The Art of Seduction

“The Art of Seduction”

By Michi M. Chu

This chapter is dedicated to all those fangirls who would alternately do their best carp impression, go into shock, and forget how to breathe if Draco Malfoy ever approached them. *grin* I know I would!

Chapter One: Getting to Know Your Target

Seduce (si-doos’,-dyoos’) v. t.1. To lead astray; entice into wrong, disloyalty, etc.; tempt. 2. To induce into surrendering chastity; debauch. SYNONYMS: allure, entice, attract, inveigle, charm, debauch, deflower

Seduction (si-duk’-shen) n.1. The act of seducing. 2. Something which seduces; an enticement.

‘...Once the object of your attentions has been selected, it is important that you get to know him/her. Be sure to do some research: find out their likes and dislikes, their interests, turn-ons...’

Though some might argue otherwise, Draco Malfoy was a man of his word. He wasn’t just all talk, no, he always managed to deliver, so to speak. And when Blaise had challenged his reputation—well, that was when Draco knew he had to teach his classmate and fellow Slytherin a thing or two.

So, it was only the honourable thing to do, really, accepting the wager. After all, this wasn’t just the money at stake, he had plenty of that – although the extra 100 galleons *would* allow him to have a bit of fun the next time he visited Hogsmeade. This was his pride and his reputation they were talking about.

Not to mention the fact that he didn’t quite fancy the idea of following Blaise around for two weeks dressed in an extremely short skirt and fishnet stockings, despite how much a considerable percentage of the Hogwarts population might fancy that idea.

However, while seducing Harry Potter was an easy enough task in theory, now that it was time to put his plan into action, Draco found himself slightly at a loss. Not that he didn’t have full confidence in his own abilities. After all, as he had said to Blaise earlier, who could resist him? He was *the* Draco Malfoy.

Then again, a tiny little voice in his head reminded him, this is *the* Harry Potter we’re dealing with.

So what if it’s Harry Potter? another voice answered, albeit snappishly and a bit irritably. He’s still human. He’s no more special than your average teenage boy. And according to what we know about average teenage boys...

Don’t tell me you’re actually considering going through with this, a third voice chimed in, most likely from the snobby and prim part of his mind. Lowering yourself to consorting with a Potter...it’s simply not done! It’s so improper!

So? challenged another voice, this one from the hugely irrational, teenage boy hormone-addled part of his brain. He’s rather cute, in that dorky, sweet, nice guy kind of way. He probably has a nice body from all that Quidditch...And I bet he has a *really* big—

Whimsically, Draco wondered if he should be worried about all the different voices in his head. Oh well, everybody said he was gorgeous; no one had ever said he was sane. Seriously, though, who didn’t have regular arguments with themselves from time to time? Especially when dealing with that strange creature that called itself Libido, which seemed to be an independent entity altogether; completely out of one’s control. That thing seemed just to take up residence in the teenage mind, and one really couldn’t do much about it – rather like a troublesome and noisy tenant in a flat, except one couldn’t exactly evict it or kick it out. But, back to the matter at hand...

I know, the irrational voice of aforementioned creature continued slyly, we could always tie him up...He’d be absolutely defenceless and totally at our mercy, for us to do with as we please...

Maybe later, Draco compromised, appeasing *that* certain little voice. It obediently retreated, going back to its regular schedule of appearing only every five seconds.

Right. First step. Well, it was crucial to do some research on his target, so that he had a basis on what to work with and something with which to formulate a plan of attack. Know thyself; know thy enemy. Well, Draco knew himself pretty well—after all, he hadn’t always been this…uh, “socially active”. Furthermore, the Draco Malfoy he knew always knew just what he wanted, just when he wanted it, and just how to get it.

However, when it came to Potter (as all things seem to do), Draco had to begrudgingly admit to himself that he didn’t know him quite as well as he should, and before yesterday, he couldn’t have cared less. But now that he was preparing to get to know Potter in the epic sense (if you know what I mean, and I’m sure you do), it was obvious that he needed the background information.

Mentally, he drew up a list of things he knew about his archrival. It read a little like this:

* Gryffindor – meaning stupidly brave, sickeningly good, sweet, wholesome, and kind
* Boy-Next-Door complex
* The Golden Boy of Gryffindor
* Muggle-sympathetic
* Typical boy hero
* Typical wide-eyed orphan
* The Boy Who Lived (which was a *really* stupid nickname, for obvious reasons)
* Do-gooder
* Battles evil
* Sucks at Potions
* Good at Quidditch
* Loves his two sidekicks (that Mudblood Granger and the Weasel)
* Hates Draco Malfoy

Draco frowned a bit to himself. For as long as he had known Potter, he didn’t have a lot to show for it. It occurred to him, rather belatedly, that when he accepted the challenge that Blaise had proposed, he didn’t even know if Potter was seducible, never mind seducible by a *boy*, even if it was the Incredibly Hot Draco Malfoy. It hadn’t even occurred to him, once, that Potter might not like boys that way, and the idea of it might even disgust him, given his upbringing. Draco, however, refused to let himself be daunted by such a picayune obstacle. It just meant that he would have to work just the slightest bit harder, that was all. It was inevitable that a mortal would *eventually* succumb to his charms. The only problem with that was that he had to make sure the entire process took no more than 30 days.

To add to his rather pitiful amount of knowledge, it was a given that he knew about the boy’s past and all, but that was common lore. Even lowly first-years knew all about that. What he needed was something special, something unique. He needed the Top Secret Weapon; the piece of information that would enable him to unlock the enigma that was Harry James Potter. Once he had that special something, you could bet your bippy that he would be able to use it to his every advantage—making himself virtually irresistible.

Now, the question was…where to begin?

Of course it had occurred to him to just blatantly offer himself…perhaps something creative involving himself, Harry, candles, silk sheets, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce…lathering it on and then ever-so-slooowly licking it *all* off…

YES!!!!! cheered the ever-present little voice.

…but Draco had *so* much more class and finesse than *that*. Seduction was an art, one in which Draco felt he had earned the title of Virtuoso, if he didn’t say so himself. Now was the perfect chance for him to showcase his rather unique “talents”, and if he failed, the consequences were…unpleasant, to say the very least.

Draco Malfoy did not plan to fail.

He remembered that he had planned to sign up for usage of the Quidditch pitch for a practise session that very afternoon, only to find out that it had already been booked by Potter. While he had been considerably irritated at the time, now he only smiled to himself. He could begin researching there.

However, classes had been dismissed for the day, and practise wasn’t scheduled for about an hour. This left Draco with some time on his hands. Thus, he decided to head on over to the number one place of research: The Library.

Draco found the Romance Section easily enough (having never been there before), amidst the whispers and hushed giggles of several female third-years he happened to cross the paths of along the way. He gave a mental eye-roll— it figured that *they* would be reading romance novels. They were little girls who were just starting to come into their own; inexperienced and idealistic about abstract concepts such as love, and quite eager to experience it for themselves. While for most of them it would be a while before they actually *had* any experience, that did absolutely nothing to stop them from dreaming about it – and dream they did. The cheesy romance novels didn’t help them much, either. Not to mention that Draco himself was the poster boy for Teenage Heartthrob, and before long, he found that he had gathered himself a rather conspicuous crowd of admirers, all trying desperately (and failing miserably) to be discreet.He ignored them to the best of his ability; while he preferred that it not be broadcasted that Draco Malfoy read sappy romance novels, he reminded himself that this was all for the good of the Cause, and any acknowledgment would only further encourage them.

One might ask what Draco was doing in the Romance Section of the library, looking at Romance novels written for young dateless teenage girls and middle-aged housewives. The answer was actually rather simple. It was not that Draco needed any hints as to how to properly seduce; he knew enough to write his own book about that. The fact of the matter, you see, was that the courtship that occurred in these types of books was of the Highly Idealized and Happily-Ever-After variety – the kind of courtship that would fit the characteristics of most Gryffindors. And, as his pale grey eyes swept over the bindings of the books and skimmed over titles such as “Happily Ever After”, “The Magic of Love”, “1,659 Sonnets”, “Captive of Thine Heart”, and “My Lady’s Eyes”, Draco’s suspicions were only further confirmed.

There were no truly interesting books, such as, say, “The Wizard’s Kamasutra – Illustrated”, since that was most likely in the Restricted Section. (It was also high up on Draco’s list of “The Most Educational Books I’ve Ever Read”.) These were about romance, not sex, a crucial difference, though most would argue that the two went hand in hand, and Draco knew he would have to use plenty of the former in order to get to the latter.

He grabbed several interesting-looking books, although most romance novel covers look essentially the same: a beautiful, buxom, long-haired (often scantily dressed) heroine swooning into the arms of an exceedingly muscular, handsome (often bare-chested) hero-type. The couples in the cover pictures took turns alternately looking heatedly at each other, embracing, or sharing a steamy snog. It was quite disgusting, to be frank.

It occurred to Draco that while this would all be very fine and dandy for winning over a girl, the fact remained that Potter wasn’t even vaguely female. Or so we would hope. He wondered briefly if an Alternate Romance Section existed.

“Excuse me,” he said to one of his not-so-secret admirers kneeling on the floor to his right. She had been looking at him, and quickly looked away, pretending to be absorbed in browsing. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hey, Dollface.”

‘M-Me?’ she mouthed, pointing to herself, unable to believe her incredible serendipity. Draco nodded. With that one simple action, she was immediately the envy of all the girls in a 20-metre radius. “Y-yes?” she managed to stutter out, blushing furiously.

“Would you happen to know if this library has an Alternate Romance Section?” Draco asked politely, smiling in his most charming manner. One could almost see the girl liquefy into a puddle of robes and goop before his silvery gaze.

“A-Alternate R-Romance?” she managed once she remembered to breathe, voice shaky and trembling as it struggled to get out of her.

“Yes, Alternate Romance,” Draco repeated, still smiling.

A girl who had been standing off to the side, obviously the first girl’s friend, elbowed her rather painfully. “He means yaoi! Slash!”

“Oh…OH! O-of c-course…i-it’s right down this aisle, take a left, and it should be on your opposite side,” the girl said, blushing furiously, obviously praying that *the* Draco Malfoy would *not* ask her how she knew that tidbit of information.

“Great. Thank you so much, Pet,” Draco said, winking. He sauntered off, tossing one more charming grin over his shoulder. He could hear the sighs and thuds of bodies as several girls swooned in his wake. Being beautiful was such a tiring task, but *someone* had to do it.

It occurred to the girl and her friend, some time much, much later (after they had done fawning over the young, blonde Adonis), why he had been asking for the Alternate Romance (a.k.a. “slash”) section in the first place.

Sometimes, it was just your lucky day.

Irma Pince had been reading an... “engrossing” book entitled “Lip Service” (an anthology of rather “interesting” stories written by young, hip, modern female authors), and had been just getting into a rather good part when she heard an insistently polite “Ahem.” She immediately slammed the book shut and shoved it into her desk, smoothed back her hair (a few strands had escaped from the confines of her bun), and readjusted her glasses, glaring and giving the student before her her best severe look.

“May I help you?” she asked a bit snappishly and a bit condescendingly, understandably so since Irma Pince did not like being interrupted while she was reading.

He placed a small mountain of books upon the main desk. “Yes. I’d like to check these out, Madam Pince.”

“Ah, yes…of course, Mr. Malfoy. Let me get out your file.”

After reaching into her desk and giving the book she had been reading another shove, just to be safe, she turned around to a bureau behind her, opening it and drawing out a rather large, leather-bound book. Dutifully, she began to sign out the books, but she couldn’t help the arch of her eyebrows elevating each time she read such titles as “Fifty Ways to Tease Your Lover”, “Love Lost, then Regained ”, “Learning to Love” (and its sequel, “Learning to Love Again”), “Secrets of the Heart”, “So Sexy I Hurt”, and “The Boy Next Door”.

“So…you’re checking out these books…”

“Yes,” the young Master replied primly. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Well…no,” Madam Pince admitted. “It’s just that…well…there’s a contract you have to sign if you want to take out books of this type.”

A platinum brow arched in questioning. “A contract for borrowing library books…?”

“Yes,” replied Madam Pince with a bit of obvious reluctance, immediately conjuring one in front of them, and giving it to the boy in front of her. As he read, she explained: “Basically it says that should you get anything onto these books…especially any type of fluids…that you’ll compensate for the money it takes to replace them.”

“F-fluids?” Draco queried, bewilderment obvious upon his aristocratic features. “As in…?”

“Yes,” Madam Pince told him grimly. “As in that.”

“Eeew!” The blonde had horror and disgust splattered all over his face. “That’s sick! Oh, revolting! Who would do that?”

The librarian pursed her lips into a thin line. “There’s been a history of… “Incidents”…with books such as these and teenagers such as yourself. So I can’t let you check these out until you sign the contract.”

Draco hurriedly signed the contract in his elegant scrawl, shuddering a bit as he did so. He noted to himself that he had signed two contracts in two days.

Once everything was in order, Madam Pince handed him the stack of books. Seeing his look of unease as he accepted them, she quickly assured him, “Oh, not to worry, though, these books are new…relatively.”

It was obvious that he didn’t believe her, but, that was his problem, not hers. After he had left and she was positive that no one was around, she immediately took out her book and picked up at the spot where she had left off.

It was probably a pretty bad day for Quidditch practise. The sky was overcast and grey, and even as Draco seated himself upon the bleachers, a light drizzle had begun. ‘Spitting’ was what some would call it. Yes, the sky was spitting. God was spitting down upon the whole lot of them. It seemed strangely appropriate, somehow.

However, it was an excellent day for spying. Since the conditions were so dreary and wet, the players would be forced to concentrate upon one another and what they were doing, rather than the sole figure watching them from the seats. And since the weather was bad, Draco wouldn’t be encumbered by the questioning eyes of younger Gryffindor fans. All in all, a rather good day for him.

Not to mention he was pretty smug that it wasn’t *his* team up there, trying to play in these conditions.

He had brought a book along, and behind it he had a notebook, pretending to be reading when he was, in fact, watching Potter intently. It was much like what all those girls back at the Library had been attempting to do with Draco. Except, of course, that Draco was much more discreet about it.

He watched as Potter gathered his team to him, watched as he gave out orders and described moves that he wanted to practise. He couldn’t help but smirk at the way his legs wrapped around his Firebolt— whether Potter liked boys or not still remained to be seen, but the unspoken and unconscious innuendo in the act seemed to beg otherwise. A psychologist would have had a heyday at the game of Quidditch – so blatantly Freudian with its different balls and phallic symbols. Draco was briefly reminded of a rather risqué T-shirt he had bought for himself, one which read: “NAKED QUIDDITCH – How Do You Ride Your Broomstick?” It had made him chuckle at the time, and it was in his wardrobe right at this very moment—it was sheer stupidity to be caught wearing it around the house.

And speaking of things he’d like naked and on his broomstick...He directed his attention back to his target. He noticed the way the Gryffindor robes clung to his form as he moved, cutting through the wind as he flew. When he sped up, he seemed to become just a blur of colour—black and scarlet—easilystanding out upon the drab canvas of melancholy grey sky. Potter was good; he was better than good—he had to be in order for him to best Draco Malfoy. He was a natural at flying, of course, a fact that Draco had known since first year, when in a puerile act of cruelty he had stolen Longbottom’s Rememberall and thrown it, and Potter had followed and retrieved the small orb. However, Draco had never had a chance to watch him; really watch him, not just keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t get the Snitch before he did. It was always about competition, about beating him, about being better than him. That was probably why he never realised just how good he was.

Some people were naturals at painting, some naturals at writing, some naturals at swimming, some naturals at singing – well, Potter was a natural at flying. He flew with such ease and agility, and while Draco couldn’t see his face clearly from where he sat, he could imagine the other’s expression: concentrated, focused, lost in his own world. He sliced through air much in the same way a blade, heated to the point that it glows white-hot, slices through butter – he didn’t just cut through it, it seemed to melt before him, to give way to him without offering much of a struggle at all. He flew with all the joy of one who is doing something that he is good at, and he knows he is good at it, too. Like everything else Harry Potter did, one could almost see him pouring his heart and soul into his entire action, devoting everything to what he was doing. He was the type who gave and gave and never stopped giving. Draco had always assumed it was a Gryffindor characteristic, but now, watching Potter, that image of movement and vitality, he realised that it was something that was uniquely Harry. And he wondered how in the world he could have possibly missed it before. And, with this bit of information, he also realised that he was one step closer to unlocking the mystery that was Harry Potter.

That brought him one step closer to success.

It wasn’t for a while until Draco realised that he was cold. He touched his hands to his face—though normally cold because of his poor circulation, now they felt like ice. He could almost see his veins in the milky pallor of his long-fingered hands...like traces of sapphire embedded in alabaster. Blue blood, literally. He had been so absorbed in watching Potter and making mental notes that he had totally forgotten about everything else, including how long he had been out there. There was just something captivating about the way he flew and the energy that he put into it – and it helped to assuage Draco’s deeply hidden fears, fears that he had never admitted to anyone, not even his closest of friends. Especially not to his closest of friends. He tried not to make a habit of lying to himself, however, and he knew he couldn’t hide from the truth, although he had to bear his burden alone. Draco had long been afraid that it was himself who had been the problem all along, not his team, and not because Harry was good, but because he himself was horrible. He was afraid that he was inadequate, he had no skill, and he was not worthy of playing the position of Seeker, never mind being Captain. Things like that bothered him from time to time; most often at night, lying alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling, or even with someone else in any other bed, staring at their ceiling. They were natural insecurities that were inevitable in one who considered himself to be good, excellent, even, yet found himself beaten by his greatest rival every single time.

But no, after actually watching him, Draco knew that at each match, he had lost to a worthy opponent. It was just that along with skill and natural talent, his rival had an unbelievably tremendous amount of luck, that was all. The wind whipped strands of his pale gold hair around his face, and he shivered. The previous drizzle had become slightly heavier, and the small drops stung of cold as they spattered against his face and neck and hands –anywhere that his skin was bared. The sky had darkened considerably, too, how could he have missed that? Damn Potter. It’s all his fault. And if I catch pneumonia and die, I’m coming back to haunt him. It occurred to him that Potter had been out there as long as he had, and was a much more likely candidate for pneumonia, having been flying around in the elements and all. However, he stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

He had been out there nearly an hour, and Potter was probably going to wrap up things soon. Draco decided that that was his exit cue. He certainly wasn’t going to catch pneumonia or his death of cold, but if he stayed out there much longer he would most likely end up with a case of the sniffles.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to attempt to tempt someone when you have the sniffles?

“Why, hello, Big Boy... *sniff* I think you’re really sexy *snerk* Want to go *sniffle* back to by place *snerf* and exchange bodily fluids?...Excuse be a bobent while I blow by node.” *blows nose, then attempts a seductive look*

Ew. Gross.

Besides, he wanted to be clear of the pitch before Potter and Company came down and decided to ask what he was doing there, watching their practise session. When he approached Potter, Draco wanted to be in control, making the first move, not needlessly defending himself.

It was then that the dark skies broke open and accomplished what they had been threatening to do all day, as if to say, ‘Ha! You didn’t think that we’d actually do it, now did you? Well, we sure showed you! And look at what we *can* do!’ Rain poured down over the grounds in consecutive and continuous sheets of silver, one after another, showing no end.

While Draco had gotten up to leave, he soon found himself soaked and headed directly for the Change rooms, books and notes clutched to his chest. He could take a hot shower there and get into his locker; he knew he kept a set of extra robes that could stave off the cold until he got back to the Slytherin Dungeons.

He didn’t bother going all the way to his team showers; he knew he had a set of robes out in the common rooms, and the Gryffindor showers were the closest and most convenient, anyhow, from the vantage point he currently had. After he had grabbed a neutral white and fluffy towel, he was all set to go.

The Change rooms were empty when he entered them; since Gryffindor Tower wasn’t so far away he figured that the team had headed directly back there, and Potter with them. So he had no fear of being interrupted as he began to strip, wanting to get out of his water-heavy robes as quickly as possible, since the moisture was sticking his shirt to his skin in a rather uncomfortable manner. Smirking to himself, he briefly entertained the idea of seducing Potter in the locker rooms right after Quidditch practise or perhaps an actual game one day, á la cheesy porno film. He could push him up right against the lockers, maybe being a little rough, even, and just like that...

Oh, yeah...purred that little voice, surfacing yet again. The blonde chuckled at himself a bit. Like *that’s* a likely scenario...

So one can imagine his sheer surprise when he heard a definitely familiar voice question, “Malfoy?!”

Well, well, well, speak of the devil...