Picking up the Pieces of Our Lives -Drarry

Chapter 16: Poison

Draco

The past week just flew by as a certain Slytherin was trying to find time to plot their own death. Between classes, homework, and his newest journal, he hardly had time to scheme. Draco had started writing in a journal again after his healer, Rose, had suggested writing in it. She said it would 'help clear his mind' or some bollocks like that. The blond only did it so that when they found it after he died, they would know why he did it. 

Draco scribbled away at his last sentence in a poem he had written in his diary, as a seventh year Hufflepuff collided with him. His quill along with the journal, had been thrown to the floor and he had lost his footing, almost dragging down the girl. He started apologizing profusely and started picking up his things when the girl extended a hand to him, apologizing as well. Draco flinched, expecting an attacker, not a helper, and the Hufflepuff visibly winced. After the Slytherin had been helped to his feet, he apologized once more, and made his way to his dorm.

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Draco spent the last twenty minutes writing and rewriting his suicide before he remembered, winter break was next week. It was already Friday as well, so he could do it then. The blond decided he wouldn't be going back to the manor because of obvious reasons, so he would have to do it at Hogwarts. 

Finally, he had the perfect plan concocted, there was no way it could fail. He would steal some poison from Slughorn's private cabinet of ingredients, after all, there was always left over potions from classes. Draco planned that he would drink it and he would die, after all, no one would be with him to save him. Once satisfied with his plan, he grabbed his quill and an inkwell and began to write his note.

Dear Reader,

As you are aware, I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, am dead. Or, at least I hope so. If this were to fail, well as I've heard some muggles say, "If at first you don't succeed, try try again." This is my second attempt after all. I am actually glad I survived my first attempt, only because I did not write a note originally. Now, you have a note, and you have the answers.

Alright, first thing is first. Why? Because. Because I am the scum of the earth and I'm better off dead. Because I helped the Dark Lord. Because I became one of them. Because I still have this bleeding mark. Because I hate myself. Because everyone hates me. That is why. I'm sure none of you are reading this and are in tears because 'oh poor Draco is gone', no you are all so much more cruel and are laughing and smiling. Smiling because 'the bloke has finally done it! He's finally gone! What a great world it is now that he is gone form here!'. You're all laughing because I'm an arsehole who deserves what I got. Go ahead and laugh, I'm long gone now, and I am never coming back. Now I guess is a great time to say a few things to everyone who was in my life. 

Friends: Pansy, you may be a bitch, which does suit you since you have such a pug like face, anyways, you may have been a itch at times, but you were always there for me. Don't blame yourself because you couldn't have saved me. You, nor Blaise, nor Theo could've saved me. I'm just too broken I guess. Blaise, mate, thanks for being there for me. You accepted me and knew things about me before even I did. Just remember, you take the secret to your grave just as I have. Theo, I'm sorry if you are sitting down somewhere, reading this and crying because you are such a sap, but mate, thanks for everything. just know that I'm looking at you from beyond the grave and laughing my arse off at your face, all of your faces. No one cries nicely, especially any of you lot. 

Mother: I guess you are upset too, you shouldn't be though. You didn't care enough to be around when it mattered the most and now I'm gone. I suppose I should be upset that I did not have a chance to make amends with you before, but I'm not sure if I even want to make amends with you at all. Just know that everything you did (or didn't for that matter) can't be undone. The damage can't be reversed. I'm gone, and I hope you feel bad.