Every Morning, Every Day

The curtains around his bed rang loudly, pulling him out of the fitful slumber he had only managed to fall into an hour ago. He tugged two fistfuls of green silk fabric aside and now the only ringing in his ears was silence. Slytherins didn't snore. He heaved himself out of bed and strode to the boy's showers across the hall, rubbing the pattern his pillow always left on his cheek as he went.

The searing hot water scattered across his skin, and he relaxed for ten seconds before he began to wash himself. Somewhere between shampoo and body wash, the sobbing started. Right on time, just as it did every morning. Myrtle appeared beside him, just as she always did, and he didn't mind. It was their morning routine. She always told him the same things. Draco, it'll be alright. Tom will be gone soon. You and your mum will be happy soon. There will be peace soon. He stopped crying, and Myrtle left.

He dried himself off and cast a charm to rid himself of dark circles under his eyes. He carefully combed his hair and adjusted his robes until they were immaculate. Just as he always did.

He knew that next he'd strut into the Great Hall, straight posture oozing confidence and demanding attention, a smirk forced onto his visage.

He knew that life would go on, and he knew he'd act as he always did in public. The routine never changed, and he never let his true emotions slip through his carefully composed smirk. His carefully composed and perfectly straight back.

Because even when Malfoys were falling apart inside, they never let it show on the outside. Even if it made them sob every morning. Even if it meant fainting in the library. Even if it crushed more and more of their spirit every day. Even if it killed them.