Of Choices and Regrets

Repercussions and Proposals-

Draco appeared in his dark room. It was the same as before he had left to fight. It was eerie to see his things exactly the same when he himself had been violently changed so much. It had only been an hour, but he felt as if he was living a new life.

He put the little girl on the floor and opened the door. He carefully looked down the corridor, making sure the coast was clear. He needn't have done that; no one ever came into his wing of the house.

Draco picked up the girl, who softly murmured and rolled her head. He ran across the hallway into another bedroom. It hadn't been used in decades at least, and it was bare except the big bed crouching in the dark corner and the heavy drapes blocking the sun. Draco gently placed her on the bed and backed away.

He was unsure of what to do next. Sure, they had covered some simply healing spells at Hogwarts, but he wasn't sure what to use. He wasn't even sure what spell had hit her. After a tense moment, Draco cleaned the girl's wounds and healed her scrapes. Biting his lip, he took one last look before locking the door behind him.

Breathing deeply, he went downstairs. Draco found the Death Eaters in the same room as before, though the aura was very different. Instead of ruthless, confident men eager for blood and recognition the Death Eaters now seemed to be a dejected group that were nursing their wounds and simmering with anger at themselves and at their fellow companions for the complete loss at Diagon Alley.

They had killed a lot of civilians, but very few Order members had been disposed of. On the other hand, the Order members had taken almost half of them. It was quite evident that the Order of the Phoenix hadn't suffered much from Dumbledore's death. Instead, it seemed that they were more determined and, to a point, more battle-ready. All the Death Eaters cursed the new leader of the Order, for Harry Potter had commanded the situation and his fighting skills had taken down many men.

Fenrir Greyback appeared in the front of the room. He was fearful to behold; his bared teeth and flaying arms gave him an image of manic rage, completed by his red nails, robe covered in stains, and his mouth dripping with blood. Unable to speak, he howled and screamed, waving his fists at one Death Eater then another. His wide eyes swiveled in his eye sockets, rolling up to reveal the whites before focusing on the men.

The Death Eaters shrunk back, flinching every time him arms and eyes came their way. Shivering and looking nervously at one another, the Death Eaters silently waited for Fenrir Greyback to calm down.

After a moment, Fenrir closed his eyes and dropped his arms. He breathed deeply, rolled his neck, and unclenched his fists. He opened his eyes and looked around once more. Although he still glared, the fire in his eyes had burned down to embers.

He growled. "We have failed the Dark Lord! You have failed! We will be punished: me for orchestrating this monstrosity, and you for letting the Order win." His deep voice rumbled with each quiet, passionate word. He looked around again.

"You all make me sick. Your weakness, your fear, your inability to fight when faced with death. You are not Death Eaters. You are not really even men. You are pawns to be ordered around to help the king; you are beasts to be slaughtered in place of His few. You are given a simple task: kill as many people as possible before you are killed. Yet you selfishly try to save your own life, your own hide, your own mind, your own pride. Do you not understand? You own nothing! The Dark Lord owns you, you are not free and independent! Who do you think you are?

"You are the American Colonies and the Dark Lord and His favorites are Britain. He owns you, cares for you, feeds you. The Dark Lord helps you, trains you, accepts you. He expects you to repay Him by following Him loyally, and by fighting for Him. You are to give Him land, people, wealth, fame, and power. Yet when He needs a little bit more, you decide to rebel and not do as He bids. America tried to do as they wanted; they tried to survive without the iron fist of government. Well, look at how America turned out! Crime is one of its biggest problems and it imprisons more people than any other empire. The people are fat, unhappy, and lazy. They want quick fixes, they want more options, and they want it all without it costing them. They want more, yet are unwilling to work for it. Instead, they fight one another in the courts, hoping that they will win and get money. There are so many problems with the government, the drugs, the corruption, the prostitution, and the violence. The country is torn apart by political parties instead of the issues. The Americans are more influenced by pop culture and celebrities than their own government. They pretend they are world leaders even as they illegally invade other countries because they wont give the U.S. what they want.

"Do you really want to be like those people? Those people that think they are entitled to everything they want because "their American"? They preach freedom and equality, yet are prejudice against people that aren't like them, such as those in the Middle East. Do you want people to hate you, even as you act as if everyone loves you and looks up to you?

"We aren't Americans! You aren't free and independent. You aren't entitled to any of that freedom-junk those self-absorbed, hypocritical, silly muggles shout. So stop acting as though you are!"

Fenrir Greyback was panting by this point. The passion and conviction in his voice widened many eyes and his words cooled many hearts. Silence fell over the group as they thought over the speech.

Fenrir coughed. "Amycus, come here." The man wove his way through the crowd and joined the werewolf in the front of the room. "Take down everyone's name. I assume you still have the list from before the battle. Compare the two and tell me who is dead, who is captured, and who defected. I want those lists within two hours. Got it?" Amycus nodded his head and quickly pulled out his parchment. Fenrir turned around and scanned the room as the man beside him began to scribble furiously.

The old werewolf walked over to were Draco was standing. He roughly grabbed his arm and with a bloody smile said, "Time to present our performance review to our boss. Lets see if you pulled out a promotion." With that, he apparated them to a field outside a large stone castle.

Greyback strode quickly over to the entrance and pounded on the oak door. A small man appeared. His eyes were narrowed as he surveyed the men before him.

"I offer no hope of life, for the path is hard and dangerous."

"I travel not for myself, but for the glory of the Dark One."

The man nodded and let them in. Grabbing a torch, he led them down long and twisting corridors, down into the belly of the stone beast. He stopped in front of a pair of massive oak doors. He pointed to them with a flourish of the hand and a small bow then disappeared into the darkness.

Draco swallowed hard and tried to compose himself as Fenrir pushed open the doors. The werewolf attempted to stride in confidently, but even Draco could see is hesitation, and his fear was palpable.

In the middle of the far wall a fire crackled invitingly but the warmth didn't reach far. The icy air made Draco shiver, though he didn't know whether it was from the temperature or his nerves.

Sitting in a luxurious armchair, Lord Voldemort watched the two men cross the room. His eyes narrowed into slits and he frowned. He could tell they were bearers of bad news.

"Back ssso sssoon, Greyback? Thisss doesss not bode well, now doesss it?" Voldemort hissed. "Well?"

The werewolf, so fearless in battle, now shuffled his feet and his head dipped down towards the ground. His eyes darted nervously before he answered.

"We were...we were outnumbered...the Order...we didn't expect them...not that quickly...we didn't think...they would be there...like...like that...not that quickly." Fenrir Greyback swallowed and his eyes fluttered shut for a second. "We couldn't get there in time... they were ready for us somehow. I...I..." His voice trailed off as Voldemort raised his hand. Shadows seemed to grow on his face.

"You failed me."

"My Lord!" Greyback cried, but it was too late.

"Crucio!"

The werewolf's screams echoed in the large stone room. Draco closed his eyes and tried to close his mind. He didn't want to think; not here, not now.

The spell was lifted and the screams of pain stopped, but Fenrir did not get back up.

"Don't pay any attention to him." Lord Voldemort stared at Draco, trying to read his thoughts.

"I don't know how you did today, young Malfoy," the Dark Lord said in a warm, sweet voice, "so I can't make you a Death Eater yet. You need to complete a successful mission, and that was a disaster. But come closer, my son." Draco's legs unwillingly moved forward, lurching toward a man he hated and feared. But Draco was curious enough to want to know what was going on. Lord Voldemort's thin lips stretched into a cold smile.

"You could be my heir, you have the potential, boy. I could train you in the old ways and the dark ways; I could take you away from your prison," Voldemort whispered. "I could give you power."

Draco said nothing as the Dark Lord scanned his expressionless face. The Lord looked into the boy's mind and coldly laughed.

"You are confused. You have shown me nothing, yet I offer you everything. I talk of an heir, yet I am immortal. Such contradictions, such trivial inconsistencies," Lord Voldemort said quietly, the honey-coated words replaced by those of a distant monarch. He gracefully stood up and began a slow promenade around the room. Draco's eyes followed him, but he did not move.

"You are powerful, my boy. I have seen it. All I need to do is train you how to use it. I offer you everything; all I ask for in return is your loyalty. That was a simple matter to clear up, wasn't it? Now, the more complicated one: why would I need an heir? I am immortal unless someone figures out how I did it. Yet I have a suspicion Dumbledore found out, and I am sure he told his precious Potter before he was killed. In fact, he might have left the school in search of one, although I doubt he found one, or that he actually got enough information to even begin to hunt for them. There is a prophecy that said Potter is the one that has the power to defeat me, and for that reason I have tried to hunt him down and kill him before he figures out how to harm me. Unfortunately, he was well protected and survived every attempt. Now, I fear that I will not be able to see the rise of my empire, and that my death will crush the cause I worked so hard to build up. You know what happened last time people thought I was dead. Thus, I must have someone to take my place if I should ever die. Do you understand now, young Malfoy?" The Dark Lord sighed softly and leaned on the mantle of the fireplace. Draco stood rutted to the ground, unable to find the right words to say.

Finally, Draco folded his hands and bowed his head. "My life belongs to you, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort pursed his lips, but his gaze was still soft. "You are not ready yet I see. We shall talk again soon. My earlier orders stand. You are dismissed." He turned back to stare at the dancing flames and glowing embers.

Draco stiffened for a moment before bowing. He slowly walked out of the chamber, trying to remain calm and collected. Fenrir still lay on the stone floor, but Draco didn't want to be in the Dark Lord's presence any longer than he had to, especially not for a man he disliked.

Draco found the small man with the torch waiting in the corridor. He nodded to the young Malfoy before turning. The man's pace was much too slow. Draco wanted to run as far away as possible, as fast as possible.

He apparated back to his room as soon as he got out of the shadowy castle, not even taking the time to breathe in the fresh mountain air. He had to get back to the little girl.