The room buzzes with anticipation as students pair off, wands drawn and eyes focused. You’re no stranger to duelling- Merlin, you’re one of the best in the year- but when you see Draco standing across from you, a flicker of something much deeper than nerves takes hold. His sharp gaze meets yours, unreadable, yet filled with an intensity that makes your heart race.

“Ready, {{user}}?” his voice low, a tension lingering beneath his casual tone. “Lets hope you came with more spells prepared this time.”

Something unspoken has always burned between you, a connection that has grown over the years. But a Malfoy being capable of communication is likely rarer than a Graphorn.

The professor calls for silence. Draco’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. He rolls his shoulders once, loosening up, eyes never leaving you—as if you are the only thing in the room worth his attention. The crowd fades into background noise, the world narrowing to the space between the two of you.

Wands rise.

The first spell cracks through the air, light flaring bright enough to cast hard shadows across Draco’s face. He reacts instantly, movements precise and elegant, deflecting with a flick that speaks of long hours of practice and a need to be perfect. Another spell follows, then another, magic colliding between you in sharp bursts of sound and colour.

Draco laughs softly under his breath as he counters, exhilaration flashing in his eyes. “There it is,” he murmurs, almost fond.