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Albus blotted a piece of parchment neatly. Drying on his desk were a number of letters already written, to which this parchment was added. The shopkeepers of Diagon Alley were being most obliging, it pleased him to note. While the process of arranging expense accounts at each and every shop took much paperwork and effort, not a single one had hesitated to comply with Albus's apologetically troublesome requests. And while Voldemort's almost immediate re-popcorning had given Albus grim satisfaction, the appearance of the Dark Mark over Hogwarts certainly prompted among the wizarding community a renewed interest in doing as Dumbledore said.

No one seemed at all surprised he was alive. No one seemed to believe he had ever really died. Curious, that. All the pain and suffering of a real death, only to be welcomed back with knowing smiles and the occasional allusion to his pet phoenix Fawkes. It was as though they believed Albus himself to be a phoenix. Well, people needed their legends to give them comfort, to help them get by. If it had comforted the general wizarding world to think of Albus Dumbledore as slumbering in some Avalon to return again in their time of need, he could hardly begrudge them that. His own knew better: Minerva, Lily, all the rest.

His latest letter laid aside, awaiting seal and dispatch, Albus leaned back a bit in his chair. Outside his window, spring was in full riot, everything so fresh and alive. It brought a smile to his lips. April might be the cruellest month, but April was over now. "Sumer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu!" he hummed to himself.

Anyone who stopped by his office would find the former headmaster in an agreeable mood indeed.