Draco stared up at the older version of himself that had entered his bedroom at these infernal headquarters, a feeling of morbid curiosity overtaking him.
"You know, I don't recall this conversation taking place," his older self said.
"Well done you've fucked up time," he snarled, his older self chuckled.
"I was such a little prick," the man before him said quietly, taking a seat on the bed beside him.
"What changed," he asked his counterpart.
"We grew up kid, a war is coming one where you have to choose a side," his older self spoke.
"I'm already on a side," he protested, his older self laughed.
"You think it's grand don't you; you'll become a Death Eater like father, ware a cape and a mask and enjoy the boy's club while purging the world of those undeserving of magic, to forge a new better world," the older man spoke, his eyes dark.
"Isn't that what you did," he asked.
"No, Lucius fucked up his life, serving a man who was a half-blood, who caused atrocities, genocides of people who bleed the same vibrant red as us," the older man spoke.
"So what you want me to choose the golden club," he asked.
"Later this year, Lucius will be arrested, this time next year, you'll be getting pinned down while this is burnt into your flesh," his older self spoke, ripping up his sleave to reveal the serpentine Dark Mark, Draco couldn't help the grimace that crossed his face.
"To this day, I've never felt a pain like it, I begged to be killed," the man commented, Draco felt sick.
"So what do I do," he asked.
"Hermione intends to wipe everyone's memories, but I can't have you forgetting everything, some things stay with you even when a memory is wiped, I need you to remember this," the man spoke locking his eyes upon his, slate on slate, a memory that was not his own attacked him a memory where Granger was bleeding on the floor of his ancestral dining room as his auntie Bella tortured her. Draco found himself fixated on the ruby red blood oozing out of the carved letters on the girl's wrist.
"Why are you showing me that," he asked, pulling away abruptly.
"Because I already have, I had flashes of that memory for years clawing at my subconscious. When I was offered help from the Order, I accepted it because that memory urged me to do so. When it really happened in our seventh year I revealed my true side, outing myself as a traitor to save Hermione and her friends, helping them to win the war," his older self said.
"Was it worth it," he asked.
"I'm married to a beautiful woman and our children are growing up in a world free of war, I'd say it was worth it, yes," the older man said.
"What if I don't make the same decisions," he asked.
"You will because I already have," the older man spoke, standing up to exit the room; he could hear the excited calls of the children calling for their dad and couldn't help the small flutter of joy that ignited within him. He supposed it would be alright to be a father, to be loved, to live in a world free of violence. When the time came, he hoped he made the right decisions but for now he felt trapped within the Order's headquarters, like an imposer living amongst them.