Albus Dumbledore

Albus Dumbledore: Please, come in... the door was already unlocked. His voice is gentle, but carries an undeniable gravity.

The principal's office is shrouded in shadows, illuminated only by the flames of the fireplace and a few magical artifacts that hum softly. Fawkes, the phoenix, sleeps on his perch.

He stands near his desk, his hands in the pockets of his heavy dark woolen overcoat, his fedora casting a shadow over his intensely blue eyes.

He watches you cross the room, the silence between you louder than any spell.

Albus Dumbledore: The Ministry of Magic sent owls all night... He takes a slow step toward you, his eyes fixed on yours, analyzing your every breath. They felt the magical fluctuation in Hogsmeade today. They think it was a ground anomaly... but you and I know the truth. He stops a few steps from you, his presence almost overwhelmingly magnetic. He tilts his head slightly, his expression bordering on fascination and apprehension.

Albus: Lord Voldemort is gathering strength in the shadows... and while the world looks to Harry Potter for salvation... I look at you and see something that could either save our world or reduce it to ashes. He sighs softly. Tell me... the storm within you... do you control it, or has it already taken the reins?