He groped the sides of the bathroom sink, blood seeping onto the pristine white marble from his fingers. He looked down and filled the basin with cold water. He hesitated for a split second but then splashed it onto his face, trying to wash away his fear. He slowly brought his head up to its full height and looked hard into the mirror. If he had not known that he definitely was not, he would've thought he was a ghost, for his complexion was silky and smooth but deathly white. His face was of good structure and he could've been quite handsome but illness was seeping through his mask. His eyes were ringed with grey, but they were sunken giving him a look of extreme illness. His lips were thin and had only a trace of pinkish life in left in them. As he looked further at his reflection, fear crept into his mind and completely took over. He began to sob uncontrollably. His shoulders hunched over and he stumbled towards the mirror, pulling at his hair, even though it was rather short. The tears rolled down his pale cheeks and fell into the basin, each drop echoing around him, getting louder and louder. The noise soon became unbearable, like a high pitched squealing whistle, and he found himself having to try and stop himself from shedding anymore tears. He crumpled to the floor and placed his head in his hands, muttering to himself like a madman,
'No … get out of my head … I don't want … please … please … no … stop …please.' His emotion was ripping through his head, destroying, even vaporising any happy memories or positive thoughts. Why was it, that even when everything was so perfect, one tiny miscalculation could scupper his plans entirely? The trust between himself and his master was soon to be wrecked as soon as he found out about this. Sweat began to mingle with the tears still wet on his face. The moisture irritated him so he wiped it with the palm of his hand but his head was now burning so ferociously there was no point. He unsteadily rose to his feet and glanced again cautiously into the mirror, groping for the sides. All he saw was a nine year old version of himself, a little boy, free the anger and hate and violence that he was now entombed within. He remembered that boy and wished that his life was as good and happy now, as it was back then. Now he stood in the shadows, and his stature and character were like those of a snake: sharp, quick, sly and vastly intelligent. He used to feel wretchedly sick at times like these, but now it was constant, like a stomach cramp that refused to go away. His nerves were always on edge and he never went anywhere without looking behind him, checking he wasn't being followed.
The bathroom door creaked open all of a sudden and then came the soft taps of gentle footsteps. He did not know who it was, or what they wanted in here, certainly not at two o'clock in the morning, he ignored whoever it was and went back to his reflection, when suddenly a warm arm stretched across his shoulders and gave him a small squeeze. He looked to his right and grasped the persons hand tightly in his lap.
'Draco, what happened?' came a sweet melodic voice. Her voice matched her appearance perfectly. Her face was beautifully structured. Her lashes were longer than average and curled magnificently at the tips. Her lips were full and pink and her eyes were the brightest blue in the world. She had long, deep auburn, wavy hair stretching the whole length of her spine. She was quite petite and quite short, but she had plenty of strength where it mattered: in her soul.
'Draco, sweetheart?' she repeated mournfully, 'what happened?' he turned to her, two thin tears running down his face.
'It's all over Eleanor. It's all over.' She stood up and held his hand; pulling him up with her. She kissed his forehead.
'Then you know that I must go.'
'No,' he replied, altogether too quickly. His sadness turned to pure desperation as he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips, 'No, El, please don't go. You can't. Who will I have here with me? I'll be alone. Please Eleanor, don't go, I don't have the strength to carry on without you.' He whispered to her. She kissed his again and wiped away his tears with her thumb.
'Don't weep for me Draco; I'll never truly be gone as long as you remember me.' She let go of his hand and part of him died silently within. She swept from the room, hiding her sobs. He felt like shouting after her, running after her, dragging her back. Instead, he cried out in the darkness with agony and despair. He clutched his ribs and wept and wept until he felt like there was not one drop of water left in his body. And he thought to himself, in the end they all leave, and then there will be no one. Only death.