𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 (Draco Malfoy x OC)

𝓕𝓸𝓾𝓻

a/n - 

If any of the views Olive expresses in this chapter or other chapters are 'morally incorrect' in the fandom or otherwise, it is because I'm trying to show how Olive is a flawed character (due to growing up in a unhealthy environment) and to allow more character growth in the future for her.

***

Olive

I watch as the Dark Lord disappears through the fireplace in a burst of green flames. With Voldemort's presence gone, I instantly feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest. Don't get the wrong idea, I am on Lord Voldemort and the Deatheater's side of the war - how could I not, but that doesn't make the Dark Lord any less terrifying. 

War; I shudder internally at the very thought of it, but at this rate it is inevitable - there will be another Wizarding War, and this is only the start of it. 

During the coming war, I know my loyalties will lie with the Dark Lord, even though I may not agree with the methods the Deatheaters use. The problem is, the entire Wizarding World is utterly convinced that Dumbledore's side is a bunch of saints, and that they're so good - when I know that isn't true at all; the truth is, they're really just as bad as the rest of us.  

Look, I know what we're doing is wrong and immoral, but I really have no choice. At least everyone knows how evil and corrupt our side is, but Dumbledore's side pretends they're heroes when that's not even close to the truth.  

In the last Wizarding War, Dumbledore's side killed many of my relatives, including all my grandparents, who I never got to meet. But the part that makes it disgusting is that my grandparents and relatives weren't Deatheaters at all, Dumbledore's side wrongly slaughtered them. The same thing happened to countless of innocent pure-blood families. This was actually the main reason Mother and Father joined the Deatheaters in the first place - to take revenge against all of the pure-bloods wrongly killed at the hands of that fool, Dumbledore. Unfortunately, it was Dumbledore's side who won, and it is always the victors that are made out to be heroes in history. 

What makes it so compelling for pure-bloods to join the Deatheaters is that the Dark Lord plans to take justice for our pure-blood brothers and sisters wrongly killed. 

The comfort of relief hangs in the air now that Voldemort is gone.  

Draco is slumped against the chair, his head leaning against his palm. He watches me, a sad expression on his face. I can't stand his pity, so I quickly turn my head.  

After a brief moment of silence, I rush away from the rest of the Deatheaters, desperately needing to get away from the dead woman, who is merely a carcass, now that Nagini is finished with her. My long red dress swishes behind me, making it hard to run without tripping over it. I hear Father call after me, but I ignore him, knowing very well the amount of trouble I may get into for doing so. 

I race up our grand staircase, down the hallway, and into my bedroom, locking my door behind myself. My vision is blurry with tears, and I curse myself for being so vulnerable. 

At the back of my eyes I feel the tears build up, threatening to spill over. But I refuse to let them fall, because I know it'll do me no good. 

 I take a deep breath of air, not realizing that I had been holding my breath. 

Outside my door I hear the clicking of heels - my mothers heels. I inhale sharply, knowing that I'll be in trouble for having left like that. 

Mother knocks sharply on my door, and I trudge my way to the door frame, opening it.