Behind the Lines
Part Eight: Behind the Lines
I've spent a lot of time in shadows. I live in the shadow of my brother and the shadow of another building and the shadow of a name. No one ever remembered me, no one thought to ask my name. If they had, oh, they would have held me to such a higher esteem.
I once fought a war because my brother needed help. I stayed behind the lines and listened into conversations and let people chalk it up to Dumbledore's hunches. He always thanked me, and he always helped me stay in business and he'd always send me a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
I love Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
I once fought a war because I live in a shadow. I stayed behind the lines and no one knew my name. They've only met me once and they've only seen me around, I'm a familiar face but they can't recall from where.
I still listen into conversations, but there's no one to tell them to anymore. My brother fought a war and died for a cause I never really believed in. I spend a life in the shadows; I've never struck out and made something for my own, not even a belief. I fought because I was asked to, nothing more.
I still listen, though, but not many people actually go out anymore, and I'm getting old and starting to fray at the edges, and my business is almost scraping the ceiling of Hades, and not many people care, not even the ones who used to.
My brother used to be a lot to me, he protected me and kept me whole by never telling my name. Much as I'm indebted to him for it, I haven't forgiven him for it either. Because I was never given a way to believe in anything more than the things I was asked to believe in, because it was assumed that I would follow where he treaded, I could never make anything of myself.
But it doesn't matter anymore; the mistakes of a dead man are wiped away and forgotten, and all that remains are the good things he did, the righteous, the amazing. All that's left are words on a stone detailing the great things Albus Dumbledore did with his life, and they won't mention that he stifled a man's pointless future. It wasn't all his fault, and he did have good intentions, but the road to hell is paved with those. And the lines of war are painted with them.
I hide behind good intentions and strict lines and listen into conversations because no one knows who I am or how dangerous I could have been. I hide behind the lines and stay in the shadows because I can't fight on my own; I don't have anything to fight for.
I once fought a war because of good intentions. I hid behind the lines and no one asked my name.