Chapter Eight
Disc: If anything belonged to me, I'd be riding a limo. As all I have is a rather rotten bike, figure it out. Harry Potter and co. belong to J.K. Rowling and Avalon and anything to do with it has been inspired by Marion Zimmer Bradley.
Harry stepped out, praying desperately that he looked less frightened than he felt. He knew, better than anyone else, exactly how good Draco Malfoy was at dueling. Loath as he was to admit it, he was perfectly aware that Draco was unusually fast, exceptionally agile, and exasperatingly accurate. This was going to be an embarrassingly crushing defeat.
At the other side of the arena, Draco sized up his opponent. Harry overtopped him by a good three inches, certainly stronger when it came to sheer brute force, and for somebody who had been learning for just four days was astonishingly good. The carefully honed Quidditch reflexes, gave him an almost intuitive warning of danger. His meticulous exercise regime had definitely improved his stamina and resilience. Even though Harry was new to the subtle pleasures of fencing, Draco was convinced that the younger boy would be a force to reckon with.
Both of them lightly tossed the robes off, and stood clad only in the tunics and the breeches. At the sound of the trumpet, both of them drew their swords. Draco stared at the sword in Harry's hands. It wasn't anything like the swords they had practiced with; it wasn't even like the sword that he himself held right now. As Harry held the sword aloft, a sigh rippled through the crowds. Uncomprehendingly, the two fighters stared at each other, but before they had the time to react, the trumpet rang out again and the duel started for real.
Like featherweight boxing, fencing is the finest sport to behold, superior to the more crude mace or staff, simply because it is a sport of grace and skill, rather than of brute force. The sight of the delicately tempered steel rushing through the air, clashing sparks of each other, was far more delightful. The viewers watched with bated breath as the two boys fought untiringly. Soon, they could see that the combatants were evenly matched. Draco moved like lightening, flashing in, striking and flashing out. His slim body was like quicksilver, weaving in and out, the strokes executed with meticulous efficiency. Harry was less graceful, less expert, but he had a powerful arm, sharpened through nights of strenuous exercise, and days of Quidditch. His reflexes were swift, his eye good, and he was prone to taking wild risks that paid off all too often.
As the two battled it out in the arena, Ron stared at Hermione with a puzzled glance. "Is it just me, or is Harry fighting better today than he usually does?"
Ginny shot her brother an exasperated glance, "Of course he is. I've noticed it from the beginning. Where have your eyes been? I'm just making a wild guess here, but I think it's because it's a competition. Harry doesn't like losing. He isn't used to it. Haven't you seen how much better he is in an actual match, than in a practice session?"
Ron nodded, but Hermione spoke abstractedly, "I don't think it's that simple, Gin. However much Harry may want to win, it's still impossible for him to learn those intricate moves so fast. There is something more to it than competitiveness. Look how well he parried Draco's last lunge. There's no way he could learn that in four days."
Ron leant forward, "She's right, Gin. I mean, if it wasn't so ridiculous, I'd say that he was analyzing and memorizing Malfoy's moves, was perfecting them, and was using them against him. It's like well…magic."
Suddenly Hermione's eyes widened. "Of course, it has to be. Why didn't I think of it earlier?" She turned to her best friend, and kissed him on the cheek. "Ron, you're a genius. I'll be right back."
Ron blushed, and could only gibber helplessly. Ginny looked up at the older girl. "Where are you going, Hermione?"
"To the library." Shouted Hermione over her shoulder, as she dashed off.
Ron shrugged. "That's our Herm. When in doubt, go to the library." With that philosophical statement, he returned his attention to the match that was raging below him. To his surprise he saw that Harry now held the upper hand. He had successfully cornered Draco, and instead of using defensive moves, was attacking. He slashed at Draco's legs, which Draco successfully evaded, by jumping high into the air. But before Draco could land, Harry regained his balance and swung the sword in a high shining arc towards his opponent. Draco barely managed to raise his own weapon in time to meet it, and even then was pushed back, since it was a weak blow. Fortunately for Draco, his reactions were fast enough for him to back up before Harry made his next move. Scrambling to his feet, he used his definitely superior speed to dodge away from Harry's reach. Harry advanced calmly, his sword held high, waiting for Draco to approach. Draco circled him, cautiously, his eyes narrowed, waiting for an opening.
He got it. The wind blew, a cloud moved and the moon shone straight into Harry's eyes, temporarily blinding him. Draco moved like a leopard, swiftly and gracefully, sweeping down on his rival. There was a hush of awe, a crowd that was convinced that a victory had been won. Draco bore down confidently, sure of his triumph. Just then, almost intuitively, blindly, Harry held up his sword… and miraculously blocked the blow. A gasp of awe went up, but was swiftly silenced. Now Harry had got his sight back, there was no doubt which was the battle would go. Moving rapidly, he took advantage of Draco's surprise to knock the sword out of the other boy's hand. Then with a swift blow with the flat of the blade, he laid his adversary to the ground. He pointed the tip of the sword at Draco's neck in true swordsman spirit, and with a low, almost mocking bow, asked, "Surrender?"
Draco weakly nodded in acquiescence, and Harry removed the sword. He gave his hand to Draco, who reluctantly took it, and pulled him up. Then he made another bow, this one to the crowd. The crowd burst out in cheers, the applause was tumultuous and this time Morgaine indulgently let them continue. Her eyes were trained on the victor; the expression was one of awe.
Ron and Ginny were riotously cheering, when Hermione collapsed beside them breathlessly, a thick book clasped in her arms. "Where have you been?" gasped Ron, his throat hoarse from the shouting.
Hermione looked at him severely. "Looking up a reference. Look at this." She held the book out to them, and they bent over it. It was an ancient tome about the magical weapons of yore, and their properties.
"Hey, cool." Said Ron, with a grin. "I wouldn't mind having the Bow that shoots poisonous Bees. What a honey of a death."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look at the bottom of the page, Funnyman."
Ron obeyed her, and his jaw dropped. "Isn't that the sword Harry was using? That leaf shaped blade is rather unmistakable."
Hermione nodded crisply. "Yes, keep reading."
Ron's eyes flicked over the rest of the page, and he looked even more astounded. He stammered. "But this is a magical blade. It was crafted by one of the Ladies of the Lake for the then King, Arthur Pendragon. It is said of the blade that he who holds it is invincible. No man can defeat him. But what makes it even more remarkable is that it was made for only one man. Nobody but Arthur could wield it. If anyone else tried to use it, it would destroy them. But then how did Harry…?"
Hermione nodded. "Exactly! It is Excalibur, the sword that Viviane made for Arthur. You got one thing wrong though, it isn't the blade that makes him invincible. It is the scabbard. That is how Arthur was defeated. The scabbard was taken from him. But that explains his victory. The sword was doing it. It was channeling its strength into Harry, so that Harry would win. So you see Ron, you were right. Malfoy's moves are being improved and replicated, but not by Harry, by the sword. Now the only question is, how can Harry use the sword?" The other two met her eyes with equally blank stares
***********************
Harry peeled the tunic off his body. He still didn't understand how he had won, though Hermione had tried to explain it to him. It was something to do with the sword, of course. That magnificent sword that made him feel like he was indomitable! He felt one with the sword, as sharp, as powerful, as old. He shook himself. It wasn't him, it was the sword. He turned on the bath, and soaked his tired bones, stretching his long legs luxuriously. Just then a knock came on the door. Harry turned his head lazily in the general direction of the door, wondering who it could be. He distinctly remembered Ron mumbling, "Ahm gonna sweeep" which he correctly translated as "I'm going to sleep." He didn't think that either of the girls would come into his room at that time, but nevertheless he pulled himself out of the bath, and wrapped a towel around himself. He pulled the door open and found himself staring into a pair of gray eyes, a few inches below his own.
"Malfoy!" he said, too weary to be rude. "What do you want?"
"I want to congratulate you on a good fight."
Harry gave a short tired laugh. "Yeah right! Malfoy, you know as well as I do, that it was the sword that won, and not me. If it had been just me, you'd have eaten me for breakfast and regurgitated the bones. Let that thought console you. Now go away and let me sleep."
Draco gave a reluctant smile, "I can't disagree with that, mainly because it's true. But the sword had to have something to work on. You were good, and I can't deny that."
Harry gave a genuine grin this time, "Malfoy, for a Slytherin, you're a terrible liar. You know perfectly well that the sword would have made Neville Longbottom a brilliant fighter. That's what it's supposed to do, remember? Make you invincible. Part of the job description."
Draco didn't smile at the weak sally. He leant forward and said intensely, "Look, Harry don't underestimate yourself. You're really good. When you've fought as long as I have, you'll be better than I am. That sword only enhances your talent, it doesn't fabricate it."
Harry shot back, "Unfortunately by the time I've fought as long as you have, you'd have fought double the time, and you'll still be better. Now if that's all you have to say, Ma…Draco, then I'd advise some shuteye. Unless you want me to keel over at practice tomorrow, that is. And if you do, then this is a low trick."
Draco shook his head, his eyes still bright. "No, Harry, I do have one more thing to say. Well one more thing to do, really!" He put a gentle hand on the nape of Harry's neck, drawing the raven head down to his own silvery one, and kissed the other boy softly on the lips. It was a long kiss, Draco's lips teasing Harry's open, moving his tongue over the younger boys mouth, nibbling gently on the lower lip. It was a passionate kiss. Harry succumbed to the kiss, too shocked to react, and by the time he was beginning to regain his senses, the shorter boy, drew back and gazed at him with eyes wet with unshed tears. "I'm sorry." He gasped in a voice without any expression, a dead voice. Then he wheeled around and fled down the corridor, leaving an astonished Harry staring behind him.
Well, I was on a roll and wrote the eighth and the ninth chapters together. Everybody can do me a favour and review, and if they do, I'll post tomm. Fair enough?
Thanks go to:
Mike: Thanks for the second review. As for Harry's reaction, wait till the next chap.
Gwen De Paulo: It's really a sort of Draco/Harry/Ginny. You'll see what I mean. Thanks for the review
Arwena: I'm afraid I can't do that. I haven't even read Cassandra Claire's trilogy, so I really couldn't have used her stuff. Anyway if it offends any sensibilites I apologize.
Disc: If anything belonged to me, I'd be riding a limo. As all I have is a rather rotten bike, figure it out. Harry Potter and co. belong to J.K. Rowling and Avalon and anything to do with it has been inspired by Marion Zimmer Bradley.
Harry stepped out, praying desperately that he looked less frightened than he felt. He knew, better than anyone else, exactly how good Draco Malfoy was at dueling. Loath as he was to admit it, he was perfectly aware that Draco was unusually fast, exceptionally agile, and exasperatingly accurate. This was going to be an embarrassingly crushing defeat.
At the other side of the arena, Draco sized up his opponent. Harry overtopped him by a good three inches, certainly stronger when it came to sheer brute force, and for somebody who had been learning for just four days was astonishingly good. The carefully honed Quidditch reflexes, gave him an almost intuitive warning of danger. His meticulous exercise regime had definitely improved his stamina and resilience. Even though Harry was new to the subtle pleasures of fencing, Draco was convinced that the younger boy would be a force to reckon with.
Both of them lightly tossed the robes off, and stood clad only in the tunics and the breeches. At the sound of the trumpet, both of them drew their swords. Draco stared at the sword in Harry's hands. It wasn't anything like the swords they had practiced with; it wasn't even like the sword that he himself held right now. As Harry held the sword aloft, a sigh rippled through the crowds. Uncomprehendingly, the two fighters stared at each other, but before they had the time to react, the trumpet rang out again and the duel started for real.
Like featherweight boxing, fencing is the finest sport to behold, superior to the more crude mace or staff, simply because it is a sport of grace and skill, rather than of brute force. The sight of the delicately tempered steel rushing through the air, clashing sparks of each other, was far more delightful. The viewers watched with bated breath as the two boys fought untiringly. Soon, they could see that the combatants were evenly matched. Draco moved like lightening, flashing in, striking and flashing out. His slim body was like quicksilver, weaving in and out, the strokes executed with meticulous efficiency. Harry was less graceful, less expert, but he had a powerful arm, sharpened through nights of strenuous exercise, and days of Quidditch. His reflexes were swift, his eye good, and he was prone to taking wild risks that paid off all too often.
As the two battled it out in the arena, Ron stared at Hermione with a puzzled glance. "Is it just me, or is Harry fighting better today than he usually does?"
Ginny shot her brother an exasperated glance, "Of course he is. I've noticed it from the beginning. Where have your eyes been? I'm just making a wild guess here, but I think it's because it's a competition. Harry doesn't like losing. He isn't used to it. Haven't you seen how much better he is in an actual match, than in a practice session?"
Ron nodded, but Hermione spoke abstractedly, "I don't think it's that simple, Gin. However much Harry may want to win, it's still impossible for him to learn those intricate moves so fast. There is something more to it than competitiveness. Look how well he parried Draco's last lunge. There's no way he could learn that in four days."
Ron leant forward, "She's right, Gin. I mean, if it wasn't so ridiculous, I'd say that he was analyzing and memorizing Malfoy's moves, was perfecting them, and was using them against him. It's like well…magic."
Suddenly Hermione's eyes widened. "Of course, it has to be. Why didn't I think of it earlier?" She turned to her best friend, and kissed him on the cheek. "Ron, you're a genius. I'll be right back."
Ron blushed, and could only gibber helplessly. Ginny looked up at the older girl. "Where are you going, Hermione?"
"To the library." Shouted Hermione over her shoulder, as she dashed off.
Ron shrugged. "That's our Herm. When in doubt, go to the library." With that philosophical statement, he returned his attention to the match that was raging below him. To his surprise he saw that Harry now held the upper hand. He had successfully cornered Draco, and instead of using defensive moves, was attacking. He slashed at Draco's legs, which Draco successfully evaded, by jumping high into the air. But before Draco could land, Harry regained his balance and swung the sword in a high shining arc towards his opponent. Draco barely managed to raise his own weapon in time to meet it, and even then was pushed back, since it was a weak blow. Fortunately for Draco, his reactions were fast enough for him to back up before Harry made his next move. Scrambling to his feet, he used his definitely superior speed to dodge away from Harry's reach. Harry advanced calmly, his sword held high, waiting for Draco to approach. Draco circled him, cautiously, his eyes narrowed, waiting for an opening.
He got it. The wind blew, a cloud moved and the moon shone straight into Harry's eyes, temporarily blinding him. Draco moved like a leopard, swiftly and gracefully, sweeping down on his rival. There was a hush of awe, a crowd that was convinced that a victory had been won. Draco bore down confidently, sure of his triumph. Just then, almost intuitively, blindly, Harry held up his sword… and miraculously blocked the blow. A gasp of awe went up, but was swiftly silenced. Now Harry had got his sight back, there was no doubt which was the battle would go. Moving rapidly, he took advantage of Draco's surprise to knock the sword out of the other boy's hand. Then with a swift blow with the flat of the blade, he laid his adversary to the ground. He pointed the tip of the sword at Draco's neck in true swordsman spirit, and with a low, almost mocking bow, asked, "Surrender?"
Draco weakly nodded in acquiescence, and Harry removed the sword. He gave his hand to Draco, who reluctantly took it, and pulled him up. Then he made another bow, this one to the crowd. The crowd burst out in cheers, the applause was tumultuous and this time Morgaine indulgently let them continue. Her eyes were trained on the victor; the expression was one of awe.
Ron and Ginny were riotously cheering, when Hermione collapsed beside them breathlessly, a thick book clasped in her arms. "Where have you been?" gasped Ron, his throat hoarse from the shouting.
Hermione looked at him severely. "Looking up a reference. Look at this." She held the book out to them, and they bent over it. It was an ancient tome about the magical weapons of yore, and their properties.
"Hey, cool." Said Ron, with a grin. "I wouldn't mind having the Bow that shoots poisonous Bees. What a honey of a death."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look at the bottom of the page, Funnyman."
Ron obeyed her, and his jaw dropped. "Isn't that the sword Harry was using? That leaf shaped blade is rather unmistakable."
Hermione nodded crisply. "Yes, keep reading."
Ron's eyes flicked over the rest of the page, and he looked even more astounded. He stammered. "But this is a magical blade. It was crafted by one of the Ladies of the Lake for the then King, Arthur Pendragon. It is said of the blade that he who holds it is invincible. No man can defeat him. But what makes it even more remarkable is that it was made for only one man. Nobody but Arthur could wield it. If anyone else tried to use it, it would destroy them. But then how did Harry…?"
Hermione nodded. "Exactly! It is Excalibur, the sword that Viviane made for Arthur. You got one thing wrong though, it isn't the blade that makes him invincible. It is the scabbard. That is how Arthur was defeated. The scabbard was taken from him. But that explains his victory. The sword was doing it. It was channeling its strength into Harry, so that Harry would win. So you see Ron, you were right. Malfoy's moves are being improved and replicated, but not by Harry, by the sword. Now the only question is, how can Harry use the sword?" The other two met her eyes with equally blank stares
***********************
Harry peeled the tunic off his body. He still didn't understand how he had won, though Hermione had tried to explain it to him. It was something to do with the sword, of course. That magnificent sword that made him feel like he was indomitable! He felt one with the sword, as sharp, as powerful, as old. He shook himself. It wasn't him, it was the sword. He turned on the bath, and soaked his tired bones, stretching his long legs luxuriously. Just then a knock came on the door. Harry turned his head lazily in the general direction of the door, wondering who it could be. He distinctly remembered Ron mumbling, "Ahm gonna sweeep" which he correctly translated as "I'm going to sleep." He didn't think that either of the girls would come into his room at that time, but nevertheless he pulled himself out of the bath, and wrapped a towel around himself. He pulled the door open and found himself staring into a pair of gray eyes, a few inches below his own.
"Malfoy!" he said, too weary to be rude. "What do you want?"
"I want to congratulate you on a good fight."
Harry gave a short tired laugh. "Yeah right! Malfoy, you know as well as I do, that it was the sword that won, and not me. If it had been just me, you'd have eaten me for breakfast and regurgitated the bones. Let that thought console you. Now go away and let me sleep."
Draco gave a reluctant smile, "I can't disagree with that, mainly because it's true. But the sword had to have something to work on. You were good, and I can't deny that."
Harry gave a genuine grin this time, "Malfoy, for a Slytherin, you're a terrible liar. You know perfectly well that the sword would have made Neville Longbottom a brilliant fighter. That's what it's supposed to do, remember? Make you invincible. Part of the job description."
Draco didn't smile at the weak sally. He leant forward and said intensely, "Look, Harry don't underestimate yourself. You're really good. When you've fought as long as I have, you'll be better than I am. That sword only enhances your talent, it doesn't fabricate it."
Harry shot back, "Unfortunately by the time I've fought as long as you have, you'd have fought double the time, and you'll still be better. Now if that's all you have to say, Ma…Draco, then I'd advise some shuteye. Unless you want me to keel over at practice tomorrow, that is. And if you do, then this is a low trick."
Draco shook his head, his eyes still bright. "No, Harry, I do have one more thing to say. Well one more thing to do, really!" He put a gentle hand on the nape of Harry's neck, drawing the raven head down to his own silvery one, and kissed the other boy softly on the lips. It was a long kiss, Draco's lips teasing Harry's open, moving his tongue over the younger boys mouth, nibbling gently on the lower lip. It was a passionate kiss. Harry succumbed to the kiss, too shocked to react, and by the time he was beginning to regain his senses, the shorter boy, drew back and gazed at him with eyes wet with unshed tears. "I'm sorry." He gasped in a voice without any expression, a dead voice. Then he wheeled around and fled down the corridor, leaving an astonished Harry staring behind him.
Well, I was on a roll and wrote the eighth and the ninth chapters together. Everybody can do me a favour and review, and if they do, I'll post tomm. Fair enough?
Thanks go to:
Mike: Thanks for the second review. As for Harry's reaction, wait till the next chap.
Gwen De Paulo: It's really a sort of Draco/Harry/Ginny. You'll see what I mean. Thanks for the review
Arwena: I'm afraid I can't do that. I haven't even read Cassandra Claire's trilogy, so I really couldn't have used her stuff. Anyway if it offends any sensibilites I apologize.