So yeah, life still sucks so imma keep on writing and lets just hope that one day there is a happy ending.

Discalaimer: i dont own it, simple

If life had been frustrating before it was now a symphony of annoying voices and boring work. He could honestly not give fewer shits about anything. He was avoiding everything that represented any effort whatsoever as though it was the plague and when he couldn't just skip the class he just sat in a corner and tried oh so desperately to zone everything out and remain completely unnoticed. It worked most of the time.

He had been completely avoiding all of his friends as much as a human being can avoid other humans whilst entrapped in a boarding school. It was working too. As a matter of fact the only person that he actually wanted to talk to was Granger but that wasn't an option. Soon after he had received news of his Grandfather illness she had received news of her Grandmothers impending doom, it just wouldn't be fair for him to burden the girl any further. Besides her, Harry was the only other one he would have considered as an option to talk to.

Which brings us cleanly into point two: Harry mother fucking Potter was a smacktard. The stupid bastard was totally cold shouldering him. That utter dousche nozzle. One minute Draco is pouring out his heart and soul and a little bit more and the next minute it's like the saviour couldn't care less about him. What was with the four-eyed bugger and his complete inability to make up his goddamned mind? He was in love with Draco, he didn't want to talk to him, he was head over heels for Draco, he would rather hide in an alcove then see Draco. It was beyond imposable.

It didn't matter though. Draco wasn't there (mentally or physically) enough to let it bother him in any real way. That didn't stop it being stupid though.

It was a Thursday when good news finally reached him and it was about time too. You see his beloved grandfather had been released from hospital with the expectations of a full recovery.

It was like Draco had been holding his breath this whole time, his lungs slowly burning up and now he could breath, gulping in huge amounts of air as he saw the light for what seemed like the first time in forever. Things were going to be okay, it was going to be okay.

He slept the whole night through that night for the first time in an age, waking up fully in the morning and going to breakfast. He tried in all of his classes, miraculously managing to catch up on most of what he missed and making it back into his teacher's good books. He joined in at meals and spoke to people other than Blaise, Draco even went as far as smiling and hanging around with the golden trio and Ginny.

This happened all over again the next day and Draco just couldn't put into words how relieved he was. Things were going to be okay.

And I can tell you right now that karma is just as much of a bitch as people claim and my god Draco must have done something horribly wrong, like being a murderer or a puppeteer in his last life kind of wrong.

The next tragedy in his life snuck up quietly, striking him a 4 by 2 plank of wood to the side of his noggin and completely tearing everything apart. It was like he had spent so long trying to deal with the front on blow that he could see coming that he completely forgot to duck the blow from the side that hit him like a train, turning everything into slow motion and just breaking everything he had spent so long building up. He was shattered and shocked and so, so detached.

You see, Draco had been so focused on his Grandfather impending death that he had completely missed most other things going on, other things like his favourite uncles deteriorating condition. A condition that had led to his death.

And just like that everything fell apart all over again. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't.

The very next day – after all five hours of broken sleep – Dracos Grandfather was re admitted into hospital. They said something about him lying, he couldn't eat after all, and they couldn't fix him if he kept lying. So he tried to fill his day all of Saturday, wondering Hogsmead until his legs burned and he had to sneak back into Hogwarts, a bad decision in its self considering he tripped over his old tired feet and lay there until Filch's damn cat felt the need to waltz on past him meowing in a way that forced him to reconsider his morals on killing animals.

His 'friends' allowed him to drop back into oblivion, none of them actually caring enough to try and pick him up and brush him off, which consequently meant none of them cared enough to pursue him on his road to total seclusion and Draco was forced to come to the conclusion that maybe those dick nuggets just didn't give a fuck about him. Admittedly this was a pretty obvious conclusion but it still stung.

So he soldiered on because that's what Malfoys do. He continued doing what he had being doing before, the only difference being that now it was all more extreme. He slept so little that collapsing was a pleasant thought, he had a pocket full of parchment and a self-inking quill that he took to each class which hardly mattered anyway because he did so little schoolwork that he didn't even know what subjects he had when. And if he couldn't find out from someone else what class he had within five minutes he didn't bother trying to go. It was quite simple.

Until that point in time where is father had to go and ruin everything all over again. All it took were three words sarcastic, hate filled words and Draco snapped. He shattered into a million pieces like a vase thrown against the marble floor. And like a vase there were pieces everywhere and no amount of PVA would manage to put it back together and even if they did you would still see the cracks and there would still be little bits missing that had shattered into a dust too fine to repair.

So when his father had muttered his hate fuelled "well I'm sorry." To an already breaking Draco in a howler that he was opening up in the astronomy tower when the rest of Hogwarts had long ago fallen asleep, Draco had spontaneous burst into tears. Sobbing in a way that he hadn't since he had injured himself as a child and his father had simply told him to 'grow up and get over it.'

All the tears he hadn't shed over the past few weeks came pouring out in one massive rush and Draco was filled to the brim with an unstoppable rage. Lashing out and slamming his fist against the solid brick wall beside him. This was bad judgment and a stupid action. Draco realised that a moment too late when something cracked and pain washed though him.

A really bad decision, and one that he chose to live with himself opting not to let Madame Pomfery know and in doing so avoiding a million and a bit unwanted question. Questions he doubted having answers to.