By Perr - There may be delays in updates nowadays because Perr's computer has been possessed by an anti-internet demon. Sorry! Perr will try to update as soon as possible.

Draco's POV

"Alright... You can go. But don't strain yourself, it'll take two days to heal completely."
Well, it's about bloody time I was released.
The first thing I think of stepping out the door is what people are going to write on my brilliant blue cast. Messages of admiration, get-well- soons and pick-me-ups, to say the least. At least it's only my left forearm that's broken, otherwise I'd have a lot of problems.
It's terribly cold outside, maybe because I'm dressed in a 49ners sweatshirt and matching grey sweatpants, well-worn and a little thin for weather like this. Hey, being in Hogwarts does not limit my choice of casual wear or my interest in Muggle sport.
I'm feeling awfully tired, walking all the way from the hospital wing to the Slytherin common room. Everyone greets me like they should when I enter, but it's the usual; girls filing their nails, gossiping and whatnot, boys draping themselves all over the furniture trying to ignore the inconsiderate cheers of Gryffindors across the shifting stairs.
"What noise," I comment, crossing male bodies, throwing a red ball at each other from floor to couch.
"Draco, you're alright!"
As whichever girl approaches me, I immediately snap, "I'm in no mood to chat now, I'd rather be left alone."
And like a little dog, she moves away.
In the dorm room, there's only empty beds and tossed pillows. The air smells strangely musty, everything to do with sweat. I climb onto my bed, and that mirror is gleaming in the artificial light of the room. My pillow is missing.
The surface is pink, like cherry blossoms fresh off the tree. Like how I'm turning when I'm being reminded of everything I've been thinking about, the cause of my injury, the culprit of the kind of dreams I've been having. Trelawny's voice echoes in my mind,
See yourself entering a stage when you will experience powerful... urges...
 Screwed up urges, they are, as I feel a zing of excitement pass through me while I stare at the mirror.
Urges...
For Potter.
 Upon realisation, I close my eyes. It's a stupid, stupid urge. I breathe and let the air fill my lungs.
"Ay, what do you think you're doing?"
I grab the mirror and toss it directly behind me. Blaise is going to interrogate, should he see it again. "I'm resting, nitwit." I'm resting my sore brain, from thinking all those... thoughts, about Potter. "By the way," I try to direct this somewhere else, "what's that smell?"
"Oh, um, that would be a Hufflepuff fox and I."
"What?"
"Your bed. Sorry we had to use it." I can see a smile just twitching his lips.
"What?!" My eyes widen, but even then, Potter's still on my mind. "You had sex on my bed?!?!" I scream it at the top of my lungs and immediately jump off. That'll teach him. But despite my outburst and as Zabini's disgusting secret is uncovered, I can't help but think

What's Potter doing now?