A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading this story. Here's another chapter! It's not very long, but I hope you like it! Oh, and I would love some reviews, please! I need feedback.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter 11: The Strain

Draco stared at the cabinet.

He didn't want to look at it anymore.

It had been a week, and he hadn't managed to do much to it, except Spellotape some boards together. Now, he ripped the tape off and watched the boards fall in a heap on the ground.

Just then, the sound of crashing scales on the ground reached his ears from outside. Goyle must have just encountered Potter and his gang coming down the corridor.

A few days previously, after Hermione had told Draco that Potter suspected him, Draco decided it was best to have lookouts while he worked on the , this job fell to Crabbe and Goyle, who were now taking Polyjuice Potion daily and assuming the identities of small girls.

Draco stood still now, waiting for the sound of the scales being dropped again; the all-clear signal. Once he heard the reassuring clang, he turned back to the cabinet. He kicked it in frustration, and finally decided there was nothing more he could do that day. He stepped out into the corridor to find Goyle waiting by the tapestry.

"Yo can go now," he said to Goyle, who ran off, muttering something about homework for Snape's class.

Draco rubbed his face with his hand, wincing as he passed a window. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and Draco realized just how long it had been since he had seen daylight. He had spent every moment of spare time that week holed up in the Room of Requirement. Though, looking back, Draco realized it had been a complete waste of time.

Without really thinking about it, Draco headed for the library. He dropped his bag on a table and searched the nearby shelves for a book that contained any information about Vanishing Cabinets. After a few minutes, he noticed Granger lurking behind a shelf a few yards away. A sudden thought occurred to Draco. Maybe she knew something...no, he would not stoop to that level. Asking a mudblood for help. How could he?

After a moment, Draco realized something. Maybe he didn't want her help not because she was a mudblood, but because asking her for help would mean revealing to her that he was a Death Eater, and- the thought made him sick- that she was really smarter than him. Sure, she beat him in every exam, but that didn't really mean she was smarter. Did it? Draco hoped not.

Why was he thinking about Granger so much anyway? Was this his mind's way of indirectly telling him he needed help with his task? Well, he didn't need help. He was going to show his father, the Dark Lord, Snape, and everybody else, that he didn't always lose to the know-it-all Granger, or anybody else for that matter. He would do it by himself.

With that thought in mind, Draco marched back off to the Room of Requirement, clutching in his hand a diagram of a Vanishing Cabinet he had torn out of a book in the library.

Determination pulsing in his veins, Draco paced in front of the wall in front of the tapestry and wished for the door to appear. When it did, he hurried through it, and got to work.

Two days later, he had gotten nowhere. He had tried to use the diagram and make the cabinet look like the one in the picture, but nothing was working. Everytime he pushed a board back into place, it fell back off.

To make matters worse, Draco was being pestered by the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Why aren't you coming to practice?"

"I don't have time."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Then why aren't you coming to practice?"

Finally, the day before the match, Draco told the captain of the team, Urquhart, that he was sick.

"But you look fine!"

"Well, I'm not! Just have someone else play for me!"

"Who?"

"You're the bloody captain! Figure it out!"

Urquhart finally gave up on Draco, much to Draco's relief. Now he could work on the stupid cabinet during the match. Not that he wanted to.

Draco was getting desperate. He spent hours in the library trying to find information on Vanishing Cabinets. He kept sending Madame Rosmerta messages, telling her to ask Borgin for help, but she always told him that Borgin's message was to "try harder". He knew this was Borgin's way of getting back at Lucius Malfoy. He just wanted to know Draco was struggling, just like the Dark Lord did. Draco wondered if Borgin was secretly a Death Eater and had given the Dark Lord this idea.

Stupid Borgin! Stupid Voldemort! Stupid Lucius! It was because of them Draco had to do this.

Draco slumped down in his chair and his face hit the corner of a book. The book poked his face, but Draco made no effort to readjust his or the book's position. He was too tired, too angry.

Finally, Madame Pince came by with her dusty old lamp and yelled at him to get out. Draco sighed, then stuffed his books into his bag. He heaved himself up, then wandered slowly down toward the Slytherin common room.

On his way, Draco meandered into a boy's bathroom. As he was washing his hands, he was taken completely by surprise.

"Hello."

"Aah!" Draco yelled, leaning back onto the sink. Moaning Myrtle was gliding toward him, her expression curious.

"Is something wrong?" She asked in an annoyingly high-pitched voice.

"No," Draco replied, scrambling to pick up his bag. "Nothing's wrong."

"You don't trust me, do you?" Myrtle sniffed.

"Uh, no," Draco said, confused. "I've never even talked to you before!"

"So?" Myrtle said, tears welling up in her eyes. Draco looked at her quizzically. "No one trusts me!" Myrtle wailed. Then, she dove into a toilet, her sobs still audible as she headed down the sewage pipes.

"Crazy," Draco muttered to himself as he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed down to the dungeons again.

Once he reached the common room, Draco found himself in front of some very infuriated Slytherins.

"Where have you been?!" Pansy exclaimed.

"Busy," Draco replied.

"Doing what?" Asked Blaise, frowning.

"Nothing," answered Draco. He seemed to be saying that a lot lately. "Why does it matter?"

"Maybe because we lost a Quidditch match, and a whole bunch of house points because of you!" Theo exclaimed.

Draco could agree with the latter. He had lost almost a total of seventy points for Slytherin because he was constantly showing up late for classes.

"So?" Draco replied, shrugging.

"Do you even care about anything anymore?" Pansy asked, sinking onto a couch.

"What do you mean?"

"You're skipping Quidditch, coming late to all your classes, missing classes, losing points...we haven't even talked to you in two weeks!" Blaise exclaimed.

"So?" Draco said again.

"Ugh," Blaise groaned. Draco didn't even know what they were so angry about.

"Look, Draco," Theo said calmly. "We know you're stressed. We know something's wrong. What's the matter?"

Draco was getting angry. Why did everyone want to know what he was doing. Why did they care?

"Why," Draco said, using the same tone he often used when insulting Hermione Granger, "would I tell you?"

Theo looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "Look, Malfoy, just because you're a Death Eater now doesn't mean you can start treating the rest of us like we don't matter."

"Actually, it does," Draco snarled, unable to contain his anger. "I have more important things to worry about than whether or not Slytherin wins the bloody House Cup!" Then, he stormed off to the dormitory, flopped onto his bed, and drew the curtains around his bed using his wand. Finally, as an extra precaution, in case Theo's quick temper got the best of him, he put some Shield Charms up around himself.

Draco couldn't sleep that night. He was angry, so angry at everyone and everything. That stupid cabinet, especially.

Draco felt sick and fatigued. He rarely ever ate nowadays, and never saw daylight. He saw the pallor in his face when he looked in the mirror. The hollowness in his cheeks. The circles around his eyes. He didn't know what to do. He no longer had that fierce determination to complete the task and prove to his father that he was worthy of being proud of. All he wanted to do was give up.

But he couldn't. He knew, that if he failed, the Dark Lord would do something to his mother. Something horrible.

And he couldn't let that happen.