Draco did not want to follow that wrong path again until he was doomed. Siding with Dumbledore and Potter was the only opportunity for the Malfoy family to escape the Dark Lord's oppression and perhaps even reverse their fortunes.
Potter... Although he was foolish, at this moment, Draco desperately hoped he truly was the prophesied savior who would achieve final victory and defeat the Dark Lord.
After all, Potter had escaped the Dark Lord multiple times.
The first time was at birth, when he was merely a baby. The second time, he dueled the Dark Lord in the graveyard, yet the Dark Lord still could not kill him. His father said a strange connection manifested between their wands, rendering the spells ineffective. The third time, the Dark Lord wielded his father's wand and fought Potter midair, but only his father's wand was destroyed—Potter remained unharmed.
A fourth time—if there were a fourth time, would the Dark Lord succeed easily?
There seemed to be something mysterious and unique about Potter that could resist the Dark Lord—though Draco never discerned what exactly made him so special.
In his estimation, although the foolish and arrogant Potter remained a prominent figure in their year, he had not demonstrated any talent or ambition that could match or surpass the Dark Lord.
No one understood this better than Draco. He had observed Potter carefully as his father instructed. He was disappointingly ordinary. Apart from a scar on his forehead, he appeared no different from any other common boy.
Objectively speaking, there was nothing particularly dreadful about him, nor anything particularly extraordinary.
He would lead a decent life in peaceful times, but he would never possess the talents and qualities to rival the Dark Lord.
This was precisely why the Malfoys almost immediately sided with the returning Dark Lord—they saw no possibility of Potter winning.
Had they known then that the ordinary Potter possessed a strange power that made him immune even to the Dark Lord's killing curse, they would have been far more cautious in their decision.
Draco gazed up at the fading moon in distress. He had to admit their judgment had been severely flawed. They had chosen the wrong path and stood on the wrong side.
Joining the Dark Lord did not bring them greater advantages. Instead, they lost their dignity, status, and wealth, living like stray dogs in constant terror.
Once the Malfoys were no longer useful, the Dark Lord would cast Avada Kedavra with a mere flick of his wand. He would not even flinch at the fall of the Malfoys—the Dark Lord cared only for himself.
Draco sighed. The intense contemplation, the regret, the disillusionment of a crumbling faith left him utterly exhausted. He slumped onto the Persian carpet, his fingers unconsciously clawing at the fine, soft wool, tearing at it as though he were tearing at his own heart.
He had wept alone, regretted, and fallen into despair more than once.
He never wished to become a pathetic Death Eater filled with shame and insecurity.
Suddenly, he remembered something and tremblingly lifted the sleeve of his light gray silk pajamas—as expected, he saw smooth, unmarked skin.
The hideous Dark Mark was absent, as though it had never existed. Draco exhaled, a smile of astonishment crossing his face.
He stroked his wrist repeatedly, murmuring over and over, "Thank Merlin."
He could feel relief washing through his soul. The pain, suffocation, and mounting pressure that the Dark Mark had caused in his memories had now vanished.
Thank Merlin he had not been branded with that disgusting mark.
Thank Merlin his father had not yet attempted to steal the prophecy and ended up in Azkaban.
Thank Merlin, Malfoy Manor remained peaceful and beautiful, a symbol of glory.
Draco stood excitedly, feeling lightheaded from rising too quickly. He gripped the ornate table to steady himself.
Were those memories dreams or reality? Everything had occurred so suddenly, so strangely.
He still could not believe it and spiraled into repetitive, chaotic thoughts once more.
Then he noticed the fateful Hogwarts acceptance letter lying on the table—a thick parchment envelope with his name written in emerald green ink.
The other letter was from Durmstrang Institute.
It was like returning to the beginning of everything.
The morning after receiving these two letters, the Malfoy family would discuss his school choice after breakfast.
According to his memories, they chose Hogwarts.
Draco Malfoy was presented with an opportunity to prove whether his memories were genuine.
In a few hours, if his parents' discussion matched exactly what he remembered, he might be certain that he was reliving days already lived and walking paths already traveled.
Then perhaps he truly had experienced those seven years at Hogwarts, and they were not merely nightmares.
Wait. Wait for breakfast. Observe the situation first.
Draco gathered himself. He slowly walked back to his bed and lay down again. The turmoil of his emotions had drained the already limited energy of an eleven-year-old body. He stared up at the intricately patterned bed curtains, the shimmering silver dragons that glittered within the folds. His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted into sleep once more.