August 2nd, 1956
Gellert,
One of the perils of teaching for long is that one becomes accustomed to presenting, as one must to children, the illusion that one is entirely knowledgeable and confident in one's path through life, even when one may, in fact, be a fool and lost.
I never considered you my lapdog, old friend. If anything, I often thought of myself as yours for those few months, I caught up in your dreams of glory, I the one who felt betrayed when I realized the full implications of those dreams and the broken backs they would climb upon. But when teaching long, too, one learns to recognize when a dispute is simply--did not--did too.
Hate me, then, if it will make your remaining years easier. I had hoped, childish hopes, that you wouldn't, even after--but I am nothing but a lost old fool anyway. But, whatever you think of me, I must ask after this British fellow you mentioned. This made-up name wouldn't happen to be Voldemort, would it? I would leave you well enough alone, as you wish, but there have been ominous rumors round that name as of late, and I am compelled to ask.
That aside, be well.
Albus