Instead Draco stood from where he was seated around the table and offered a pale hand to Ollivander, his veins like snakes beneath the surface of his skin. Draco’s eyes remained focused on the old man that sold him his first wand, a wand now lost to Salazar knows where. He felt his body shudder with every bite the snake took, tearing away at flesh and bone. Draco placed his other hand on the man’s wrinkled forehead, the way his mother had done for him as a boy when he felt ill or had a bad dream. A small comfort - all he could offer was his presence - to show him he was not alone in this hell hole. He kept his eyes locked on Ollivander’s and entered the man's mind.