I woke up that morning particularly moody. I couldn’t say why, maybe the fight had just set in. It had been 3 days since Harry Potter had told my family that there were no hard feelings... I ran a hand through my messy hair, thinking about that awful day; bodies lined the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, shouts filled my ears as a spell shot past my ear. I bolted back to the present as someone called to me.
“Lucius! Come and look!” Narcissa Malfoy sounded worried, more worried than I had ever heard her. I walked briskly to our huge hall.
“What is it, Darling?” I said, curiously. I poked my head round the door. She was crying while looking at a newspaper. I jogged over across the room and looked at the paper.
Draco Malfoy, The Boy Who Died.
I stared at the words in disbelief. I read them again and again. What did that mean? I read the smudgy print underneath the bold headline.
Draco Malfoy, the son of the malicious Lucius Malfoy, an Ex-Death Eater, has killed himself. He left a note to his parents and loved ones (which weren’t too many people!). The note he left read:
To anyone to whom it may concern.
I have chosen to kill myself from the guilt I feel. If I am alive, Death Eaters will come for me for deserting them, then, all the good people will come for me too. They will come because I was never with them until nearly the end.
When I ran away from home 2 days ago I felt brave and I felt I had finally grown up. My parents, who shant be reading this, I ran away from after the war. They brung back too many memories of hate and death. I thought I could do anything, I was free. But then people staring at me on the wizard-world streets, they brought down my spirit, they whispered as they walked past, things like “Betrayer” or “Evil”. I can’t go through that everyday.
Harry Potter, he murdered Voldemort. I helped none in the battle, of either side. I deserve to be punished, as my father has taught me, bad people deserve to die.
This was my decision so I hope that no one will grieve my death.
I will go kill myself now. I am assuming that someone will see my hanging body from the small window of the hotel room, hanging by the scarf my father got me for Christmas last year.
So, good-bye, cruel world.
They couldn't read anymore. They couldn't read the lies about their child. Narcissa broke down in tears and she dropped the paper and hugged her husband, burying her face in his neck.