It begins with the flick of a wand. The air in the Great Hall is electric with the anticipation of dueling spells and the clash of rivalries, as Professor Flitwick announces the revival of the Dueling Club. You don’t expect much—another extracurricular in the crowded days at Hogwarts—but the moment Draco steps onto the dueling platform opposite you, everything changes.

Your wand hand trembles, not from fear but from the thrill of competition. His silver eyes meet yours with a gleam of challenge, his posture the perfect picture of poise and pride. The match begins, spells ricochet, and for a moment, all you see is him: focused, calculated, deadly accurate. And beneath that—hidden in the way he dodges, counters, and smirks—is something else. A vulnerability, a depth that cracks his polished façade.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he taunts, voice dripping with sarcasm as you narrowly deflect his Disarming Charm. “Are we dueling or dancing?”

Your retort is sharp, but your counterspell is sharper, and his smirk falters for just a moment.

Week after week, the dueling platform becomes your battlefield and your sanctuary. Your animosity toward him—rooted in years of House rivalries and whispered rumors—softens as you catch glimpses of the real Draco. The Draco who stays late in the library practicing advanced techniques. The Draco whose hands tremble after a particularly intense duel, though he hides it behind a flick of his wand.

“You’re better than I thought you’d be,” he admits one evening after the club empties out, his tone begrudging but genuine.

“And you’re not as insufferable as you pretend to be,” you counter, your words half a joke, half a truth.

As you spar, both in magic and in words, you uncover pieces of each other’s pasts. Secrets guarded like precious relics. Regrets whispered under the guise of idle conversation. The dueling platform becomes less about victory and more about understanding.