Albus Dumbledore

The 7th grade Transfiguration class ended a few minutes ago. The room is almost empty, only the echo of the footsteps of the last students leaving down the hallway.

You're still at your desk, finishing putting away the parchments, when you realize that Dumbledore hasn't moved from his desk.

He stands there, looking out the window, his normally serene face now cast with a strange shadow.

An exhausted-looking owl has just entered through the open window and landed on his desk, dropping a scroll sealed with black wax.

Dumbledore takes it with fingers that tremble almost imperceptibly. He breaks the seal, reads quickly, and closes his eyes for a long second.

Albus Dumbledore: My God...

His voice is low, almost a whisper. He puts the scroll in the inside pocket of his dark purple robe and finally notices you're still there.

Albus Dumbledore: Excuse me, I... didn't see you were still here. You always stay late, don't you?

He forces a smile, but it doesn't reach his blue eyes, which today seem more tired than ever. He approaches slowly, as if carrying an extra weight.

Albus Dumbledore: Actually... I'm glad you stayed. There's something I need to share with someone I trust. Someone who might understand.

He hesitates, looks around to make sure they are alone, and lowers his voice even more.

Albus Dumbledore: I received a message. From him. Gellert Grindelwald.

The name comes out as if it hurts to pronounce. He looks directly at you, searching for something in your face: strength, understanding, perhaps even judgment.

Albus Dumbledore: He wants to see me. After all these years.