Archive of Our Own

Harry knew he was late, that was the price of being an Auror, unfortunately, that meant social settings had to bend to his work schedule. The sound of the crowd cheering had him frowning in disappointment—he hadn’t been late to a show in years.  

Normally, Harry would have requested the day off, he always did when it came to the Dueling Association, but illegal smugglers don’t care about things like personal time.  

With each loud cheer from the crowd, Harry felt the tension leave his body. Discovering that duelling was just as popular as Quidditch had been a surprise, but a welcome one. Harry loved to see the professionals, loved to see which spells they would use and why. It was fascinating to see someone duel when he wasn’t the one partaking in it. The only duels Harry was used to were the ones against criminals.  

As Harry made it to his normal seat, he was annoyed to find that someone was in the spot next to it. People were out of his comfort zone, it would have been easier if the seat was empty but looking around the crowd showed that Harry was lucky to have a seat at all, let alone his preferred choice.  

“Ah! I wondered when you would be showing up. It’s not like you to miss a match.”  

Harry sat down hesitantly, eyeing the man who spoke a little warily. Sure, the guy looked familiar, his long brown hair flowing past his shoulders, muggle attire and a peculiar sunhat atop his head, but it wasn’t as if they ever talked. He might have nodded politely once or twice, but it was just out of courtesy, it wasn’t like he wanted to talk to him.  

“Work ran late?” Harry tried to say it firmly, but it came out more like a question. Part of him wanted to ask why they were talking now of all times, and not all of the years they had seen each other at the duels—but perhaps that was rude.  

The man shrugged once, attention on the duelists. A quick glance showed that it wasn’t anyone Harry cared about. He made sure to look at the scoreboard, hoping that his favourite hadn’t already gone. He sighed in relief when it was clear that it was only the first match.  

“That’s why you should be more like me,” the man grunted, a smug smile in place. “This is my work. I make a pretty galleon on these duels.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes as his brows arched. “You are aware that gambling on professional duels is illegal, right?” 

A harsh scoff could be heard before the man finally looked at Harry. “How would you know?” 

“Am I wearing an invisibility cloak?” Harry asked incredulously as he looked down at his red robes. “I’m an Auror.” The ‘you bloody moron’ was left out, but Harry tried to emulate it with a harsh expression.  

“You going to turn me in?” There was an amused edge to his tone, as if he knew that Harry wouldn’t.  

“No,” Harry honestly answered. That would be too much paperwork, and it wouldn’t do anything in the long run. Not if the guy had been gambling the whole time, it wasn’t going to be fixed with a slap on the wrist, which is what a fine would be.  

A hand shot out as the man grinned smugly. “Names Randy.”  

“Harry.” He shook Randy’s hand, aware that there was a knowing glint in expressive brown eyes.  

“I know.”  

Harry nodded, not expecting a different reply. It was rare to come across someone who didn’t know him.  

“Who have you bet on?” He wondered, wanting to steer the conversation to something away from himself.  

“Just about everyone,” said Randy, eyes back on the arena. “If Price wins this match, then I’ll be up for the night already.”  

Harry snorted, unable to help himself as he shook his head. “Price? You bet on Price?” 

When Randy frowned and crossed his arms, Harry wondered if he should have kept quiet. 

“Are you questioning my abilities? This is my job?” 

That had Harry rolling his eyes. “Chambers will win in the last stretch.”  

“Chambers?” Randy looked back to the duel, eyes on Chambers, who was on the retreat, wand barely countering the strength of Price’s spells. “She’s barely out of her rookie days.”  

Harry acknowledged that with a shrug. “So? Chambers is good, better than Price was at her age. Besides, Price is on enhancers.”  

Randy’s mouth dropped open as his eyes widened. “What? Where are you getting your information? Secret Auror stuff? Is it classified? I’ve always wanted to be on the in when it comes to the law.” 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled sarcastically. “The best way of doing that is by breaking the law.” He gestured to the tickets in Randy’s hand, the stamp of approval from the Goblin Embassy was clearly visible. Randy at least was of money—Goblins don’t gamble with just anyone.  

An impatient hand in Harry’s face suggested that Randy didn’t care about that.  

“No, it’s not on Auror business. I can just tell.”  

“You can just tell?” The question was accompanied by a flat tone. Randy was clearly not impressed.  

Harry sighed heavily as he looked back towards the arena. “You see that?” He pointed to the way Price wasn’t able to maintain his previous stance. Chambers was no longer retreating. Each step she took forward was accompanied by a powerful spell.  

“Price can’t feint anymore. He was using his strength and nothing else. Sure, enhancers add brute strength to your magic, but it’s always at a cost. It’s stupid to perform with enhancers, especially at a prolonged use. Price is approaching his last season. Another round of enhancers will fry out his magic.” 

A startled noise escaped Randy in the sound of a breathless exhale when Chambers backed Price into several Gatling Charms. Defeat would be imminent unless Randy could counteract that, and the subtle sticking charm Harry could make out along Price’s trainers. It was uncommon, but an intriguing tactic.  

When Chambers shot her hand out, wand firing out several charms at once, Harry didn’t need to see Price concede to know it would happen.  

“I told you,” Harry said, hands folded neatly in his lap.  

“Fuck,” whispered Randy as he looked down at his tickets. “Not a good start to the night after all.” There was a pause before Randy glanced at Harry.  

“You wouldn’t make a bad gambler.”  

Harry laughed, more startled than anything. “Is that so?”  

When Chambers and Price left the arena, and the next duo entered, Harry’s laugh left him instantly—something Randy noticed.  

“Who do you think is going to win this one?” 

The question was easy, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind as he whispered, “Malfoy. Malfoy’s going to win.”  

The easy way Malfoy breezed into the arena in an unprofessional attire—grey joggers that outlined far too much, and a white dress shirt open with nothing underneath—which showed off his chest, his sweaty sweaty chest—had Harry sitting up straighter. It wasn't unusual to see Malfoy in such a state of undress, it was a signature move that he refused to change.  

Not that Harry wanted him to change.  

Malfoy's outfit coupled with a confident attitude would always distract Harry. When Malfoy had first begun duelling professionally, Harry told himself that he was going to witness the duels to make sure everything was alright, that Malfoy was only duelling for sport and not to harm.  

It only took a few minutes observing for Harry to see how much duelling meant to Malfoy. There was a spark to him that wasn’t visible outside of the arena. Malfoy was doing nothing wrong, but Harry couldn’t stay away.  

“Something is telling me there is more to this.”  

Harry had to force himself to look away from Malfoy’s confident expression to look at Randy. “What did you say?” Had Randy even spoken? 

Randy smirked before eyeing the arena. “What’s the story there? You weren’t interested in the last match at all. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you interested in anyone but Malfoy’s matches.”  

Warmth flooded Harry’s cheeks and he had to look down at his hands—unable to look Randy in the eye. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” 

“Oh, I think you do. Is it his outfit?” 

Harry scrunched up his nose as he looked at Malfoy. "There's nothing wrong with the way he's dressed." He honestly wouldn't mind seeing more of Malfoy—more than the outline of a prominent bulge that was being viewed by thousands of people.   

Before Harry could justify his interest, Randy continued.  

“I think you have a giant gay crush on Malfoy.”  

Harry rolled his eyes, not impressed with how childish Randy's tone made it appear.  

“I am bisexual, thank you very much.”  

Randy threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Then you have a giant bisexual crush on Malfoy, I don’t know what else to tell you.”  

Harry rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he looked back to the arena, keenly aware of Randy’s eyes on him. It wasn’t as if he had to say anything. Harry didn’t owe anyone anything, certainly not a stranger. But it wasn’t as if it was something he had admitted to anyone else, even himself.  

“Maybe I do.”  

“Now that is something worth betting on.”  

That was an encouragement that Harry hadn’t known he needed. He looked back at Malfoy, knowing that something had to change—Harry couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep convincing himself to finally say something to Malfoy, just for the matches to end and the courage that he had always assumed was there to vanish.  

 “I’m a sucker for love, and I got my money bet on you, Harry.”  

If only that was all it would take.  

Draco tuned out the sound of the crowd. As much as fans were nice, it was a distraction when the final moments began to wind down.  

Duelling had always been something that was instilled into Draco. At an early age, his father made sure the importance of the craft was something he could rely on. Not for self-defence, no, never for something good. Offense had been what his father was after.  

What good was a Malfoy if their magic couldn’t hold up to the status of their name? 

There were times when Draco was grateful for the lessons—when he had people taking out their emotions of the war on his body—but mostly he resented them, hated the memories they brought forward.  

All his life he was told to try harder, to do more—it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t enough. There wasn’t a point where his father ever looked at him and was proud. Proud of his effort, or just proud of who he was.  

One thing Draco had learned in life was to not wait for others. If his father couldn’t or wouldn’t be proud of him, then Draco was going to be proud of himself. He was going to look at his accomplishments and be the person he had always wished was there for him. He wasn’t going to wait around for other people to see his merits, not when he could see them just fine.  

Reclaiming duelling for himself was something Draco hadn’t ever realized would hold such an impact on his life. Fighting the negative memories every time he held his wand was worth it. It was worth it to find something he cared about and just go for it.  

And Draco was good at it.  

Duelling was second nature, it wasn’t something he had to try at. It just came naturally, willingly, and easily. It was the breath before he exhaled, and it was the success before ever trying. Every time he stepped out into the arena, Draco felt a calm aura rush over him. It was his zone, his peace and his space to be himself.  

People always say he did it for the fame, that when it’s all over and done with the only good thing would be his legacy. But that wasn’t the truth. Draco did it for the love of the sport, the love of duelling, and the love of himself.  

The world thought they knew his name—they thought they knew just what made Draco who he was. But that was a load of old tosh. The pain, the deserved retribution, and the personal growth showed Draco that they knew nothing—he paid his dues and it was time someone recognized that. They didn’t truly know him at all. And one day, the world would know his name, they would know just who he was, and they wouldn’t be able to knock him down—not again, never again.  

When the crowd cheered once more, Draco knew the match was almost over. His turn would be soon. The knowledge had a slow grin forming. He was made for duelling, his father saw to that, but Draco would win. Only this time, it wouldn’t be duty that had him securing success, it wouldn’t be because his father wanted him to.  

No.  

No, this time, Draco would win because he was good enough, he would win because he wanted to, he would win because he was born to. Duelling was his chance to show the world, his peers, and even his father that it was his time to shine, and he was going to do it.  

Draco would win. He’d be the last one standing, with his wand in the air and his opponent on the ground.  

Everyone watching could put their bets on him, because he had been waiting his whole life to see his name in lights and it was going to happen.  

Only one could walk away the champion, and by Merlin, it would be Draco.  

As Draco walked into the arena, the noise of the crowd grew louder. Earlier it was a distraction, but now, now it was his motivation. Most of them were probably fans of the sport and not him personally, but it didn’t take away from the clapping or the cheering.  

When Draco turned towards his opponent, wand pointed downward and his stance already prepared, he allowed himself the time to observe.  

Knowing one's opponent is just as important as the duel itself. Everyone reacts in certain ways, and that action would also bleed into a duel.  

Blake Petty, Draco's opponent, had a cocky grin on his face to match the overconfident flare of his hands as his wand waved rapidly. Blake was someone that Draco had only faced off against during preliminaries or practices.  

Blake was a moron.  

Despite there being limited personal experience when it came to duelling Blake, he made it his mission to watch all competitors. Sure, Blake did well enough to stay in each season, but that was all that he did—float. Float around enough by making the bare minimum.  

Draco wasn’t worried about the duel. Blake wasn’t someone that could be much when it came to competition. At least he didn’t use enhancers like Price, that was something.  

“Alright, listen up,” the arbitrator announced as she stood off to the side.  
 
“I want a clean match, anything goes, spells are limitless as always—rules are as follows; no physical attacks, only wands or wandless allowed, other conduits of magic are prohibited. Should one of you become incapacitated or die, your second takes over and you are out of the running. Break any of the rules and you concede the match instantly.”  

Blake shrugged his shoulders as he continued to parade around for the crowd. Honestly, Draco should get points for just having to put up with the prat.  

“Take your marks.”  

Draco locked eyes with Blake as they walked forward.  

“I’m the crowd favourite,” Blake mocked as they bowed to each other.  

“I’d rather be disliked than the loser,” Draco whispered, smirking when Blake narrowed his eyes. “You can be the favourite all you want, it won’t change the outcome of the match.”  

Typically, both would retreat to their original positions, but Draco was nothing anymore when it came to tradition. He watched Blake back away, confused tilt to his head when Draco stood motionless.  

Draco always employed different tactics when it came to duelling. Having one specific trait would be a mistake and give the opposition the upper hand. He knew that Blake didn’t understand, and that was good—he didn’t want to be understood.  

Observation was key when it came to all kinds of things, but especially important in duelling. Draco watched Blake move, keenly aware of the mistakes being made.  

As Blake threw out weak spells and exploratory charms, his feet moved too much and too quickly. The action was a loss of stance and that was the biggest mistake a duelist could make. If a duelist was willing to abandon their form for a spell, then they have no right being in the arena, to begin with.  

"Why are you just standing there?" Blake snarled as a Cutting Curse nearly hit Draco's cheek.  

He ignored Blake in favour of observing the way he moved his feet.  

"Fight back!" 

The beginning of a tantrum caused Draco to roll his eyes as he sidestepped a Bombarda and listened to the sound of the explosion behind him. He didn't have to look to know that Blake had put too much power into the spell and the result was an unstable surge of magic.  

Unstable magic was predictably dangerous, but as Draco continued to block Blake's spells he noticed a pattern.  

"Fight back, you coward!" 

The insult was tame compared to the biting sting of his own past—nothing Blake said would waver his concentration.  

Draco took a step forward, unable to stop a smirk from forming as the action caused Blake to pause momentarily—a mistake.  

Several different colours burst out of Draco's wand as he fired harmless rays of light.  

As Blake put in too much magic for the shield he created, unstable energy caused the shield to backfire and sent him propelling backwards.  

Draco transfigured Blake's wand into several strands of rope that quickly bound him. An Incarcerous would have accomplished the same thing, but the outrage on Blake's face was worth the lack of an extra spell.  

 "You'll have to concede," Draco mocked, voice quiet as he winked at the crowd and acknowledged a few screaming fans. He still wasn’t sure whether they were cheering for him or not—it didn't matter at the end of the day, not when he was his own biggest fan.  

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Blake spat as he tried to use brute force to get out of the bindings. "Well, I'm not doing you any favours."  

"Either you concede of your own volition, or you lose by default by not participating. Both are humiliating, but I'm sure you'll think of something."  

Draco walked away, waving at the crowd as he ignored Blake's rage-filled screams of his name, and the announcers began to speak.   

"Petty concedes the match, sending Malfoy into the  semifinals. Up next, will Jordon beat Poole? Stay seated for a brief intermission as the duelists prepare."  

Peace settled inside of Draco as the crowd began to quiet down. A win would do that, and he had known all along it would be him walking out as the winner.  

Harry's fingers unclenched from his knees as he watched Malfoy walk out of the arena. He had known Malfoy would win, but it was another thing to see it.  

"I'm beginning to think you should be the gambler," Randy grumbled as he crumpled his losing ticket.  

"Did you see that? He baited Petty."  

"I have eyes, so yes, I saw it." 

"Had him right from the beginning."  

"I am aware of the definition."  

"Merlin, and his form."  

"It's already been established that you have a thing for him."  

Harry's cheeks felt hot as he glared at Randy.  

"I meant his duelling form, not his body!" 

When Randy nodded in a mocking way, Harry gave up.   

"I suppose his body was fit as well," Harry mumbled. "But that wasn't what I was looking at."  

He could tell that Randy didn't believe him, but he didn't care, not when his mind was running through the duel as he tried to commit it all to memory.  

"I'm excited for the next match. Jordon versus Poole. I have a lot of money riding on Poole."  

That had Harry's nose scrunching up in distaste. "Poole? He doesn't have the skills to go against Jordon. Especially after his fumble last competition against Shaw. That bone shattering curse sent him to St. Mungos."  

Randy huffed, the sound condescending.  

"And? A bone shattering curse is an easy fix."  

Easy fix. Harry scoffed, clearly Randy had never been on the receiving end of the spell. If only everyone could be so lucky.  

"It shattered every bone in his wand hand. You saw what happened in his training season when he tried using his non-dominant hand, right? He knocked himself out. No way he's recovered enough to hold out against Jordon."  

The fight went out of Randy as his shoulders slumped and he looked down at his ticket forlornly.  

"Well, what about the last match of the day?" 

"Stone versus Wheeler?" Harry asked as Randy nodded. "You'll be fine as long as you bet on Wheeler."  

Randy threw his tickets on the ground and flung himself backwards in a fit of dramatics.  

"You are the worst gambler I have ever met," Harry said in amusement as Randy folded his arms with a huff.  

When Randy stopped looking put out and a mischievous smirk formed, Harry became wary.  

"Looks like your bisexual crush is on his way over."  

Harry's head snapped up before he craned it in several directions in an attempt to see whatever Randy saw. He thought it was a joke, but as Malfoy stopped in front of Harry, his mind blanked.  

Malfoy's dress shirt was still open, only now his chest was right in front of Harry's face—the sweat had increased and he couldn't help but watch the way it glistened against pale skin and light blond hair dusting defined muscles. He had to force himself not to look down at where he knew the outline of Malfoy's cock would be—the joggers were a blessing and a curse.   

"—Potter."  

"Huh?" Harry shook his head as he looked into Malfoy's face. An arched brow accompanied by a smirk that was bordering on smug was never a good combination.  

"I asked what you thought of the match."  

"Which one?"  

Randy snorted, and Harry wanted to close his eyes at his own stupidity.  

"Mine, you imbecile."  

Harry tried not to get embarrassed, but it was hard with the way Randy continued to snicker quietly.  

"You did great," he finally settled on. "I knew you would."  

Malfoy arched both brows, and Harry feared what that meant.  

"Is that why you come to all the matches? For me?" 

"Don't flatter yourself—" 

"Yes, he does."  

Randy and Harry spoke at once, before they both glared at each other.  

"Ignore him," Harry said as he tried to smile convincingly, he was sure it came off as a grimace instead. "I don’t even know him." 

"That hurts, Harry. The hour we have spent talking has been the best hour of my life."  

"Oh Merlin," Harry whispered as he covered his face with his hands.  

When Harry looked up, his eyes widened with how close Malfoy was to his own face.  

"You know," Malfoy began, eyes twinkling in a way that had Harry just as confused as he was intrigued. "Perhaps I should be the flattered one."  

Harry wasn't sure what to say, not when Malfoy's happy trail was right in his line of sight. Merlin, that was obscene.  

As quickly as Malfoy had arrived, he was gone. Harry watched him walk away with the same appreciation for Malfoy's backside as he did his front.  

"I guess I'll see you around, Potter," Malfoy called over his shoulder with a wink. Harry knew he wouldn't survive if that happened again.  

"That was honestly embarrassing."  

"Randy," Harry sighed, eyes still on Malfoy's retreating back. "Shut up."   

"I think there's potential," Randy continued, ignoring Harry completely. "As long as you quit being pathetic and just go for it."  

"It's not that easy."  

Despite his words, Harry knew there was merit to Randy's advice. Malfoy wouldn't have stopped for no reason—surely that meant something.  

"I know tension, and that was definitely the best kind there is. Go for it. I guarantee it will end well. I'm willing to bet on it."  

"That's not comforting."  

"Gambling on matches is different from gambling on love." Randy's tone was defensive and it had Harry snorting.  

"It's still gambling, something you clearly are horrible at."  

"Just you watch, I'll prove you wrong."  

Harry wasn't sure whether he was comforted or worried. He looked towards the direction Malfoy went and wondered if it was all worth it.  

Perhaps he should let fate help in the end.  

And if that happened to be Randy and his shit gambling skills, well, then it would surely be an adventure.  

"What took you so long? I had to beat an old lady with a baguette to make sure your spot would be safe."  

Harry stopped mid-way down to stare at Randy incredulously.  

"Tell me you are taking the piss." With only silence as his answer, he shook his head.  

"It wasn't even my baguette," Randy mumbled to himself, and Harry had to force himself to not ask—he really didn't want to know.  

The first match was already going, and Harry was grateful it wasn’t Malfoy's.  

"So, who did you bet on this time?" 

Randy waved a fist where the tickets were clenched tightly.  

"I bet on Chambers to win the first match." 

"Against Jordon?" Harry shook his head, disappointed with Randy's line of thought.  

"What?"   

Harry couldn't help but laugh at how dejected Randy's demeanour became.  

He looked to the match and quickly took in the scene. "You see how the stance mirrors the quarterfinals? When Chambers was on the defence for so long?" 

"Yeah, which could mean she'll pull another stunt and overtake Jordon like she did with Price."  

"Price and Jordon aren't even close in skill level. Price was on enhancers, Jordon has raw talent."  

"So does Chambers."  

Harry conceded that with a tilt of his head. "Yes, she's talented, but she doesn't have the knowledge to counter Jordon."  

"I don't buy it."  

"That's why you lose so often."  

The longer the match went on, the more Randy became frustrated.  

"No, don't feint," Randy moaned pitifully, eyes on the match as Chambers took several steps backwards to avoid Jordon's onslaught of spells. "That's a lame trick."  

"One Jordon expects," Harry commented as Jordon continued to back Chambers in a corner.  

"She's not going to win, is she?" 

Harry shook his head. He felt bad when Randy threw his ticket on the ground when Chambers tried to charge Jordon and was taken down by a simple Petrificus Totalus—Hermione would be proud. 

"Who did you bet on for the final match?" Harry asked, eyes narrowing.  

"Malfoy. Merlin knows you would have hexed me otherwise."  

Harry nodded once in approval, not denying the accusation—it was probably true.  

"I think Wheeler will be a hard opponent," Randy continued as he looked down to his ticket.  

"I'm confident in his abilities."  

When Harry looked at Randy, all he could see was amusement, and he definitely didn't appreciate it.   

Randy might use gambling as a means of betting, but Harry liked to use his intuition—it never let him down before.  

And his intuition had always had an interest in Malfoy—always.  

Draco took a deep breath as he cleared his mind and focused on the few moments of calm before he'd have to step out into the arena.  

Time always passed quicker when he needed it to pause.  

The sound of his name being announced ended his reprieve, and Draco entered the arena, a confident smirk on his face.  

Wheeler was nicer than Blake, but he knew she was just as cocky under her polite smiles and sweet posture.  

"Malfoy."  

"Wheeler." He arched a brow when she didn't offer her hand or bow. It was a powerplay, but Draco didn't mind playing by her rules.  

When triumph shone in her eyes as he offered his hand first, he knew he would win the match. She had already given everything away.  

As the arbitrator stated the rules, Draco made sure he didn't make eye contact with Wheeler.  

"Begin."  

Draco stood still, not moving from the middle of the arena, a move that gained several confused sounds from the crowd.  

"What are you doing?" Wheeler asked, tone annoyed more so than confused as she retreated to the typical starting point.  

He didn't respond, and instead gestured for her to start.  

Wheeler frowned before sending a hesitant stunner towards him—something Draco easily blocked with a flick of a wrist.  

As she increased both the speed and the level of spells, Draco refused to move, remained in the same spot and continued to block with the same effortless flick as the first spell.  

The more he acted as if her spells meant nothing, the more her rigid control slipped. He could see the anger in each breath, spell and body movement she took.  

Wheeler's jaw clenched as she took a step forward, and Draco knew that she wouldn't be able to last much longer.  

"I'm not some rookie you get to teach a lesson to," Wheeler exhaled harshly as she put extra force into a particularly tough Gravity Pull spell. Draco had to put his weight on his right side to maintain upright.  

"You stand there like it's easy. As if I haven't had to fight my arse off to get here."  

Draco deflected another round of spells with less ease than before, it was hard to maintain a nonchalance when his body grew tired.  

"As if the years of training mean nothing to you. You think you are the toughest person I have faced? Ha, don't make me laugh."  

"You won't be the one laughing," Draco whispered as he sidestepped the same spells she sent previously, he knew she wasn't thinking clearly. "I will."  

When Draco stepped forward, she spelled a shield—which he knew she would, only it wouldn't be enough.  

"Anapneo."  

"But that's—" Wheeler's eyes widened as the spell travelled through the shield. Her free hand clutched her throat where he knew the spell was widening her airways. 

In her distraction, Draco was able to get her wand away with a simple Expelliarmus—Potter would be proud.  

Without a wand, the match ended as she conceded easily.  

"Good match," Draco said as he handed her wand.  

When Wheeler stormed away, Draco shrugged—couldn’t please everyone.  

"Malfoy wins the match with an unusual tactic. The final spell of the duel was a healing spell.  Anapneo is typically used when a blockage constricts the airways. Such an odd choice hasn't been seen since 1982 when Sloane Lucas won the finals with a tickling charm."  

Draco waved as he scanned the crowd, smirk melting into a smile at the sight of Potter. He wasn't sure why Potter always came to the matches, but he certainly wasn't complaining—especially when Potter showed up in his Auror robes.  

Perhaps he would walk away a winner in more than one way if he played his cards right.  

"This brings an end to the day's festivities. Be sure to come back next week for the Finals. Jordon versus Malfoy. Who will win?"  

"I told you," Harry chanted as he cheered with the rest of the crowd when the announcers left their post.  

"I won," Randy said, awe colouring his tone as he stared down at his ticket. "I don't believe it."  

Harry threw an arm around Randy. "Stick with me, and you'll win every gamble."  

"Well, that's certainly an interesting point of view from an Auror."  

The drawling tone had Harry's eyes widening as he looked up. The sight of Malfoy in robes instead of joggers was honestly a letdown, but the robes made him more elegant than before.  

"Congratulations," Harry offered, a small smile on his face that only grew when Malfoy mirrored the action.  

"Thank you."  

"I saw the Expelliarmus, an unusual method in a serious duel." Harry had a hard time keeping a straight face at that one.  

Malfoy smirked, pride evident in the action. "That was a nod to you, I'm glad you caught it."  

Harry tried not to smile wider, something he didn't think would be difficult but definitely was.  

They stared at each other, the silence comforting in a way that contradicted who they were.  

"This is awkward."  

Harry closed his eyes at Randy's interruption. Honestly, he wasn't even sure why he continued to sit next to him.  

"I disagree," whispered Malfoy, the tone had Harry opening one eye just a crack. The soft expression on Malfoy's face had his other eye opening as well.  

"I meant for me. Who cares if you two are."  

Malfoy snorted before it turned into a full laugh. What surprised Harry was how open Malfoy looked as his body moved with each shake of his shoulders. He wasn't sure who Malfoy really was, wasn't sure what had changed over the years, or even what hadn't—all he knew was that he wanted to know more. Wanted to find out for himself exactly who Malfoy was. 

"I can see why you and Potter are friends, you both are crass."   

"I can see why you and Harry haven't gotten together yet, you both are stupid."  

Harry groaned when Malfoy's eyes snapped to him.  

"Please don't help."  

"Help?" Malfoy asked with a head tilt and a teasing smile. "Does the great Harry Potter need help talking to me?" 

"Talking?" Randy mumbled incredulously. "Idiots. I'm surrounded by idiots."  

The sound of someone calling Malfoy's name had Harry both grateful and disappointed.  

"That's my manager, I have to go. But you'll be at the next match?" 

"Absolutely," Randy answered immediately. "I've got a lot of galleons riding on you."  

Malfoy shook his head. "That's great, I aim to please, but I was actually talking to Potter."  

"Oh, well he wouldn't miss it, he can't stay away."  

"I can talk for myself."  

Malfoy clapped his hands once; his lips were twitching and Harry wanted to hate him—he really did.  

"Great, then I'll see you next week."  

Harry watched him go and couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to see Malfoy stay for once.  

"You're early, that's suspicious."  

Harry rolled his eyes as he sat down in his usual seat. The crowd was larger than normal, and he knew it was only due to the finals.  

"I took the day off."  

"Bloody loser."  

There was no winning when it came to Randy. Harry didn't bother to reply, it would be of no use anyway.  

"And what's your excuse? You're always here before me."  

"This is my job."  

Harry knew his face reflected the pure done his entire being felt towards Randy.  

"You think Malfoy will win?" 

He narrowed his eyes when Randy's ticket was covered by a large thumb.  

"If you put a bet on Jordon, I am never speaking to you again."  

Randy laughed loudly as he removed his thumb to show Malfoy's name on the ticket.  

"Calm down you absolute tit. I've learned to trust your judgement."  

Before Harry could say anything, Randy kept going.  

"Which is why you need to trust my judgement in return."  

"About?" Harry asked, wary of the answer.  

"Love. You and Malfoy. Life. Your crush—everything."  

Harry tried to ignore him, he did, but the level of dramatics was too much.  

"Life, really?"  

Randy waved a hand, discounting any questions. "I'm telling you, you and Malfoy are worth betting on."  

As Malfoy entered the arena and the crowd screamed, he couldn't help but agree—just a little.  

When Draco entered the arena, the sounds of the crowd cheering fueled him. He didn't care if they were cheering for him or not. In the end, it didn’t matter—not when their excitement was palpable.  

"Can Malfoy secure another win making him the champion for the third year running? Or will Jordon surprise us all and dethrone the competition?" 

Draco glared at the announcers' booth before he walked to the centre and eyed Jordon.  

When it came to competitors, Jordon wasn't different from the next, or even that different from Draco. They all had the same fighting spirit, they all had a thirst to prove themselves, and they all had the power to back it up.  

The key wasn't to be stronger, faster, or more agile—no, the recipe for success was wanting it enough. It was the pain of not giving up when all options showed defeat, it was a renewed energy when the body felt drained, and it was the exhale despite being out of breath. Success happened when one was prepared to never back down.  

That was the difference between Draco and Jordon.  

Draco's entire life he did nothing but give in, he had listened to opinions that weren't his own, and he had allowed his mind to be swayed by pressure and fear. He knew exactly what it felt like to be on the losing side of fate, and that was a reality that would never exist again.  

No, Draco wasn't going to let someone else dictate his choices, decisions or life. He knew he'd win, not because he felt superior to Jordon—because he wasn't—but because he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He wasn't going to allow another option besides success.  

As Draco met Jordon's gaze, he allowed the confidence that always lurked beneath a calm exterior to extend outward. He knew some would think it a cocky bravado, but he could tell by the way Jordon inhaled sharply that it was understood.  

He tuned out the sound of the arbitrator going over the rules, and instead focused internally. He knew the match might not be easy, but he'd still win.  

Because he had to.  

"Begin."  

Jordon wasted no time before rapid spells were shot in a succession that Draco admired. He had always known Jordon would be a tough opponent.  

With each new match came a new strategy. What worked on Blake and Wheeler would certainly never work on Jordon. There was something about Jordon that intrigued Draco, he knew he was projecting his own experiences, but if any of the duelists would match his skill, it would be Jordon.  

"No games?" Jordon asked, breathless with the effort to block out Draco's magic as it slammed against and ever-growing weakening shield. "I expected a show." 

Draco hummed thoughtfully as he noticed a change in tactic as Jordon dropped his defences and instead used offensive measures as a makeshift fortification.  

"Sorry to disappoint," said Draco as he blocked an Expulsion charm. "But we both know that wouldn't have worked."  

Jordon acknowledge that with a nod of his head before once again switching tactics. It was a puzzle of sorts, and Draco knew if the more he thought about it, the worse off he'd be in concentration—he couldn’t afford to be distracted by a show of strength.  

Silence settled around them except for an occasional spell. Each time Draco thought he had the upper hand, Jordon would counter him easily. Each time it seemed as if Jordon was losing momentum, a new burst of magic would come forward.  

Despite the match being harder than anticipated, Draco was having fun. It wasn't often he went up against someone like Jordon.  

"Reducto!" Draco shouted as Jordon's shield crumbled. He knew he wouldn't have more than a second or two before a new shield was in place.  

He shot out both his wand and his hand but said nothing.  

Jordon's wrist flicked in an effort to block any spells, but when no spark left Draco's wand he furrowed his brows.  

"What—" 

An explosion broke through the shield and knocked Jordon off his feet. 

"It would appear that Malfoy used wandless magic, it's unclear exactly which spell he used, but onlookers believe it to be a delayed Bombarda. Malfoy is known for his use of unusual tactics, but this one really changes the game."  

Jordon's hand shot forward despite still being on the ground, and Draco was impressed. It wasn't hard to counter the spells, and it seemed more of a last-ditch effort on Jordon's part.  

Draco sheathed his wand and instead used wandless magic to not only levitate Jordon off the ground, but to also incapacitate him with a Sleeping Charm.  

"It's all over folks, Malfoy wins it all and secures the title three years running!  Talk about a surprise ending. Wandless magic isn't used often due to the strain on the magical core, but Malfoy's power seems to hold no bounds."  

He tuned out the crowd, announcers and any well-wishers as he stepped out of the arena and into the duelist tent.  

It hadn't been easy, but he had won. Draco had known he would, but living the reality was different. His hard work had paid off, his training had been gruelling but worth it.  

He had been betting on himself, and it was worth it. Everything that led up to it, was worth it.  

"Merlin's saggy ballsacks, I did it," Randy whispered, awe in his tone as Harry watched him become immobile.  

"Never say that again," Harry begged as he cheered with the rest of the crowd. "And we both know you wouldn’t have bet on him if it wasn't for me."  

Randy shook his head, and Harry wondered if he was going to go into shock.  

"You're right," Randy began, a small smile in place as he looked down into the arena in time to see Jordon levitated away by healers.  

"I bet on him because of you, but are you going to let him get away without betting on yourself?" 

Harry closed his eyes before he steeled his resolve and stood up.  

"I've got my own my match to win, excuse me."  

The sound of Randy whooping had Harry grinning as he pushed his way through the crowd and made his way towards the arena.  

He couldn't wait for Malfoy to come to him, not again, not when he felt pride for Malfoy's win and the thought of sitting still drove him antsy.  

He wasn’t sure how long he stood near the area sectioned off for the duelers, had it taken longer the previous times? Or was his attention span lessening with no distractions? 

Harry sighed as he looked up to the sky and tried to think of something to say. He could lead off with talking about Randy and his fascination with their love life, but the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to bring up Randy at all.  

His mind moved from one attempt to the other as he wished that the words would flow easily.  

"Potter?" 

Harry spun around to see Malfoy against the wall, one knee bent and a foot flat against the brick, giving off an aura of tranquillity. Malfoy was in his usual attire—joggers that hid nothing and a shirt that displayed everything.  

"I came to congratulate you."  

Malfoy arched a brow before he pushed off against the wall and stopped in front of Harry.  

"I don't believe you."  

"What—"  

"You would have waited for me to come to you, if that was the case. I think you are here for something else."  

Another step forward had them nearly touching, and Harry wanted to press forward and see if Malfoy's skin felt as tantalizing as it looked, but he restrained himself.  

When Harry opened his mouth only to close it, Malfoy tsked.  

"You know, I used to hate that you were in the audience. Hated that I couldn't do anything without you watching me. I know you used to watch me in Hogwarts, you watched me during my community service, you watched me make a fool of myself in the Wizengamot and you watched me during every shift of my life." 

Harry tried to take a step back, but Malfoy moved with him, keeping the distance the same.  

"No matter what you might think, I've never wanted your attention, not in the way I had it. But now, now I crave it. I want you to watch me, Potter."  

Harry wasn't sure if his breathy exhale was as desperate as he felt, but he hoped not.  

When Malfoy leaned forward, mouth near his ear, Harry's breath caught.  

"I want you to watch my every move."  

"Malfoy."  

Malfoy leaned back, eyes searching Harry's face.  

"Potter," He parroted back, just as quiet, and just as breathless. "I don't know what you want, but I know that I want you, and have for a while."  

"In what way?" 

Malfoy smiled, the contrast to his previous words jarred Harry.  

"In any way I can have you."  

Harry raised his hands and hovered them over Malfoy's arms.  

"I want that too."  

Malfoy knocked Harry's hands to the side before pulling Harry forward.  

"I want to kiss you, and I want it to mean something," Malfoy whispered, breath hot against Harry's face.  

Harry nodded, voice gone as he allowed Malfoy to cradle his face.  

When their lips touched, and Malfoy let out a muffled sound, Harry couldn't hold back from urging their lips into a firmer pressure. He wrapped his arms around Malfoy's waist, through the shirt and settled his palms on a warm back.  

The kiss wasn't chaste, but it wasn't the passion he knew it would get to at a later date. Harry wanted to deepen the kiss, wanted to show Malfoy everything he had been keeping quiet, but there would be time for that later. There would be time to explore that aspect to them several times over.  

He wanted soft, he wanted small kisses that led into more, but still held some restraint. So that's exactly what he did. They chased each other's mouth when either one would separate for longer than a few seconds.  

Harry wasn't sure how long they stood outside the arena snogging, but he knew it would never be long enough.  

When Malfoy rested his forehead against Harry's and smiled brightly, he knew Randy had been right. It was worth it, they were worth it.  

Love was worth betting on.  

Even if it was done by a gambler with little skill and too nosy for their own good.  

~fin~ 

Bonus Scene 

"I'm telling you, Shaw has made a comeback this year, he's going to win, I can just feel it. You saw him in the preliminaries."  

Harry sighed heavily before he threw his last biscuit at Randy's head.  

"I might buy that if Shaw wasn't up against Wheeler. She'll dominate him."  

Randy threw his ticket on the ground and began complaining loudly.  

"I don't understand how you are so good at this. I'm the gambler here." 

Harry smiled, but his attention was on Draco as the duelists entered the arena. No matter how many times he watched Draco enter, he would never tire of the outfit. The joggers truly were obscene, and he didn't blame the crowd of admirers when they whistled.  

"Merlin, look at him."  

"I prefer not to actually. That bulge could poke an eye out. I'll keep my eyes on his wand, you pervert."  

"Your loss."  

"Eye your boyfriend on your own time."  

Harry's smile turned into a full-fledged grin as Draco looked up and sent him a wink. The screams grew louder, and he knew that Draco was the crowd favorite of the new season. 

He was his favorite as well.  

"The first match of the season has been highly anticipated. Third time champion Malfoy up against the rookie of the year, Potts. Who will win?" 

Harry already knew who would win, and all his bets were on Draco.