Albus had paid a social call on the Headmistress. A social call it was, purely; he saw no sense in sharing with her the kinds of misgivings he had voiced to Minerva. Besides, Furbish was a language lent to the frivolous. Over fruit punch, Kahnooloo babbled about her liking for parties and dancing, and Albus, smiling, allowed as how Hogwarts
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He was thinking of various things:
Pickles and finding 'brutal' people (yes, he's fully aware of that, but he'll let Pickles ask first),
the machinations of the Scandinavians (he doesn't know what, but he knows they're up to something),
his progression in magic (or lack thereof. He may have to do some independent study),
the promising new students (and the ah...not so promising),
his...well, he supposed it was the beginning of some kind of friendship, with a few people here,
the earler duel with Aayla and that damned kiss
Ofdensen stopped and rubbed his head. "I shouldn't think of that." Continuing to rub his head, he walked down the hall.
A glint caught his eye, and he saw the plaque.
Professor emeritus, huh? Maybe he could provide some insight on the lack of classes.
He knocked on the door.
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"Come in," said a voice from within. It sounded deep, old, strong.
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He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, after all, this is a school for magic.
He took a step into the room, slightly amused by all the clutter.
"Professor...Dumbledore, was it?"
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Ofdensen realised that his voice was beginning to rise.
"I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't be yelling."
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"Now, as to the learning of magic, first I must ask you whether you have gotten yourself a wand yet."
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"I do have a wand." It was rolled up with his towel. He pulled it out and laid it in front of Dumbledore.
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