[ if gellert has been particularly observant lately--and doubtless he always is--then perhaps he's noticed that something feels a bit different. it's hard to tell what it is, though; a once-familiar head of hair in a crowd, maybe, quickly gone. perhaps he's already guessed the cause. regardless, it resolves itself this evening with a gentle click of a door opening and shutting, and a slender young man leans back against the heavy wood with his wrists crossed neatly between his body and the old planks.

he shifts, lifting cornflower blue eyes-- older than his years, wickedly intelligent, calculating and unreadable. it's been a very, very long time since albus dumbledore looked like this. --pushing himself up out of his lean, he crosses slowly toward gellert's desk, long fingers ghosting over the back of a chair as he goes. ]

I didn't believe it at first, [ he admits mildly, a stray curl falling over his brow. he lifts a hand to push it away, stare flicking over gellert's face--eyes to mouth to chin--then traveling down his throat and chest, sweeping to his hands.. then back up once more. ] As soon as I saw you, though, I knew it was you. [ finally, the first hint of real emotion: his lips press thin, brows drawing together almost imperceptibly. the things he's heard, the things he's read..

he takes a breath, releasing it slowly. ] Gellert.. We should talk, don't you think?