It was sixth year, Draco's whole character and demeanor had grown darker this year. I mean, he was always like that. Dark. But this year was different. Worse. He had been seen lurking a lot, disappearing randomly throughout the day to Merlin knows where, sitting alone. He seemed to always BE alone now.

He had become a Death Eater, not like it had been his choice in the first place, his father had pressured him into it. He went along with it because he just wanted to make his father proud, though, that seemed like an impossible feat. No matter what Draco did, nothing was enough.

The pressure of everything in his life, being a Death Eater, being the perfect son, everything seemed to hit him hard and all right there and right then. He felt his breathing grow unnaturally fast, he broke into a speed walk down the nearest corridor, his hands gripping rapidly at his silver and green tie. He turned the corner, walking into the prefects bathroom. A bathroom nobody ever entered.

You had been getting made fun of by some of your housemates, not like it was anything knew though, you usually were. The prefects bathroom was always your getaway. Nobody ever went in there so it always served as your place for peace and quiet.

You walked into the prefects bathroom one day, it was around the time for lunch. You expected it to be alone, though, when you stepped into the bathroom, there was Draco. Draco Malfoy.

His tie was sprawled put against the tiled floor, he was leaning against the sink, his hands on either side of it. His breathing seemed quick and sweat was dripping from his face and staining his white button-down shirt. Small whimpers left his lips, as if he was trying not to break into tears.

You had never seen him that way before. . . so vulnerable. It tugged at your heartstrings. You stood there watching the scene before you unfold. It wasn't long before Draco caught of you through the mirror, which, made him turn around to face you

“What are you doing in here?!” Draco finally spoke with his regular cold tone, the sweat clear like a blanket on his face “Get out?!”

your hands moved up in that air, as surrender, as if someone had you at point “I'm sorry!” you said filled with remorse “Usually I come here to get some peace and quiet.” You softly admitted.

“I don't care, just get out!” he shouted back at you, his voice firm and so cold you could probably freeze the whole castle.