Chapter 52: A Headmaster's Calculus
"I don't believe our paths need to cross any more than they already have, Mr. Dumbledore," Evans stated, his tone perfectly neutral—neither deferential nor confrontational. It was a simple statement of fact. His role as the Council's observer and Dumbledore's role as Headmaster were fundamentally separate.
Dumbledore had long accepted the reality of the Council's presence at Hogwarts. Expelling a known agent was pointless; the Council would simply send another, more discreet one. It was far more pragmatic to tolerate the devil he knew. Evans, now exposed, was a known variable. The unspoken agreement was clear: Evans would observe without interference, and Dumbledore would ignore his presence. The comfortable, two-story hideout Evans occupied existed solely because Dumbledore allowed it.
Wooing Evans was never a consideration. The man's first loyalty was to the Council. Any action outside his mandate would be instantly noted. Thus, Dumbledore's interaction with him was one of cold, practical detachment.
"My priority is the Philosopher's Stone," Dumbledore said, his gaze shifting from Evans to the far more intriguing puzzle: Solim. "We will speak another time." Compared to a known bureaucrat, the young Slytherin who had handed him a Horcrux was infinitely more worthy of his attention.
Solim's gift of the Resurrection Stone had provided the first tangible proof of Voldemort's Horcruxes, a theory Dumbledore had long held. But the motives behind the gift were a labyrinth. Why would a scion of the ancient, powerful Selwyn family involve himself with Voldemort's darkest magic? The Selwyns were largely untouchable by the Dark Lord's influence. Were they merely curious? If so, they would have kept the Stone to study in secret. By giving it to him, even temporarily, they were signaling a desire for something.
But what could Albus Dumbledore possibly have that the Selwyns lacked? He was not a man of great material wealth. The answer, he suspected, lay in the one legendary artifact he did possess: the Elder Wand. Its ownership was no secret in certain circles, and the Selwyns' interest in the Deathly Hallows was likely well-documented. Was their price for assisting against Voldemort a claim to the Wand after his death? It was a conversation that needed to be had, openly and clearly.
Seeing Dumbledore deep in thought, Evans seized the moment to voice his primary grievance. "Now that this business is concluded, I should return to writing my report. But, Mr. Dumbledore, if it's within your power, I would ask you to... encourage those Gryffindor students to be less... adventurous." The resentment in his voice was palpable. A significant portion of his extra paperwork was directly attributable to their exploits.
A twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's eye. "We should not deprive them of the joys of their schooldays, Mr. Summerby. Such experiences become precious treasures in one's later years."
Evans's lip curled in a silent sneer. Spare me the platitudes, he thought. You just can't be bothered to rein them in. Without another word, he turned and disappeared from sight.
Finally alone with Solim, Dumbledore turned his full attention to the boy. "Now," he began, his voice gentle but penetrating, "perhaps you can share your thoughts."
"On what, precisely?" Solim countered. "The Stone? Quirrell? Voldemort? Harry Potter? Or the entire theatrical production?"
"You are unlike almost any other student I have encountered," Dumbledore observed. "You remind me of another brilliant, calculating young man I once knew."
"Voldemort," Solim finished for him. He knew the comparison was inevitable. Dumbledore's failure to guide Tom Riddle had left a permanent scar, making him hyper-vigilant toward any student displaying similar cunning and ambition.
"Indeed," Dumbledore acknowledged. "But I perceive a fundamental difference in you. Your actions regarding Quirrell, for instance. I am not surprised you deduced his role, but I am curious about your... inaction."
Solim understood the unspoken question. Quirrell had not been a willing servant. His attempt to curse Harry during the Quidditch match had been a desperate, clumsy cry for help—a hope that the professors would notice something was terribly wrong and free him from the parasite on his soul. Those who knew, like Dumbledore and Solim, had seen his struggle but deemed the cost of intervention too high. Those who would have acted on principle, like McGonagall or Harry, remained unaware until it was far too late.
"Quirrell was a lost cause the moment he drank the unicorn's blood," Solim stated flatly, voicing the cold calculus they had both employed. "The curse upon him was irreversible. Even if he could have been freed from Voldemort's possession, his body and soul were already forfeit. The resources required for a temporary, painful reprieve were disproportionate to the outcome. He was a casualty of war the moment Voldemort chose him."
It was a brutal assessment, devoid of sentiment. It was the kind of reasoning Dumbledore himself was forced to use, and hearing it from an eleven-year-old was both chilling and revealing.
♧♧♧♧♧
IF YOU LIKE MY WORK, POWER STONE WOULD BE APPRECIATED
♧♧♧♧♧
YOU CAN ALSO JOIN MY PATREON AT
Patreon: Patreon.com/ShadowQuill7
FOR ACCESS TO 20 EARLY CHAPTERS
BE A PART OF THE STORY AND SUPPORT ME
Currently at Chapter 72: The Start of Term in Patreon