Why Him?
I am a prisoner. I have two captors. One is Dark. The other is Light. Yet they both trap me. I have two cells. One is a dilapidated and neglected mansion. The other is a grand and ornate castle. Both restrict my movements, my thoughts, and my freedom. I must travel from one to the other, and then back once more.
My first master demands complete servitude from me—and he threatens with torture and torment and agony should I disobey him. He guarantees my loyalty because I do not wish to feel such pain. To disobey my first master means to dance with death.
My second master demands complete servitude too—and he threatens with disappointment and dissatisfaction and discontent should I disobey him. He guarantees my loyalty because I do not wish to feel such pain. To disobey my second master means to dance with failure.
I do not wish to die and I do not wish to fail, so I follow their commands and submit myself to their torture.
My first master tortures with curses and blood and insanity. My second master torments with kindness and pride and affection. One is the epitome of instability; the other offers me a safe place to hide. One offers me power, the other offers me peace.
I must bow to my first master, I must show him respect, otherwise I shall be punished. And when I bow to him, there is a shadow of truth. I do respect him, and I do admire him, not because to disrespect him is dangerous, but because I am impressed by him.
I need not bow to my second master, yet it has become a matter of habit. And when I bow to him, there is absolute truth. I respect him more than anyone, and I admire him too, not because I must do save my own skin, but because he impresses me.
He impresses me with how easily he has imprisoned me.
He impresses me because he chased me, he caught me, and now he has me in the most submissive position—a captive soul, unable to flee, and yet desperate to serve.
I am nobody's servant.
I am not a servant of Lord Voldemort; I am his advisor and his favourite. When he calls my name, he expects my opinion and my thoughts.
I am not a servant of Albus Dumbledore, although I am certainly not his advisor and favourite. In fact, he sees me as nothing more than a tool to use, abuse, and abandon when the end is near. When he calls my name, he expects my obedience and acceptance.
Why should I choose to serve him? Why should I not choose the man who stands and offers me promises of greatness and ultimate power? The one who favours me above all others? Why should I choose to serve Albus Dumbledore when he offers me nothing, and betray Lord Voldemort, when he offers me everything?
I know both their promises are false.
Their similarities would horrify each other; for they are the same. They treat me the same. They tempt me with attraction and appeal, and I know that at the last minute, they will both snatch any security from me. I shall be left to fall.
One would expect that of Lord Voldemort, who trusts no-one, and works alone.
One would not expect that of the sainted and beloved Albus Dumbledore. Many cheer at the single sound of his name. If I were to accuse him of poisoning my mind and trapping me in my dungeons, I would be thrown in Azkaban just for such treachery.
And the worst thing is...the one thing I don't understand...I let him take me. I let him hurt me, I let those hard blue eyes cut into my skin and I promise that I will not let him down again.
I have never begged Lord Voldemort for mercy.
Yet, with Albus Dumbledore, I crumble easily before him.
Why him? Why is he—no, not even he—it is his opinion of me. Why is his opinion of me so important to me? Why must I fulfil his every request just to please him? Why do I not object to his treatment?
Why do I let him isolate me from anyone, ostracise me from civilisation, manipulate me in such a way that I do not even know myself?
Why him?