The first night Draco staggered into the bathroom, choking on tears, clutching his robes, he hadn't expected to meet anyone inside. It was almost midnight, and rain was beating the castle with passion, a ruthless abandon that almost shook the floors. Everything was going wrong. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, hated talking to everyone. Not even Pansy's cooing--the way she mindlessly followed him, even though he was only using her, only listening to her empty words--helped anymore. His stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch, and he dashed to the toilet, kneeling over it. Since he hadn't consumed anything solid that day, he was spared having to actually throw up, although he was sure he'd feel better if he did.
Leaning against a wall inside the cramped stall, Draco covered his face with his hands, rubbing his temples and trying to force his hair to stay out of his bloodshot eyes. He heaved a long sigh and stood straighter, intending to return to the common room with his usual smirk to Pansy's simpering, and Crabbe and Goyle's blind, blundering affection. He knew they liked him, even if they did get sick of being bossed around. For his last birthday, the two of them had even tried to throw him a party. It unfortunately ended in his mother's tears, but he had been touched anyways.
He'd heard of Moaning Myrtle before. He knew she'd helped Potter in pervious years, heard Pansy complain about how she'd occasionally cause the girl's bathrooms to flood. He had also been fairly certain that he wouldn't find her in a boys bathroom. But when he heard the inexplicable hiccupping, he'd just seemed to know, for a fact, is was her. "You don't look very good," she said, peering through her glasses at him. He had caught sigh of himself in the mirror earlier, and agreed.
"Get lost," he said angrily, trying to appear haughty as usual, but the words came up sounding more pathetic than threatening. She eyes him for a moment and then floated closer, her mouth opening as if she was going to say something, possibly something sympathetic. "I said, get lost! This is the boy's bathroom, isn't it? So why are you in here in the first place?" She shot him a long glare, a mix of hatred and pity, and then floated away through one of the walls.
Draco crumpled against the wall and put his head firmly between his knees. He didn't want anyone's sympathy. He didn't need it. He was a Death Eater now, he was going to single-handedly regain his family's honor in the eyes of Voldemort. Someday, he was even going to be His right-hand man. Someday. Clearly, it wasn't going to be today. He fell asleep on the bathroom floor that night, curled in the only dry corner, his face resting against the cool tile.
AN: Please expect the chapters in this fic to be very short, but hopefully frequent.