Spits out the cologne. That one won't do at all. Tsk.

Do be careful. We don't wish to open the Florida portal again.

Ah, yes. These flip flops. Most economical.

. . . What is the first, Albus.

Oh! Where are my manners-- how I do forget. . . I shall enlist his help should we ever have to deal with a Florida portal again. I trust he is experienced.

Joins in. . . . Gently break-shuffling.

Drinking deeply from a bottle of Chanel no. 5.

It's for my nerves, Director.

Silently tenting the tips of his fingers, drumming this against one another. This is a rather solemn one.

If it is not improper to ask. . . Where was he last seen?

Sigh. He'll go see after it - though, he hopes that no one looks at their page.

She's always welcome!

Physically, non. Within the recesses of our mind, perhaps.

It's understandable. It's a sort of. . . tangible link to him. Like the scarf, yes? You were telling us earlier about your brothers in Washington. Any updates?

Monsieur Scamander is going to America soon - something about trying to track him. Graves, that is.

That sounds like a wise plan, then. Though, you may want to inform Albus.

Squinting back - though, he's normally squinting. "Yes?" (He had considered 'may I be of assistance'. . . but he'd never want to be in that position relative to Gellert.)

has the octahedron squinted back?

Hm. We must continue to observe, then.

Closing his book and slowly - as with everything - sliding it to the side, gnarled fingers are delicately tented, lips pursed in consideration. "What reason have you for inquiring?"