Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm not making any profit from writing this.

Author's Note: This is a silly story about a magical time-travelling sword. I strongly recommend that you don't take it particularly seriously. Even if you do, I'm not.

The first paragraph is taken verbatim from Chapter 17 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. (UK Paperback Edition.)

For J., my dear friend, my brain twin, the other half of a truly great double act.

Sword of Slytherin
A Harry Potter Fanfiction Adventure

1. Alone Together

Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he'd just travelled miles by Floo powder. Slowly, he gathered together his wand and the Sorting Hat, and, with a huge tug, retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the Basilisk's mouth.

Something, he wasn't sure what, prompted him to take a closer look at it. There was an emerald the size of an egg embedded in the pommel of the sword, with several smaller stones decorating the rest of the hilt. Harry stared, a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew whose sword this must once have been. Green and silver. But he still wasn't prepared for the chill that passed through him as he turned the blade over and read the name engraved there. Salazar Slytherin. Who else?

"Oh." His voice came out sounding weak. He didn't feel like a hero who had just slain a monster. He felt like a scared little boy who was going to be in a lot of trouble as soon as someone found out what he'd done. "Well, shit."

Two days after killing the Basilisk, Harry sat alone on the shore of the lake, trying to pretend he didn't mind that nobody wanted to come near him. It wasn't just that they'd heard that he'd somehow managed to pull Slytherin's sword out of the Sorting Hat; the sword lay next to him on the grass, shining in the afternoon sun. Who wanted to sit and talk to a boy who brought his tenth century Muggle weaponry everywhere with him? People – a lot of people, not just his enemies, but people he'd actually rather liked, too – were saying that he was disturbed and maybe dangerous. There was a rumour that there had never even been a Basilisk, that he'd made the whole thing up. Idiots.

Even Ron and Hermione – who had been freed from Petrification not long after Harry had returned from the Chamber – were keeping their distance. In their case, though, it was understandable; Hermione had read a Muggle book on psychology and insisted that Harry, after his terrifying ordeal, would need time and space to himself to heal and find closure. Ron had explained this to him that morning at breakfast, between mouthfuls of egg and bacon. It made no sense at all, except to people like Hermione, who had extra logic where her emotions should be. Harry had so far managed to refrain from telling her to shove the book somewhere rude, which he thought very noble of himself.

At least he didn't have to worry about them suddenly deciding that he must be evil because of the sword, which was something – though he would much rather have had their company. It was wretched to be alone, to have no one to share the lazy summer day with. The filthy looks he was getting from more or less everyone who passed him didn't help either. He was in a foul mood; lonely and humiliated by the way no one wanted anything to do with him at all. The sword reflected sunlight into his eyes as he scowled at it. It was terrible company.

"Move over, Potter."

Harry immediately decided that the sword was wonderful company – all the company he wanted, in fact. "What? Why?" He stared up at Draco Malfoy, who for once seemed not to be sneering, and wondered if he might be hallucinating.

"So I can sit down," Malfoy said, patiently. Harry wasn't sure which of them was supposed to be mad. Had Malfoy somehow forgotten that they didn't like each other?

"Why would I want you to do that?"

Malfoy waved his hand around at the empty space surrounding them. "I don't see anybody else volunteering to sit and talk to you, Potter – do you?"

"I'm on a date with the giant squid," Harry said, irritably. He sighed. "Sod off, Malfoy."

Naturally, being as annoying as it was humanly possible to be, Malfoy didn't. He sat down on the grass next to Harry and poked curiously at the sword. "I can't believe Dumbledore let you keep this," he said, sounding very impressed. It surprised Harry; he'd thought that the other boy was bored by absolutely everything that wasn't directly connected to him.

"He didn't." Harry wanted Malfoy to go away, he really did, but he hadn't had a real conversation in over two days, and now that someone was actually trying to talk to him, it was difficult not to respond. He made an incoherent growling noise in his throat, but decided to give a proper answer. "He made me give it to him and then put it in a case in his office. But then, the next morning, I found it under my bed. It – the sword, it follows me."

"Oh." Malfoy sounded puzzled. "I didn't know swords could do that."

Harry decided that, until Hermione stopped believing everything she read in that damned book, he could pretend that Malfoy was his friend. It was that or start talking to himself – and enough people seemed to think that he was mad already. "I don't think they can," he said, slowly, reaching out and moving the sword away before Malfoy could cut himself on it. "It's confusing Dumbledore. I didn't think that was possible. He called me to his office again to ask me how I did it, but I didn't do anything. It's the sword."

"The old fool doesn't know everything." Malfoy peered at the emeralds in the sword's silver handle. "This must be worth a lot," he said. "You could sell it to people, and then it would come back to you, and you could sell it to somebody else."

"And then get cursed by a lot of very angry wizards," Harry pointed out – but he still laughed. "Don't you have enough money, anyway?"

"More money than you could ever dream of," Malfoy said, haughtily. "I was thinking of you." He shrugged. "I'm not sure why everyone's being so stupid about this. It's just a sword."

Harry stopped laughing. He felt cold inside. "It's a sword that magically follows me wherever I go, and was made for Salazar Slytherin, a famous Dark wizard. I understand why people are afraid of it – and of me." He stared intently at the lake, not wanting to meet Malfoy's eyes, even by accident. "I saw how Dumbledore looked at me, when I came back from the Chamber of Secrets, holding this. It was like – like he thought I was the second coming of Voldemort, or something."

Malfoy flinched at the name, but said only, "That's about as ridiculous as the idea of you being the Heir of Slytherin."

"Hey, I pulled the sword out of the Sorting Hat." Thinking about that made him feel miserable again. "Maybe I should have been in Slytherin. The Hat said – twice – that I would've done well there."

"Don't look so happy about it, Potter," Malfoy said, rolling over onto his back and looking up at the sky. "Slytherin isn't a death sentence, you know."

"I'm not so sure. I'd have to spend more time with you." Harry turned and glared at Malfoy. "Look, why are you even here? You don't even like me – and I don't like you, either. I don't get why I have Slytherin's sword; you should have it, you're just like he was, obsessed with killing Muggle-borns! You said – you said you hoped Hermione would die, you horrid little..." He snarled wordlessly; he couldn't think of an insult bad enough. It wasn't just anger at Malfoy for his stupid comments; all of the anger of the past couple of days, all the frustration he'd felt all year about the accusations and the rumours and the whispering behind his back all came bubbling out at once.

"I never said that." Malfoy frowned at him suspiciously, and Harry suddenly remembered that he'd been disguised as Goyle at the time. He'd given himself away, but he really didn't care. What did it matter now?

"You did." Harry sat up straighter and looked directly at the other boy. "You didn't know you were talking to me. Ron and I thought you might be the Heir of Slytherin, so we used a potion to look like Crabbe and Goyle, and get you to tell us what you knew." He shook his head. "That was a waste of time."

Malfoy looked as if he wanted to be outraged, but settled for laughing instead. "And you claim not to be a Slytherin," he said. "Underhanded spying tactics – my father would be proud." Harry found this reaction extremely annoying, which was probably why Malfoy had done it. "And I'm here because you're finally interesting, Potter. There's something more to you than I'd thought." Malfoy's eyes were once again drawn to the sword. Harry moved it a little further away from the Slytherin, though he knew Malfoy would not be able to steal it from him, not for long. "The sword of Slytherin... taken by a Gryffindor. I wanted to find out why – and I think I do know, now."

Harry was torn between figuring out what Malfoy was really up to, and finding some way to make the Slytherin go away. Perhaps he was planning some revenge for his father's disgrace? Or was there something even more sinister behind it? "What do you think you know?" he asked in a tight voice, wondering why he was encouraging Malfoy at all.

"You must be Slytherin enough for the sword. That's the only thing I can think of." He put a hand out towards the hilt. "Can I touch it? Just for a moment. I already know I can't take it from you, so I won't even try. I just want to touch it."

"No." Harry didn't even want the sword – he wished it would stay quietly in the display case and stop bothering him – but he didn't want to let Malfoy have it. That was why he'd come over, it had to be. And if Malfoy wanted to get his hands on the sword, that was all the reason Harry needed not to let him. "I told you already to go away." The grey eyes narrowed, and then everything happened very fast. Harry moved just too late to stop Malfoy from seizing the sword handle, and instead of grabbing the jewelled cross hilt he got a handful of sharp steel blade. The edge cut deep into his palm and his blood flowed down over the name engraved there.

And then the sword began to glow, gently at first, but getting brighter and brighter, until the light was all he could see. He thought he heard Malfoy curse, then yelp about not being able to let go – and when Harry tried, he couldn't take his hand off the blade either. Whatever was happening was like nothing he'd ever experienced before – but unlike Malfoy, he wasn't afraid. That was part of being Harry Potter, it seemed. Impossible things just kept happening to him.

When he could finally stand to open his eyes and look around, he realised that it wasn't over. Somehow – incredibly – the castle of Hogwarts had vanished entirely.

"Where the hell are we?"

"How would I know?"

"Can we get back to Hogwarts from here?"

"Again, how would I know?"

"It's your sword!"

"That doesn't mean I understand how it works! I should have a severed palm or something, but it's all healed up and there's just this really old looking white scar. This isn't normal, even for magic."

"Yeah, well, you're not normal, are you, Harry bloody special Potter?"

"Do you actually have any decent insults?"

"Of course I do! I just don't waste them on you." A pause. "Damn it, we're in the middle of nowhere!"

"Thanks, Malfoy, I'd figured that one out on my own."

"You're taking this really... calmly."

"Well... this is either a really weird dream, or the Basilisk bit through my arm and I'm hallucinating while bleeding to death in the Chamber. So, you know, this probably isn't even real."

"If you're dreaming, how am I here?"

"I don't know, apparently my subconscious hates me."

"But I'm really here!"

"You would say that, but you haven't proved that you're not a hallucination. Or a figment of my imagination."

A growl. "Potter, there is no way to prove to you that I'm real."

"Yeah. I know."

"You're a bastard."

"This is all your fault." A few moments pass. "If this is real, maybe I have ataraxia."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's where you don't care about anything and nothing upsets you."

"That's called being a Slytherin."

"Well, if that's so, you're shit at being a Slytherin."

"You're not exactly the world's greatest Gryffindor right now either. What's written on that sword you're carrying again?"

"Shut up."

"No, that wasn't it." A sigh. "This is stupid. My legs are tired."

"Stop being a whiny git, Malfoy. You're not the one who fought a Basilisk and saved a girl, but then had everyone think he was crazy or evil anyway. You didn't get stalked around school by a sword. Then I had to get dumped in the middle of bloody nowhere with an idiot who can't walk half a mile without complaining about how hard it is and how much everything hurts!"

"Harry?"

"What."

"I don't think you have ataraxia."

"Shut up."

"Who put you in charge?"

A sharp, unpleasant laugh. "I'm the one with the sword."

"Good point."

They'd been walking for a while – Malfoy insisted it had been at least six hours, but Harry thought it was probably more like two. The forest around them was dense and unfamiliar; even if Hogwarts was anywhere near, neither of them knew how to get there. Malfoy had cast a spell that showed them which way North was, but since they didn't know which direction they wanted to go, it hadn't been that useful. Still, at least it kept Malfoy from complaining, which was apparently his favourite hobby. Harry had always imagined the other boy to be more of a torturing baby animals sort, but that just went to show what he knew.

"Are we still in Scotland, do you think?" Harry had tried not speaking to Malfoy at all, but it was difficult. It was dark on the forest floor, and the shadows moved in disturbing ways – and besides, when he wasn't talking, he had too much time to think about what was going on. He didn't understand what had happened or what it meant, any more than he knew where they were, and that frightened him. He'd discovered that if he kept conversation to simple things like what tree that was, or what direction they should walk in now, he could talk to Malfoy without wanting to kill him. Much.

Malfoy kicked a pine cone. "Probably. I just wish I had a clue where. Or where the nearest town is."

"Fancy walking into a Muggle town dressed like this?" Harry gestured at his flowing black robes. To his dismay, he'd found on first arriving here – wherever they were – that the school crest had completely vanished from their robes. It seemed almost more uncanny than the wound on his hand having healed itself. He shivered. It had to be a dream. What other explanation could there be?

"More than I fancy walking around lost in this forest for longer than I have to," Malfoy said, glowering at the trees as if they'd offended him personally.

It was a good point, even if it was accompanied by more Malfoy whining. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then – he felt it – the sword seemed to hum gently under his hand. He stopped walking suddenly, and completely lost the words he'd been going to say. And then he heard it. Footsteps, voices, the scraping of metal. Someone was coming this way. A lot of someones. By the sound of it, some of them were armed. Harry wasn't taking any chances; he drew the sword from his belt and dropped into what he somehow knew was an effective defensive stance.

"What are you –?" Malfoy began, but Harry made a sharp gesture with the sword blade, and he shut up. More quietly, he said, "Okay, I hear them. But why the sword? I mean, they might not be a danger to us – and if they are, you're a wizard. You've got a wand."

Harry shrugged. "How many duelling spells do you know?"

Malfoy paused, thinking. "Eight. Well, nine if you're not too fussy about them being legal."

"I know one," Harry said, deliberately ignoring the prospect of illegal curses. If Malfoy chose to be an idiot and cast things like that, he would be the one to pay for it. The fact that this attitude was probably more Slytherin than Gryffindor was likewise ignored. "So, yeah, that's why you can use a wand in a fight, and I'm just going to make do with the sharp metal blade that I used to kill a Basilisk." Something else occurred to him. "Oh, I suppose two spells, if you count the one that conjures the big black snake thing from nowhere."

"Yeah, definitely count that one." Malfoy had his wand out and was trying to look in every direction at once, nervously. "You're a Parselmouth. Summoning a snake that you can control would be a really good idea, I think."

"Right." Harry swallowed heavily, then drew his wand. "Serpensortia," he whispered, and watched as a snake appeared from nowhere and pooled on the floor in front of him. It looked up at him, as though waiting for something. He focused on the snake's eyes, and words in another language rose to his lips. "Be ready to defend us. I will give the word." After a brief pause, the snake simply nodded by way of reply and slithered into a hunting coil, ready to spring on Harry's word. Maybe Malfoy wasn't as stupid as he looked.

Malfoy stared at him, evidently fascinated by the use of Parseltongue. Harry felt a little uncomfortable with the gift; it didn't bring him anything good, only suspicion from normal people, and more interest than he really wanted from Malfoy. But he didn't really have time to worry about it, because the noises they'd heard were close now, almost upon them. He tightened his grip on the sword. Any minute now, he'd find out who or what was coming for them.