A/N: I'm really sorry that this chapter's so short. The muse isn't working very well lately but I didn't want to let it sit so long that everyone stopped reading. You can all think of it as sort of a filler chapter, though it's very essential to the plot. Probably more so than the previously posted chapters were. At least, I think it helps the plot along. Whether or not the rest of you figure it out is still to be realized. ^.^
It was odd, Mathew found himself thinking, that almost nothing had changed in his morning routines even though he now lived at a castle with hundreds of other students. Sure, he had to wear his long-sleeved pajamas right up until he changed into his robes, but that was it. Everything else was exactly the same.
Mathew plucked up one of the plush green towels on the back of the sink and wiped at his mouth with it, lilac eyes purposefully keeping away from the mirror. He hated looking into those things unless he had to, hated seeing his image shiver and fade. He wiped off his toothbrush with the towel as well before letting the cloth rest on the back of the sink.
Bending down slightly, Mathew shoved his toothbrush back into the bag by his feet. He'd been looked at oddly the first few times that he brought a toiletry bag and robes into the Slytherin's personal bathroom with him, but he had steadfastedly ignored them. If he couldn't use his own counter then he was at least going to have everything he would need right beside him.
Most of his morning routine had already been done; face washed, hands washed, hair brushed, teeth brushed. All that he still had to do was find out just how bad he still looked. How much of his thoughts actually showed on his face and how much he would have to try to hide that day.
Mathew leaned forwards slightly, one arm resting on the porcelain of the sink and the other hand prodding slightly at the skin beneath his eye. Most of his face was a pale color, almost pasty looking, but beneath both of his eyes was a shadowy hue. Not as dark as it could have been but it was worse than it had been since he came to the castle.
He needed more sleep.
He trailed thin, boney fingers down his cheek before letting out a soft sigh and turning his gaze elsewhere. It happened to land on Draco, one of the other early inhabitants of the restroom.
The blond was going through his own morning motions on the other side of the room, upper body bent over the sink as he scrubbed at his face. He'd changed from his night-wear into his robes before he even left the stall; just like Canada had.
It was always long-sleeves with that one, the True North thought, lips tugging down into a frown. And as someone with much practice in the sport, Canada easily saw the signs that he was hiding something. Someone that young shouldn't have to hide anything; nothing but a traded secret between friends. Certaintly not something that a piece of cloth had to cover up.
But then, the Malfoy family had so much they were trying to hide. So much that they were unable to hide from the nations. England spoke of them, sure, not as often as he spoke of the Potter's and never with anywhere near as much love in his voice, but Canada knew them from a different source.
From being in the same class as Lucious' father.
From seeing the look in Draco's eyes in the mirror, reflected in light purple, when he was younger.
From knowing that family was important in the Malfoy line, even if most didn't think they valued it.
And that knowledge made his stomache churn and his throat burn and the horrible red haze that he hated, but at the same time loved because he was always noticed when it descended, was lurking just at the back of his mind. When he spoke though, his voice was soft and steady, showing nothing of what he really thought.
"Good morning, Draco. Almost ready for breakfast?"