Draco looked at himself in the mirror. He saw the sweat from the stress dripping off his chin. Of course, he wouldn't have been able to tell if it was sweat, or tears. His hair was drenched. He leant heavily on the sink bench. He almost couldn't hold himself up anymore, his body shaking like jelly. He was in more stress than ever before.
It was the last day of school, 7th year. He was about to go out into the world and he didn't even know who he was. He knew what a Slytherin was, that's for sure. He had become one. But was that him? He had acted tough on the first day, 7 years ago, just so that people would look up to him. He needed the boost of self-esteem.
He looked through the mirror into his own eyes, the eyes that had betrayed who he really was. He couldn't even see himself, who he was, through the overpowering Slytherin mask. He was living in a prison other than the Hogwarts dungeon; a prison deep within his soul.
There was a knock on the door and Crabbe called out his name. Draco didn't respond. Crabbe persisted and called out his name again, worried about his friend.
"Get lost Crabbe!" He yelled. Oh no. There I go again, fitting into the Slytherin mold. He hit his fist on the sink bench and collapsed on the floor.
Draco was sick and tired of being known, but unknown. Everyone knew the Slytherin Prince, but did anyone really know Draco Malfoy? His parents least of all. The Slytherin house had posed a promising future for Draco. But now, he didn't know if he wanted that life. The Slytherin promise was an empty promise.
Crabbe looked with a worried expression at the closed bathroom door. Draco had been acting strangely the whole week. Crabbe reluctantly gave up. He knew that nothing he could do would bring Draco back to the way he had been. Crabbe prayed to God that Draco wouldn't completely fade away just as they left Hogwarts, the most important time in their lives.
No one knew the pain that Draco had felt as he was creating his Slytherin self, moulding him into what he knew was acceptable to some, and unacceptable to others. But it was just those people to whom he wanted to appear unacceptable that he now wanted to be like. People like Potter, Granger and Weasely. People who had hope, and a life of their own. Unlike him, a mess without hope and not even a significant life. But it was too late; there would never be a chance to undo his life. He wouldn't be able to start again, entering the castle as a first year. Oh how he wished he knew that fact back then, when he had made this terrible decision.
The Slytherin force had pulled him further and further into himself. The real Malfoy never came out. Draco let out a yell. Crouched down on the tile floor, he punched the ground beneath him. He was just about to explode from the pressure that was closing in around him.
"That's it!" Draco yelled. "I can't take it anymore!" I'm going to die if I continue on like this. The Slytherin mold had Draco tight, but he knew that he could break through the chains. Slowly, he got up off of the floor. He brushed the wrinkles out of his robes. He even considered taking them off and throwing them out the window, to disassociate him with the Slytherin kind. But he knew that he would need them later that day. He turned around to face the mirror once more. He looked back into his eyes; a flicker of hope close to the service was visible.
"I know I can do better than this." Draco said, and smiled.