blame it. People probably didn?t run towards it with great enthusiasm all that often. This most likely accounted for why it actually allowed Harry to get within striking distance. Draco watched in astonishment as Harry completed his race towards the manticore, and drove his sword into its chest.
The manticore roared, a terrible, earsplitting howl that sounded like a thousand trains pulling into a thousand stations all at once. It reared back and struck out with its paw, which sent Harry spinning into the air. He crashed into a wall, fell to the floor, and lay still.
Seizing the hilt of the sword with its teeth, the manticore yanked the blade out of its chest, spit it onto the floor, and advanced on Harry, its barbed stinger swishing furiously. Draco felt a jolt of cold spread up his arm from his own sword. If it could have spoken, he knew what it would say, Let it kill him.
Harry struggled to sit up; and then Draco couldn?t see his face as the manticore moved to block him…
Draco raised his hand. 'Impedimenta!'
The Hex struck the monster in the side. It spun around, glaring furiously. Draco waved his arms. 'Hey!' he yelled, although his mouth was very dry. 'Over here! You big, hairy, uh, overgrown…get away from him!' He paused and blinked. Get away from him? I can?t believe I said that.
Harrys voice spoke in the back of his head. And neither can I.
But the manticore appeared to have no such problem suspending disbelief. It whirled, roared, and plunged towards Draco, its claws skittering along the marble. He stared, too afraid to even really feel any fear. He couldn?t imagine his fencing skills were going to do him any good at all, it was simply too big and too fast and too-It struck out at him with a paw. He threw himself flat and felt the claws whistle over his head. The manticore made a low rumbling sound deep in its chest — laughter. Its playing with me, he thought in disbelief. Bastard. He sat up, and the next swipe knocked him flat again, the claws raking his shirt, drawing blood. Wincing, he rolled onto his back and looked up — to see the huge, poison-barbed tail arch back, and then whip forward towards his prone form with the speed of a striking snake. He had time to throw his arms over his face, time to think two words — deadly poison — and then something swished over his head, and there was a hard thwack as something else struck the ground next to him.
It missed, he thought. It missed me — and then he heard a bellow of anguish so loud it split his ears. He jerked upright, and saw Harry standing over him, his sword upraised and covered in blood, and behind him the manticore, rearing and spitting in agony, thrashing its tail, which was now jetting blood like a fountain. Harry had sliced it in half on its downward stroke, and the thump that Draco had heard had been the sound of the severed scorpion-tail landing next to him. It lay on the stone floor in a widening pool of viscous red and black liquids, curling and uncurling a little, spasmodically, about a foot long and as thick around as his arm.
Rolling over, he seized the tail, dropping his sword as he did so, wincing at the slimy touch on his hand, careful not to grasp it near its poisonous barbed end. He sprang to his feet, vaguely aware that he was drenched in manticore blood, vaguely aware of Harry, holding his sword and looking as tiny in front of the rearing monster as a piece of debris in the face of an oncoming wave, shouting something at him, vaguely aware of the manticores furious yells as he darted towards it — it lunged, snapping at him and he saw its double row of razor-sharp teeth — he drew his arm back and as hard as he could threw the barbed stinger into the monsters gaping open mouth.
Reflexively, its teeth snapped down, its throat working to swallow-
then it froze in place, choking and gurgling, lashing its head furiously from side to side as if it could rid itself of its own poison.
Its knees began to buckle, and it screamed. Not like an animal might scream, but a human scream of pain and agony. The monsters screams knifed into Dracos ears, sending him staggering back, stumbling, and he felt Harry catch him hard around the arm, steadying him. Harry let go almost immediately, and the two boys stood and stared as the manticore gave another, final howl and crashed to the ground like a tree falling, its tail still jetting blood, rolling onto its back, head lolling, limbs rigid as broomsticks.
'Is it dead?' Harry hissed, his voice hard.
'Not yet,' said Draco, and almost as if it had heard him, its huge dinner-plate eyes snapped wide open and staring. And it spoke.
'You,' it snarled, and its voice was like gravel running over sandpaper. Its gaze was fixed on Draco, who almost involuntarily took a step forward. The manticores scarlet-black eyes followed his movement, glittering. 'You,' it said again. 'I am dying, and so I know you.' The beasts eyes rolled, the whites showing briefly. It seemed to be struggling to move. 'Master,' it growled. 'Why do you slay me? It was you who made me what I am.'
Draco stared, feeling his heart beating in slow, uneven thumps as the adrenaline slowly drained out of his veins, leaving him dizzy and sick. 'No,' he said, his voice harsh. 'Not me.'
'I know you,' said the manticore again, and then a great spasm wracked its body; its eyes shut, and it died.
After the howls and the screaming and the deafening sounds of the fight, the silence that descended on the room once the manticore was dead was profound. Draco turned slowly, and looked at Harry.
And got something of a shock. Harry was drenched in blood — a little of his own, probably, but mostly the monsters. His shirt was soaked scarlet, his hands covered in blood, his hair plastered to his head and scarlet rivulets running down his face and neck. Without looking at Draco, he said, flatly, 'Give me your cloak.'
Numbly, Draco took it off and handed it to him. Harry plucked off his glasses, used the edge of the cloak to clean the blood off them, and then handed the cloak back to Draco, sliding his glasses back onto his nose. Through the newly cleaned lenses, he regarded the dead monster with narrowed eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was cold. 'I guess we won.'
'Its dead, if thats what you mean.' Draco glanced down at himself. He was splattered with blood as well, but not nearly as drenched as Harry. He looked up and found the other boy staring at him, his face streaked with blood, eyes burning with an unnerving green fire.
'It said something to you,' said Harry, gesturing at the manticore.
'What did it say?'
Draco blinked in surprise. 'You mean you didn?t understand it?'
Harry shook his head, narrowing his eyes. 'No. No, I didn?t.'
It just asked me why I —
'Stay out of my head,' Harry snapped, backing away as if distance could snap the connection between them. 'We?re not okay. Did anything give you the idea that we were okay?'
