I suppose I thought it would be like the Old Days. But this is nothing like I remembered. A prisoner, me, in my own home! He's taken my wand and intends to kill the boy with it. I suppose that if he succeeds, it won't matter whose wand did the deed, but if he fails?
What a thought. I admit a secret thrill when it crossed my mind, but I cannot let it linger. He reads minds, and if he knew that I had the slightest hesitation . . . But he does know, doesn't he? I'm hardly successful at hiding my fear of him these days. My blood turns to ice when he draws near. I care barely speak when he asks me to. He's punishing me for my failures, and I'm not even man enough to stand up to him.
I can't stand up to him. I have my family to think of. I have nightmares of what he'll do to my wife, to my son, if I fail him again.
Merlin's beard. How did it come to this?
- Journal Entry: Thoughts On Voldemort, circa DH