It was hard to breathe, why was it hard to breathe? His eyes stun, he has to hold in the urge to rub at the soreness. He knew Moaning Myrtle was speaking, that he was responding but his mind wasn't following the words, too distracted by the harshness of his own voice. His heart is pounding, the noise of it nearly drowns out everything except his voice. He’s desperate to get rid of the tight feeling within his chest, to turn back time for a moment of peace where the knowledge that his actions would be the deciding factor if his family survives the year.
Draco is aware that the ghost wants to help, that she wants him to admit what haunts him. He can’t. He can’t push the words past his lips, the very thought of speaking those words makes the large bathroom feel so very tiny. As if the walls could crumble within seconds & bring the ceiling bearing down with the smallest of sounds. Turning on the tap, Draco splashes his face with water a few times, trying to relieve some of the sting. It doesn’t work, the coldness of the water only sending a jolt of awareness through him, a shiver from it moving through him.
The sounds of his heavy pants fills his ears even as his hands rub the cold water over his face. He wishes Myrtle would stop talking, each time he calms she says something, causing his anxiety to spike back upwards. He grips the edge of the sink the second he notices the tremble in his hands, trying desperately to stop it even as his mind pushes his conversation with Myrtle farther away. Struggling to get his mind to focus so he could think of something, anything, so he can do what he needs to, he ends up jerking at a random sound. Why was it so loud? It shouldn’t be that loud. His grey eyes jump to the mirror bright with fear, his body tightening as if to brace himself. Expecting to see Professor Snape, there isn’t any relief to be found when he sees Potter. Tipping his head down, he doesn’t turn around, his body stiff as he silently hopes his voice is steady. “Bugger off, Pottah.”