Chapter 53: The Calculus of a Greater Good
Was Albus Dumbledore a good man?
From the perspective of the wider wizarding world, the answer seemed clear. He was the beacon against the darkness, the one who had dedicated his life to opposing Gellert Grindelwald and later, Tom Riddle. He was willing to sacrifice his own life to rid Britain of Voldemort's shadow. By that measure, he was not just good; he was a hero.
But Solim saw the intricate, often ruthless, machinery behind the legend. He knew of the ancient, sacrificial magic that had saved Harry—a spell that couldn't be cast in a moment of panic, but required preparation. He knew of the prophecy, and how Snape, then a loyal Death Eater, had overheard it in a pub and fled to tell his master. He knew that Aberforth Dumbledore had thrown Snape out, but Albus, present that night, had surely been aware of the eavesdropper.
Solim believed this was not a failure of security, but a deliberate act of calculated indulgence. It was the first move in a long, brutal game. The tragedy of the Potter family, while horrific, had served a purpose: it had broken Voldemort's power and granted the wizarding world a decade of respite. In Dumbledore's grand strategy, their sacrifice, while tragic, had accelerated an inevitable conflict at a time that was more advantageous.
And then there was Quirrell. Dumbledore had known the man was compromised. He had watched his former student, a man crying out for help through his clumsy, desperate actions on the Quidditch pitch, be slowly consumed by the parasite on his soul. And he had done nothing. Could he have saved him? Perhaps. But the cost—whether in power, resources, or revealing his hand too early—was deemed too high. Quirrell, once he had drunk the unicorn's blood, was already a dead man walking, a casualty in a war he never asked to join.
The entire Philosopher's Stone affair had been a test with two subjects: one for Voldemort, to gauge his current state, and one for Harry, to see if the "Saviour" had the mettle to bear the weight of the world's hope. Dumbledore needed to know what Harry was made of. Would he crumble under threat, or would he stand firm? For that answer, Dumbledore was willing to let Quirrell die and risk Harry's life.
Was that the action of a "good" man? Solim didn't deal in such simplistic terms. People were not purely good or evil; they were complex, contradictory, and often made choices in shades of grey. Dumbledore's "greater good" required a coldness that would be monstrous in a common man. Solim, pragmatic to his core, didn't judge him for it. Quirrell's fate was irrelevant to his own goals.
"Alright," Solim said, breaking the heavy silence. "Let's set the philosophical debate aside and have a real conversation, Professor."
"Solim," Dumbledore began, his blue eyes piercing, "when you gave me the Gaunt family ring—"
"Temporarily gave it to you, Professor," Solim corrected smoothly. "There's a significant difference."
"Indeed, 'temporarily'," Dumbledore conceded. "I confess, I did not sleep that night. I spent the hours pondering you, and your grandfather. What was your purpose? What do you want from me? We are alone now. Can you provide an answer? I do not believe it is for a phial of my poor Fawkes's tears."
Solim had expected this. Such a gesture demanded scrutiny. "Professor," he said, choosing his words carefully, "in your youth, you and... another... sought the Deathly Hallows. You succeeded. You must know more about them than anyone alive."
So it is about the Wand, Dumbledore thought. He reached into his robes and drew it forth. "Our youthful pursuits... we were seeking power, a rather clichéd ambition for passionate young men." He laid the Elder Wand on the table between them.
Solim stared, captivated. It was longer than any wand he had ever seen, about fifteen inches, and it seemed to hum with a latent, ancient energy. This was the fabled Deathstick, the wand of destiny.
"They say its master is invincible," Dumbledore mused, a trace of sorrow in his voice. "And yet, look at the fates of those who have possessed it. It is a powerful wand, Solim, immensely so. I can attest to that. But it is not necessarily stronger than your wand."
Solim blinked. "You jest, Headmaster. I don't deny Mr. Ollivander's skill, but even a wand with a dragon heartstring core cannot compare to the Elder Wand."
"I was not referring to your Ollivander wand, Mr. Selwyn," Dumbledore said, his gaze sharp and unnervingly direct. He pointed a long, steady finger at the simple, unadorned ring on Solim's right hand. "I am speaking of your other wand."
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