This is rated R for a reason. If you don't belong here, leave now. I've warned you.
Beware: Very triggering material.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. *tear* oh well.
A/N Hey. I've been very depressed lately, and I've decided that I need a way to release my anger and hurt without doing what Hermione does to herself in this story, so I'm writing this. Just bear with me. Flamers are welcome, just remember, what goes around comes around.
Letting Go
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Draco
"Finished." I had painted a picture for her, of her. In it she was standing on the handrail above the Great Hall, and I was coming around the corner, just the way I found her. Blood was everywhere, but I knew that she wanted to be remembered like that. She wanted everyone to know how miserable they made her, and I wasn't going to stop that. I took my dagger out of its green silk bag and held it up to my throat. I had already left my note; I did that before I signed the painting. I had put the slip of paper under my paintbrush, to make sure it wouldn't somehow move. Remembering I hadn't yet charmed the painting so that we could be alive in it, I set down the dagger and picked up my wand. Once it was charmed, I picked up the cold dagger and jammed it into my throat.
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A/N Tell me if you want a continuation… I was thinking about having the painting put up at Hogwarts… but I'm not sure. REVIEW!!!