Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny were all gathered in Dumbledore's office. The silver haired wizard had asked for their presence after that evening's dinner. He had an extremely important matter to discuss with the four wizarding soldiers.
The old man sat in his velvet covered chair which had pure gold arm rests, his elbows braced on the arm rests with his fingertips touching each other, his gaze focusing on his student individually.
The first of the four he watched was Ginevra Weasley. Her red hair stood out against the dim lighting in his spacious office. Her pale skin seemed paler, if it was even possible, no doubt due to the anxiety of waiting to hear another of their friends names who had succumbed to death at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Her green eyes constantly flickered to the boy who sat next to her, Harry Potter, for reassurance that she was safe and protected when in his presence. He was her comfort, he was her backbone. It was clear to see that she needed him as much as he needed her. Without the other, they were lost, only half of themselves.
Said boy was sitting straight, as though he was forced to sit against a plank. Not knowing why they were there was obviously having an effect on his already tense muscles. The stiffness of his movements made anger swell within Dumbledore. A young boy should move with ease. Harry Potter should have been acting the way his father and his friends had done before him. He should have played pranks on unsuspecting students and should be sitting in his office solely for a scolding. Before allowing the anger and frustration appear on his face, he moved his eyes to the boy sitting beside him.
Ronald Weasley had vibrant hair like his sister, however, there was a distinct contrast between the life of his hair and the life in his face. The handsome, freckled faced boy had a vacant look on his face. His eyes were lifeless, as though he had nothing left; he was void of emotion and thoughts. Now it seemed as though he was just the shell of the boy who was once alive and happy, without a care in the world. Pity found its way onto Dumbledore's face, which he quickly attempted to wipe away.
Hermione Granger was wringing her hands in her lap, her face covered by a look of deep concentration looking down at them. She seemed nervous about what Dumbledore had to tell them. She was by far the smartest witch he had ever met in his entire life. Her brain worked in magical ways, often arriving at what one would consider a complicated answer to a complicated question at an alarming speed. It was quite clear from just her demeanour and the way she carried herself that she always liked to be one step ahead and have multiple solutions to a problem that may arise, in the case of failure. She liked to be well prepared if her dedication to research and homework was any indication.
As if sensing his gaze, she looked up, looking him directly in the eye and effectively pulling him out of his musings. She pulled a strand of her brown curly hair behind her ear with a shaky hand. She almost silently cleared her throat, raised her head and with obvious confidence asked the question he had been waiting for one of them to ask him.
"Professor, why did you ask us here?" Dumbledore leaned back slightly and rested against the back of his chair, a small smile forming on his aging face. This small movement of his lips reassured the students that nothing was wrong for the moment and they all visibly relaxed, small smiles of their own gracing their attractive yet haunted faces. Dumbledore knew that those expressions would change to expressions of confusion as soon as he uttered the words he was dreading to say. Once he told them of his theory there would be no going back. Once only one of them did it, everything would rest on their shoulders. He already felt pangs of guilt in his chest just thinking about how much strain one of them would be under.
"I want one of you to go back in time. Back to Tom Riddle's time."