forgotten the pleasure of fencing with someone who was a match for him. The swords struck against each other with the light, regular rapidity of piano keys striking home — and in Draco's ears they made their own, very pleasant music. It was interesting, he thought, that although Harry had absorbed his knowledge of swordplay from Draco directly, he had nevertheless developed his own style. He fought like he played Quidditch, instinctively and without any fear. Which was a good quality when it came to Quidditch; less so with swordplay, where an understanding of the mortal potential of ones actions was integral.
He also fought directly, with much forward motion. Draco himself fought with cautious treachery, having been taught the tricks of betrayal by his father, although he did not use them here. Not on Harry.
He brought his sword in from the side, and then, just as Harry moved to block and reply, he glanced over Harrys shoulder and saw that Salazar Slytherin was standing by the entrance to the cell, watching them.
He stopped dead. He was vaguely aware of a flash of silver at the corner of his eyes, and then Harrys voice exploded into his brain.
Jesus, Malfoy, I almost killed you! Why the hell didn?t you block me-
Look behind you.
Harry turned slowly. And froze. And took a step back. They were shoulder to shoulder now, facing Slytherin. Who stood with his long arms crossed, one white finger against his chin, his eyes black and unreadable.
Finally, Draco found his voice, or at least a voice. It sounded a little squeakier that he would have liked. 'You followed me,' he said to Slytherin.
'I did not,' said the Snake Lord, uncrossing his arms and propelling himself off the wall. 'I came here for the Heir of Gryffindor. I was not expecting to see you.' He looked from Harry to Draco and back again. 'I must say I?m not at all sure what to think,' Slytherin went on, and his voice was low. 'Here is my Heir, trying, to all appearances, to kill the Heir of Gryffindor. Which is admirable behavior on his part, and should be applauded. And yet. And yet I have to ask myself. Why did he not just run our enemy through while he was chained to the wall? Why release him, and not just release him, but arm him with weaponry? It makes no sense.'
Draco didn?t say anything. He stood with his hand tight on the hilt of the sword. He didn?t move, because he couldn?t.
It was Harry who spoke, Harry who looked at Slytherin with two smoldering green coals of eyes, and spoke in a voice that was deadly. 'I told him that the only reason you were ever able to kill Godric is that you snuck up and stabbed him in the back. Its in the history books. You?re famous all right — a famous coward. And I asked him if he wanted the Slytherin line to be famous as cowards forever.'
Slytherins eyes flicked away from Harry. Draco got the feeling that he hated Harry so much that it actually hurt Slytherin to look at him. He looked at Draco instead.
'So he baited you,' he said. 'And you let him.'
Draco cleared his throat. 'I wanted a fair fight.'
'A fair fight. Theres no such thing.' Slytherin shook his head. But his eyes were amused. 'Very well then. Leveler heads than yours have allowed themselves to be swayed by such mockery. I suppose it speaks well of you, that you wish to defend the honor of our House.
So. Carry on.'
Draco gaped at him. 'What?'
'You heard me,' said Slytherin. 'Carry on.' He leaned back against the wall. 'Its rather amusing.'
Draco stared.
'Do as I say,' the Snake Lord said.
Draco looked at Harry. Who raised his sword, and shrugged. He looked pale, but not with fear or consternation. His face was set and a little distant. So his fathers ghost had looked, when met in the afterlife. Harry met Dracos eyes steadily. How long can we stall for?
Automatically, Draco raised his arm, and saluted. Harry returned the gesture. Stall? You mean until the others get here?
Harry feinted towards him. Thats what I mean.
It took Draco a moment to respond, and block him. The swords rang against each other, striking sparks. I can?t believe we?re going to do this. Then he broke off, as Harrys sword came at him again, this time cutting from above. Draco blocked him, without much enthusiasm.
Harrys eyes met his over the flashing metal. Like you mean it, Malfoy.
Fine.
Harrys blade cut low, and Draco sprang away from it, crouching as he came down as he had been taught by his father, and thrust his own blade in under Harrys guard. The tip of it lightly cut the material of Harrys shirt, before flicking away.
Harry blinked. Maybe not that much like you mean it.
Draco glanced at him quickly. Did I hurt you?
Doesn?t matter. An infinitesimal shake of Harrys head. Cut me if you have to cut me.
From the corner of his eye, Draco could see Slytherin, watching them. He was smiling.
Well, said Draco, if you're going to be like that about it — and with a grin he brought his sword up, hard, with all the force of his arm behind it. And Harry raised his own sword to reply. In midair they struck together. Braced for the expected sound of the blades ringing together, the grinding of shattered metal that followed took Draco completely by surprise. He stumbled forward, caught off guard, as his own Living Blade (mistaking, it seemed, the sincerity of his intentions) cut through Gryffindor's sword as if it had been made of glass. His blade shattered in half, Harry swore, startled, and put up his free hand to catch Draco and steady him.
Together they stood as still, staring down at the ruined sword. The blade had broken into three parts that lay now about Harry's feet. It was destroyed.
