Draco had spent most of the afternoon huddled up on his bed trying not to cry. He had mostly failed, and soaked his pillow with hot tears. He sighed. He seemed to have run out of tears, and now he was left feeling numb and tired, with scratchy eyes and a sore throat, and a wet patch on his pillow. It was all finally sinking in, now. His world was utterly destroyed, and he was never going to be able to put it back together, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t, mostly. Whenever he started wishing nothing had changed, Draco made himself remember.