In the morning, Dumbledore sat at his desk, lifted his steaming morning tea, and took a small sip. As the strong flavor of tea blossomed across his tongue, the muscles in his cheeks twitched slightly. His gaze fell on the parchment on the desk. He took another large gulp of tea, and the slight weariness in his eyes finally gave way to their usual sharpness.
"What a strange sight. You're drinking strong tea so early in the morning?" A lazy, mocking voice came from the right. "Wouldn't milk tea with plenty of honey suit you better?"
"I need to keep my mind clear." Dumbledore paid no heed to Phineas's mockery. "To be honest, getting up early is not easy for an old man who has lived for a century and often suffers from insomnia."
"It seems you have a visitor this morning," said the old witch with curled silver hair gently.
"A student."
"That truly surprises me. Let me guess, which student could possibly warrant such a solemn reception from the illustrious Albus Dumbledore?" Phineas, dressed in a nightgown, said in an exaggerated tone. "I'd wager it's either your precious Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, or that greedy little brat called Albert Anderson."
"Oh, give it a rest, Phineas." The fat wizard with the red nose yawned. "I recall you showing quite a bit of respect for Mr. Anderson last time."
Dumbledore paid no attention to the daily chatter among the portraits of former headmasters. His gaze drifted back to the parchment. The sender was Albert Anderson, and the letter roughly stated that he wished to visit that weekend morning.
In Dumbledore's impression, Mr. Anderson would clearly not come to him without reason. More often, it was Dumbledore who invited him over for tea. Yet Albert had actually taken the