With Power Comes the Weight of Burdens
Contrary to popular belief, Dumbledore was miserable. He had lived for far too long. Seen too much. Caused outcomes he wished he hadn't.
The power which once granted him eyes and wings became increasingly heavy shackles with the passage of time.
He was a distorted man. Albus Dumbledore knew that. And yet, he couldn't help it. He simply saw good in everything. How could he not? Joined by the very magic they breathed and exhaled, everyone was a separate piece of a magnificent whole. He was unable to wish evil on other people as much as one could truly despise a brother or cousin one grew up with.
It killed him inside how no one else could see the world as he did. Incredibly more so how his mistakes always ended affecting unrelated bystanders.
Thus, he had chosen to make a selfish choice. To be the sole person responsible for sacrificing one for the greater good. If someone had to be blamed for doing what had to be done, it would be him and only him.
The moment his eyes bored into the young teen, Dumbledore knew that he represented a risk to all of his schemes. That he needed to be neutralized. However, Dumbledore was sick of it. His age had taken a great toll on him. He couldn't do it anymore. So he couldn't but choose to be selfish once more.
He chose to trust the stranger who held the name of an infant he failed in the last war.
What happened next quelled his worries significantly.
The misplaced bet he had taken resulted in the best decision he had made in decades.
