Albus, the old sweeper
An old figure bent over as a group of hyperactive kids ran past, overlooked by a large whale of a man who had his nose in the air. Had anyone cared to notice, they would have caught that twinkle in those bright soulful blue eyes that lasted for two and a half seconds when he looked at them.
He was dressed in ancient looking robes that were probably in fashion a century ago. A large white santa-like beard framed his old thin face looked like they could house millions of fleas in them. A pair of half moon glasses was sitting on that long crooked nose of his and in the mass of old brown cloth was an old crooky broomstick held securely by thin lanky arms.
The old man's name was Albus. Just Albus.
The little kid with dark scruffy hair, bright green eyes and a curious scar hidden behind his fringe turned to look at his uncle who was also the fat guy. He suddenly noticed the Albus staring at him and gasped audibly.
The fat man looked at the boy annoyingly, then at Albus.
Albus straightened up, back cracking as he did so and smiled toothily at the huge man before him. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the fat guy.
"What are you looking at?" said the fat guy superiorly while adjusting the expensive looking bow around his thick neck.
Albus jumped in shock, and quickly hunched over to continue cleaning the floor, glaring at the corner of his eyes, boring holes into the fat man's back, cursing him mentally.
The fat man gave a discontented grunt and proceeded on with the rest, occasionally giving the boy a push or two.
As the fat man sat down on a sturdy old chinese bench, the rest of the kids ran around ignoring the 'No Running' signs. Albus wondered why the fat man even brought them to a museum in the first place. They wouldn't appreciate anything.
Albus was looking out for the kid, he has the strangest feeling that he knew this kid. Maybe he knew this kid, ever since he came down with the Alzheimer's disease...
Maybe he didn't have Alzheimer's disease, whoever said he had Alzheimer's disease, he didn't have it. He wasn't sick, whoever said that must be shot. The person must be crazy, mental and must be shot. Did anyone said that? Or maybe he had...
Albus got lost in his thoughts as he haphazardly swept the floor, but was brought back to earth when he saw a few fat boys cornering and beating up a kid he couldn't see.
He suddenly had a flash vision of himself being cornered by many big men. Big guys? Like that fat man... He sighed and shook that thought off. He wasn't going to let the fat man ruin his day. He going to go home, to his wife, and - Does he have a home? He sighed again and shook his head mentally. He must be going nuts. Unless of cause he was already.
He then notice the fat man smirking at him. This time he held his head high and glared back at the guy.
The fat man stood up and walked towards him slowly, looking for any sign of weakness. His smile gradually growing wider. He towered over Albus who was a tall man himself.
Albus knew he dignity was the only thing he has, he hestitated for a moment but eventually stood his ground. He glared back into those mad beady little eyes of the fat man.
The fat man kept drawing nearer, closing the space in between both of them. The next thing Albus knew, their nose were almost touching. He could feel sweat dripping down his back. They were so close he could see every open pore in the man's face. Every little pore. He could feel the man's breath down his face. The droplets of perspiration around his nose. He could even taste them in his tongue.
The man opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a pained yell from the other side of the room. They both turned their heads.
The little boy with green eyes was being held against the wall by a fat blonde boy who seemed ready to attack. Or already had.
Albus turned back to the man, who in turn turned back to him smiling. His smile faltered when he saw Albus smiling back at him, an evil glint in his eye.
Albus slipped both hands into his baggy robes as if searching for something. The fat man looked at him apprehensively and took a step back. Albus fumbled and pulled out two small deadly pistols and shot the fat man repeatly in his guts laughing like a maniac.
He knew who he was... yes he knew. He remembered. He remembered who he was as he walked out of the museum.
He arranged the bling on his neck. Yes. He remembered.
He was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.