A/N: Ack, I know I said 2 days and in theory it is three, but really I am still awake for Friday as it is only 1am. Woops heh : sheepish grin :

Hello, My Name is Seamus and I'm a Slut-aholic . . .

Part 2/6 By Kelly M.
hermindkillsyahoo.ca

Draco wouldn't have even noticed there was something strange going on the next day had it not been for his sheer and utter boredom in his insufferable "Care of Magical Deathtraps-Waiting-to-Devour-Us-at-the-Drop-of-a-Hat" class with the Gryffindors and the incompetent oaf professor. The behemoth was blathering on about feeding something or other outside his decrepit hut when Draco heard the scratch of quill on parchment. Not even Granger took notes in this class.

He swivelled his head slowly, an indifferent look on his face, he didn't want to appear too interested. A short sandy-haired Gryffindor was scribbling madly, turned in the direction of the pack of Slytherins Draco was standing in. Finnigan, and he was up to something...perhaps planning his next head on stone attack.

His eyes darted up from his writing, looking dead center at Draco, widening as they met his straight on. Draco felt his face sink naturally into a deep scowl. What was that crazy twit up to? A flush spread quickly across the boy's cheeks, into even his ears and neck. He looked quickly back down at his small green book, his writing slow and deliberate. That was about Draco, he was sure of it. And he wanted it. He was a Malfoy; Malfoys always got what they wanted. A sharp nudge to Goyle's stomach got his attention. "I want you to take Finnigan's books after class."

He could practically see the tiny thought work its way through Goyle's massive head. It finished with a spectacular furrow of the boy's brow. "Why?"

Draco rubbed his temples. He sometimes wondered if it was worth keeping half-wits around for his protection. "Because I /want/ them, that's why. He's a Gryffindor and I want to see him suffer like the git he is," he hissed in a clipped tone.

"Oh," more processing, more furrowing, "okay."

Honestly, they weren't kidding when they said good help was hard to find. He'd heard good things about trained monkeys though . . .

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The cool, crisp fall air sent delightful ripples across Hogwart's grass. The sun was shining, birds were chirping merrily in the trees. It was a wonderful day to be alive. Unless of course you were Seamus Finnigan, and hanging upside down by your ankles about half a metre above the rippling grass, the sun being blocked by your assailant, the birds' chirping a sort of dizzy ringing in your ears as the blood rushed to your head – which was the predicament the Gryffindor found himself in at the moment. He hugged his books to his chest and cursed himself for getting into this mess.

If he'd just gone back to the common room with the rest of the Gryffindors instead of hanging back and asking Hagrid an absolutely pointless question, he wouldn't have had to deal with the wrath of the Slytherins. But going back would have meant walking with Dean, who was bound to try and do something, even if it was as simple as hold his hand. And Seamus was doing so good thus far in his plan. He'd even refused to kiss Dean good night before they'd went to bed. He hadn't winked at Harry or Ron or Nev as they were getting changed in the morning, and even Lavender brushing up against him at breakfast hadn't gotten a response.

But bugger it was hard. That's why he'd been taking notes in his journal in Hagrid's class. Who better to teach him the ways of being a reticent ass than Draco Malfoy. Seamus' plan was simple, he was just going to watch Draco for the next couple of classes that the Gryffindors and Slytherins had together, and then he'd learn the ways of being...well, still desirable but not slutty, which he had to admit, for all his flaws, Malfoy definitely was.

Seamus had a sinking feeling that his current predicament had to do with this plan. Goyle held him upside down while Draco made a sharp grab for his notes, which Seamus clutched onto for dear life. If Malfoy saw what he had written down he'd be a dead man. "What's the ickle Gryffindor got there?" Malfoy sneered down at him. He'd have to write this down later. Sneer, twinkle in eyes, eyebrow cocked, one side of the lips almost smiling, but standoffish, demanding. He wanted Seamus' books badly, but he didn't betray it. He'd have to remember that if he survived. Which was looking less and less likely as the ground started to lurch a bit below him.

He took a swing at Goyle's kneecaps, which of course did nothing but give Malfoy the perfect opportunity to grab his books. Hell. "Well, well, well," he clucked his tongue, "what have we here?" If some wayward lightning bolt could come out of the heavens and strike him or Malfoy dead at this very instant he would never ask for anything ever again. "I want an answer Finnigan, what is this?"

"Hold on, I'm waiting for something." After about half a minute lightning bolt free, Seamus sighed. Good for nothing weather anomalies. "It's nothing Malfoy, give it here."

"Nothing eh?" To Seamus' horror, he began to read aloud from the smallest green book, his journal. "I, Seamus Malachy Finnigan, do solemnly vow to be hard to get for the next week in order to exact revenge on Dean Thomas and his bloody journal . . ." At this, Malfoy raised his eyebrows. He turned to Goyle, "Alright, drop him."

This was a miracle, praise the lord. Malfoy was letting him go before he had gotten to the point on the parchment where Seamus was making detailed notes and sketches of his expressions. He dropped with a soft 'Oof' and almost kissed the ground in relief at his luck. "Alright Goyle, you've helped enough. Leave." The stocky boy ambled off to join the rest of the Slytherins, leaving just Malfoy and himself.

Seamus scrambled to his feet. "Well, I'll just take my books back and get going then."

At this Malfoy laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. Oh hell. "As much as I hate getting involved with the /lesser/ houses, I haven't come across a good revenge plot in a while. And I'd hate to ignore one that so clearly involves me." He flipped forward in the journal, stabbing his finger at the sketches. Seamus was dead, it was official. He though maybe he'd go with a nice pine coffin, white satin lining, nothing too showy . . . Draco's eyes narrowed. "What are you /really/ doing?"

"Uh, well, you see, um . . ."

"Spill it, Finnigan, or I'll call Goyle back."

He took a deep breath, maybe if he spoke really, really fast Malfoy would get confused and give up. Seamus once again cursed his inability to lie under pressure. "Well, Deancalledmeaslut butI'mnotone,really,soIwantedto /pant/ teachhimalessonsoIthoughtifIbecamemorealoofand /pant/ lesseagerhe'dwantmeandapologize. /pant/ AndIthoughtwhobettertolearnfrom /pant/ aboutbeing,youknow,detatchedbutsexythanfromyou." He laughed nervously.

Malfoy looked at him impatiently. "Spill it in slow, understandable English or I'll call Goyle back, Finnigan."

"Dean called me a slut. That made me mad. So I wanted to get back at him by being really un-flirty but sexy and see how he liked it," sniffed Seamus indignantly.

"One: that is the lamest plot for revenge I have ever heard. I almost pity you. Almost. Two: I still can't possibly fathom how I am involved in this."

"Well, you know . . ." Seamus looked down at his shoes. Shoes could be really quite fascinating when one was trying to stall. And that twig at his foot was just enthralling . . .