The real reason Draco cried in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom in his sixth year.
He didn't break from the pressure, dammit. He is a Malfoy, after all, and Malfoys have no weaknesses, no chance of breaking. Besides, he has been trained for this, if not his whole life, then as soon as he was able to understand the difference between dirty and clean blood.
So it wasn't because of the pressure that he broke down. And it certainly wasn't because he was afraid. No. He was better than that. It was because of her.
They're stealing a moment alone late Sunday afternoon, curled up together on his bed, lazy and content and peaceful, but most importantly- happy. For the right now, the suspended moment, they are happy. Just for one second.
He doesn't know if it's what he says (something irreverent about blood, he's sure, but really he's not sure because he didn't mean it and really he's not sure of anything anymore not really) or if it's just the realization, the crashing of dams that kept all the doubt away, or if it's something else, but she cracks.
(He doesn't crack. Even while she cries, even when she runs from the room, he doesn't. Sure, he runs after her, and of course he needs her back, and yes, he cries out, but he has not cracked. Not yet.)
Two days later they're in the Great Hall, and she still won't look at him. So he leaves, he just goes, because he is a Malfoy and he is strong, but he is not strong enough. He finds refuge in the place he always does- Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, because no one ever goes there so no one will ever see his shameful weakness, but also because it gives him a perverse pleasure to see someone worse off than he is.
(He hadn't crumbled for so long, for so long that he was almost certain that pieces of him had been chipped off over the years or maybe he was already broken, maybe he'd been broken for years, but he does now.)
He's just pulled off his sweater and is leaning over the sink when he hears a noise.
And then Potter comes storming in, with his accusations and righteousness, assuming the worst of him, poking his nose in someone else's business when he has no idea why the fuck Draco is crying, and why did it have to be Potter that sees him like this, dammit, and he cracks.
It's a snap judgment, really. Something that was drilled into him for years by Lucius- which should be a strong indicator that nothing good can come of it. But it happens anyways, and he views it with a sort of fascinated removal as his fingers wrap around the smooth wood, as the wand rises, quickly, slowly, whipped out but moving at such a strange pace, as if space itself is telling him this is a mistake. He doesn't listen, of course- he never would.
So he whips out his wand and has it pointing at Potter before he can blink, and he spits out an Unforgivable- because, for the first time since he learned these horrors, he believes he can do it, he knows that he can, he is certain that Potter will hurt, because this time Draco means it.
But he never finds out, because he never finishes.
Another spell rips through the air and through his skin, and as he falls, he thinks of her.
He never says Ginny, I love you, because it's too much to give her and he's just a boy, he doesn't even know if it's true and because showing affection is something a Malfoy never does.
But he does say Ginny, I'm sorry, because it's not enough to give her and even though it is just as un-Malfoy-like, it is infinitely more true.
Draco wakes up in the hospital wing, deep lacerations over his entire body, feeling weak and almost delirious from the blood loss, and she isn't there.
She doesn't come over the next two days, and he knows he's lost her. Whether it was the coldness, the Unforgivable, the simple fact that he is who he is- it doesn't matter anymore.
It was a Dark curse that hit him.
Potter is never punished.