He was drowning. Drowning in it all and no one knew. Sitting here now, away from everybody else. No one questions it anymore. At first they cared, they were concerned, that soon went. They swallow up the lies now. They seemed so close, and now they're distant. Why should they care anyway?

He buried his head in his hands. The brown strands fell through his fingers easily. It was a small comfort, one he only allowed himself once he was alone. Letting his arms fall to his side he slumped against the wall. He always seemed alone nowadays. How did he end up here?

He felt the familiar trickle down his arm, a small one but there all the same. It almost tickled. It was well past curfew now, not that anyone would be looking for him. They'd long since stopped caring. He was still expected to "do his part". Namely win them the Quidditch cup, stand tall, and make them look good. He was expected to do all this and more. He wasn't a person anymore. He was a celebrated war hero, he'd done his part and now it was time to be a good little trophy.

Sometimes he sat and thought, other times he sat and cried. But most times he sat and thought. Especially recently. Sometimes he wished he was angry enough to scream, to yell, to lash out. It was an emotion, almost any emotion was welcome at this point. Now he was numb. Numb was a good word, It describes his state perfectly.

It was getting late, the chill of the flagstones had seeped through his pyjama bottoms long ago. He didn't bother to dress up anymore, just whatever he was in at the time he stole away. It would be sunrise soon. Sliding up the wall he wiped the blood from is arm. It was a common occurrence now, hidden from the world of course, not that they'd care.

Picking his wand up from the floor he banished the small blade he had used before tucking the piece of wood into his pocket. He didn't bother to conceal his state as he shuffled out the forgotten room that had been this night's refuge. Not that it always came at night. The moods were dark, phases slightly deeper than his ever constant drawl.

Weaving through the maze that was Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry he didn't take mind of where he was going. He'd wondered the school long enough to be able to find his way back from just about anywhere now. He wasn't worried about getting caught now, he's the hero. He can do anything they'd just smile and say "sure". They'd be asleep now anyway.

He was nearing his destination now, just a few more flights of stairs and it'll be time to get dressed for the school day. He was watching the flagstones pass beneath his feet when the chest collided with his. The tone that came with it was one of confusion, not malice, or anger.

"Potter?" the saviour looked up. Soft grey eyes met his. Concern showed within those pools but it was missed by the Gryffindor, dead on his feet.

"Malfoy." He remarked. And kept walking.