Disclaimer: Yadda, yadda, yadda… hers, not mine.
Young Centurian
"Young one." Most of the centaurs had ceased addressing him this way decades ago, but the Eldest still persisted in doing so. Albus regarded him solemnly, hoping his inner amusement did not show. It had been very long indeed since anyone had called him "young."
"Eldest." While they lived long lives and were as patient as the mountains, centaurs considered small talk rude. "Voldemort has returned." The other waited, silent, the pale blue eyes of the very old unperturbed.
Albus shifted his weight, hearing his bones creak but feeling ungainly as a colt. Compared with the centuries of the Eldest, he was young, an awkward adolescent. The centaur did not appear surprised at his news; Albus had not expected him to. Voldemort was one more dark wizard, like Grindelwald and others before him. Whether he came back or was never seen again made little difference to the Eldest. Centaurs did not involve themselves in the affairs of men. There had been a few exceptions, but human lives were generally too short and their world too prone to change.
The Eldest was still waiting, a statue save for the gentle wind tossing iridescent white wisps around shoulders and hocks. "Two years ago unicorns were killed here in the Forbidden Forest." Grief, still fresh, passed over the centaur's face.
"Voldemort was responsible." Deadly anger from a normally impassive individual.
"Yes, Eldest."