"The magical security of the realm is my responsibility; not yours," said Croaker. "It was your responsibility... your duty... to alert me to the problem, immediately. Your hubris may well have led to the downfall of our world.
"Do you understand what's going to happen now th- if Riddle comes back? Those moronic minions of his are going to break the International Statute of Secrecy. That Statute is not there to protect the muggles from us; it's there to protect us from the muggles!
"Those morons are going to go out into the muggle world with their heads full of hippogriff shit about how they're going to enslave the muggles. They think wizards are so much more powerful than them. Nothing could be further from the truth!
"Oh, they're going to have some measure of success for a little while. But, that's all it's going to be - a little while. And then the muggles are going to capture film footage of those stupid bastards in action.
"When that happens, within hours... hours, Dumbledore... they're all going to know. Communications in the muggle world have literally reached near instantaneous speeds.
"And there's billions of them, Dumbledore; billions! They're all going to know and the combined might of the armies of the world are going to begin to hunt.
"In Greater London, alone, there are almost seven million muggles. In the United Kingdom? Fifty five million. In other words, in the British Isles they outnumber us almost five hundred to one!"
"The British army currently numbers over two hundred thousand combat qualified soldiers. Add their police, aurors, into that and the number exceeds four hundred thousand. In other words, their trained ground combat troops outnumber our entire population, from the elderly right down to the infant, by three to one! They outnumber our trained combat personnel, by almost seven thousand to one.
"And that, Albus, does not take into consideration their marines, air force or navy. Their air force, alone, can drop bombs from fifty thousand feet up, well above where we have any hope of reaching them, and rain down bombs that they can aim to pass through the window of your bedroom before exploding with the force of over one thousand simultaneously cast Bombardas.
"In other words, Albus... we would be FUCKED!
"And, here's you, hoarding important information that, because you've been hoarding it, could mean the death of basically every witch and wizard in magical Britain, let alone the rest of the world, because you feel you're so fucking wonderful you cannot bring yourself to informing anyone? You truly are... insane!"
Croaker hadn't even realised he'd risen in his seat to yell at the old man until he stopped. Finally, he dropped back into his chair and said, "Now. Start talking. Hold nothing back. Because, if you don't... for the real greater good... my people are going to mind-rape you until your brains are leaking out your ears and you're nothing but a drooling vegetable.
"Then, finally, they're going to drag you down to the Death Chamber and throw your worthless carcass through the Veil.
"Nobody knows you're here, Dumbledore. Nobody; but six of my people and myself. As far as the rest of the magical world is concerned, you're an escaped criminal. Your vaunted reputation is gone. The legacy you wanted is gone. Your own brother only cares enough about you to rail against the Fates that made you his brother.
"You will go down as one of the worst dark lords our world has ever known. Even Grindelwald, Peabody and... yes... even Riddle won't be as hated...loathed...despised... as you will be. That is, of course, if there are any of us left alive to even remember you. I very much doubt the chance of that."
When he stopped, Croaker looked at Dumbledore. The old man hadn't moved, hadn't said a word back. He just sat there with his head bent forward. The only sign of life from the old man were the fat tears sliding down his nose and dripping off the end of it.
"Now, you stupid prick," demanded Croaker. "Tell me what you know about Riddle and the Third Task. Hold back even one skerrick of information and I'll Cruciatus curse your arse myself. I'm authorising myself to use it!"
That still wasn't the breaking point for Dumbledore. No, over the next almost seven hours they worked him over. They used Legilimency, the Cruciatus curse, verbally abused him, truly pummelled him in every way possible, magically, physically, psychologically. After hours of work they then dosed him with an advanced cocktail of calming potion, Veritaserum, a mild babbling potion and even muggle pharmaceuticals.
And, finally, he started to release the information he'd hoarded. He told them everything.
He even told them he knew he hadn't been there for five months, just from the growth of his fingernails. He'd deliberately chipped one, just to see if his fingernails were being trimmed without his knowledge.
That had really surprised the Unspeakables. They'd thought of hair growth, cleanliness of clothes, wear on his footwear, but not finger or toenails. That was added to their procedures for if they needed to do this in the future with someone else.
They then gave him two hours of rest, then worked him over again; dragging information out of him.
And they kept at it. They gave him just enough rest he had some sleep, but would have nowhere near enough before he was dragged out of his room and back to that interrogation room. And, yes, they also kept obliviating him of a lot of the knowledge he'd already given them. And about their knowledge of his 'trick' with the chipped fingernail. They trimmed them.
It did not take them long to learn or figure out that Bones was right. But, even then, she had little idea as to the depths of darkness to which Dumbledore had fallen. The old man truly was a Dark Lord; he was just better at hiding it than those who came before and after him. His whole Greater Good mindset was the same as that of his former lover, Grindelwald. The only difference was that Dumbledore wanted to accomplish it by working patiently from behind the scenes from within the shadows, while Grindelwald was more 'hands on' and less patient.
They worked him over in teams of three, hour after hour and for days, before they finally gave him rest. Eternal rest.
Finally, Croaker cast, "Avada Kedavra."
The disillusioned body of the man once known as Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, whose real name was Albus Percival Dumbledore, was thrown through the Veil of Death about ten minutes later.
It was Croaker's decision not to inform Bones and the Minister of Dumbledore's death until after Riddle was dealt with for good.
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