I wonder if you can guess which character I like writing best, based on the chapter lengths? I'll give you a hint, he's tall, blond and sexy, and he's in my Hogwarts house!

Chptr4

The dark prince of Slytherin sat on his silver and green bedecked bed with his beautiful blond head in his hands.

He had locked the door to the room with a charm of his own invention – parents who know alohamora are a pain - and just to be on the safe side, he had pushed his bed against the door as well, like a muggle teenager in a strop. It wouldn't do for any of the other Slytherins he shared with – Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Zabini - to catch him in his moment of weakness.

Ever since Harry had collapsed in potions, Draco hadn't been able to shake the feeling of having consumed lead. There was an uncomfortable weight in the pit of his stomach, slowly poisoning him from the insight out. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something truly awful had happened to Potter. He was determined not to let anybody see through his obnoxious bastard persona however, no-one was going to see through the cracks – not if he could help it. Throughout the course of his life, Draco had perfected the art of not caring. It truly was an art, and it had become effortless to him, shoving his true emotions down deep, hiding them from everybody especially his father and his schoolmates. However, the eternal goodness of Harry Potter and his gang of do-gooders always caused some stirring of feeling that he tried his level best to quash. If he'd only known that hurting Harry would destroy all his efforts... he realised that he'd mentally called Potter by his first name, and dropped his head onto his lap, hands over ears as if he could protect himself from his own poisonous thoughts by sheer force of will.

He felt guilty.

This admission to himself shocked him. Guilt was an emotion he retained for interactions with his parents. Guilt for disappointing his father, guilt for turning Lucius against his mother. Never guilt for something that was clearly the fault of another. Never guilt over Harry Potter. His beautiful features twisted sharply into rage. He stood up sharply, his long slender hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening, perfectly manicured fingernails digging painfully into his palms. He welcomed it. He started pacing, thoughts racing.

He'd never been in this position before, feeling something for a fellow student. He'd always been able to maintain a mask of indifference, a sardonic smirk being the extent of emotion ever shown to anyone but his mother. Any fondness for his friends buried deeply. He'd spent his whole life hiding what he felt from the world. Never letting his father see a hint of softness, never letting his mother see his fear of his father. When his father locked him in his room for talking back, he kept his mouth shut, not even issuing a single protest. When his Lucius talked to his mother in that dangerously smooth voice and he saw her hand shaking, he restrained himself from taking it because he knew it would bring more torture to the both of them. He'd been brought up to believe that any show of emotion, no matter how small, would bring the worst for the people he cared about. And now it seemed, he cared what happened to Potter.

He stopped pacing abruptly. Grabbing the nearest pillow he threw it as hard as he could at the opposite wall and dropped down onto the floor, curling into the foetal position. He let out a sob for the first time in an age.

How could he live with himself if he had brought about harm to somebody as good as Harry potter?

He couldn't.

He just couldn't.

He scrambled to his feet, his usual composure out the window, determination written plainly all over his face, and, with a few waves of his wand and muttered spells learned from years of trashing his room, returned the dorm to the way it was before he had occupied it with his grief. Not even bothering to return his face to its usual impassive mask, he dashed along the corridor into the Slytherin common room. Completely ignoring the shocked and slightly scared looks from the other teenagers he lived with, he sped out of the room. Damn them to hell, let them think what they want.

He launched himself into a flat-out run, dodging around individual lagging in the corridors and up staircases two steps at a time, oblivious to the stares of the other young witches and wizards, all he cared about was making it to the hospital wing before they stopped allowing visitors for the night – after all, it was coming on 8pm and as he didn't frequent the hospital wing he had no idea what Madam Pomfrey considered end of visiting hours.

He arrived in Madam Pomfrey's territory out of breath and panting, his gorgeous silvery locks falling into his face, damp with perspiration. He had had no idea how far away the hospital wing was from the Slytherin common room considering that he'd never had to make the journey in one. Madam Pomfrey gave him a suspicious look as he held up one finger and bent over, hands on his knees taking deep, wracking breaths – for a quidditch player he was surprisingly unfit on the ground. Eventually he pulled himself straight again, running a hand through his hair – it was turning into something of a twitch.

"Is Potter still here?" Malfoy demanded with hardly a trace of his usual drawl. Looking at the matronly woman with an intensity that took Madam Pomfrey off guard.

Startled, Madam Pomfrey replied, "No, she left for the dorms a few minutes ago". She was having trouble figuring out why this usually cold boy whom she only really knew through reputation, had come running all this way to find out how Harry was, especially considering their reputation as enemies.

"Thank God," whispered Draco under his breath. Potter was A-OK it seemed... wait... "She?" Surely he hadn't heard her correctly. Was there another Potter in the school? No…

"Yes, actually it was your potion that caused this bemusing turn of events. I've always said that Severus should re-think his tendency to test potions on the students, especially considering Harry's… prowess at the subject".

Draco walked backwards with a strange look on his face, and before Madam Pomfrey could say anything more he had vanished 'round the corner without a second word.

Do you love it or do you hate it? If it's the former, drop me a review ;)