He was back again.
Draco Malfoy kept returning, time and time again, to the deserted girl's bathroom, he seemed to be drawn there. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the only place where he could be truly alone. The only place where he could stop holding his emotions in, where there was no one to taunt him or interrogate him.
Where there was no one to threaten him, hurt him - or murder him.
He still brought the small silver knife with him when he escaped to the bathroom, but still had not brought himself to slash his wrists. The silver blade remained free of bloodstains. However, he did keep running the sharp blade down his flawless, pure white arms, leaving trails of red which lasted a time before disappearing, leaving only faint traces. The pain was minimal, but it was strangely satisfying to see the criss-crossing lines pattern his skin. It was proof that he still had some control over his life.
The time was approaching, he knew it. His pale hands would soon be stained with blood, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was way out of his depth. Whenever he began to shake with fear and guilt, whenever he felt the tears well up in his grey eyes, his parents' faces flashed into his mind. The only people he had left. He couldn't lose them.
He was growing thinner and thinner, he hardly ate anymore. A lack of sleep, combined with malnutrition, had left him scarcely recognisable. His once immaculate white blonde hair was left to fall untidily over his face. His pale skin had become grey. His eyes were constantly red, due to sleep deprivation and endless tears which he hid from everyone apart from his reflection in the cracked mirror.
The Vanishing Cabinet was almost ready; he had almost finished repairing it. He had spent endless hours in the Room of Requirement, at all hours of the day and night, working tirelessly. It had taken all of his skill to fix it, not to mention a great deal of patience, which was a quality all members of the Malfoy family, regrettably, lacked.
He just wanted this mission to be over. He just wanted to things to go back to how they were; when the Dark Lord was just a name whispered at home in reverence by his Father. When the Death Eaters were just a part of his family's rather shady history. When the only worries he had were the results of a Transfiguration test or an upcoming Quidditch match. He wanted everything to be over, and had gone to drastic methods to achieve this. Methods which, looking back on hindsight, were idiotic and careless.
It was supposed to be so simple, bewitch someone to take a cursed necklace to Dumbledore. Dumbledore would be dead instantly, the carrier would not be blamed, and he himself would have been above suspicion. Who would suspect him of having a hand in the headmaster's murder?
He had bought the cursed necklace from Borgin & Burkes in the summer holidays, and had smuggled it into the castle. He had placed Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse, which in itself was a quite a feat, and she in turn had cursed a student to take it to Dumbledore. Nevertheless, the plan failed all because that Bell girl, Katie, had touched the necklace herself. Luckily, she had only brushed it with her skin, and she had not died. She was still at St Mungo's, and in a stable condition, apparently. Despite the fact that she was a Gryffindor, a chaser on a rival Quidditch team, guilt had plagued him for a long time. He had almost caused her death, and the guilt refused to go away.
Desperate, he had then poisoned a bottle of oak-matured mead that fool Slughorn was going to give Dumbledore as a present. He had taken a great risk by stealing the poison from the Potion stores, and lacing the mead with it. It had seemed, at the time, a good plan. Once again, he was sure to be above suspicion. But then Weasley had drunk it instead, he had only been saved because Potter had shoved a bezoar down his throat. Once again he had almost caused the death of another student. Despite being a Weasley, a Blood-Traitor, a friend of Saint Potter, an enemy, Draco had still experienced guilt.
Draco splashed himself with ice-cold water, which succeeded in bringing him back to reality. He let the water drip slowly down his face; it was only when he tasted salt on his lips that he realised that the water was mixed with tears as well. He looked up once more into the filthy mirror.
Someone was behind him.
Wildly, he looked around, looking for that student, that interfering somebody who dared sneak up behind him and watch him snivelling like a pathetic first year. How dare they? Couldn't he be left alone for once? He pulled out his wand, ready to hex whoever it was into oblivion.
But it wasn't a student. It was a ghost.
He had never seen this ghost before, he was sure he had never seen her around the castle. The ghost was a girl, a rather short one, with dark, lank hair which partly hid her features. Her eyes were hidden behind large, shining spectacles. She, like him, had tear tracks down her pearly white, slightly transparent face.
"What do you want?"
It was meant to be an accusation, but he said it curiously. Perhaps it was because of her tears, he had sensed that perhaps they had something in common.
The ghost did not reply for a minute or two, she just looked at him searchingly, her eyes magnified by her thick glasses. When she did speak, she didn't answer his question.
"Why are you crying in my bathroom?"
Draco considered the question. Why was he crying alone in a disused girl's bathroom? There were so many reasons, so many contributing factors, but the simplified answer was that he had to commit a murder against his will. And if he didn't –
He suddenly burst into tears, in a most un-Malfoy like fashion. He sank down into a sitting position on the grimy bathroom floor, no longer caring about the indignity of it all, and wept.
After a few minutes, he became aware of what he was doing. Crying, on the floor, in front of a ghost. He jumped up, disgusted at himself, wiping away his tears impatiently with the back of his hand. As he leapt up, the small silver knife fell out of his trouser pocket and landed, with a clatter, on the bathroom floor. The ghost looked at it in shock.
"You haven't -", she whispered.
Draco shook his head furiously. He hadn't cut himself, so he technically he was telling the truth, but he was still glad that his long sleeved shirt covered up the red lines which decorated his arms. No one else was to know about that.
The ghost looked distinctly relieved, and came closer to where he was standing.
"I'm Myrtle. This is my bathroom. Who are you?"
He shook his head again. He preferred to remain anonymous, in case she told anyone else. He couldn't bear it if the whole school found out that he, Draco Malfoy, had been crying. However, he supposed, it didn't really matter if he kept his name from her. His white blonde hair and deathly pale skin were features that not many other students had.
"Will you tell me what's wrong?"
He shook his head vigorously, avoiding looking into her eyes. She spoke again, and her voice was understanding.
"It'll make it, whatever it is, seem better".
If he hadn't been in a state of utter depression, he would have laughed out loud. If only she knew. He doubted that anything could make him feel better.
"I promise I won't tell anyone".
He looked into her ghostly face, and saw that she meant what she said. Perhaps it would help, to talk to someone who wouldn't judge him. Someone who wasn't already biased against him, his house and his family. He ran his fingers through his hair, nodded his head, and started to speak; trying to keep his voice steady.
"He – he's going to kill me, and my family. Unless I kill someone else. I have a plan, but – I don't want to do it -"
With that last sentence, he brought the sleeve of his robes up to his elbow, and showed her the Dark Mark burned into his skin. The horrific tattoo, so dark against such pale skin, surrounded by red lines which had not yet begun to fade.
Myrtle's expression turned from one of understanding, to one of utter horror. As Draco stood there, shaking violently, tears falling down his face, she felt sympathy towards him like she had never felt before towards anyone, and swore to herself that she would try and help him.
But Draco was beyond the reach of any help. Time was running out.
