Aberforth as immature, not the only person with his eyes wide open. He had seen Gellert as a good man, not the killer he was. He'd acted as if could pretend that everything was okay, that everything would become okay if he just kept on pretending.

He'd seen Tom as Albus Dumbledore, not as Tom Riddle.

Tom was Gellert, but he was not Gellert. He didn't want to kill Tom, but he wouldn't run away this time. He would put a stop to everything, he would work hard, and he would end it. He would put to rest at least one of his mistakes.

He always knew that his best intentions tended to destroy lives.

The Order of the Phoenix. Fighters. People who wanted freedom. He'd rounded them up and sent them against Tom's army. Many of them died. He sent inexperienced people against fighters. He sent them against murderers, when they didn't have a will to kill themselves.

Tom didn't kill them, he did.

The prophecy was the best and worst thing that he'd ever done. He'd wanted it to end. He didn't care how. Tom needed to die, and that was infinitely more important than anything. He had always been more in tune with Gellert's brain than he'd care to admit.

For the greater good.

The Potters and Longbottoms would be fine, he'd made sure of it. They said that they had switched Secret Keepers after the will. They would be safe, he'd made sure of it. The Order could be trusted.

He should have trusted his memory.

His memory knew that people betrayed each other, and it knew that people lied. His memory was a vicious place filled with deceit and despair. His memory was reality, not like the fantasies that spewed from his mouth in platitudes.

Why didn't he trust his memory?

The girl was a Horcrux and she would have to die. Tom had to die and so did the girl. She had a piece of him that had to die. There was no other way around it. It was kinder to hide her, to let her grow up unaware of what she would never have.

For the greater good.

Those words were a condemnation, a free pass, a blind eye towards evil. Those words were clawing at him, dragging him back towards his own personal hell – reality.

He knew of no way to help her, and it was cruel to let her grow up with magic just to have it all ripped away when she finally had to die. It was better to let her experience it just a little before dying, it would be kinder that way. There was no point allowing the poor child to grow accustomed to something she could never have.

He always had been good at lying to himself.

The twinge in his chest was nerves at Tom's plans, what Tom had done, how Tom had done everything in the war. It wasn't guilt at all.

It was not guilt.

Death Eaters roaming free, pleading innocent, and begging for forgiveness. It made him think of Gellert. Albus would have forgiven him in a heartbeat. Gellert was the link to the past Albus, the Albus of hopes and dreams, and Albus couldn't bring himself to destroy that part of himself.

Albus was weak.

Second chances were given, he helped them, he was helping them wasn't he? This was his second chance to help people – second chance, third chance, fourth chance, how many do you need? – and he knew that he could help them. Not everyone had to suffer their mistakes.

He was suffering enough mistakes for everyone.

The girl was not what he expected in the slightest. She was like Tom, but she wasn't. She was smart, but she wasn't cruel. People listened to her, but she had friends. She had enemies, but she defended her own. But Tom needed to die, and so did she.

Except she didn't. She didn't.

Her Horcrux was gone and so was Tom.

She didn't need to die.

The letter from Gringotts was sat in the middle of his desk looking deceptively innocent, as if it hadn't just turned his life around, made him question everything he'd ever known, made his heart pound with despair.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, was dead, and Rose Potter's Horcrux was gone.

She didn't need to die.

He looked at the cupboard with the various family heirlooms that he'd procured over the years, and he cried.

He cried for Tom. He cried for Rose. And he cried for himself.

He hated himself, but he cried.

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Hours later Rose Potter and a few other family Heads received some long-lost family heirlooms from an anonymous source, before enjoying the belated Christmas presents excitedly if a little confused. None would understand the implications of receiving lost treasures at such a crucial time, none that is, except Rose Potter.

The girl would understand, but by then would be too late to change things.

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"It's time, Gellert."

Gellert Grindelwald turned his ageing body to face the man that he'd failed so badly. The man that he loved, and cherished, and betrayed too much.

He had never wanted to hurt Albus in such a way, but it's certainly easier to look back and see the folly of youth for what it was. Hindsight has, as they say, perfect vision. Vision was what he'd had in spades, but his control and temperance had been sorely lacking, and he had hurt the one person who had truly understood him.

In recent years he had managed to keep up with some of the news in the world, and it was clear that Albus was faltering. The two of them were too old for this world; they had ruined enough, and those younger and less stringent deserved a chance to live. Living for themselves, instead of living to serve. If there was one thing that held true throughout time, it was that youth didn't always equal stupidity, and children were more intelligent than adults often gave them credit for. It was something the two geniuses had hated, and yet they too fell in the same trap of equating age with wisdom.

Foolish mistakes weren't just for children.

He knew about the girl, knew that she was brilliant, and he knew that Albus had lost control of everything. Sometimes control needed to be relinquished, and sometimes the old had to choose peace for the sake of others. They weren't the only ones who could figure things out, and it was an insult to others to patronise them.

He was tired, and old, and he had deliberately held out for Albus. He knew it was stupid, but they had once promised to be together in everything, including death. Death was a constant, and while it was an unknown it was certainly preferable to the poisonous monotony that was life. Death was an equaliser, an end, and a beginning.

Death wasn't so frightening anymore.

He smiled. "Goodbye Albus. I'll see you soon."

A flash of green light, and Gellert Grindelwald died with a smile on his face.

Albus sat down on the bed next to his companion and smiled down at him. "See you soon."

He lifted his wand and pointed it at his own chest, and a moment later Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had proceeded on to the next great adventure.

When the bodies were discovered, there was no wand made of Elder to be found.

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I hate this chapter.

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