Author: Frick (inHell)
Title: Shirt Lifter
Summary: Chapter three, especially for you! "I end up sprawled on my back with one of my feet tucked up and trapped painfully beneath me." 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! No offence to fanfiction.net, but bloody hell. I got about 80 copies of the same review in my inbox. I was all like 'hey, look how popular my story... oh no. never mind'. Really hurt my feelings, that did. Not that I'm not grateful for everyone else's reviews, because I am! You're all so lovely! Thank you all, and please, review again! I find they are quite addictive, however weird that sounds.
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No. No way. No bloody freaking way.
"No way." I say faintly. I feel my face heating up (with rage or humiliation I'm not yet sure). "There's no way..."
How could I have not guessed he was going to do something like this? Potter is a crazy freak, and I should have anticipated he'd do something completely off the bloody wall! It's like... if I give him another secret, he's got more ammunition to blackmail me in the future! It would be like – like sharpening the blade for my own execution! But if I don't tell him anything, the whole school will know I'm gay within the week! Which is like – having a weak, dull blade for my execution, and having it hack my head off slowly and painfully!
I need to think of a way out of this. Okay, I can do this... I've thought my way out of life-threatening situations before. I just need a plan.
I know! I need a diversion! I could... I could... burst into tears? No, stupid! How could him thinking I'm a pathetic wuss help the situation? I've got to think... think think think.
Then it hits me. I can pretend to black out! See, if I'm unconscious, I won't have to tell him anything! At least for now. So, to make it seem real, I put my hand to my forehead and sway nauseously for a bit ... Now what? Do I just fall flat, or do I kind of sink, then fall? Well, whatever I do, I'm probably going to bump my head pretty hard on the floor anyway, so I might as well get on with it.
I let out a very woeful sounding sigh, and just kind of... keel over. Ow, my elbow.
"Malfoy?" Potter says, "what are you doing?"
I end up sprawled on my back with one of my feet tucked up and trapped painfully beneath me. But I can't move it or else he'll know I'm lying.
I hear Potter step nearer to me, and he suddenly starts prodding me in the side with his foot. "Malfoy, you are the worst fainter in the world."
I call his bluff, and try to keep my face as passed out-like as possible. It's very difficult, because for absolutely no reason, I feel like laughing.
"I know you're faking it..." He says, but I detect a trace of insecurity in his voice. There is a long, drawn out silence. What is he doing? Is he just standing there looking at me? He wants to catch me out, doesn't he? Well, I'm way sneakier than he is...
"I'm going, then. You can lay there all you like..." He says, in a suit-yourself kind of way.
I hear his receding footsteps. Once they've trailed off, I snap my eyes open. Ouch, I have pins and needles in my leg. So I sit up, and start rubbing my calf. I'm quite pleased actually, that went rather—
"Aha!"
I let out a tiny shriek and jump as Potter leaps out, pointing triumphantly at me. Oh great, I think, sitting on the floor like an embarrassed pillock, clutching my leg. Just great.
"I knew you were faking it." He says, with a proud smirk. Oh yes, let's all praise and bow down to the genius Harry Potter for being able to tell whether a person is fainting for real or just trying to get out of being blackmailed.
"Now, no more stupidity. Spill."
I curse Potter's annoying smirk as I stand up, and dust myself off with as much dignity as I can muster. I swear, now I know what it feels like, I will never blackmail anybody ever again. And he's totally ruined smirking for me now.
"Fine." I bite out, through clenched teeth. "Fine."
Okay... what are my secrets? What's my least embarrassing one? One that I wouldn't really care if anyone found out about...
"Okay," I clear my throat, and take a breath. I hold it for a moment, suddenly filled with nervous tension. "I've got... mybellybuttonpierced."
Potter expression goes from dawning comprehension to complete revulsion in a split second.
"Urch!" he says, or something like that. "You pierced it?" his eyes flick down to my waist. "That's revolting..."
"Well I think it's attractive." I snap, feeling a sting of pride.
Potter still has a very disgusted look on his face.
"... Can I see it?"
"No!" I cry, jumping backwards in horror.
"No – of course not!" He says, looking shocked at himself. "That just—I don't know why—that's one thing I never— no. Forget I said anything..." He trails off, and walks away, quite dazedly, with his hand to his forehead in a manner that suggests he would very much like to banish whatever images he has in there. See? I told you he was a weirdo.
I do kind of wish I could have shown him, though. No, not him personally, but people in general. I would love to be able to show it off. It's a diamond, you see, and it was very expensive. And painful. But obviously I can't. Only girls get their belly buttons pierced, everyone knows that.
Anyway, I go back down to the dungeons, thinking that definitely could have gone a lot worse. I mean, I could be jumping around in a giant ferret suit right about now! But, thanks to my cool skills as a negotiator (and only a tiny bit of pure luck), I managed to get off relatively lightly. I stroll into my dormitory, feeling quite chuffed with myself.
"Where've you been, Draco? We looked for you." Vince says, his deep bass voice just the reality slap I need. What am I thinking, being happy with myself! I've just spent the past forty five minutes being blackmailed by Harry sodding Potter! It was torture, and I am definitely not pleased about anything!
"You've been out with your new girlfriend, haven't you?" Blaise nods in my direction. "At least I assume so; I saw you getting those notes – and judging by the way you ran out, I'd say you really fancy her..."
Well, I'd rather have him think that than know the truth. "Of course! Now that I'm free from Pansy, I've got girls falling at my feet..."
Okay, maybe that was a bit over the top, but they still believe me. I mean, why wouldn't they? I'm rich, powerful, and I suppose, in the right light, I could be considered attractive. If my nose wasn't so pointy, or the top of my head wasn't so flat. Or my legs weren't so skinny.
* * * *
The next day passes by quite quickly, but I still can't help feeling paranoid that Potter's going to tell someone, like Weasley or Granger, because they're his best friends. Potter himself might be content to make my suffering as drawn out and mentally-scarring as possible, but I can vividly picture myself as Weasley's own personal footstool. No! I swear, I don't care how much he threatens, I am not letting his big, shabby feet anywhere near my back. That's where I am drawing the line.
But I don't know. Something inside me, a little voice or niggling feeling or something, it's telling me Potter won't tell anybody. It's telling me, in a very annoying way, to trust him. Hah. I've never liked that niggly feeling. That's the feeling that told me to give in and go up to Martin Silverman in the library. It's an evil and treacherous sensation, and I hate it.
I go back to my dormitory after my lessons, like I usually do, but this time I suffer the worst shock of my entire life as I step inside.
My beautiful room! ... It's a pigsty ... mess ... everywhere! ... My space ... my school trunk ... it's been touched, and rooted through, and gutted, by hands that aren't mine! Grubby, filthy hands!
I clutch my chest, feeling hyperventilations coming on. Who would possibly do this...? Everyone knows my space is sacred to me! Oh, heads are going to roll for this!
Greg and Vince stroll in behind me, and stop short, too.
"What...?" They look around at all my stuff – their things, conveniently enough, haven't been disturbed. They look at me standing there, looking like I'm about to keel over with shock. They look at each other, wide eyed, and they nod together.
Then they each take one of my elbows, and lead me silently from the room. I go without protest, feeling numb. I listen vacantly to their mutterings.
"What d'you think happened?"
"Dunno – but I'm gonna kick the dung out of whoever did it."
"Did they take anything?"
Wait a minute. That one was directed at me. I move my mouth a few times, but nothing comes out.
"Didn't check." I croak eventually, as I'm sat down in the common room.
"Okay, Draco..." Vince says, crouching down in front of me, his tone like he's talking to a little child. "What do you want us to do first? Clean up the mess, or find out who did it?"
"Clean..." I say hoarsely. I just can't think straight knowing all that untidiness is up there... I feel all faint again, just imagining it.
It doesn't take long for them to put everything back – but I still feel horrifically violated. When I go back up there – everything has moved, the whole energy of the room is different - skewed. Hold on a second. I just sensed something.
"Something's gone." I say, alarm quickly filling me. "Where's my broomstick?"
"Uh – it wasn't here." Greg says as I start pacing. "Was it here before?"
"Of course it was here before!" I screech. I always keep it in my room! Everyone knows the broom cupboard is no place for a broomstick!
I almost start hyperventilating all over again. I cup my hands over my mouth. "Find out who did this." I order, and it comes out all muffled. "And beat them to within an inch of their life."
"Right. C'mon Greg." Vince says, and they walk purposely towards the door. When Vince gets there, he turns back to me. "Will you be alright here?"
"Yes." I say, because a name has just popped into my head. "Yes. I'll be fine."
Yes, because if the person I'm thinking of is the person that did this, then I want to sort it out on my own this time, for once.
I stride from our dorm room, filled with a murderous (though very self-righteous) intent. You don't steal another person's broomstick, you just don't. It's just a thing that isn't done, no matter what else is going on. Not even as a prank – everyone must know that.
Everyone, obviously – except Harry Potter.
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A/N: Ooooh! I love belly button piercings! And I can so vividly picture Draco having one!
This chapter was kind of a bitch to write (and I can swear like that because this fic is R – therefore you all should be over seventeen), so I'd really appreciate any reviews! Even if you don't think you have anything review-ish to say, just tell me your favourite bit so far, that would boost my spirits!
And also, if you spot any spelling mistakes or random misplaced words or whatever – please tell me so I can replace them! (I don't have a beta). Thanks!