"So, is your friend in Greece already?"
Bathilda Bagshot's living room was packed with books. Every surface above ground level – and some not even – was occupied by rickety piles of volumes on the most unlikely subjects imaginable.
"Yes, Miss Bagshot," he said as he took the porcelain cup to his mouth. "Elphias must've arrived in Greece somewhere between yesterday and this morning."
"Bathilda, my boy, please."
"Forgive me, Bathilda." He sipped some tea and scanned the shelf behind Bathilda's armchair for the book on dragons.
"He didn't want to go," he said distractedly. "Said he could come over and help, but I finally talked some sense into him."
"You could use the company, Albus," she replied with a look of concern on her face. "When was the last time you were out in the sun?
"I enjoy your visits very much, dear, but what sort of entertainment can an old historian provide for a brilliant young man like yourself?"
"You'd be surprised, Miss Bagshot. And besides, Elphias had been planning his world tour ever since his fifth year at Hogwarts. I would've never asked him to give it up."
"Bathilda, Albus, and I understand perfectly, but that is not my point.
"To think that the brightest wizard of his generation spends the summer after his graduation – "
"Bathilda," he interrupted politely. "The tea was lovely, but I need to fix my siblings' supper. In fact, I needed to quite a while ago."
She was taken aback a little, but recovered quickly and understood the message. "Oh. Right you are. Well –
"let me get that book you wanted. I only found it yesterday. Wondered where I'd left it after the last time you took it." She exited the sitting room.
"Have you tried the jam already?" came her voice from the kitchen.
"I – " A speckled owl flew in through the open window, dropped a letter on Albus' lap, and flew away. He looked at it as it made its way, until it became a spot in the distance and vanished.
"I, um – Miss… Bathilda. There was an owl just here for you."
"Oh," said Bathilda as she returned from the kitchen with a book under an arm and three slices of cake on a plate in her hand.
"Thank you, dear." She exchanged the book for the letter. "I marked the chapter on their circulatory system; thought you might be interested.
"I'd love to be of more help, but dragons are not exactly my specialty, and – " She sighed. "Well, the cake's for your siblings and you. Enjoy." She smiled.
"Thank you, Bathilda," said Albus. "For everything."
"A pleasure, my boy. Your brother and you are beginning to look gray. You let me know about that jam."
The moment he heard Bathilda's front door closing behind him, he opened the book where it was marked.
His expression turned dim. He flicked through the rest of the chapter; only three pages. To be expected. In a historian's house.
He shut the book and made it for his house, but Aberforth was walking up the road in his direction, an expression of deepest loathing on his face. It was evident he had been crying. He must've spent his morning at the graveyard, Albus thought to himself.
Looked as if a remarkably long day lay ahead. Yet again.