Routine, noun, meaning a series of sequences regularly followed.

Routines were finely executed rituals within Draco Malfoy's life, he followed one every day, without fail. He would wake up and make himself presentable, shrug his coat on and turn the collar up against the wind, he would then exit his flat, always being careful to step out with his left foot first. The final act was to don a facade of indifference as he set out to brave the muggle world, again. Draco's life had become one big routine, a scheduled life in which he remained unnoticed as he aimlessly drifted through life with limited magic. The routines, however, would never grow old, each had to be perfectly executed to keep the creeping sadness and guilt at bay, the routine was his little shinning saviour, protecting himself from his own mind.

Draco had only become aware of his tiny, little, habits when Pansy had rudely asked him why he tapped his fingers against the doorframe in every room he entered. The habits had always been there, an ingrained coping mechanism. But to have them pointed out and ridiculed had caused Draco to withdraw himself further, with the solid notion that he was abnormal, and he hated the idea that his abnormality would be noticeable to the naked eye. The habits grew, more cropped up when the uncontrollable feelings emerged, threatening to raise a head. It was only then that Draco comfortably fell into his routines, purposely ignoring those around him so that his routines would remain his alone.

But life always seemed to have a way of catching Draco out, pushing him backwards and away from his goal. Of course, Draco didn't really know what his goal in life was anyway. His Father lay six foot under; his Mother remained in the Manors and had grown to become a hermit who only crept out into the quiet sanctuary of her gardens. Draco had pushed his friends away, making excuses when invited out. It was odd enough that he resided within a muggle flat, let alone the fact that he could barely function without a thoroughly planned day in which all his OCD needs where attended to. Life it seemed, had become an enemy of the former Slytherin Prince, a tragic reminder that he should have died on the cold bathroom floor, that the scar burned into his flesh would keep him from living amongst his kin, an anchor to the past riddled with nightmares.