Author: Frick (inHell)

Title: Shirt Lifter

Summary: Chapter two is posted! "I wanted to go straight up to my room to check out the damage Potter had done to my poor, hurting bum," Draco POV. SLASH.

Rating: PG-15

Disclaimer: Number of HP characters in my possession: 0. Amount of money earned by the following story: £0.00.

WARNING: Slash slash slash slash slash slash. See? That's one word that'll never lose its meaning.

Notes: Hey! I have an account at deviantART now! The link's in my profile, and I'd SO love to hear what you think of my HP drawings!

And another thing, I just realised, when I uploaded the last chapter, all the italics were stripped from it *embarrassed*, so I just replaced the chapter and put them back in.

* * * *

Oh no. This can't be happening! This can not be happening! ... Oh crap oh crap oh crap! Maybe, if I burrow my face far enough into my pillow, I'll come through the other side and find out this was all a horrible, twisted nightmare. Either that or I'll run out of air and pass out. Both work for me.

            He can't do this. How can he do this? He goes on and on about how everything has to be right and not horrifically evil in the world, then what does he go and do? Turns around and blackmails a person as soon as he finds out one little secret about them! And Pansy, don't even get me started on her. We've been going out forever, and just because I failed to satisfy her sexual needs that one time, she thinks she has the right to run off and tell the whole school!

            Of course we argued about that, last night, after I got back to the common room. I wanted to go straight up to my room to check out the damage Potter had done to my poor, hurting bum, but there she was, standing around – laughing – with her stupid friends. I just saw red. I marched right over there and let rip. Verbally, I mean.

            You know what she did? Instead of being terrified by my manly rage, she made a crack at my expense!

            "Quiet down, Draco," she said, scathingly, "if your voice doesn't break soon, people might start to think you're queer!"

            I think I deflected it pretty well, though. "Shut up!" I said, my voice a couple of notches deeper. "You can't prove anything!"

            Then I stormed off, and I only went a teeny bit red, so I don't think anyone suspected.

            So, here I am, in my dorm. I'm not hiding, really, it's just that, well, the need hasn't arisen yet, for me to have to... okay, so I'm hiding. In truth, I'm actually quite frightened of Pansy. And women in general. I can't possibly think why. But hopefully, my Perfect Revenge Plan ™ will turn the gossip away from my incompetence with women and I will finally be able to see the light of day again without wanting to curl up and die. That'll show her.

            The next day feels as if it's going to be a positive one as soon as I open my eyes. My wand, which I sleep with on my bed (I have this thing about the dark), hasn't  wedged itself up my nose during the night, and I didn't  have that recurring nightmare where I'm being chased up a hill by a group of angry girls who are trying to steal my shoes.

            I have to go down to breakfast today, obviously, to execute my Perfect Revenge Plan ™. And to show everybody that I'm not affected by all the conspiracies that are being plotted against me. And because if I miss one more meal I'm going to pass out. While I'm cutting up my toast into perfectly equal sized squares, I make sure to keep my head down. It will look way too suspicious if I look like I'm expecting anything.

            The next moment, I cry out as what feels like the sharp corner of a package hits me right on the top of the head. Oh yes. Mother always sends my packages on Tuesdays. So, feeling foolish, I shoo her blasted bird away from my toast. It gives me an indignant look with its creepy, beady eyes, and flies off. I put the package aside as The Letter drops in my lap. The package can wait.

            I read my perfectly imitated father's handwriting.

Dear Draco

Following our discussion in the fireplace three nights ago concerning Miss Pansy Parkinson, the spy for Dumbledore in your midst, I hope you have done everything you can (and I mean everything) to sever the link between you two. Even if it means physically making her break up with you. Now I am allowing you to tell your classmates of the plan, so they can begin severing their own links with the disgusting blood traitor.

From your father, Lucius Malfoy.

            I even signed it, with a well-practised copy of his signature. How else do you think I'm allowed to go to Hogsmeade?

            I pass the note across the table to Blaise, who reads it with his mouth wide open. I smirk at him, because he was one of the ones with the most wisecracks.

            "So, you mean, you, in bed..." He says, still staring at the paper. "That was all... pretend?"

            I nod smugly.

            "And..." He sneaks a sideways glance at Pansy, and lowers his voice. "She's really...?"

            I nod again. "You'd better stay away from her, too, if you know what's good for you."

            All the Slytherins believe my story, and one by one they skootch away from Pansy as if I've just announced she has Mad Cow Disease. This means I can finally relax for a while. That is, until I spot Potter's big head in the crowd as I'm going back to the dungeons.

      I almost forgot. He's going to blackmail  me. What the hell does that mean, anyway? No, I know what it means, I'm not stupid. I just don't know what it means to Potter. What will he want from me? For all I know, he could demand that I... I don't know; dance around like a spastic Mooncalf at lunch! Or... or something even more depraved! What if he asks me to apologise  to all his saddo friends? Am I prepared to make that sacrifice?

            However depressing it may sound, I probably am. I don't have much choice, do I?

      Ugh, the things I do for my reputation. Of course it's worth it, though, in the end. I mean, I just got my dignity back;  I can hardly afford to lose it again. And obviously, if I do have to apologise to them, I don't have to actually mean it.

      During the course of the day, I come up with a plan. Potter wants to blackmail me, right? And what do you have to do to blackmail someone? That's right! Be alone with them! So, my exceptionally large brain figures that, hey, if I just don't go anywhere alone, then he can't get at me! Aren't I ingenious?

      This appears to be a lot more difficult than originally anticipated, however. None of my lessons are with Greg and Vince (they opted for more "practical" subjects, whereas I prefer the lessons with "the minimum amount of movement possible"), and it is entirely below me to latch onto anyone else. But I do anyway, because I'm desperate. On the plus side, I see Potter several times, and by promptly engaging the closest person to me in conversation, I successfully manage to stop him approaching me.

            That's the good news. The bad news is, the closest person to me is often someone who hates me as much as I hate them.

            "Piss off, Malfoy."

            "Eat dung, Malfoy, you twat."

            "Why on earth would I care about being able to calculate the mass of the universe, Malfoy?"

            Are amongst the range of varied and colourful  answers I receive, thankfully, out of Potter's earshot.

* * * *

That evening, I sit around with my classmates, inwardly smug at seeing Pansy sitting across the room all by herself. She's tried making conversation with several people already, but they all hastily end it and scurry off. It's funny, because she has no idea why she's being avoided.

            "Draco, are you playing?" Sally-Anne is saying to me.

            I shake my head. It's pointless, really. I always win. It gets enormously boring after a while. I do like to think they let me beat them, you know, out of respect, but maybe Go Fish just isn't their game. After a long while, I know just about where very single pair of matching cards is on the floor, and I seem to be the only one that does.

            I'm suddenly hit square between the eyes by something cream-coloured and very pointy. Picking it back up off the floor, I see it's a paper aeroplane. I look around suspiciously, because at times like this, you just have to suspect everyone. I unfold the aeroplane quite angrily, just in case there's a name on it or something. There isn't, but there is a note. Which I suppose is better.

You've been avoiding me all day, Malfoy. Are you scared of me?

       Oh har har. It's not signed, but it's obviously from Potter. Either that or someone is playing a horrible, slightly scary, trick on me. No. I doubt that. I mean, who else have I been avoiding? Well, there's Pansy, but I'm sure she knows I'm scared of her, so she'd have no reason to ask.

       So I pick up a quill from the nearest table, turn the parchment over and write 'terrified'. I re-fold it and send it on its way with a quick spell. Hopefully Potter gets the sarcasm. Should I have put 'oh, I'm terrified', instead of just one word? Or 'Oh, I'm shaking in my boots'? Shit... now look! Potter's even making me doubt my own sarcasm skills! It's absurd!

            Around about fifteen minutes later, it comes back. I know it's the same one, because thanks to the shabby job I did of re-folding it, it now looks more like a scrunched up piece of parchment.

I know you know how blackmail works, so get up to the seventh floor sharpish, or I'm telling.

            Oh damn. Like I have nothing better to do.

            The seventh floor... I don't know if you knew this, but it's a long way. A long way in the upward direction. As in never-ending stairs. I'm only on the fifth floor here, and I'm already puffing like an asthmatic flobberworm. By the sixth floor, I'm knackered, and by the seventh, I'm wheezing horribly and my knees are on the verge of giving out. No wonder all the Gryffindor girls have calves like tree trunks, doing that every day...

            I crawl up the last few steps, and then proceed with trying to massage away my excruciating stomach cramps. This is not how I want to face him. I would much prefer to be standing up, straight and tall, and looking like that's a drop in the ocean compared to how many stairs I've mastered. But even I'm not that good an actor.

            Then Potter appears from round the corner, and he grins. "Malfoy, you look like a first year." He mocks.

            "So... many... stairs... " I breathe out.

            Instead of agreeing, or possibly offering to help re-inflate my lungs, he just laughs. What a  bastard! I mean, there's a fine line between healthy, harmless evil, and pure sadism, and he's just crossed it.

            After I've caught my breath, I glower at him. "What do you want from me, then? Money? Favours?" I look at his clothes. "Fashion tips?"

            "No." He says, frowning.

            "Well what then? I do have better things to do with my time, you know."

            "Oh really. Like what?" He challenges.

            Quick, I tell myself, make something up! "It's... it's... uh..." I fumble. "It's bath night."

            He now looks on the verge of bursting into hysterical laughter.

"Oh yes," he deadpans, pushing his glasses up his nose, "you must be terribly inconvenienced by all this."

"Shut up. Can you hurry up and blackmail me already?" I say, getting antsy, and wanting this over with.

"Right." He says, a grin creeping onto his face. "I want you to tell me another one of your secrets."

· * * *

A/N: Gasp! A cliff-hanger! Who'd a thunk it! Will Draco bend to Potter's evil demands? Or does he have a plan up his sleeve? Tune in next time to find out! (And, while you're tuning, could you please take time to visit my deviantart account?)

Bye for now!