Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe is owned by JK Rowling and WB.
A/N: Written for the H/D Wireless Fest. Much love to my beta, RuArcher!
Good Little Soldiers
Harry shot his arms out in quick succession, his fists landing squarely in the center of Draco's chest. The fair-haired man stumbled but stayed on his feet, shuffling backwards until his heels dangled over the edge of the platform. In the next instant, he rolled his weight onto the balls of his feet and nimbly scurried away from the ledge.
"Had enough, Malfoy?" Harry asked, wiping his bloodied lip with the back of his hand.
The angry swell on Draco's left cheek only made his taunting, lop-sided grin even more pronounced. "I'm still standing, Potter." Draco positioned his arms in front of him, his right hand in a tight fist and his left hand beckoning his attacker to come closer.
Harry grunted. They had been going for almost forty minutes; the ticking of the clock above the door echoed throughout the gymnasium, interrupted only by the sounds of flesh smacking flesh, the crunch and crack of bone, and the pained grunts as fists made contact with flexed muscles.
It was their final test, the culmination of six months of training in combat, stealth, and advanced magical defense. One hundred and fifty mornings spent in classrooms learning international law, history, and politics; one hundred and fifty afternoons on the training field being torn apart, bruised, and beaten. Twenty-five training modules where they were Portkeyed to the harshest terrains in the farthest corners of the Earth armed with only their wands—and, at times, even less—to see if they would survive.
Not all of them did. Thirteen recruits, hand-picked by the Ministers for Magic of seven nations, had competed for a single spot on the Hit Wizard team for the International Confederation of Wizards. Three had been injured during training exercises. One had died of hypothermia during a survival module in the Arctic tundra. The rest had washed out.
It was just the two of them now. They entered this training separately, neither knowing the other had been nominated by Minister Kingsley. They would also leave this program separately, one as a victor, while the other skulked back home as a civilian.
Well, at least Draco would. Harry, on the other hand, had his job as an Auror to fall back on if he ended up not making the cut. Granted, if he lost this position to Draco Malfoy—professional loafer and all-around rake—his colleagues might make fun of him so much as to make it a hostile work environment.
What did Draco even do before he came to training? Sit around his study and drink Ogden's Firewhisky all day?
'Of course not,' sneered a voice in his head as he felt the pressure of Legilimens shove into his mind. Harry narrowly missed an uppercut aimed at his solar plexus. 'Not unless it was a special reserve Ogden's. Do you really think I'd stock the same drivel that the Leaky Cauldron keeps behind its bar?'
Harry clenched his teeth, blinking the sweat out of his eye as he pistoned a kick at Draco's flank. 'Stay the fuck out of my head!' he projected in his mind.
Draco pivoted on his heels and raised his arms, blocking Harry's kick to his kidney just in time.
He tried to push Draco out of his head, but he couldn't close his mind all the way. It was as though his opponent had shoved his foot in the doorway to keep from being shut out. He could almost feel the wince emanating from Draco's mind, which made him feel a bit better. While Draco was stronger by far in Legilimency and Occlumency, it gave Harry some comfort to know that he wouldn't leave his mind unscathed.
"Fuck, Potter," he groaned out loud. His grey eyes glazed over from pain as he threw a sloppy punch at Harry's right ear.
Harry easily dodged it and countered with a punch to the sternum. It knocked Draco off-balance, and he landed with a thud on his left side.
Reeling from his momentary victory, Harry dropped his guard. Suddenly, he was bombarded with images from the last few weeks as Draco rifled through his recent memories.
Six days ago, in the Sierra Nevada desert, as the two of them scavenged for water and food.
A week before that, where they played war games with veteran Hit Wizards. He and Draco had teamed up and covered each other's backs as live fire from Muggle weapons as well as hexes and curses flew around, missing them by mere centimeters.
"What are you doing?" Harry growled. "Trying to soften me up so I'd go easier on you?"
"Not quite," said Draco as he pushed himself up. He planted his feet on the ground and formed his fighting stance once again. "Just the opposite."
Harry expected a physical attack and was surprised when he felt Draco force his way through his thoughts.
Two weeks ago, in the middle of the Amazon, where the starlight was blocked by the jungle canopy. They relied only on their small campfire for light. He admired the way the yellow glow of the fire danced across the angles and planes of Draco's face as he stared out into the trees. Then he shifted his silver eyes, touched with golden fire, in Harry's direction, and the corners of his lips lifted.
A month ago, as they huddled together in their makeshift snow cave somewhere in the Alps. The wind wailed at the cave mouth, but it didn't drown out the sounds of Draco's soft groans in his ear nor his own labored panting. The heat they created melted the snow on the walls, turning their cave slick.
Three days before that, as he ducked his head under the stream of water from the shower head. Draco walked into the communal bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. The nearly scalding water hit the skin of Draco's shoulders, turning them pink. Without even realizing it, Harry's eyes trailed the rivulets of water as they curved around the blades of Draco's shoulders, down the grooves of his spine, and—
"I said, stay out of my head!" Harry shouted out loud, throwing him out of his mind. At the same time, he planted both palms on Draco's chest and thrust him away.
"Make me," Draco replied with a hard, sardonic grin.
Harry grabbed Draco's sweat-soaked collar with one hand as he reeled his other arm back. Rather than land a hit with his fist, however, he speared through Draco's mental defenses and yanked at the memory waiting on the surface of Draco' mind.
Last night, at their bunker. It used to house the baker's dozen of candidates to the program, but it now only held two narrow, single beds. Although the room was large, they kept their beds within a meter of each other on the far wall.
"You'll make a great Hit Wizard," Draco said in a soft tone. They laid down facing each other, though there were no lights on in the windowless room.
"So would you," Harry's voice carried over the short distance. "You've been amazing, especially coming in without any training in combat or field tactics."
Draco paused before replying, his voice hesitant. "I may not have come in as an Auror, but I think we're both aware that my past history does include some training in stealth, fighting, and maneuvering around dangerous individuals."
Harry remained silent, and Draco felt afraid, as he always did whenever they breached the subject of their pasts. When he heard the rustle of the thin bed sheet, he took a chance and reached a hand into the empty space between them—and felt immediate relief when he clasped Harry's waiting hand.
"You did what you had to do in those days," Harry whispered. "As did I. We were just doing what we thought was right, following the lead of those we thought who knew better."
"Like good little soldiers," Draco added, his voice carrying a bitter note. "And, yet, here we are, about to fight each other for the privilege of being one again, only on the global stage. We're either very stupid or—" He sighed. "No. There's no 'or.' We're just both extremely stupid."
Harry laughed. "Does that mean you're forfeiting?" he asked. "I'd really appreciate that, you know. I'd hate to have to kick your arse tomorrow just so I could land this job." A teasing smile colored his voice.
"I'd never do that to you," he said, intertwining his fingers with Harry's as he gave them a brief squeeze. "You wouldn't take this job if it was just handed to you. Throughout your life, you've never been comfortable with anything you hadn't proven yourself worthy of, whether it be fame or anything bought by it. If I drop out of the race, you would always question if you'd truly earned this position."
Harry curled his fingers and clutched Draco's hand in a firm hold. "You'll still fight me, then?"
"I'll give it all I've got."
"And you won't—you wouldn't—" Harry stammered.
"It won't be an issue," Draco reassured him. "We have plenty of those between us already—too many. And I'll help you with yours if you help me with mine. But tomorrow won't be one of them."
A weighty sigh reached Draco's ears. "I'll hold you to that," Harry murmured.
"Good," Draco replied, warning him, "don't pull any punches."
"Potter," Draco rasped now, slamming Harry back in the present.
Harry's fingers were still curled into Draco's collar, his fist cocked back and aimed for Draco's face.
Draco's eyebrows knit together, and his lips curled into a bloodied smirk. "Do you have what it takes, Potter?" he whispered harshly.
Harry peered at Draco's face, past the roughened façade and beyond the issues that stood between them.
Beyond the newness of their current relationship and the uncertainties and insecurities it entailed. Beyond their indifference towards each other over the last few years. Beyond the animosity of the war and the resentment of their youth.
Beyond it all, there were foundations on which he found solid footing.
Support.
Admiration.
Respect.
"Do you have what it takes?" repeated Draco. His eyes were narrowed in challenge.
Harry nodded.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Reviews are appreciated!
Prompt: Issues by Julia Michaels