As Albus entered the requirement room, he sensed that someone had been there before him. No mortal would be able to tell if a broken pot, amongst the thousands that lined the floor, was out of place. Albus, however, had lived for over ten generations and had seen this room countless times. Knowing the prize that an intruder would covet, he went to where he knew his chest was and was unsurprised but dismayed to find that the chest had been opened and the wand inside had been stolen. No matter, Albus thought. He had the elder wand. After all, in fact, this may play into his hand. Should Astor try the stolen wand on him, he would be sealing his own fate. Next, Albus found the black pot. On it was a frieze of Azkaban itself, wicked dementors sucking the souls of unfortunate prisoners, he readied himself to visit the wretched place and, taking a deep breath, touched the pot and felt himself plunge inside.