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This had been the hardest year by far for Draco. Everyday had felt pointless, and he had had to use every little bit of motivation he could muster up to even get out of bed. Most days he felt like he couldn't breathe. Like there was some kind of iron hold on his lungs, stopping them from inflating properly and causing him to hyperventilate. The worst times though were when he'd see how much he had changed.
Looking in the mirror now, Draco could hardly see any resemblance to what he had been last year. His once fiercely stormy eyes had become a dull grey, and his skin looked sallow. The biggest difference was his expression; where he would once have worn a smirk there was now just an overwhelming melancholy.
What scared him most was that he had become weak. He had yearned for help, for comfort, but each time he stopped himself from talking to anyone about it. That would be weak. It would make his father angry. That wasn't what a real Malfoy would do.
When before he would've brushed off the destructive comments tumbling through his mind with his arrogance, now he welcomed them. Telling himself that he was a failure, that he was worthless, was the only way that he could feel anymore.
Sighing, Draco turned the taps of the bath. He tested the water every now and then, making sure it was the right temperature. He could see the condensation forming on the metal, and it filled him with a sense of relief. The sight of the perfectly polished faucet turning gradually matte, where the water droplets had become so small they could hardly be seen, was one of his favourites.
He gradually removed his clothes. The left sleeve of his shirt stuck slightly to his inner arm but he ignored it, not wanting to see the blood. Again he tested the water, making sure it was as chilling as possible, and turned off the water. The silence made everything seem impossibly still.
Toes, feet, ankles.
Sitting was the hardest part, but Draco was well practiced at it by now. Hissing slightly at the sudden drop in temperature, he was now halfway.
Legs, arms, torso.
He could feel his lungs protesting and struggling. The shivering had started but he didn't notice.
Last step now.
Deep breath, head.
Eyes clamped shut as the cold enveloped him in an almost unbearable embrace, and now he felt the cold.
He was a failure. He couldn't even do the simple task of killing a man he hated, couldn't get back his families respect. He was someone that no one could be proud of, that no one was proud of. He was always second best, never enough. No one would miss him.
Draco had no fight left in him, and let the icy water take him forever.