Disclaimer: I don't own the song, or the characters. Wish I did.
Falling Apart
No one would have expected Draco Black Malfoy to go the Muggle way. Or commit suicide. He was a Malfoy; emotionless, uncaring, and ruthless, no matter how the war had ended.
Send away for a priceless gift,
One not subtle, one not on the list.
It was now three years after the Magical Civil War; Voldemort was gone for good, and all of his followers had either died, or have been locked up in Askaban. The Dementors were now under the Ministry's firm control.
Send away for a perfect world,
One not simply so absurd.
Draco Malfoy had been forced to join the Death Eaters by his late father. He was about to kill Dumbledore when Dumbledore offered his mother and Draco protection. Draco accepted.
In these times of doing what you're told,
Keep these feelings, no one knows.
Narcissa Black Malfoy, unfortunately, had been murdered by her husband. Draco had tried his hardest to put up an emotionless front, which succeeded in making everyone believe he had not loved his mother. He had, he truly had. Months after her passing, he would still cry himself to sleep. He couldn't keep Malfoy Manor, with all the memories of his mother swimming through it, so he sold it.
Whatever happened, to the young man's heart?
Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart.
Draco Malfoy was falling apart. His life was starting to unravel, right before the Order's eyes. Peter Pettrigrew had murdered his best friend, Blaise Zabini, when he had tried to switch sides.
Draco was now sitting on his couch, in his flat in Muggle London. He was holding a 45 revolver in his hand, contemplating his life from the start of the war, to the present.
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45.
Swimming through the ashes of another life.
No real reason to except the way, things had changed.
Staring down the barrel of a 45.
He was feared in the magical world to this day, even if he had switched sides. The name 'Malfoy' still brought fear to anyone who had known Lucius. Draco couldn't stand it anymore. People even had the audacity to blame him for his mother's death.
Everyone's pointing their fingers,
Always condemning me.
Nobody knows what I believe.
What I believe.
Yet, through all the turmoil, he had made a friend, of sorts. A companion. Someone who actually cared.
Hermione Granger.
After his mother died, she walked into his room, to console him, and found his in his bed, body shaking in sobs. Ever since that day, they had understood each other, and helped each other out. They were still friends to this day.
If anything would stop his from doing this, it would be her. But, he hadn't seen her lately, so he had figured she stopped caring. Believed all the silly rumours she had promised not to believe.
He loaded the gun, and cocked it. He held the cool metal to his head.
Everything would be over in a matter of seconds. He could see his mother again. Blaise again. It would all be over.
He put his finger over the trigger.
"Draco, I'm sorry I haven't come by—" he heard the smooth voice of Hermione Granger say, as she opened the door to his flat.
She dropped her purse.
"Draco, what are you doing?" she whispered.
"I'm ending it all, Hermione," he replied. "I can't take it anymore."
"No," she said, louder, this time. "No. Draco, please don't."
"I've been thinking. About my life, I mean. There's no reason to accept the way things have changed. Blaise, Mother…and people, and the way they think of me. I can't."
"I'll help you change it all, Draco. Ron died in the war, too. It was hard for me, too. You'd hurt me just as much."
That line, if nothing else, melted his composure. He remembered how dead she had been after his death. The hand that was holding the gun started to shake.
He also remembered a song his mother had sung him when he was a child. She wanted him to be satisfied with his life, to be something he loved and understood. Could he really forgive himself if he did this?
Draco slowly, hesitantly, put the gun down.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, and sat down next to him, tears rolling down her face.
"Don't—don't you dare do that again, Draco Black Malfoy," she said, wrapping her arms around him.
"I—I'm sorry."
"You better be. Let's go out. I'll buy you a coffee."
"Mione? Could…could you not tell anyone?"
She smiled softly, stood, and pulled him up with her. "Sure. But you need to get out of this flat."
A/n: I was bored, and the song 45 by Shinedown inspired me. I might add another chapter to this, and I might not. Depends on the reviews.