Chapter 53: Dumbledore, You Call Yourself a Leader?

Chapter 53: Dumbledore, You Call Yourself a Leader?

Hogwarts Castle, Eighth Floor.

Leon stood before a gleaming oak door and knocked on the brass griffin knocker.

"Is that Mr. Shelby? I told you the password. Come in, come in," Dumbledore's voice called from within.

Leon spoke the password. "Toffee Eclairs."

The door swung inwards, and Leon stepped inside. As expected, the Headmaster's office was considerably larger and more impressive than those of the other professors. Spindle-legged tables held a collection of strange, whirring silver instruments emitting puffs of smoke. Portraits of previous Headmasters hung on the walls, their occupants snoring softly in their frames. A large, circular desk stood in the centre, and behind it, on a shelf, rested a frayed, patched wizard's hat.

Leon looked around but saw no sign of Dumbledore. The room was empty, not even Fawkes the phoenix was present. Just as he was wondering, the old man's voice sounded again: "Is that Mr. Shelby? I told you the password. Come in, come in."

Leon located the source – a small gramophone on the desk. He raised an eyebrow, surprised at Dumbledore's interest in Muggle contraptions. Beside it lay a note written in elegant, looping script:

Had a small matter to attend to. Mr. Shelby, if you arrive first, please wait a moment. There's tea in the pot by the fireplace and biscuits in the drawer. Help yourself.

An unreliable host, Leon thought, mentally chiding the Headmaster. He had no interest in sickly sweet tea or biscuits that were likely just disguised lumps of sugar. The Sorting Hat, however, caught his eye.

It seemed to be asleep, utterly still. Leon didn't try to converse with it. Instead, he reached inside, curious to see if anything was hidden within.

"What do you think you're doing? You greedy Slytherin!" the Hat suddenly shrieked, clearly a grumpy riser.

Leon snatched his hand back and put the Hat down. Just as expected, he mused. Even if a Slytherin tore this thing apart, he'd never pull out Gryffindor's sword.

But then another idea struck him. He casually drew his revolver and tried to shove it inside the Hat, wondering if it would fit. It might serve as a decent storage space, at least.

"What are you doing?! You wicked Azkaban reject!" the Hat wailed even more pitifully.

After a moment, Leon gave up, setting the Hat down with a sigh. "Useless," he muttered. "Good for nothing but dividing students and creating artificial barriers."

"My master was the great Godric Gryffindor! How dare you!" the Hat screeched indignantly. "In nearly a thousand years, I have never made a mistake! Every student goes to the House best suited for them!"

Leon had no desire to argue with a hat. He continued to wander around the office. But the Hat, taking his silence as contempt, only grew louder, disturbing the peace.

"That's quite enough, Hat," Dumbledore's voice suddenly appeared. "Be respectful to my guest. If you're tired, go back to sleep." He flicked his wand, and the Hat fell silent. Dumbledore brushed some dust from his robes, looking as though he had just travelled.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Shelby. Apologies for keeping you waiting." He went to the fireplace, poured himself a cup of tea, took a long, blissful sip, and sighed contentedly.

"Mr. Shelby," Dumbledore began, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, peering through the steam rising from his cup. "How are the Duelling Practice sessions progressing? You seem to be causing quite a stir."

Leon had no patience for the old man's games. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I prefer direct conversation. You wish to discuss the Peaky Blinders, correct?"

"..." Dumbledore's glasses fogged slightly, conveniently obscuring his awkward expression.

"Limited power requires consolidation," Leon stated calmly. "Even one as mighty as Voldemort needed Death Eaters to do his bidding. And as for the silver-haired Dark Lord before him... his followers were countless."

Dumbledore's glasses seemed to fog even more, hiding a flicker of old pain.

"Therefore," Leon concluded, providing the justification, "to effectively counter Voldemort, we must establish a reliable organization."

Dumbledore's voice sounded strange, distant. "I once had such an organization myself. In my time..."

"The Order of the Phoenix. I know," Leon cut him off ruthlessly. "Lupin and Moody told me. They were members." He paused, then delivered the blow. "My Peaky Blinders will not meet the same fate."

"It may be harsh to say, Mr. Dumbledore, but you failed to protect your followers. More accurately, you betrayed them."

"Harry's parents gave their lives. Neville's parents were tortured into insanity. Moody sacrificed his health and body hunting down Death Eaters... I don't need to list them all. Close your eyes, and you can surely recall every single person who died for your Order."

"After Voldemort was defeated – by chance – what did the survivors receive, Mr. Dumbledore?"

"The hero's orphan was left in abusive conditions for ten years. The loyal Mad-Eye returned to the Ministry only to be met with suspicion, eventually forced into bitter retirement. And the poor werewolf? Still ostracized, still distrusted, forced back into a life of wandering."

"They followed you through hell. And what was their reward?"

"You navigated the fire, but when it came time to cleanse the rot from the old world, you lost your nerve?"

"Everyone was waiting for you to take that damned position! To become the Minister of Magic!"

"The veterans of your Order risked everything for years, and in the end, they didn't even get the title of 'hero'!"

"You call yourself a leader?"

"Even defeating Voldemort wasn't your victory! It was bought with the lives of Harry's parents!"

"What right did you have, on behalf of all those people, to refuse the Ministry?"

By the end, Leon's voice had risen, tinged with genuine frustration. He truly couldn't comprehend Dumbledore. Afraid power would corrupt him? Then why step up as a leader in the first place? Did he seize the throne only to regret the rebellion? What was the point?