The Duel
I wake up to the sun streaming in through the window. It glares in my eyes and I groan, turning away from it. I can’t have gotten more than a few broken hours of sleep last night. I’m completely exhausted.
I drag myself out of bed, stretching my arms up over my head and yawning. No use trying to go back to sleep now, I suppose.
I become suddenly very aware of my surroundings and my body, taking in the guest room. It’s spacious but not nearly as large as Draco’s, with a full bed, a dresser, and a wardrobe. There’s an attached bathroom as well, which I’m happy about.
I’m still in Draco’s clothes, which were honestly incredibly comfortable. They’re definitely very high end, the fabric soft and thick, the grey pants and emerald green shirt hanging loosely around my body. As I turn my head, I catch a whiff of a pleasant smell. I pinch the fabric and bring it up to my nose.
No wonder, it’s Draco’s cologne. It’s rich and warm, smelling something like earthy undertones mixed with citrus and vanilla. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it before.
I’ve come to face the difficult reality that I think I may be slightly attracted to Draco Malfoy. It’s completely against my will, but him saving my arse and being so careful with me in private makes it difficult not to be slightly pulled to him. I realized it on accident yesterday, when I wanted to hug him for helping me.
No, I’m not going to act on it. I’ve already decided that. No matter how sweet he is in private, he’s still a prat to me and my friends in school, and I can’t send the message that it’s okay. And besides, he most certainly doesn’t feel the same. I’ve accepted that, too.
“Y/n?” A soft rap on the door and the sound of my mothers voice makes me whip my head around. I keep the door locked, responding, “Yes, mother?”
“Start getting ready. Breakfast will be served within the hour. The Malfoy’s house elf will bring you some clothes.” With that, I hear her footsteps recede down the hallway. Lovely.
As if on cue, Dobby pops into the room with a bundle of clothes, carefully folded. “Miss, these are prepared for you,” he says softly, eyes flicking nervously to the door.
I unfold the bundle to find a set of fitted dueling robes—sleek black with silver trim. The fabric is light but reinforced with hidden protective charms. Beneath the robes, there’s a high-collared tunic and matching trousers, both close-fitting but flexible. A pair of dragon-hide gloves and sturdy, knee-high boots complete the set.
As I run my fingers over the fabric, I notice the Lavigné family crest subtly embroidered on the left cuff—an unspoken reminder of what’s at stake.
“Thanks, Dobby,” I say softly, sighing. He smiles and pops back out of the room with a bow.
I get myself dressed and ready, sparing myself of the heavy makeup my mother typically likes me to wear for formal meetings, opting for something light and natural instead. The dueling robes fit me perfectly, as expected, hugging every curve and line of my body. I sweep my hair into a thick ponytail, gentle ringlet curls hanging around my face.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Draco had said last night. He looked so genuine I can’t bring myself to not believe him. My head has been swimming all night, trying to make sense of what’s going on, but all I want to think about is him.
A clock chimes in the distance and I straighten up, preparing myself for another tense meal with the Malfoy’s. I pin my last curl into place before leaving the guest room, heading down to the table.
When I get to the dining room I have to swallow my surprise as I plaster on a polite smile. The entire table is lined with death eaters, their figures dark and foreboding. Every head turns to look at me, and Lucius smiles sharply.
“Ah, Y/n, you got the robes we sent for you. Perfect. Please, sit down. Your seat has been saved for you.” He gestures open handed to a seat right in the middle of the table, surrounded by the dark figures. I notice one empty chair next to me when I settle into mine.
“Where’s-” I begin to ask, but my question is answered when Draco walks in, the sound of his dueling boots echoing off the stone floor.
“Morning,” Draco says simply, walking over to the chair next to me.
He is wearing black robes trimmed with deep emerald green—Malfoy colors. The robes are tailored to fit him perfectly, the fabric enchanted for protection and flexibility. Beneath the outer layer, he wears a dark, high-collared tunic and fitted trousers, designed for ease of movement.
A pair of dragon-hide gloves covers his hands, matching the knee-high, polished black leather boots that make his every step silent and purposeful. The Malfoy family crest is embroidered subtly on the left breast of his tunic, a constant reminder of the weight on his shoulders.
His wand is tucked securely into a sheath on his forearm, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.
I make eye contact with him, and the sureness in his gaze makes me ever so slightly less nervous. “I refuse to cast at you,” repeats in my head over and over, something he said fleetingly last night that he may not even remember, but I do.
I can’t understand why he would go to such lengths to protect me, but I’m not going to question it. I’m just going to take the kindness and run.
Once Draco sits down, Lucius clears his throat from the head of the table. “Distinguished guests, now that we’re all here, it’s time we discuss the schedule this morning.” He grins evilly, and many of the cloaked faces around me mirror it. It sends a chill down my spine.
“Once breakfast has been finished, I’ve prepared for another demonstration with my son and the Lavigné’s daughter. Y/n,” he looks at me, and I swallow, “today we are going to test your magic. Specifically, your control over it. As you may have gathered from your robes, you and Draco will duel.”
His sinister smile screams “trap” to me, but Draco doesn’t seem fazed. I just nod my head, remembering the plan. He won’t hurt me.
“Now, eat up, you two. You need to be at your best for the fight.” Lucius runs a tentative hand through his hair before clapping, and everyone starts to eat. I pick at my plate, only eating protein, which is about as much as I can stomach right now.
The air around the table is thick with tension. Conversations are hushed, and the occasional scrape of cutlery against porcelain feels louder than it should. Every now and then, I catch snippets of whispers—plans, threats, allusions to something greater at stake than just this duel. My parents sit further down, silent and composed, wearing masks of polite detachment. My mother’s gaze flicks to me, sharp and expectant, before turning back to Lucius with an approving nod.
Draco eats calmly beside me, as if this is nothing more than an ordinary morning. He keeps his expression neutral, but I can see the tightness in his jaw and the way his hand occasionally clenches his fork. He’s not as unaffected as he seems.
I glance at him, trying to convey my unease without words. He meets my eyes briefly, his gaze softer than I expected. “Remember the plan,” he murmurs, so quiet I almost convince myself I imagined it. “Stay sharp.”
The meal feels endless, every bite a struggle. My stomach churns, not just from nerves but from the weight of expectation pressing down on me. This isn’t just a duel; it’s a spectacle. A test of loyalty. A chance for Lucius to parade his power and control.
When the plates are finally cleared, Lucius rises, a predatory smile stretching across his face. “Shall we proceed?” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
The Death Eaters stand, their cloaks sweeping the floor as they move toward the grand hall. Draco and I follow, my heart pounding with each step. The hallway stretches endlessly, lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors who seem to judge us as we pass.
The doors to the hall open, revealing a vast, open space. Dark banners hang from the high ceiling, and the floor has been cleared, leaving a wide circle marked out in gleaming silver lines. Candles float above us, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The Death Eaters spread out, forming a ring around the dueling space, their eyes fixed on us.
Lucius steps into the center, his wand raised for silence. “Today,” he announces, “we witness a display of skill, strength, and loyalty. The Lavigné girl against my son. Show us what you’re made of.”
He steps back, and Draco and I move to opposite sides of the circle. I grip my wand, my palms sweaty, my mind racing. Draco stands tall, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes hold a promise.
“We begin on my mark,” Lucius says, raising his arm. “One… two… three.”
The duel begins.
I don’t hesitate. I cast a quick Stupefy, more out of formality than aggression. Draco blocks it easily, deflecting the red light with a steady flick of his wand. My nerves jangle, but I keep moving, my spells growing more complex. He counters each one, his movements smooth and controlled.
The room blurs around us. It’s just him and me, the space between us crackling with magic. I cast another spell—Expelliarmus—but Draco dodges, deflecting it into the stone wall. My chest tightens… I really don’t want to hurt him, but this has to be believable.
“Is that all?” Lucius drawls from the sidelines, his voice dripping with contempt.
I give Draco a warning look. He has to cast at me. It has to be believable.
He shakes his head, defying me silently. I plead with him with nothing more than my eyes. I can handle myself, and he knows it.
Against his better judgement, he groans, then narrows his eyes. “Stupefy!”
I block his shot, giving him a reassuring nod. We can handle this. I see a glimmer in his eyes as he receives my silent message. Just play along.
“Expelliarmus!”
I deflect it with a quick “Protego!” and counter with a swift “Stupefy!” The red flash of light streaks toward him, but he sidesteps it gracefully, the spell smashing harmlessly into the wall behind him.
Draco retaliates with a quick succession of spells—Rictusempra, Flipendo, Expulso—forcing me to weave and block in rapid succession. My shield charms hold firm, but I can feel the heat of the magic crackling in the air between us.
I fire back with a volley of my own: “Petrificus Totalus!” He ducks, rolling to the side and sending a Confringo my way, which I narrowly avoid by spinning out of the line of fire. The explosion sends a shower of sparks raining down.
Our movements are fast and fluid, as though choreographed. Each spell is met with a counter, each strike with a shield. We’re evenly matched, our magic crackling in the air like a storm about to break.
“Not bad, Lavigné,” Draco calls, his smirk faint but genuine, a flicker of humor in his eyes.
“Same to you, Malfoy,” I reply, breathless but focused.
He sends another Stupefy my way, and I block it easily. Taking a chance, I flick my wand and send a Glisseo at his feet. The ground beneath him slicks over with magic, and he skids back, barely managing to keep his balance.
“Clever,” he mutters, steadying himself and firing a silent curse that I just barely parry.
For a moment, we circle each other, wands raised, both panting. The tension in the room is palpable. We lock eyes, and I can see the unspoken message in his gaze: time to end this.
I launch a hex, sharper, faster. For a split second, I think it’ll hit—Draco’s reflex falters. But just as the spell is about to connect, a blinding white shield flares to life between us, stopping the magic cold. The force of the sudden stop throws both of us backwards, knocking me and Draco to the ground.
The room goes silent.
I look up, my breath shallow. What just happened? Draco looks just as stunned, his eyes wide. He didn’t cast a shield. Neither did I.
But across the room, Lucius’s face darkens, a flicker of realization in his eyes. My mother’s expression is rigid, her hands clenched at her sides. Whatever just happened—it was bigger than this duel.
“Excellent, Draco,” Lucius drawls quickly, and I hear the urgency in his voice. “I suppose that’s all for today. Thank you for your attendance,” he says to his disgruntled guests, who seem equally surprised and disappointed.
I feel my finger heat up, and I look down at my hand. My ring, a priceless family heirloom, lights up, runes being carved into the silver. The faint white light radiating from it sparkles as it finishes, and I feel a pull to look up at Draco.
He’s holding a pendant in his hand (that he must have pulled out from under his shirt, I didn’t see it earlier) and a faint white glow emits from his palm. When it stops, he looks up at me, his confusion reflecting my own.
I’m sick of wondering this, but what in the bloody hell is going on?
At the exact same time, we both mouth, “Are you okay?” with worry ridden expressions. I blink in surprise at the timing, then nod my head. He does the same.
I look at our parents, who are whispering in hurried, hushed tones. The death eaters have left, just our families remaining. My mother notices me looking at her, and she furrows her brow resolutely.
“Y/n,” she calls out to me, holding out a hand. “It’s time to go.”
I stand up in a daze. What’s with the rushed departure? I look to Draco who seems anxious. I can’t help but feel anxious too. His eyes ask exactly what they did last night. “Do you trust your parents?”
I want to ask my parents about the ring, the runes, the shield, but I snap my mouth shut almost involuntarily. They’re just going to lie to me anyway, right? Who I really need to talk to is Draco, but before I can ask him what’s going on, my mother has a hand around my arm and starts to drag me out of the manor.
I look back over my shoulder at the blond haired boy, and something feels off. Like there’s a secret neither of us know about yet, but both need to uncover.
As we walk out, I try to ignore the knot in my stomach. I can’t push this feeling away, and it confuses me.
Why am I suddenly feeling so protective of Draco Malfoy?