A/N: I know you won't like it, and it could never happen, but this is fanFICTION, correct?
The characters are in the books written by J.K.Rowling, right, PikaCheeka? The song is by Charlie Major, and the only good country song out there, in my view. I'm not positive on the words; I heard the song on the radio one day and liked it, tried to remember the words.
Read and review, flame if you want to, it's good for my ego.
Dedicated to Paul and my two brothers, because they know the rest of the story.
I had a friend,
Didn't make it home last night,
Went on the town,
Had himself a time,
"Double shot of bourbon," Ron said to the barkeeper in The Hog's Head.
"Drowning your sorrows?" the barman said causally, sliding the glass across the table.
Ron laughed,"Here's to life, because she knows just how ironic she is. Cheers." He drank it in a swallow,"Another one, will ya?"
He thought of Hermione. Dumped him, just like that. She had threatened him, threw an alarm clock at him, packed, and left. Simple as that, yet so complicated, all the emotions and words involved.
'Who needs her?' he thought,'She's just a bookworm, didn't love you anyway. Her loss.'
"That's your fifth, mate. Want me to call the Knight Bus to drive you home?" the barman looked with mild concern at the red haired wizard.
"Nah. Can't afford it after this. Besides, I can fly myself home," he replied, lisping and slapping a few galleons on the counter. The barman shrugged and whisked away the money.
When it came time for leaving he was much too tanked,
Got up on his broom and it cost him his life,
Thought he was a winner and the odds he could beat,
Said I'll be all right, don't you worry for me,
Ron couldn't remember how he got outside and had found his broom, it was so dark, but he was a good flyer.
His head pounded dully as he ascended. "I'm gonna regret this tomorrow," he thought.
Without warning, the world in front of him swirled and tipped. He held on tighter, blinking through the darkness. A cloud had covered the moon and stars, it was pitch black.
The broom listed and dived towards the ground. He tried to pull up, but his mind was foggy and every brain wave seemed to be struggling through thick water...
The ground, hard and bitter, rose up to meet him and the rain began to pour down.
'Cause it can't, can't happen to me,
Got an angel watchin' over me, so it can't,
Can't happen to me, always someone else's scene,
So it can't, can't happen to me,
No it can't happen to me,
I knew a young man,
Had it all goin' his way,
Thought he carried with him,
Deep seated pay,
"And do you know what I told him?" laughed Draco,"I said, You're fired, my dear Fudge, and you can take that rat of a secretary, Penelope Weasley, with you!" The crowd laughed, though it really wasn't funny, but either you laughed at Draco Malfoy's jokes or didn't live to regret it.
He was leaned out along a red armchair, surrounded by a flock of sparkling robed women and pompous men. He was THE Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and probable next Minister for Magic, with his charm and manipulative skills.
He flicked his wand and another glass of champagne appeared,"I'd like to make a toast, to my fiancée, Pansy!" He indicated a pug faced woman, whom he was only marrying for money, in a far too taught pink gown at his left. She giggled and blushed.
As the crowd cheered, he got up and gave Pansy a sharp peck on the cheek,"I'm going out for a moment, dear, to get some fresh air. It's horrible stuffy in here, just like your father." He laughed airily at his weak joke.
He sidled past a crowd of cigar puffing wizards and escaped out the doors, leaving the bubbly party behind him. He took a deep breath, smelling in the cold country air. This time tomorrow he would be heir to both the Malfoy and Parkinson fortunes.
But still not happy. Father always told you you'd end up like this, Draco, he reminded himself, in a half-arsed marriage with no escape, no comfort, just like the rest of the Malfoys.
He sighed and took another sip of champagne.
Stepped over the line, tryin' to find some escape,
Found him one night, lyin' face down in the rain,
Thought he was a winner, the odds he could beat,
Said I'll be all right, don't you worry for me,
"Draco," hissed a voice from behind him. He whirled around, scanning the area, hand fumbling for his wand.
A dark figure emerged from the shadows,"No longer a Death Eater, eh? Too much of a pompous arse to come back, eh? They always paid, Draco, Voldemort always assured that."
"What..." he began, but before the words could escape his mouth, a green light flashed through the night. There was an empty thud, and a peal of thunder rolled, cold rain pouring down.
'Cause it can't, can't happen to me,
Got an angel watchin' over me, so it can't,
Can't happen to me, always someone else's scene,
So it can't, can't happen to me,
No it can't happen to me,
I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard 'em say,
Can't happen to me 'cause I'm quicker than the rest,
Walls are closin' in, the hounds are at my heels,
But I'm always one step ahead,
'Cause it can't, can't happen to me,
Got an angel watchin' over me, so it can't,
Can't happen to me, always someone else's scene,
So it can't, can't happen to me,
No it can't happen to me.
"Harry! Harry!" Ron was shaking him. Harry woke up with a start.
"You fell asleep," Ron leaned away from him. Harry was in the common room, evening, and face down in a Divination book.
"This is sure boring, fell asleep reading it," he muttered, trying to push the dream out of his mind as he slammed the book.
Ron looked over his shoulder,"What the heck are you doing now, Herm?" She was sitting at a table, fiddling with what Harry recognised as a Muggle radio.
"I think I can get it to work, there's an anti-spell to protect the electricity from the magic around here," she prodded it on, and static burst out of it.
"Got it!" she cried,"But I can only get a Muggle country station, crud!"
Faint music wafted from the radio...
Can't happen to me,
Got an angel watchin' over me, so it can't,
Can't happen to me...
The characters are in the books written by J.K.Rowling, right, PikaCheeka? The song is by Charlie Major, and the only good country song out there, in my view. I'm not positive on the words; I heard the song on the radio one day and liked it, tried to remember the words.
Read and review, flame if you want to, it's good for my ego.
Dedicated to Paul and my two brothers, because they know the rest of the story.
I had a friend,
Didn't make it home last night,
Went on the town,
Had himself a time,
"Double shot of bourbon," Ron said to the barkeeper in The Hog's Head.
"Drowning your sorrows?" the barman said causally, sliding the glass across the table.
Ron laughed,"Here's to life, because she knows just how ironic she is. Cheers." He drank it in a swallow,"Another one, will ya?"
He thought of Hermione. Dumped him, just like that. She had threatened him, threw an alarm clock at him, packed, and left. Simple as that, yet so complicated, all the emotions and words involved.
'Who needs her?' he thought,'She's just a bookworm, didn't love you anyway. Her loss.'
"That's your fifth, mate. Want me to call the Knight Bus to drive you home?" the barman looked with mild concern at the red haired wizard.
"Nah. Can't afford it after this. Besides, I can fly myself home," he replied, lisping and slapping a few galleons on the counter. The barman shrugged and whisked away the money.
When it came time for leaving he was much too tanked,
Got up on his broom and it cost him his life,
Thought he was a winner and the odds he could beat,
Said I'll be all right, don't you worry for me,
Ron couldn't remember how he got outside and had found his broom, it was so dark, but he was a good flyer.
His head pounded dully as he ascended. "I'm gonna regret this tomorrow," he thought.
Without warning, the world in front of him swirled and tipped. He held on tighter, blinking through the darkness. A cloud had covered the moon and stars, it was pitch black.
The broom listed and dived towards the ground. He tried to pull up, but his mind was foggy and every brain wave seemed to be struggling through thick water...
The ground, hard and bitter, rose up to meet him and the rain began to pour down.
'Cause it can't, can't happen to me,
Got an angel watchin' over me, so it can't,
Can't happen to me, always someone else's scene,
So it can't, can't happen to me,
No it can't happen to me,
I knew a young man,
Had it all goin' his way,
Thought he carried with him,
Deep seated pay,
"And do you know what I told him?" laughed Draco,"I said, You're fired, my dear Fudge, and you can take that rat of a secretary, Penelope Weasley, with you!" The crowd laughed, though it really wasn't funny, but either you laughed at Draco Malfoy's jokes or didn't live to regret it.
He was leaned out along a red armchair, surrounded by a flock of sparkling robed women and pompous men. He was THE Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and probable next Minister for Magic, with his charm and manipulative skills.
He flicked his wand and another glass of champagne appeared,"I'd like to make a toast, to my fiancée, Pansy!" He indicated a pug faced woman, whom he was only marrying for money, in a far too taught pink gown at his left. She giggled and blushed.
As the crowd cheered, he got up and gave Pansy a sharp peck on the cheek,"I'm going out for a moment, dear, to get some fresh air. It's horrible stuffy in here, just like your father." He laughed airily at his weak joke.
He sidled past a crowd of cigar puffing wizards and escaped out the doors, leaving the bubbly party behind him. He took a deep breath, smelling in the cold country air. This time tomorrow he would be heir to both the Malfoy and Parkinson fortunes.
But still not happy. Father always told you you'd end up like this, Draco, he reminded himself, in a half-arsed marriage with no escape, no comfort, just like the rest of the Malfoys.
He sighed and took another sip of champagne.
Stepped over the line, tryin' to find some escape,
Found him one night, lyin' face down in the rain,
Thought he was a winner, the odds he could beat,
Said I'll be all right, don't you worry for me,
"Draco," hissed a voice from behind him. He whirled around, scanning the area, hand fumbling for his wand.
A dark figure emerged from the shadows,"No longer a Death Eater, eh? Too much of a pompous arse to come back, eh? They always paid, Draco, Voldemort always assured that."
"What..." he began, but before the words could escape his mouth, a green light flashed through the night. There was an empty thud, and a peal of thunder rolled, cold rain pouring down.
'Cause it can't, can't happen to me,
Got an angel watchin' over me, so it can't,
Can't happen to me, always someone else's scene,
So it can't, can't happen to me,
No it can't happen to me,
I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard 'em say,
Can't happen to me 'cause I'm quicker than the rest,
Walls are closin' in, the hounds are at my heels,
But I'm always one step ahead,
'Cause it can't, can't happen to me,
Got an angel watchin' over me, so it can't,
Can't happen to me, always someone else's scene,
So it can't, can't happen to me,
No it can't happen to me.
"Harry! Harry!" Ron was shaking him. Harry woke up with a start.
"You fell asleep," Ron leaned away from him. Harry was in the common room, evening, and face down in a Divination book.
"This is sure boring, fell asleep reading it," he muttered, trying to push the dream out of his mind as he slammed the book.
Ron looked over his shoulder,"What the heck are you doing now, Herm?" She was sitting at a table, fiddling with what Harry recognised as a Muggle radio.
"I think I can get it to work, there's an anti-spell to protect the electricity from the magic around here," she prodded it on, and static burst out of it.
"Got it!" she cried,"But I can only get a Muggle country station, crud!"
Faint music wafted from the radio...
Can't happen to me,
Got an angel watchin' over me, so it can't,
Can't happen to me...