Draco went through his afternoon in a numb state of automation.  He felt like a photograph, endlessly repeating the same action in an eternal loop, devoid of emotion, doomed to push the rock up the hill over and over.  He closed the door to Hermione's room so he wouldn't have to look in and see her things.  He put a kettle on for tea.  He ate a stale croissant while standing at the counter.  He didn't have much appetite and had to choke it down but he decided to blame that on the several days-old bread rather than his feelings.