If Only

If nothing else, he should've seen her possibilities, all the things that she might've done, if only.

Seen her off to Hogwarts for the first time, lauded by a whole and perfect family. Should've seen her bright auburn hair and lovely blue eyes catch attention, her quick cleverness hold it. Should've seen her laugh and smile with full and knowing eyes, should've heard her give it right back when he scolded her, should've watched her surpass every honor he'd earned, should've seen her own the world. He should've chased away suitors; instead, he chased monsters and specters of boys long since punished and gone, and resented her for it.

He should've seen the wonders she might have worked, if only, but he thought only of the greatness she kept him from, the coveted attention she stole with those sad and cruelly innocent eyes.

If only, he heard Gellert whisper, just once, during one of her fits where she shook the house with her misunderstood, frustrated fury. His eyes were glowing with regretful envy for the wasted magnificence locked into Ariana's fragmented loveliness. If only, he said wistfully, and Albus hated her then.

Gellert saw her for what she might have but would never be, envied the raw and terrible elegance of her magic, regretted the tragedies that had stolen her might from him long before they'd ever met, contented himself with the brother who would never be lovely, fragile, almighty little Ari.

If only, a jealous young man thought, and imagined a world without his broken little sister.

(And for all his brilliance, his mind painted the picture false, in the golds and whites of victory and grandeur and Gellert. When the world had swept the shards and splinters of Ariana away, Albus missed the clashing prisms of color she threw down in the sunlight; unexpected beauty from broken pieces. Gellert's golden light tarnished and the world paled without her.)