He had been pacing up and down for quite some time already, not once stopping in his tracks. And although his study was relatively roomy, he held his pacing line short, counting it to twenty steps in either direction. Silence accompanied him, only occasionally disturbed by the cracking sounds of burning wood in the fireplace. Even his steps left no sound on the carpet.

A sudden tinkle let the old man pause, and he quickly went over to one of the many small tables spread throughout the study. The delicately constructed and strange instrument placed on that table emitted several tiny white clouds, then ceased all action and fell silent again. The old man scrutinised the instrument carefully, prodding it once with his long slender fingers and muttering under his breath, ‘What are you planning, Tom?’ When he still had got no answer after several minutes, he sighed, stood straight again and resumed his previous activity: pacing.

Slowly light started to creep into the study through the windows. The sun rose as a fiery red orb, recolouring the dark night sky into a bright, burning morning. Quick shadows flitted past – owls returning from their night-time hunt. But the aged man didn’t notice anything of it because he was just too drawn into his thoughts.

On one of the smaller tables in the back of the study stood a high bird pole; currently it was empty. The gaze of the perpetual pacing old man went over to the pole once or twice, but it stayed unoccupied. Suddenly there was a whooshing sound accompanied by a bright red flame, and on the pole sat its inhabitant. Out of nowhere a bird had appeared, its feathers resembling the colour of a light fire, the watchful amber eyes following the steps of the old man. The bird emitted one single tiny silent tone, but it sounded as if it had sung an entire melodic masterpiece.

‘Had any luck?’ the man asked the room in large, still without halting in his pacing; since he was alone, the bright bird excluded from the count, he should not have expected to receive an answer.

Yet he got one.

The bird sang once more, and with a second flash of flames, a bound roll of parchment appeared, floating in the air in front of the man. He quickly grabbed it, opened the band and read:

Received your warning. Meet you as requested. Usual place and time.

Sighing with relief he allowed himself to finally sit down. His back and head leaned against the high chair’s backrest, and for a few moments he closed his tired eyes. The parchment note burned in the mantelpiece’s fire since it had served its purpose and was no longer needed.

With two flaps of its wings the bird flew over to the man, landing on the left armrest. The amber eyes looked at him with a sad expression which prompted the man to lift his hand and tickle the bird’s head. Luxuriating, it closed its eyes.

‘You know,’ the man mumbled while smiling warmly at the bird, ‘we are so lucky, having received the warning. I just hope he will be fine…’

A soft knock at the study’s door drew his attention away. Asking the early visitor to enter, he stood and carried the bird over to its pole. When he turned towards the second person in the room, he politely greeted, ‘Good morning, Minerva. What can I do for you?’

‘Albus, good morning.’ She nodded curtly. ‘I’ve come to inform you that Filch has found another secret entrance to the school last night. He and Hagrid are currently inspecting where it leads.’

‘Oh? Well then, let’s hope it’s safe.’ His blue eyes blinked amusedly but morphed back to seriousness an instant later. He scrutinised her carefully. ‘But that was not the only reason for you to pay me an early morning visit, was it, Minerva?’ It was a question but spoken as a statement.

The woman dropped her composed facade and looked worried. ‘I’ve heard what happened. Oh, Albus, is it really true? What are you going to do now?’

Shortly closing his eyes, the aged man sighed once more. He then took his cloak and went over to the woman. ‘I’m afraid it is true. I’m going to meet them, but before I have to take care of something else.’

‘Will you let me in on your plans?’

He smiled sadly. ‘I’m sorry, but not this time. Acting in secret is essential now.’ He grabbed the door’s handle.

Minerva McGonagall nodded understandingly. ‘Just get the Potters to safety. I pray that the entire affair will not turn into a catastrophe for the wizarding community.’

Albus Dumbledore turned towards her one last time before leaving his study.

‘Hope shall die last, Minerva.’