The Art of Seduction


Disclaimer: Yes, of course I own these characters and Harry Potter! My name is in reality J. K. Rowling, and I'm writing under an alias in order to write Draco/Harry, since I created them to be together, but I must protect my identity to keep from traumatising today's homophobic society. Therefore, I must trade artistic integrity for marketability in order to keep my HUGE franchise, which ranges from bedsheets to movies to Lego's to cereal to toilet paper...making me even richer than the Queen! Who's the number one children's author of all time now, eh, Tolky?

For the very few who are still a little slow:

Step 1: Open bottle.

Step 2: Apply a liberal amount of Sarcasm.

WARNINGS: Slashiness, mature humour, slight AU, SPOILERS FOR OotP

Rating: R for language and sexual situations

Feedback: Praise and flames are both equally cuddled…at the risk of personal safety and well-being.

Summary: "The Art of Seduction" – A story, a book, a 'how-to' guide, a technique, and a documentary; all for the price of one.


Prologue: Raising the Stakes

Simply put, Draco Malfoy was a sex god.

Actually, the truth of the matter was that Draco Malfoy was a self-proclaimed sex god, who was, fortunately, attractive enough that few would contest the title.

Then again, there are always those who are quick to contradict.

Wait! Such a person might exclaim. Malfoy? That bastard?S-sex god...? That's just so very wrong.

Of course, some blatant facts are undeniable. Yes, Malfoy was a bastard, but he was a sexy bastard. He was not just a bitch; he was one hell of a sexy bitch.

He was quite ugly on the inside, rather...not...on the outside, and it was easier than one would think to absolutely despise someone while finding them gorgeous to the point of aggression.


He was egotistical and arrogant and self-centred. He saw most of the student body (especially the lower years) as a writhing mass of flobberworms, and his respect for the staff was not much better (Slytherin Head of House excluded). He abused his Prefect powers more often than not, was close-minded, bigoted, and seemed to lack all the general qualities of being a decent human being...


There was a but, as there always is, and Draco Malfoy just so happened to have a very nice one.

For all that he was an unimaginably unbearable prick, he was quite damnably attractive. It figures, after all. The cute ones are always jerks.


Silver-blonde hair and stormy grey eyes, features that made him easily the most attractive boy in his house (no contest), his year, possibly the entire school. There were those ardent admirers who insisted that he was, perhaps, the sexiest Slytherin to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts. (Although it was highly unlikely that these people had ever seen every Slytherin to grace the halls of Hogwarts, so this was most likely to be hyperbole.)

Athleticism had earned him a lean yet muscular body (he was the Seeker and Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, after all), and aristocratic grace, combined with impeccable fashion sense made it obvious.

Oh, but he was pretty. He had missed the blade of the dangers of inbreeding, landing rather on the 'careful selective breeding' side with the 'enriched' gene pool, (complete with rumoured genetic experimentation concerning veela components). He turned heads wherever he went.

Moreover, he wasn't just gorgeous; he was hot. Not the average Oh-My-God-He's-So-Cute hot, either; he was the Oh-My-God-I-Think-I'm-Going-To-Cream-My-Knickers-Just-Looking-At-Him hot. Alone, he was an entire boy band all on his own; he held himself like an idol that demanded the masses to fall onto their knees and worship. Girls wanted him; boys wanted to be him.


Draco knew it, too.

However, Draco also knew that the less fortunate companions of the naturally blessed tended to get easily jealous, but then again, who wouldn't be? Taking all of the aforementioned evidence into account, one would (however begrudgingly) come to the conclusion that Malfoy didhave something to be egotistical about.

Now, Blaise Zabini just happened to be one of those less fortunate companions.

It was a given that Blaise was both aristocratic (as Slytherins usually are) and attractive, but he was not as lucky as Draco was. Meaning he didn't get lucky as often as Draco did. Of course, that in turn meant that he had the privilege of listening to the exploits of the Bold and More Beautiful. And frankly, Blaise had found out that he would very much like to hate someone just because he was beautiful.

It wouldn't have been so bad, he supposed, if perhaps Draco only paid his good looks little mind, like most boys would have done. As it was, of course, Malfoy was an unbearably vain prat who spent hours in the bathroom and was constantly checking his appearance in every reflective surface the school had to offer.

Recently-washed windows.
Polished candelabras.
Polished silverware.

Once, Blaise had even caught Draco checking himself out in a bowl of borshch.

Although, if the axiom really were true and beauty really was pain, then Blaise was just as beautiful, being forced to suffer another excruciating account of Draco Malfoy's Latest Sexcapade.

Not that Blaise was jealous, mind you. He harboured nothing against allowing housemates their due praise of their rightful abilities. Neither was he resentful that he wasn't get the same action, oh no, not at all. Draco was his friend. One was happy for their friends, even in the moments when one felt like shoving a sock into their perfectly scarlet mouths.

To put it simply, Blaise was sick and fucking tired of Draco.

And not jealous in the least, no, not a bit.

A Brilliant Plan was in order. Blaise, being Slytherin, always had a Brilliant Plan or two lurking around for times of necessity, housed in boxes with 'BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY' scripted across in white text. This was, if nothing else, an emergency, defined as anything that threatened the health and well being of any Slytherin – namely one (1) Draco Malfoy (Blaise's sanity notwithstanding) who was about to be strangled if he continued to talk any longer.

If nothing else, Blaise was always one for exploiting the attributes of others for personal gain.

So when Draco began to launch into all the horny details concerning him and his illicit tryst with that saucy little Ravenclaw last night, Blaise made a point of not feigning interest this time around and instead let out an exaggerated yawn in the most dignified manner possible.

Draco blinked and stopped in the middle of his running monologue, delicately expressing his displeasure at being so very rudely interrupted. "Excuse me? Did you want something?"

"Oh, no," said Blaise, waving a hand dismissively, "please. Do continue."

"Well," Draco began after allowing himself a suspicious glance, "as I was saying, there she was…"

Blaise took to absently filing his nails.

"…absolutely stunning in this negligee and strappy heels," Draco continued.

"Mm, that's nice," remarked Blaise idly.

"She quivers with desire. Her thighs tremble with anticipation."


"Her voluptuous bosom heaves."


"That's when I say to her, 'let's elope and move to Tahiti'."

"Mm hm."

"And then we played 'Beauty and the Beast' on your bed."

"That's nice."

"Clad only in arse-less leather chaps and a coconut bra."


"And I'm talking about me."


"You know, you're being extremely rude. What a disgusting lack of manners," Draco huffed, not used to being denied anyone's attention. "One would almost get the absurd idea that you're bored."

"I'm sorry," apologised Blaise, finally looking up. "It's just that your stories no longer hold the brazen appeal they once used to."

"Are you suggesting," Draco enunciated carefully, "that I am losing my touch?"

"This might come as news to you, but you're boring,Mr Malfoy." Blaise rolled his eyes. "And touchy as ever."

Draco looked deeply offended. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't ever told a single story in which the leading lady doesn't succumb to the Patented Malfoy Charm™ in two minutes or less."

"But that's the beauty of the Patented Malfoy Charm™! Under five minutes, guaranteed."

"Doesn't that bore you? Don't you want a challenge, excitement, intrigue?"

"Well, can I help it that I'm so bloody gorgeous?" Draco asked exasperatedly. "After all, who could resist me?"

"Of course!" Blaise agreed vehemently. "Even if there is just one person..."

"What?" Draco blinked, slightly perturbed.

"Well, I can think of one person who can resist you," Blaise continued nonchalantly. "But I suppose he really doesn't matter, when there are so many other people for you to pick and choose from..."

"Who?" Draco demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Who is it you're talking about?"

Blaise grinned rakishly. "Why, the Great Harry Potter, of course."

"Potter?" Draco exclaimed. "What have I told you about saying that name in my presence?" His grey eyes narrowed into shards of steel. (Or so he imagined.)"You dareto even suggest him?"

"There, there, now, Drey-Drey," Blaise consoled, insisting upon using an infuriating pet name while he did it, "I was only saying…"

"I hate him," the words came venomously. Draco even failed to notice that he had just let Blaise get away with calling him a vile nickname. "Death by Blast-Ended Skrewt would be preferable to touching him."

It was a well-known fact that Draco Malfoy (the Sexy) and Harry Potter (the Great) were heated rivals. Wherever one was, the other sought to compete with him; Potter gaining the upper hand more often than not. He was the only person who could really best and utterly humiliate Draco Malfoy, and make it seem almost effortless while he was at it.

It had all started simply enough, a childish desire to get one up on Potter (okay, and make him pay for making Draco Malfoy look bad – Draco was a vindictive sexy bitch, all right?). Of course, it only increased exponentially over the years, rather than plateauing and dropping off, mutating as it mingled with resentment, dislike, and general hurt.

Now it lived fully, healthy, black, seething.

Draco started off each school year with a certain expectation of himself: each and every year he vowed that THIS was going to be the year that he caught the Snitch, that Slytherin won the House Cup, that Potter would eat dirt, that it was going to be different from the year before. Each and every year, held the same promise of success, and each and every year, when all seemed to be going so well, he consistently failed spectacularly in the end.

At the end of the last school year, he had even been turned into a slug, of all things disgusting.

Mother had not been pleased, to say the least.

Of course, it was just like Potter to prefer vile and slimy and icky creatures, his present choice of company only proving Draco's point.

Simply put, they hated each other equally and with good reason.

Draco had tried to listen to the advice that Father had given him, which was, most of the time, to keep the Infamous Malfoy Cool™ and not allow Potter to get under his skin. But Draco, who was usually such a model child in following directions from authority (when it suited his best interests, that is), found himself quite unable to adhere to even these simple ones. Sometimes he wondered if he really were a shame to the Malfoy name, and, if so, why Father hadn't chosen to disown him already.

And now this, with Father imprisoned…Well, life wasn't as bad as it could be. Taking his cues from his mother, Draco decided to take matters into stride and not let it affect his personal life all that much. It wasn't as if he and his father had spent that many lazy summer days engaging in father-son bonding over games of Quidditch, anyway. The Malfoy idea of father-son bonding usually involved studying and practising the Dark Arts – not that Draco had ever minded. In fact, he had come to almost enjoy their sessions together – privately, he had referred to them fondly as Dark Arts Dallying (D.A.D.). Little things like that caused Draco to experience something that might have been called 'missing someone' or 'longing' in anyone else, except Malfoys did not waste energy in superfluous emotions like nostalgia.

Mother had continued on with her life in a pointedly non-devastated way. She had given her son twice the amount of his usual birthday presents this year and threw him a giant gala in celebration (it lasted five days and half the guests had hangovers for a week afterwards) so that he was too busy to dwell upon any improper feelings for long. It was she who had put things into perspective for Draco: while their reputation of propriety had been ruined, that was a given, they were still rich, still beautiful, and now feared. It was odd not having his father around the house, but on the other hand, Draco was gifted with even more independence than before. It really wasn't quite as bad as one would think; it wasn't as if he had seen his father around all that much, anyway. The most significant difference that Draco had noticed was that the invitations to Deatheater-themed parties had increased substantially while all the other miscellaneous party invitations had decreased slightly. And well, Draco had figured, at least now Dad can get some street cred.

Simply put, you can't hurt if you can't think about it.

But there was no way Draco would disgrace his family name by doing…that thing that Blaise was suggesting. It was ridiculous. What would Father think?

"Forget it, Blaise. That's going too far."

"Well, okay, if you're afraid…"


Blaise sighed exasperatedly, as if preparing to explain something to a very small child.

"You, my friend, are afraid of rejection. And that's all that Potter is to you, because all he's ever done is say no to you."

"That's not what this is about at all!" Draco rolled his eyes. "What part of 'I hate him' do you now understand? I would sooner hang his head over my bed than have him in it."

Blaise sighed once more, this time in a more resigned manner. "Well, I suppose you wouldn't be able to do it, anyway. It's not exactly as if 'success' is synonymous with 'Malfoy' where Potter is concerned."

Draco bristled. "Now, wait just a moment here. I never said I couldn't do it if I wanted to-"

"Prove it, then."

"No! As I was saying, I just won'tdo it upon a matter of principle. What you're suggesting is against every moral fibre of my being."

"Draco Malfoy, a bran muffin has more daily moral fibre than you do."

Draco paused.

"True as that may be, the fact remains that this is the stupidest,most harebrained idea you have ever come up with, and that's including all the rubbish you spouted that time when you accidentally downed my Psychadelia Potion."

"Good times," said Blaise, smiling fondly. "But that's not really fair, since I don't remember anything that I said and I'm pretty sure you made up everything everybody else told me second-hand. Come on, didn't you say you wanted a challenge?"

"I'm adventurous, not suicidal. Do the words 'lynched by Slytherin House' mean anything to you? Honestly, I can't believe we're even discussing this. Admit you're wrong and apologise for offending my sensibilities, and maybe I'll pretend this never happened."

"I don't think it's that ridiculous at all. Only Pansy really cares about who you're currently seeing, Vince and Greg believe whatever you tell them to, and I would know what you were up to. Nobody else's opinion matters."

"If you'reso keen on the idea, why don't yougive it a shot?"

Blaise put on his best Shakespearean 'woe is me' expression. "Alas, I lack the Infamous Malfoy Charm™."

"This is true," shrugged Draco. "Not everyone can be so lucky."

"Since you're the blessed one, why don't you put your 'powers' to good use?"

"This isn't exactly what I would consider gooduse. It isn't even evil use. I doubt it qualifies for mediocreuse. You do understand what you're asking of me, don't you? Basically, you want me to spend time with…and eventually consort with…something that I do not like, and am in no way attracted to, risking social stigma, a damaged reputation, not to mention possible warts, impotence, and other horrifying diseases– with absolutely nothingin return? Forget it! You can take your suggestion and shove it up your-"

"Who says you don't get anything in return?" Blaise queried.

Draco blinked. "You lost me back when Potter and 'sleeping with' entered the conversation. Please, enlighten me. What's my compensation?"

"Think about it. Everybody you've been with. What do they have in common?"

"They were hot?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Other than that. I meant emotionally."

"I don't do emotions," scoffed Draco.

"But they do, don't they?" Blaise reminded him.

"Of course. Who could blame them? Iwould get emotional over me." Actually, it had gotten to the point where some of them got overly emotional (albeit understandably so).

"In fact, I think Marietta Edgecombe is still planning our wedding."

"Now that is exactly what I'm talking about."

"You want…me…to marry…Potter…?" Draco drew out slowly.

"No, don't be stupid. Although…" Blaise smirked, "that would be a rather interesting outcome. Which one of you wears the dress?"

Draco smiled wryly. "Well, I know that Iwouldn't be able to wear white."

"And neither will Potter, once you're through with him."

"Assuming that I seriously consider the tripe that you're spewing."

"Well, don't you think that Saint Potter was long overdue for a fall from grace?"

"I still don't see how I—oh. I understand now." An Epiphany made a grand appearance, with light dawning every which way.

"Of course, this is all assuming that you're actually as good as you claim to be," Blaise commented off-handedly. "And somehow, I doubt that even the likes of you would be able to pull it off. Considering your mutual hatred and all…"

"Who says?" Draco retorted. "I can do it."

"Really?" Blaise arched a brow in interest. "Care to put your money where your mouth is?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"Malfoy, if you manage to bed Potter in 30 days, I'll pay you 500 galleons and do whatever you wanted for two whole weeks."

"30 days? Please, give me a little face. That's your idea of a challenge? By that time, I could probably not only have bedded him, but be in complete control of his trembling, still-beating heart."

"You're the one who said it, not me," smiled Blaise. "Don't you want to know what happens if you fail?"

"Since failure is impossible, not particularly, but you can go ahead and tell me if it'll make you happy," Draco returned.

"Well, let's just say you have to pay me and be my personal slave for two weeks." Blaise grinned in a manner that would have served to please Lucifer himself. "I have the most delightful little French maid number in your exact size, too."

"You're not going to win," Draco informed him, "so I would advise you to keep your perversions to yourself. I have no problems accepting your challenge."

"Perfect," smiled Blaise, beginning to write on a blank scroll.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked curiously.

"Writing up a legal and binding contract," Blaise replied. "Minor technicality, of course."

"What? My word of honour isn't good enough?" Draco huffed. Blaise gave him a level look. "Never mind, you're right."

"Hey Vince!" Blaise called. "Come 'ere a moment, would you?"

Vincent Crabbe came over to where Draco and Blaise were congregated. "What is it?"

"Be our witness while we sign this contract."

"'K." As a good friend and proper evil henchman to Draco Malfoy, Crabbe was never one to question what Draco chose to do. Reading contracts was never his forte – whenever he was concerned, he usually had Draco read it for him and explain the gist of it to him, in good plain English rather than whatever the hell it was originally written in.

So of course it would never occur to Vincent Crabbe to contradict Draco in any way, to stop him, nor to keep him from sealing his fate in what would possibly be the worst decision of his young life.

Sighing, Draco picked up the quill and carefully read the newly written contract. Personal experience with fine print had made him wary of bureaucracy in general (he wasLucius Malfoy's son, after all), and the fact that it was Blaise Zabini (who was his mother's child, after all) set off even more warning signs inside his head.

"What are you reading it for? Isn't my word of honour good enough?" Blaise asked.

Draco gave him a level look. "Never mind, take your time."

After both parties had signed it, Blaise took it and sealed it with wax. "Completely legal and binding." He turned back to Draco. "And remember, no use of any sort of spell or potion."

Draco scoffed. "As if I would need it."

Blaise shrugged. "Whatever. You have a time frame of 30 days, starting tomorrow."

Draco smirked, full of his trademark confidence. "This will be the easiest 500 galleons I ever made."

Blaise simply smiled sweetly back at him and said, "We shall see about that."

To put it simply, the deal was sealed.