'Are you threatening me?' said the demon in a hissing voice.
'So it can hurt you,' said Draco, sounding pleased.
'You can't be certain,' the demon said, looking shifty.
'No, it's just a wild stab in the dark. Which is what you'll be getting in about one minute if you don't start being a bit more helpful.'
The demon bared its teeth, but backed away. 'A thousand years ago,' it said fiercely, 'I traded my powers, in the form of that sword, to a wizard who had made a bargain with my people. He used it to become the most powerful sorcerer of his or any other time. That was all part of the bargain. But it was written in the contract he had made that at the end of a certain term, he was to give the sword back.' The demon shook his head. 'He never did, and vanished from the sight of the world. Vanished, still owing me! Still owing me my other half!'
'I don't suppose,' said Draco, 'that anyone involved in this transaction had the forethought to get a receipt?'
The demon looked at him blankly. Draco sighed. 'Didn't think so.'
'That sword will do you no favors,' snarled the demon, fixing its parti-colored eyes on Draco's. 'You cannot hope to master it, control it, make it serve you. Instead, you will serve it. Surely you have seen in your dreams what awaits those who use this sword unwisely?'
Draco could feel the sword hilt cold under his hand. 'No,' he lied.
'No dreams.'
The demon stood up. Draco tightened his grip on the sword, not knowing what he would do if the demon lunged at him — he couldn't imagine fighting it off while sitting down.
'You have no right to the sword,' the demon growled. 'What right do you claim?'
Draco thought for a moment. Then he said, very calmly, 'I claim the right of inheritance. This sword belonged to my father, and my father's father, and his father before him. Your contract was not with my family, nor with me. Therefore I owe you nothing.'
For a moment, the demon did not reply. Draco was disappointed. He had thought it was rather a good speech. Very Malfoy.
'You are determined to retain the sword,' said the demon, at last.
'Your mind is made up?' 'Yes,' said Draco. 'It is.' The demon shrugged. 'All right,' it said, sounding almost cheerful. 'Keep it.
May it bring you joy.' And it vanished.
Draco stared aghast at the spot where it had been standing, feeling suddenly and vastly uneasy. He thought, rather randomly, of something his father had said — one of Lucius Malfoy's many useful pieces of advice. If a difficult task suddenly seems far too easy, someone is screwing with you. Be suspicious.
'Damn,' he said, softly. 'I've been had.'
His eyes darted around the clearing, searching for any sign of the demon — would it come back? Would it come back, and bring others with it?
The clearing seemed quite empty, dark and silent, and then, out of the corner of his left eye, he saw a movement in between two trees.
He felt his hands starting to shake — this was too much, it was too much.
With a feeling of total unreality, he saw two dark-robed, dark-hooded figures step into the clearing, moving forward, utterly soundless. He tried to say Harry's name, but no sound came out of his throat. He let the sword slide out of his hand and pressed his back hard against the trunk of the tree.
The one thought in his mind was that somehow he had to get to his feet. Seizing the hilt of the sword, he turned it upside down, and plunged the tip into the earth. Then slowly, agonizingly, he used it to pull himself upright, trying to put as little weight as possible on his broken leg. He thought he heard the bones grind against each other, and felt his hand so slick with sweat that he nearly lost his grip on the hilt. But he was on his feet now. Leaning hard on the sword, his back against the tree trunk keeping him upright, but on his feet.
He looked up and through a dizzying swirl of colored spots dancing in front of his eyes, he saw the two dark figures moving closer.
Closer to him, and to Harry, who was still asleep.
He sucked in air through his teeth, and tried to draw his mind back, away from the clearing, the pain in his leg, his shaking hands, and concentrated hard on feeling happy. Happy, he told himself savagely, happy. He shut his eyes, and felt his hand where it rested on the hilt of the sword. It was cold under his palm, cold and full of power. His heartbeat slowed as his grip on the hilt tightened, and when he raised his left hand it had stopped shaking.
Concentrating as hard as he could on his happy memory, eyes shut tightly, he shouted at the top of his voice: 'Expecto Patronum!'
Something huge, something vast and silvery-white, shot from his fingers like a bolt of summer lightning. The force of it knocked Draco backwards, and for a moment all he saw as he hit the ground was a sheet of white light shattered by black spots of agony. My leg -
— it hurts, God, it hurts. 'Harry,' he tried to say, but his voice disappeared as the whole world seemed to tilt and fade for a moment, everything spinning away into darkness behind his eyes.
I won't faint. I won't.
He forced his eyes open. And saw three very pale faces staring down at him. Harry, Ron and Ginny, all of them looking white with shock and surprise. He struggled to raise himself up on his elbows.
'The Dementors-'
'Malfoy,' said Harry, reaching out and putting a hand on his chest, pushing him back down to the ground. 'There weren't any Dementors.'
'But I saw-'
