CHAPTER 3 – I Chose Wrong
The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour was dead. The Dark Lord has won.
Yet Potter still lived. He had disappeared. Anyone that could be used to lure him back into the fold had also disappeared. The Dark Lord was not pleased. Lately, his mind seemed to be elsewhere. He wasn't as focused on dealing with the mudbloods and halfbreeds as they should be. Instead he seemed fixated on acquiring a wand.
The Manor and the family gold had been returned as promised but Draco didn't feel great at home. Mother insisted that he go back to Hogwarts but Draco would have none of it. Draco was already infamous in the Wizarding World for killing Dumbledore, he didn't want to have go back to the pathetic school and be reminded of that.
Draco had taken to wandering the grounds in order to pass the time. His parents were hardly the kind he could talk to. Father hadn't been very talkative since he was freed and was still embarrassed for being without a wand. Mother was no better, she didn't like having the Death Eaters frequently visiting the home.
Draco had come to prefer his alone time. Even when Crabbe and Goyle were following him around there wasn't much in terms of conversation.
It was driving Draco mad.
I've got to tell someone.
Draco needed to tell someone about how he felt after killing Dumbledore and the constant split in his soul he could feel. He hadn't felt right for so long. He needed something to get his mind off it.
For some unknown reason, Draco made for the cellar. There was only one prisoner in there and Draco didn't particularly like him but at least he won't talk to anyone.
Draco stopped by the bars. He peered into the dark cellar. Not a single ray of light in here. He was looking for the shape of an old man but it was hard to spot in the dark. Then movement could be heard.
So, he's still alive.
Ollivander had seen better days. His hair was grown longer and unruly, the colour in his skin was almost gone leaving the old man to resemble a ghost and he always had a shaken, frightened look on his face. By Draco's guess, he'll be dead by the end of next year.
"What do you want?" Ollivander asked. He didn't understand why Draco was just standing there. By now either Wormtail will have left his scraps for Ollivander or if the Dark Lord wished to… question him then the bars would have been opened right now.
The old man feebly stepped forward. He was confused. "Why are you here?" he asked.
Draco had to answer the old man "Just needed to talk to someone".
Ollivander gawked at him. That was the last thing he expect to hear from Draco. He slowly sat himself back down. He was interested in having a conversation with him. "Then go talk to your parents or to that little lump of a servant you keep" he fired back to Draco. Ollivander didn't like him. I don't blame him.
Draco hated Wormtail, so he wasn't go to talk to him. His parents were not the kind you could talk to about problems, so no. This left Draco struck with an old man that hated him and wanted nothing to do with him.
"The last time I saw you, I was purchasing my wand" Draco calmly uttered. He didn't bare the old man any ill will. The same could not be said about Ollivander who remarked "Your mother picked that one out for you. She completely disregarded my opinions and insisted that her son shall have the finest wand in my shop". Ollivander sounded angrier about having his opinion overruled than anything else.
"It still accepted me" Draco retorted. Wandmakers always said that the wand chooses the wizard. That was all Draco had to fire back at the old man.
"Yes, lucky thing too" Ollivander spoke back.
Draco was getting nowhere. He had to say what was on his mind. Why bother? The old man hates you and the very breath you breathe. That was all true but Draco didn't care anymore. "Wands have a choice?" Draco asked Ollivander.
The old man responded "The wand chooses the wizard. That's the way it has always been". Draco continued with "They always make the right choice?"
Only then did Ollivander seem to understand why Draco was bothering him. The old man looked at Draco with no understanding but disbelief "Are you saying that you regret joining the Death Eaters?" the old man bellowed with confusion. "No" Draco responded quickly. That was a lie. A part of him did regret joining the Dark Lord's ranks but it was his dream ever since his father told him about it.
The old man was even more puzzled 'Well if you have any regrets, you better hope that it's not too late".
"It is" Draco feebly answered tears filling his eyes.
It was far too late for Draco to do anything about his regrets. He had gone too far and even if, by some miracle, the Dark Lord was defeated he would still be The Boy Who Killed. Dumbledore's Murderer. No one would let him remain free for that. He would be in Azkaban until he was finally dead. Draco didn't particularly like that idea, the year is father spend in there had changed him. Draco wasn't interested in letting that happen to himself.
"I made a choice. I chose wrong" Draco finished. I should've accepted his help, at least I would be away from the Dark Lord.
Draco could feel something was changing. He felt more at ease than he had for some time. He was repairing himself by admitting his mistake. Regardless of that, Draco was still a killer. And I'll never make it right. There's no point anymore.