Albus Dumbledore's eyes filled with worry as he saw the shadows appear on the edge of the forest. Good, good, that's exactly what we want. And in the crowd of parents there, Lucius and the others had positioned themselves on the far side, exactly according to plan. The Mudblood girl is giving her speech, and Dumbledore is hesitating, too proud of his star pupil to bring himself to interrupt her, even though he knows we've come. I have no pity for the fool, of course, for he should know better than that. The crowd is beginning to notice our forms, and beginning to murmur in hushed undertones so as not to disturb the girl. I almost hate to bring and end to Albus Dumbledore's last moment of glory in the eyes of the world, but soon they shall see him as I do. A fool, a great old fool who has raised himself on top of a hill but is unable to cope with it crumbling around him.