Hogwarts: Chill, I'm Not That Riddle-Chapter 532: Dumbledore Out of Character

— — — — — —

"I admit I was wrong. I surrender."

Pierce gripped the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turned white. Humiliation burned through him, but he forced the words out in a hoarse voice.

"I’ll issue a public apology. I’ll make it clear that I will never target Miss Ariana again and that there will never be any actions taken against her in the future. If you don’t believe me, I’ll even swear an Unbreakable Vow with you."

"Dumbledore... this situation has already gotten big enough."

Quahog’s face was just as pale. He tried to keep his composure as he spoke up beside him.

"Pierce hasn’t been in office long. You should understand the pressure he’s under. Grindelwald has been pushing him hard. He was only worried that you might..."

"Worried that I’d join forces with Grindelwald?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

Quahog didn’t say it aloud, but the way his eyes darted away said everything.

Of course they were worried.

If those two joined hands, and then you added Tom Riddle... along with that monstrously powerful pet of his... what would be left to fight?

The wizarding world might as well skip straight to the ending.

"Quahog, I don’t want to waste any more words," Dumbledore said, shaking his head slightly. "How I choose to act is my own decision. That doesn’t give you the right to interfere with my thoughts. Yet you chose to stand with Pierce and block my path."

"As for your account... someone else will come settle it shortly."

With a casual flick of his wand, a chair from the corner of the room flew over. In midair it transformed into thick ropes that wrapped tightly around Quahog, binding him firmly to the spot.

"Dumble—mmph!"

Quahog struggled to protest, but halfway through his sentence his silk tie lifted on its own and stuffed itself neatly into his mouth. The result was nothing but muffled whining. Even his wriggling was limited by the ropes cinched tight around him.

Pierce swallowed hard.

"What exactly do you want from me? Are you trying to force me to resign?"

"I can apologize. I can make guarantees. But I absolutely cannot resign. I’m doing this for your sake too, Dumbledore."

He forced himself to keep talking.

"How do you think people will see it if I step down? They’ll say you forced me out. At that point, you’ll become a Dark Lord even more hated than Grindelwald. Because you’ll have broken the order of the entire world. Everyone will start copying you, relying on raw power to do whatever they want."

"That’s the very thing you hate most, isn’t it?"

Pierce had abandoned the idea of resisting with force.

Words were his last weapon. If he could persuade Dumbledore to spare him, he could keep his current position.

And as long as he remained the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, he would still have a chance to take revenge.

One of the large windows had been smashed open earlier when Quetzalcoatl crashed through it. Dumbledore glanced at the jagged hole in the glass, something thoughtful passing through his mind.

"Pierce, I never intended to force you to resign."

Pierce’s face lit up instantly, like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline.

"Dumbledore! I knew you were a reasonable man. Don’t worry. From now on, no matter what Ariana does, the Confederation will pretend we never saw a thing."

"Pierce," Dumbledore said quietly, cutting him off, "would you allow me to finish?"

"Of course." Pierce’s attitude immediately turned almost servile. Even his breathing became quieter.

"I never intended to let you live."

Dumbledore’s expression remained calm.

For Pierce, it felt like falling into an icy abyss. Every drop of blood in his body seemed to freeze.

All this... over a single sentence I said?

He wants to kill me for that?

The old wizard continued, almost gently. "Pierce, I understand why this confuses you. After all, you only said a few words. You never even took real action. At first, I didn’t understand my own decision either."

Pierce stared at him in horror, as if looking at a contradictory madman.

Dumbledore continued speaking, half as if to himself and half to the two men in the room.

"But what comes after that?"

"You surrendered. You apologized. Yet the price you paid was far too small. So small that it cannot possibly serve as a warning."

"Those who have been watching this entire affair will think I’m still the same man I used to be. They’ll see me go to all this trouble, nearly oppose the entire Confederation... just to make you offer a few half-hearted apologies?"

"And with you as a living example, Ariana will face endless trouble in the future. Because the cost of testing her will be far too low."

"If someone gets caught, all they have to do is follow your example and say sorry."

Dumbledore looked at the now completely stunned Pierce. His blue eyes held both weariness and an unshakable resolve.

"So... Sherlock Pierce."

"I truly am sorry."

"You must die."

"I need your life to ring the warning bells. I can’t let anything happen to my sister again."

"..."

"After a moment, he added softly, ’In the future, any of your family members may come to me. I will help them as best I can...’"

At first, he had intended to ask Quahog to pass that message along. But when he glanced at the man tied up so tightly in the corner, he wasn’t entirely sure Quahog would even survive leaving this office. In the end, he addressed Pierce directly.

"Sherlock. Write a letter to your family. Whatever you want to say, put it all down."

Their eyes met.

In Dumbledore’s gaze, there seemed to be a deep, mysterious whirlpool. An invisible pull tugged at Pierce’s mind.

Pierce stiffly turned around and walked toward the desk, one step at a time. He picked up the quill.

"Pie—"

Quahog had finally spat out the tie stuffed in his mouth. He tried to speak, but the moment Dumbledore’s calm, indifferent eyes swept over him, the words died in his throat.

The room fell silent.

Only the soft scratch of quill against parchment filled the air.

Dumbledore stood there quietly.

He felt guilt for driving a man to death who, strictly speaking, did not deserve it. But he did not regret it.

That may be what the psychologist Albert Bandura called Moral Disengagement—where individuals convince themselves that ethical standards do not apply in specific contexts.

But that wasn’t really what Dumbledore was experiencing.

No one could truly know how human consciousness worked. But for Dumbledore, he knew he was guilty, yet he chose this path deliberately. He hoped—and convinced himself—that one death could prevent many more.

This was the way of the publicly known White Lord.

He would shed tears while doing what he believed was right.

When necessary, he could sacrifice anything for victory, even if it meant mutual destruction.

And today, for Ariana’s peace in the future, he would sacrifice one Pierce.

...

Pierce wrote quickly. Less than five minutes later, he set the quill down with a small clatter. His expression was distant, almost dazed.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said with a small nod.

He stepped forward, carefully folded the parchment, and slipped it into an envelope.

Then he looked at the man before him.

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

"..."

Pierce walked slowly toward the gaping hole in the wall where Quetzalcoatl had smashed through earlier.

Without hesitation, he jumped.

The rushing sound of wind flashed past.

Dumbledore slowly closed his eyes. His fingers curled slightly.

A few seconds later, a startled voice echoed from outside.

"Whoa. For a second there I thought the headmaster had thrown a hidden weapon at me."

Tom flew in through the opening with Daphne in his arms. The young lady patted her chest, still shaken.

"That scared me to death. One second he was there, and then—splat!—he hit the ground."

Dumbledore opened his eyes and looked at the young couple standing before him with a helpless expression.

One was utterly lawless.

The other utterly carefree.

Strangely enough... they really did suit each other.

Tom’s gaze drifted around the room before settling on a charred stone slab covered in cracks.

Dumbledore followed his line of sight. He had noticed the slab as soon as he entered the office. A faint trace of Quetzalcoatl’s aura still lingered on it.

But Pierce had been the more urgent matter. The longer the situation dragged on, the greater the chance that something unexpected might occur... maybe he would have softened, maybe even spared him.

"Headmaster, why don’t you take Daphne around the building for a tour?" Tom said casually. "President Quahog and I will have a little chat."

Some conversations between men weren’t suitable for young ladies. And they could get... complicated.

Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

"No! No!"

Quahog suddenly screamed in terror.

"Let me go! I didn’t do anything against you, Dumbledore! Save me!"

"Ah, old age," Dumbledore sighed. "My hearing just isn’t what it used to be."

He acted as if he hadn’t heard a single word of Quahog’s desperate cries. Turning to Daphne, he spoke gently.

"Miss Greengrass, would you come with me? I’ve attended quite a few meetings here. I know the layout of the building fairly well."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Daphne said obediently.

Before leaving, she glanced curiously at the tightly bound Quahog, then followed Dumbledore out of the office.

Tom smiled at the unfortunate President.

"Mr. President, this is our first time meeting. But that’s alright."

"I’m sure we’ll become very... openhearted friends soon enough."

---

Two and a half hours later, Dumbledore finally returned to the top-floor office with Daphne.

It wasn’t that the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards was particularly fascinating, or that Daphne insisted on touring the place for that long.

Old Dumbles had simply been working.

After the Supreme Mugwump’s sudden "accidental fall," the honorary Supreme Mugwump had naturally been forced to take responsibility and clean up the chaos left behind.

Even though he had talked about resigning before... well, clearly he hadn’t actually done it.

Strangely enough, the international Aurors who had been so hostile toward him earlier were now obediently following his orders.

Two teams were sent to clean up the scene where Pierce fell... and collect the body.

Other Aurors, along with the wizards from the Obliviation Department and the Office for the Preservation of the Statute of Secrecy, worked to contain the situation and erase any chance of the magical world being exposed.

Task after task was assigned carefully.

Without realizing it, hours had passed.

During all that time, Daphne had only managed to see a few dull hallways and some painfully boring meeting rooms. Her lips were so pouty that Dumbledore couldn’t help but wonder if he had been too harsh with her.

Eventually, he realized his mistake.

And he had to bribe her with one hundred house points before the young lady finally promised not to complain.

When they returned to the office, Dumbledore stopped short the moment he walked in.

Only Tom was there. The President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, Samuel G. Quahog, was nowhere in sight.

The boy was lounging comfortably in what used to be Pierce’s leather chair, flipping through a newspaper from the desk with casual interest.

"Where is he?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled.

"Who?" the boy replied, looking up with an expression even more confused than Dumbledore’s.

Dumbledore: "..."

.

.

.

(A/N: Even the clearest river sometimes changes course... Humans aren’t machines with codes. Everyone has their out-of-character moments, and as for Dumbles, I have my reasons, which I will explain in the future Chapters.)