Harry's old mentor was advancing on them, wand drawn, power so crazily potent pounding out from it that it churned Harry's stomach as it hit him. It was all he could do to keep his bowels under control. Dumbledore's skin was sunken, his eyes nothing more than black holes. But he moved, lithe and springy, as if he were in his prime. But he wasn't in his prime, far from it.