Maeve Macmillan liked to write.
It didn't matter if it was writing her thoughts in her diary, short stories in a journal, articles for newspapers, essays for homework, letters to her parents, simple reminders on her hand, quotes on parchment to st...
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-------------------> MAEVE FELT BREATHLESS, like every particle of air in her lungs had been spell'd out of her. Her heart pounded erratically against her chest, a loud thumping noise that she couldn't ignore due to the suffocating silence of the room, which suddenly felt smaller.
Her gaze was unwavering and fixed on the Headmaster in front of her, who didn't react to her allegation, his features unshifted.
With every second passed by where Maeve was left without a response, doubts slithered into her mind. What if the Headmaster didn't remember? While the note had been monumental to Maeve, it could have been an insignificant act for him, one not worthy of remembering. Just because she prioritised something didn't mean everyone did, after all.
Maeve's countenance faltered, falling like the snowflakes outside. She chewed on her lower lip while she fidgeted with her hands and lowered her lashes, cheeks burning red from something other than the cold.
Then, she raised her head slightly and sneaked another glance at the Headmaster, whose visage still hadn't changed. Wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill, Maeve hesitantly asked, "You are A, aren't you Headmaster?" Her tone was less confident than it had been, warier.
What if she was wrong? What if the Headmaster wasn't even aware of what she said?What if he wasn't A?
People did have similar handwriting. Kate's and Max's were near identical. Maeve might have been mistaken and incorrectly identified the handwriting in that note. Maeve considered excusing herself and running out the door but then, realised that it was rude of her to do so without being dismissed. So instead, Maeve hugged herself tighter, her eyes darting around the room to anywhere but the person in front of her. Perched on the edge of her seat, Maeve was ready to flee at a moment's notice.
Crossing her legs, Maeve noticed the wide collection of books present in the Headmaster's office, although she couldn't read the titles due to their tiny font. There was also a small bowl of ashes beside his desk, which led Maeve to believe that the Headmaster was a smoker. Despite the tension in her shoulders, Maeve found herself mildly amused by the extravagant colours that were used to decorate the Headmaster's office, which reflected his personality perfectly.
"It's funny how things just have a way of happening."
Maeve snapped her neck to meet the source of the statement, surprised that the Headmaster was now speaking after being silent for minutes that stretched forever.
Albus Dumbledore wore a whimsical smile as he spoke, eyes distant on a trail of nostalgia. "I was on a visit to Egypt —for diplomatic purposes, of course— when I heard a scream in the bazaar. I rushed towards the noise and found a little girl whose arm held a dark patch and a lentifold about to attack her again. Her parents had been scrambling to try and divert the attention of the lentifold towards them while simultaneously attempting to cast the patronus charm while everybody else was giving them a wide berth, too afraid to be targeted by the lentifold themselves. But the young girl was still screaming from the pain and I was thankfully privy to the knowledge of a healing spell that would turn the recipient of the charm numb and make them fall into sleep for a few hours."
