Snape left them standing in the middle of the corridor, his robes snapping against his heels as he retreated toward the dungeons. Draconia watched the back of his head, feeling the sting of the lost points in the small of her back. Harry stood a few feet away from her, his jaw tight and his green eyes bright with a frustrated, kinetic energy. They both knew the score; the two days of erratic magic had left them both feeling clumsy and disconnected from their own power. Harry looked at her, his expression unreadable, but his posture was a challenge in itself.
"You look like you've been hit by a Bludger," Draconia said, her voice cutting through the quiet of the stone hallway.
"And you look like you've been trying to cast a spell with a wet twig," Harry replied, stepping closer until he was within her personal space.
The corridor was empty of other students, leaving only the two of them and the heavy, silent stone walls. Harry did not look like the boy who had been chasing her through the halls; he looked like a man who had found his footing again. Draconia felt the familiar urge to reach for her wand, but she hesitated because she knew his wand was currently tucked into the waistband of his trousers. He had stolen hers to compensate for the time she had kept his, and the lack of a wand in her hand made her feel strangely naked.
"A duel," Harry said, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped into the center of the wide stretch of stone. "A real one. No tricks, no house points, no audience to watch us fail."
Draconia tilted her chin up, her eyes tracing the line of his throat. "Best of three. If you want to prove you aren't actually losing your touch, you should take me up on it."
"I'll take you up on it," Harry said, his eyes narrowing.
They stood in the centre of the corridor, the stone floor cold beneath her boots. Draconia reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out his wand, holding it like a trophy. She felt the power hum within the wood, a sharp, jagged sensation that matched the tension in her chest. Harry reached out and plucked her wand from her hand, his fingers brushing hers for a second too long. The contact sent a jolt through her, but she refused to let her expression flicker.
"Go on then," Draconia challenged, her voice steady despite the way her pulse hammered in her neck. "First round. Show me what you've got, Potter."
Harry raised his wand, his movements fluid and decisive. He did not lead with a flashy spell or a grand gesture. Instead, he flicked his wrist with a sharp, violent motion. A jet of red light shot from the tip of his wand, striking the stone just inches from her feet. The impact was loud, a dull thud that vibrated through the soles of her feet. Draconia gasped, stepping back to find her balance.
"Too slow," Harry said, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Don't get cocky," Draconia retorted, lunging forward to cast a stinging hex.
She swung her wand, but the magic was lopsided and weak. The spell fizzled out before it could even reach him, the light dying in the air like a guttering candle. Harry laughed, a low, rough sound that echoed off the high ceiling. He moved toward her, his wand dancing in the air. He was not just casting; he was controlling the space between them. He was a predator circling a prize, and for a moment, Draconia felt the weight of his gaze.
"Your turn," Harry said, stepping into her guard.
Draconia tried to pivot, but her foot caught on a slight unevenness in the stone. She stumbled, her breath catching in her throat. Harry was there instantly, his wand tip tracing a line in the air as he cast a subtle levitation charm that sent her hair flying into her eyes. She swiped at the strands, feeling the heat of frustration rising in her cheeks. The first round was his, won by a margin of sheer, unadulterised instinct.
"One for you," Draconia muttered, straightening her robes and trying to regain her composure.
"Don't look so miserable," Harry said, his eyes fixed on her face. "It was a clean hit."
"It was a cheap hit," she countered, her voice sharpening.
They reset themselves, the tension between them thick and palpable. Draconia felt the urge to win, not just for the sake of the duel, but to reclaim the power she felt slipping away. She wanted to see him struggle, to see him lose that effortless grace that seemed to define him lately. She raised her wand, her fingers tightening around the wood until her knuckles turned white.
"Round two," she announced, her eyes locked on his.
The air felt charged as she cast a heavy, forceful spell that sent a wave of blue light barreling toward him. Harry dodged it with a graceful sidestep, the magic whistling past his ear. He didn't just dodge; he used the momentum to lunge forward, his wand flashing in a series of complex, rapid movements. He was a blur of motion, his wrist flicking in a rhythm that was almost musical.
"Watch the wrist, Draconia," Harry said, his voice a low growl.
He threw a curse that was meant to disarm, but it was slightly off-target, striking her shoulder instead. The pain was sharp and hot, a stinging sensation that made her hiss through her teeth. She didn't back down; she moved into his space, her wand clashing against his in a frantic, rhythmic dance. The sound of wood hitting wood was a series of sharp cracks in the silence of the corridor.
"You're trying too hard," Harry observed, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts.
"And you're trying to look cool," Draconia snapped back, her heart racing.
She launched a volley of smaller, quicker spells, trying to overwhelm him with speed. She wanted to break his rhythm, to see him stumble as she had. She watched the way his hand moved, the way his tendons stood out under the skin of his forearm as he gripped the wand. He was strong, and the strength was visible in every line of his body.
"You're distracted," Harry said, his voice cutting through her thoughts.
He cast a spell that was so fast she barely saw the movement. It wasn't a heavy spell, but a precise one, a flick of the wrist that sent a spark of light straight into her chest. It didn't hurt, but it stunned her, a sudden jolt of magic that left her gasping for air. She felt herself falling back, her senses reeling from the sudden intrusion of his magic.
"That was... unfair," she breathed, her chest heaving.
"It was a duel," Harry replied, his eyes dark and focused.
He stepped toward her, his presence overwhelming in the narrow space. He didn't look like he was playing a game anymore; he looked like he was reclaiming a territory. Draconia felt the heat of him, the sheer, unadulterated force of his will. She wanted to win, but more than that, she wanted to understand why he was so captivating when he was being so infuriating.
"One more," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
"Best of three," Harry reminded her, his gaze never leaving hers.
She raised her wand, her vision blurring slightly from the exertion. The magic was there, waiting to be called, but she could feel the weight of his gaze pulling at her focus. She saw the way his hand moved, the way his wrist flicked with a precision that was almost beautiful. She found herself mesmerotised by the movement, the way he commanded the light.
"You're staring," Harry said