Too Noble to Use Them
“Only because you’re too — well — noble to use them.”
“It’s lucky it’s dark. I haven’t blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs.”
But Dumbledore was not blushing. Instead, he thanked his trusty Deluminator for the shroud of darkness – Minerva would have seen his cheeks remained barren of rosy tinge, and he could not afford to lose an ounce of credibility at this moment. There would be an upheaval, and people would look to him for guidance. He would have to lean hard on his unblemished reputation to get some key parts of his plan through the door.
The lies started – continued – almost immediately. Minerva had decided the time for small talk had ran out, and brought up the real question. How? How had Harry Potter lived, how had Voldemort been destroyed?
He used his most sombre tone to feign ignorance. “We may never know,” he told Minerva, and she did not question him. But this development had been not only explicable, but predictable. It was not a certainty, but it was not so far-fetched either, that an infant would destroy the self-styled Dark Lord. How, of all things, a baby, Minerva wondered… but of course it would be a baby. Helpless beings, protected only by the fact that they are loved. Indeed, as the Dark Lord had known not. It was almost enough to pity him. Dumbledore wondered if Tom Riddle had had a moment of doubt before he’d raised his wand on an infant, if he’d observed how unsportsmanlike it had been, if he'd felt any kinship at all with the orphan, or if he had merely congratulated himself on his foresight to eliminate the threat before it became a genuine problem. Dumbledore continued speaking with Minerva, who did not question him, dedicating only a fraction of his admittedly considerable brain power to the conversation. Avada Kedavra on a baby. Honestly, Tom. Surely not.
Magic had to be used sparingly. Dumbledore had learned the hard way about consequences and unintended consequences, misfiring spells, emotional outbursts combined with magic and the devastation they wrought. If “Voldemort” had used any other spell, he would have realized the baby had been granted a protection, and he would have lived to tell the tale. Or rather, he would have had a mouth with which to tell the tale. Dumbledore had no doubt the wizarding world had not seen the last of Tom Riddle. He had not lied about that. He winced internally when he thought about Severus. Getting this… unorthodox appointment past the rest of the staff - past the Ministry - would be a pain in the… but that was a problem for another day.
Dumbledore might have been too noble to stoop to the variety of magic Voldemort had used. In truth, that sort of magic held no appeal for him. Eternal life? He did not envy the phantom that must have been barely starting to understand what had happened to it. A consciousness so accustomed to its corporeal form and its power, now impotent, imperceptible, persisting only by sheer willpower. Sleep – the solace and single comfort of every being in pain – an ever present temptation, and were the phantom to succumb, it would fade forever. Desperately clinging on to whatever impression one can have without senses. Oh, Tom. Dumbledore genuinely viewed death as a pleasant alternative – at last, he would be at peace.
But not today.
No, Dumbledore was not too noble to use Voldemort’s brand of magic. He had simply learned his lesson decades ago. It was better – safer – to use people, instead.