The Art of Seduction

“The Art of Seduction”

By Michi M. Chu

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Prologue: The Wager

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Simply put, Draco Malfoy was a sex god.

With his silver-blond hair and stormy grey eyes, he was easily the most attractive boy in the entire school, not to mention his year. Some might even venture as far as even to say that he was, perhaps, the sexiest Slytherin to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts. He was lean, yet muscular from all that Quidditch (in which he was the Seeker and Captain of the Slytherin team), and he moved with such a natural aristocratic grace. He was feminine enough to be classified as ‘pretty’: he was almost delicate with high cheekbones, long golden lashes, perfectly formed primrose lips, and a pale porcelain complexion; all of which he managed to pull off without losing any of his masculinity. He was arrogant and confident, and almost hypnotically charismatic. He turned heads wherever he went, and there wasn’t a single student who didn’t know his name. 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-Come-Just-Looking-At-Him hot. The Walking Wet Dream kind of hot, as I’m sure you know the type. He simply radiated sex; you could hear it in his voice and feel it in his every liquid motion. Girls wanted him; boys wanted to be him.

And 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? Take Blaise Zabini, for example. While Blaise was both aristocratic (being a Slytherin and all) and attractive, he was nowhere 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 was getting sick and tired of it.

Blaise Zabini sighed to himself in a long-suffering manner as his longtime companion and friend regaled him with all the horny details of his latest sexcapade. Sure, it had been interesting at first, and it was always a good thing to keep on top of your gossip, but after hearing of several hundred similar conquests, one tended to get sick and fucking tired of it. Er, no pun intended, of course.

That was when he got the Brilliant Plan.

“...So, of course I got her into bed. After all, who could resist me?” Draco asked rhetorically.

“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 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.”

Draco’s beautiful features immediately twisted up into a scowl. “Oh, yes. 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 was a lesser-known fact, however, that Draco Malfoy had tried to befriend him way back in their first year, and Potter had rejected him; quite possibly the only rejection Draco had ever known. The pain of that rejection was credited as the root of all the animosity, planting the seed that sprouted and festered into the hateful rivalry that existed to this very day. Draco, understandably, hadn’t ever forgotten that rejection, but obviously neither had Blaise.

“Bet you couldn’t get *him* into bed,” Blaise said offhandedly. Draco bristled ever-so-slightly, but Blaise noticed it, all the same. And, seeing that he had touched upon a sore spot, he really had little choice but to take it as encouragement, kept going. “After all, he’s never said ‘yes’ to you, once. Ever.”

“Is that a challenge?” Draco asked, arching his brow.

Blaise laughed. “Malfoy, I’d give you 100 Galleons and do whatever you wanted for two whole weeks if you managed to get Potter into bed in 30 days.”

“And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, then you give *me* 100 Galleons and be *my* servant for two whole weeks.” Blaise grinned in a manner that would have made Lucifer himself proud. “I have the most delightful little French maid number in just your size, too.” That ought to shut him up.

Draco grimaced, but nodded briskly. “I accept.”

Blaise ran over to his desk and drew out 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.”

“Okay.”

Sighing, Draco picked up the quill and skimmed the newly written contract.

“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 30 days, starting tomorrow.”

Draco smirked, full of his trademark confidence. “This will be the easiest 100 Galleons I ever made.”

Blaise simply smiled sweetly back at him and said, “We’ll see.”