Draco smiled politely. 'I'm sorry, what part of 'sod off, you unspeakable fat git' didn't you understand?'
Wormtail looked as if he hadn't heard this. He was staring at Draco, and there was a look in his eyes that Harry didn't like at all. 'You are the Heir,' he said to Draco. 'There is none other like you. As such, you are entitled to certain…special treatment.'
Draco looked both fascinated and repelled. 'What sort of special treatment?'
Three times I must ask you,' Wormtail he said, as if this were something he had learned by rote. 'Three times I must ask you if you will come willingly before I can use force against you. For the last time: will you come with me to serve my Master?'
Draco looked at Harry, and then back at Wormtail, and shook his head. 'No, I won't.'
Wormtail's mouth curled into an ugly smile. 'Then I will have to force you.'
'Force me?' Draco's face took on the tense, slightly maniacal look that Harry knew meant he was now not just very but extremely angry. He held out his left hand and the sword flew from the grass and landed in his grasp. He swung it forward, the blade toward Wormtail. 'Come anywhere near me, and I'll introduce you to the pointy end of Clarence.'
'Clarence?' Wormtail said, blinking.
'You named your sword?' Harry said.
'So?' said Draco.
'You named it Clarence?'
'Well, it was either that or give it a really overwrought name like Durendal or Greyswandir or Drynwyn and why are we talking about this right now?'
Wormtail was chuckling. 'Ah, yes,' he said. 'The Living Blade. Made of demon metal, by demons. Rather a large weapon for a youngster like yourself, don't you think, young Draco? Wouldn't you prefer a slingshot?'
Harry's glanced at Draco, and saw the flicker of confusion in his eyes. He's just bluffing you, Harry thought. Stall him. Sirius should be here any minute. He's supposed to come through after me.
Wormtail was still smiling as, slowly, he got to his feet. The fire about them died as suddenly as it had sprung up and Harry shivered — not from real cold, since he could feel neither cold nor heat in the state he was in, but from apprehension. 'You might know,' Wormtail said, 'that there have been three Living Blades throughout history. Yours, that was once my master's. Godric Gryffindor had one, although his was not demonic in origin. And there was a third. It no longer exists. It was melted down by the Dark Lord to make another weapon.' He raised his right hand, and Harry saw the moonlight gleam off the polished surface of his metal hand. 'This weapon,' said Wormtail, and suddenly his hand shot forward, the fingers lengthening swiftly, braiding themselves together, melting and reforming into a razor-edged, glittering, living blade, almost an exact image of the sword Draco held, although its hilt was Wormtail's wrist.
Harry felt his eyes widen, and shot a glance toward Draco, who looked equally astonished, but remained very still, his eyes fixed on Wormtail. 'If you wanted to kill me,' he said tightly, 'you could just crush the Charm. Slytherin wants me alive. You won't kill me.'
Wormtail shrugged, brandishing his elongated sword-arm, which gleamed like the carapace of a metallic insect. 'He wants you alive,' he agreed. 'But he never said anything about wanting you intact.
You'll serve his purpose just as well missing your arms or your legs.
Or so I have been given to understand.'
Draco didn't look afraid, just furious. 'Fine,' he said. 'Come and get me then.'
Wormtail lunged towards him just as Draco raised his sword, and the two blades hissed more than clanged as they struck against each other. Harry saw Draco's eyes flick towards him quickly, saw him give an infinitesimal rueful smile, as if to say don't worry about it, before he turned back to the fight.
Goddamn it, Harry raged inwardly, I feel like a complete useless berk. Sirius, where are you? And then, as he watched, his eyes widened in amazement…Sirius….you should see this…you wouldn't believe it…
Harry suddenly remembered the fencing-room back at Malfoy Mansion, its walls lined with terrifying weapons, and Lucius Malfoy tossing him a sword. Let's test your mettle, boy. He hated to admit it, but apparently Lucius' training of his son had shown results.
Draco could fight. Harry knew very little about sword fighting, it had never interested him particularly, but Quidditch had given him a good eye for skill, and Draco had skill. He moved faster than Harry would have thought it possible for him to move, and as far as Harry could tell, he looked like he was having a good time doing it.
Wormtail, quite obviously, couldn't fight, but it didn't seem to matter. His sword-hand was doing all the work for him, leaping, cutting, thrusting and lunging with an eye-dazzling swiftness.
Wormtail followed along after the sword's direction like a hapless tin can tied to a car bumper. His eyes widened as the sword made a wide sweeping swing towards Draco — which was blocked — then nearly tripped as the blade cut at Draco's legs. Draco jumped up and over the blade and turned to face Wormtail, holding Slytherin's sword in front of him. 'You're pathetic,' he hissed. 'And you're going to get tired first. Then what? Is your arm going to rip itself off and come after me?'
Wormtail's eyes widened as if this hadn't occurred to him.
'Let's find out,' said Draco, and slashed at him hard with Slytherin's sword. Wormtail yelled and jumped back, bleeding from a cut on his shoulder. He appeared to be trying to back away, but the sword wouldn't let him; it leaped forward, cutting at Draco with renewed vigor. Draco ducked, but not quite quickly enough to miss the blow entirely, and the tip of Wormtail's blade opened a wide gash along his cheekbone. Blood splattered down onto his white shirt.
Are you all right? Harry thought at him quickly. Can you do this?
I can do it for a while. He can't fight, but that sword can. Where's Sirius?
Harry tried to keep the despair out of his tone. I don't know.
Wormtail had landed another blow, this time on Draco's arm. It hadn't pierced through the thick leather of his jacket, but Draco looked irritated anyway. 'Bastard,' he hissed under his breath, and swung his sword down hard. Wormtail rolled aside, missing the blow by inches. He was drenched in sweat now, his bald head glistening, his pudgy little eyes bulging with fear. He looked as if he would have liked to be anywhere else, but the Living
