Necklace of Rope

TRIGGER WARNING: sensitive content such as alcohol consumption and talk of suicide.
"When the villains fall, the kingdoms never weep; no one lights a candle to remember...No one mourns at all when they lay them down to sleep."

[ -'Requiem' from Dear Evan Hansen, Zoe Murphy (Laura Dreyfuss) ]


1. Necklace of Rope

An old children's book and a bottle of firewhiskey sat next to the blond boy on his bedside table. He himself was seated Indian-style on the perfectly made bed of Slytherin green sheets. In his slender fingers, he twirled his wand as his stormy grey eyes stared blankly at the wall. The only sound to be heard throughout the entirety of Malfoy Manor was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

He'd finally reached his breaking point. And how could he not? He had lost everything. Everything.

His dad? Imprisoned in Azkaban for life. No chance of redemption.

His Aunt Bellatrix? Dead. She had been killed by Molly Weasley during the Battle of Hogwarts. 

His friends? Fake. They were forced together by matter of circumstance and bloodstatus. Sure, he had good memories with them and such, but that didn't make them true friends, unfortunately.

The love of his life? Married, unaware of the feelings he had for her, but that's how most forbidden loves work, isn't it? Romeo and Juliet didn't end happily; it was momentarily blissful before the sorrow came.

And he didn't even want to think about what had become of his mother. She'd not been herself—merely an empty shell—since her husband had been sent away. She didn't do anything, and try as he might, Draco couldn't help.

He felt useless and lonelier than ever before.

His fingers stilled and he held is wand. Then he started tapping the tip on his knee frantically. He reached over to the bottle of alcohol with his free hand, grabbing it around its neck.

He brought it up to his lips and tilted the bottle backwards, finishing off the drink in a matter of seconds. His throat burned, but he indicated nothing as he stood from the bed, stumbling a bit. He made himself stay upright. With a slight hiccup, he grabbed the book from his bedside and disapparated, appearing seconds later at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean.

He looked over it and then turned around. The broader end of the cliff extended into a field, a few trees here and there. In front of him, there stood one bigger than the rest.

He hadn't left England. He was a wizard. They'd find him eventually. He moved towards the tree, muttering a charm that turned the end of his wand sharp. The tip dug into the tree as the Malfoy heir carved his initials into the trunk.

He began to climb. Higher with each tree limb, hands grabbing at branches and feet stepping on them for security. Soon enough, Draco had reached the thickest extension and swung over—quite ungracefully—to sit on it. Once again, he was looking over the ocean. Silent, a little bit drunk, weak, but sure of himself and what he was going to do.

With a deep sigh and a glance to the sky, he used his wand to summon a rope, already tied in a perfectly-knotted noose. He put that end over his head and around neck. The other end he magically attached to the tree.

One more thing, before he finished, he once again used his wand to conjure a quill and some parchment.

He didn't say anything to anybody in particular, but instead scrawled a poem quickly, sloppily signing it with his initials:

My eyes stung
Fingers clutched my head
As I remembered the ones
That I have fled
And left behind
Or killed inside my mind

The noose is hung
My neck not yet wrung
Is it now
Do I die
For all my crimes
And all the times
I've crossed all the lines
Forfeited my morality
Feigned my sanity

Desperately I cry
My mouth is dry
I take the rope
Put it around my throat
Say 'I'm sorry' once or twice
Then let go

With this last goodbye
Apologize one more time
Affirm my suicide
Ending my own life


He dropped the feather, shoved the parchment into the book he still carried, and then slid them both, together, into his pants pocket for someone to later find. And then he slid off the branch, a sickening noise coming from him as the rope tensed and tightened with strain against his throat.

|| This is SUPER dark and I apologize. Fun fact, I actually wrote the poem sitting in math class and only thought to use it in this a few months later...Weird, but yeah. Soooo. There you go. Hope you enjoy and not gonna lie, I cried writing this. There is a gif to go with it (like with most of my stories), but unfortunately Movellas does not allow you to upload them. ||

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