The banquet passed quickly. Many people had no appetite at all, and for Karkaroff, every bite tasted like cardboard.
That night, Dumbledore stood at the window of the Headmaster's Office, gazing into the dark sky.
Fawkes perched quietly on his stand, occasionally letting out a soft cry.
Dumbledore was thinking about Will. Will must have gone back to the past—Tom had come back to life, after all. But why hadn't Will returned?
Was he hurt? Or was he dealing with something?
Had something else happened?
His thoughts drifted. At times, Will reminded him so much of his younger self.
The young man who had sat beside Gellert Grindelwald on a summer day in Godric's Hollow, discussing "For the Greater Good."
Back then, he too had believed he was thinking clearly. He had believed he knew what he was doing, that the sacrifices would be worth it.
Until he paid the price.
Dumbledore sighed. He removed his glasses and slowly wiped the lenses with a corner of his robe. Fawkes raised his head and glanced at him.
"I know what you're thinking, old friend," Dumbledore said softly. "I'm thinking the same thing."
Fawkes gave no reply. He lowered his head to peck at some nuts.
Just then, Dumbledore sensed movement outside.
The spiral staircase rose slowly. Footsteps drew closer. Dumbledore put on his glasses and turned just as someone knocked.
"Dumbledore, it's Karkaroff."
Dumbledore opened the door. Karkaroff wore a dark robe, his face pale and his eyes darting. He scurried into the office like a rat cornered by a cat.
"Igor," Dumbledore said calmly, "what brings you here so late?"
Karkaroff stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He stood before Dumbledore, his lips trembling as he searched for words.
"Dumbledore," he finally said, his voice hoarse, "I know...