Dumbledore's Betrayal

This story has some adult content.


Prologue:

Albus Dumbledore was in mourning. That much was obvious. The news had shaken him to his very core. The thought that his friend had gone was almost too much—but the knowledge, the terrible knowledge that he had been murdered had threatened to undo his seemingly calm and warm exterior. He had felt it. Deep inside. The anger burnt like a white flame, and for one moment, his vision was obscured. He could not see. He could not understand. He wanted revenge.

They had caught the person who had committed such a grave sin, but could find no proof. Veritaserum was proving impossible and he had used a different wand. He would be released from Azkaban by the end of the week if they could not force him to sign a confession. Albus was finding this a struggle to deal with. This man had killed his dear friend, a venerable old man who had meant no harm to anyone and had simply become caught up in the war, and was most likely to walk away!

Albus prided himself in being a rational man. How many times had he consoled others after they had lost someone who meant something to them?

Too many times than he cared to remember. And yet. This time, he could not find the calm that he preached to everyone else. Did that make him a hypocrite? He did not think so.

He would have his revenge. He would find a way.

He would do something. He would no longer stand by.

He walked into Azkaban prison and was shown to where David Glidden was being kept. A Death-Eater of very low power and worth, he was simply a pawn in Lord Voldemort's war. But he had killed. Albus was sure of this. He stared in at the man, heavily bearded and wrapped in the customary white shirt and loose trousers that Azkaban inmates had to wear.

Glidden glanced up at Dumbledore, peering in at him through the bars. Yellow teeth bared in a terrible smile. He leaned forward and spat onto the ground at Dumbledore's feet, knowing why he had come. "You can prove nothing!"

Albus knew that, in truth, he could not argue with that. At this current point, he could not prove anything. He folded his arms. "I will submit you to torture, if I must."

Glidden laughed at him. "You cannot. A very dear friend of mine has signed the Act that protects me, as an innocent citizen, from any form of interrogation by you—or anyone else. He is very high up in the Ministry of Magic; it means that he cannot have that permission revoked." He grinned. "If you know the Act, then you will know that, should you torture me, it will be you facing lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. It was clear who that person was.

"I am sure he was a good man—but he did not put up much of a fight."

The white flame was burning his chest once more, and for a moment, he struggled to breathe. "I will prove that you were the one that committed the crime." He whispered.

Glidden shook his head. "This time next week, I shall be free. I will walk away from you, and you will never find me. I did not kill him."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "We shall see."

He turned to walk away.

"You cannot do anything to me, Dumbledore!"

But Albus Dumbledore disagreed. He would find a way. He just needed someone who was willing to put their life in his hands. Someone who had slightly…compromised his morals in the past.

Someone who had experience with torture.

And someone who owed him a favour. Someone who owed him their life.