I should deeply hope not, I doubt these giants of ours would much fit in a cell.

[ Albus runs an absent hand through his hair, affecting an odd, straight-backed slouch that should look measures more forced than its patrician's ease. Truthfully, he doesn't care for that particular line of conversation much more than Will. It's been nearly two years since he last visited Azkaban's gates, and yet not nearly long enough. ]

Thank you. I presume that you have seen -- at least in passing -- the furor on the network regarding a Tom Riddle?

A young man of my world, Mr. Potter has seen to explaining some of his future actions; Mr. Miller, his present. The boy is a hazard, and has already shown himself as vicious in temperament as the so-called lord that he will become.

The question of what to do of him is a thorny one, but finds itself further complicated by the matter of those others that he surrounds himself with. Chiefly, one Bartemius Crouch Jr., and one Merope Riddle.

[ Albus leans forward, arms resting on his knees to spindle his fingers together. He looks to Will evenly, calm, as if they've just been discussing the weather. ]

Merope Riddle is in danger, Mr. Graham, danger of a sort that Bartemius Crouch assists in furthering. Presently, she is unable to leave Tom's quarters; there is no doubt in my mind that Crouch is one monitoring her whereabouts.

It strikes me as principally problematic to have no eyes on him in the handling of the matter.