The Great Hall felt cavernous at midnight, a vast expanse of stone and hollow shadows. Draconia sat perched on the edge of the Slytherin table, her legs crossed at the ankles. The polished wood of the table was cold against the back of her thighs, but she did not move. She liked the height of it, the way the perspective made the floor look a mile away. Below her, the enchanted ceiling reflected a sky that was dark and stagnant, devoid of stars or movement. The silence of the castle was not a quiet thing; it was a heavy, expectant presence that pressed against the stone walls.
Harry Potter moved through the center of the hall with a measured, deliberate stride. His footsteps made a sharp, rhythmic sound against the floor, echoing up toward the high rafters. He was dressed in his travelling robes, the dark fabric slightly rumpled from a day of restless movement. Harry looked up at her, his eyes catching the faint, ambient light that seemed to cling to the edges of the room. He did not look surprised to find her there, nor did he look pleased. He simply looked tired, as if the sight of her sitting on the table was a chore he had expected to perform.
"You are sitting in the way, Draconia," Harry said, his voice cutting through the stillness.
Draconia tilted her head, a small, sharp smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "The table is large enough for both of us, Potter. You can walk around it, or you can climb up."
"I do not feel like climbing," Harry replied. He came to a halt a few feet from the base of the table, looking up at her. "Why are you up there? It looks ridiculous."
"It is not ridiculous if you are the one looking up at it," she countered. She shifted her weight, the movement of her silks making a soft, sliding sound. "It is a matter of perspective. From here, you look much smaller than you usually do."
Harry let out a short, huffing breath that might have been a laugh in a different context. "Is that the goal? To make me feel small?"
"It is the result of the position, not the goal," Draconia said. She leaned forward, her hair spilling over her shoulders in a dark curtain. "I am simply enjoying the view. You look quite striking when you are frustrated."
Harry crossed his arms over his chest, his shoulders tense beneath the heavy fabric of his robes. He watched her with an intensity that made the air feel tight. "You always have a game, do you not? Even when there is no one around to watch."
"The lack of an audience does not make the game any less entertaining," she replied. She reached out and traced a finger along the grain of the wood, feeling the slight ridges under her skin. "I find that the most interesting things happen when the rest of the world is asleep."
"You are a menace," Harry said, though there was no real heat in the accusation.
"I am a delight," Draconia corrected him. "There is a difference."
Harry took a step closer to the table, his eyes never leaving hers. He looked like a man who was calculating the distance between himself and the person he was meant to face. He was not looking at her as a friend, nor was he looking at her with the typical irritation of a rival. There was a different kind of heat in his gaze, a tension that felt like a coiled spring. He wanted to prove something, and she could see it in the way his jaw set.
"Are you going to come down?" Harry asked. "Or are we going to stand here until the sun rises?"
"I will come down when you make it worth my while," she said. She tapped the wood with her fingernails, a rhythmic, clicking sound. "A duel, Potter. A real one. No professors to correct our form, no spectators to cheer. Just us."
Harry paused, his expression hardening. The suggestion of a duel changed the atmosphere of the room. The stillness was no longer just empty; it became loaded. "A duel? Now? You have been teasing me all week, and now you want to fight in the middle of the hall?"
"Not a fight," Draconia clarified. "A duel. There is a distinction. A fight is messy and desperate. A duel is precise. It is about control. It is about who can command the magic most effectively."
"You think you have more control than me?" Harry asked. He stepped even closer, until he was standing directly beneath the edge of the table where her feet hung.
"I know I do," she said. She felt a surge of confidence, the way she always did when she felt she had the upper hand. "I can see the way your magic behaves. It is loud. It is brave. But it is also undisciplined. It lacks the finesse of someone who knows how to wait."
Harry looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. He was looking for the trap, for the moment she would reveal her hand. He seemed to be weighing the cost of the challenge. He knew her well enough to know that she rarely offered anything without a hidden motive.
"And what happens if you win?" Harry asked.
"Then you will admit that my magic is superior," she said. "And you will give me something to prove it."
"You are being vague," Harry said. He reached into his pocket and felt the familiar shape of his wand. "What is the prize?"
"That is for later," she whispered. She leaned down, her face closer to his now. "The prize is the part that matters. The challenge is simply the prelude."
Harry's grip on his wand tightened. He was not a man who enjoyed being led by the nose, and Draconia was leading him by a very long, very visible rope. He looked up at her, his eyes dark and focused. He looked like he wanted to reach up and grab her, to pull her down from her perch and force her to stand on the same level as him.
"Fine," Harry said, his voice low and steady. "A duel. But do not expect me to go easy on you just because you are sitting on the furniture."
"I would be insulted if you did," she said. She stood up on the table, her movements fluid and graceful, until she was standing tall. The height gave her a sense of power that she relished. "I want you to try your hardest, Harry. I want to see you reach for it."
"You will get what is coming to you," Harry said. He raised his wand, his arm moving in a practiced arc.
Draconia watched his wrist, the way it flexed and moved. She felt the anticipation building in her chest, a physical sensation of readiness. She knew exactly what he was about to do. She knew the rhythm of his magic, the way it surged before it struck. She waited for the tell, the subtle shift in his stance that preceded the spell.
"Are you ready?" Harry asked, his voice dropping an octave.
"I have been ready since the moment you walked in," she said.
Harry took a breath, his entire body tensing as he prepared the incantation. He began the movement, his wand cutting through the air with a sharp, decisive snap.
"Expelli—"
Before he could finish the word, Draconia's wand flashed. The spell caught him mid-sentence, a sharp, silver light that wren-ed the wood from his hand.