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They had been dueling for hours. They were both hot, sweaty, exhausted, had no idea how late it was, but no way was either of them going to give in before the other.
The practice room had been empty for a while — not that either of them had been paying attention. At first, the other Aurors-in-training stayed to watch the two duke it out after all the other pairs had won or lost their own fights. Ron had simply rolled his eyes and headed for the showers when he saw Harry and Draco were the only ones left standing, flinging hexes at each other endlessly. That first time had been weeks ago.
Every night they called it a draw, usually being forced out because someone else needed the space or because they had dueled right up until they were supposed to be on to their next training assignment.
"Lucky again, Potter."
"Yeah right, Malfoy. I almost had you there at the end."
"In what world?" They'd insult each other all the way into the locker room until they stepped into the showers.
Then night after night, they were at it again. Jostling, hexing, running. The spell combinations became more creative, as did the insults. They tested each other in new ways, not only in wand work but footwork. If Harry stepped here, Draco moved there. Draco feinted and Harry dove. Jumping, climbing, rolling; sometimes it was almost like they were back on the Quidditch field.
Except they weren't flying; they were on their feet. And Harry may be a good jumper, but Draco has always been quick.
Hex, then a shield rebound, gaining a few feet, trying to sustain a curse while slipping in another hex, Harry faltered, and BAM — Harry's back against the wall.
Draco's arm pinned Harry to the wall, the tip of his wand pointed in tanned man's face. Breathing heavily, they stared at each other.
"Give up, Potter?"
"You wish." And before Draco could even put his smirk in place, Harry had his hands gripping the blond's head, lips crushed against his mouth, freezing Draco in place. One hand slid to the back of Draco's head, curling his fingers in the fine stands of hair. Draco pushed Harry further against the wall, giving no thought to the fact that he was kissing back. Draco gave no thought to the fact that Harry's other hand was sliding down his wand arm, because Harry's lips tasted like—
Suddenly Draco was standing a foot away from Harry, feeling cool where he had just been pressed up against the warmth of another body. Straightening up and pulling himself out of shock, Draco fixed a sneer onto his face and was about to tell Potter this wasn't over when Harry's casual stance registered. Giving him a good once-over (for the sake of the duel), he realized Harry was twirling an extra wand between his fingers.
Draco looked down at his hands — how did he not realize he wasn't holding his wand anymore? Looking up again, Draco watched Harry push himself off the wall, turn to leave the practice room, won wand still in hand.
"That's the trouble with you Purebloods, always afraid to get your hands a little dirty," Harry said as he tossed Draco's wand back over his head without looking.
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