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"You're not drinking your tea, Albus."
Albus Dumbledore turned from staring at the horizon to meet his companion's gaze instead. The lines surrounding Nicolas Flamel's eyes and webbing across his cheeks belied his great age, but the concern in the way regarded his protégé was old as time itself. Reaching over, Albus placed his hand over the top of Nicolas's, and smiled. He knew his half-moon glasses would glare in the setting golden sun with streaks of crimson, concealing his eyes from any potential Legilimens from the ancient philosopher.
"I'm enjoying the peace of your company, Nic. Forgive me if my mind wanders."
Nicolas chuckled, a dusty and mirthful sound breaking through the sound of insects warming up for their nightly orchestra. "Your mind wanders to him. Don't hide your pain, Albus. Burying it within only plants it deep within you where it can take root. You did exactly as you had to."
He kept his smile plastered, but the strain of keeping it on his face aged the younger man. Memories of blond hair and grand ambitions flooded him. Nicolas turned to hold his hand, the ridges of age and years of working with volatile chemicals creating crevices that felt strange against the smoothness of Albus's palm.