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Spiderweb
Chapter 3 - Acromantula
Plop.
Something cold fell on his forehead, slided down the curve of his temple, and ended on his hair. Making Draco shiver at the unpleasant, and uncomfortable, feeling.
He was barely awake, worn out ... so tired...
He curled up, languidly, among the blankets, burying his nose in their warmth, with the lax tranquility of a winter animal, and refused to open his eyes.
Plop.
This time the icy drop fell on the base of his skull, slipping an infinitesimal thread down his neck, and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Waking him up a little more.
Just enough so that his instincts, almost silent under layers of warm sleep, vaguely woke, telegraphing a pressing murmur: 'Something is wrong, something is wrong. Something's not right …'
It never was so hard to wake up for him, never was so hard to think in the morning.
"Something... What?" ... He opened his eyes tiredly. And discovered that, indeed, something was very, very, wrong.
The huge oval around him … wasn't like any place I'd been.
Wet, natural, gray stone walls, taken by slippery lichen, and thick deep green like-velvet, moss, seemed to stretch away into a disturbing darkness beyond the spectral greenish light emanated by strange luminescent fungi.
Small green fluorescent fungi, climbed the floors and ceilings, entwining together like the strands of a carpet. Creating a light spongy crust, which made the sharp stalactites from the ceiling, and their contorted natural spirals, into lamps of strange beauty. And the ground, into something more like the image of a barely remembered dream, than a real place.
An unusual, but still, somewhat, recognizable landscape.
"A cave?"
His voice came in a crackle. Parched from thirst and lack of use, releasing a creeping discharge of pain, through the battered walls of his throat.
He brought a hand to his neck with a low moan. And instinctively reached for his wand ... only to realize that what in his dream he had taken for the covers of his bed, were nothing but pelts. A huge pile of stacked animal skins, someone had piled as a bed.
And that wouldn't have disturbed the spy.
Had it not been for the state in which they were.
The pelts, savagely torn from the body, showed tears wherever they had been brutally separated from the flesh. The marks of the wounds that killed those animals, easy to see, as maps of primary blood thirst.
The dry substance permeated it all, the smell was unbearable.
The atmosphere stank of death. Pain. Horror. The perfume of a carnage that he knew from battlefields.
Yet, this was different, this was not the result of a war, it was the work of a monster.
And the notion caused disgust and intrigue at the same time. What kind of creature could have done something like this?
Unconsciously, he brought a hand to his chest, where his heart beated madly.
And his fingers ... stroked a sticky substance.
"What…?"
On his skin, wrapping his torso, palms, sliding down his thighs ... was a kind of bandage, a curiously strong flexible white film. He wore nothing but this, however, his mind did not register the fact he was naked. Because he had just realised what was that thing.
"Spiderweb?"
As a student of one of the greatest potion master of the last century, he knew well the properties of the spider web, and the qualities it had to stop bleeding, and for the application of some healing balms. Which might explain why he was wrapped in it.
What he didn't know, was what kind of spider could have created such a thick cloth, to serve as dressing itself.
"Spider…"
Something clicked in his memory.
Suddenly, the memories that had been buried by exhaustion and shock, in his barely conscious state, re-emerged in a wave that made Draco dizzy.
The flight from Malfoy Mannor, the desperate race through the snow, the bombarda spell, the lascivious smiles, Death Eaters, roots, shouting, spiders ... no, acromantulas.
A spider big enough, to generate the cloth that he had been wrapped in.
Shiny obsidian black chitin, under the spectral moonlight, powerful jaws dripping with poison, intense, intelligent green ... eyes.
At that moment, almost unconscious, unable to move, he had seen the arachnid hovering over him. A black and monstrous shadow, that should have devoured the spy.
The memory was fuzzy, barely present. He thought having listened to the acromantula talk ... but he couldn't remember ... And the fight ... he had the notion of having seen the Avada Kedavra slipp, harmless, against his chitin ... but such a thing was not possible, right?
And yet, against all logic, he was still alive.
Confused, Draco pushed aside the memories.
He had to stop thinking about it, when he didn't even know yet, if he should feel relieved to be alive.
Who had saved him from the actomantula, and why?
He looked around again, this time more carefully.
With a more clear head, finally, his assessment of the place, revealed details he had previously overlooked.
He seemed to be at the end of a tunnel, or of a net of them, was not sure. Revealed by how the walls, and ceiling, met in this area.
The notion that the air was not tainted, which meant that he should not be far from the surface. The fact that the place was mostly clean, which seemed to say that this shelter was used often, if not daily.
His inspection, from his position still lying down, did not reveal much more.
It seemed he was alone.
He could not be sure without a detector spell, but having lost his wand, this was the most he could get.
'I have to find out what happened.'
He thought about taking the risk, of waiting for the one who had rescued him. Surely he, or she, would come back to deal with him, after saving his life. Be it to help, or to put him in the Dark Lord's hands, in exchange for the reward, he knew, probably weighed on his head.
But Draco could not risk finding an enemy, even when the fact he was not restrained in any way, spoke of good intentions.
He needed to warn the Order of the danger lurking among them. Could not wait until his rescuer came back
Avoiding leaning on his still terribly bruised left arm, and still weak by not fully healed wounds, he tried to get up laboriously. Little gasps of effort, escaping from between his dry lips.
"You should rest." The words, smooth spoken in a deep male voice, suddenly broke the silence of the cave, startling him.
The tone was strangely hissing and a little clumsy, as if the man was not used to talking in this language, but somehow ... familiar. A shiver ran through Draco's nerves, like hundreds of insect legs.
There was something in that voice that unnerved him ... and appealed to him.
Still, the memory of it was slippery, he could not pick it.
"Who ... ?" His throat, still sore, barely managed to intone the word before breaking his voice in a violent coughing fit, that made the blond collapse back into the makeshift bed, limp.
"I told you to rest." Exasperation and irritation, dripped from the edge of those words, dipped in sarcasm that could only be personal.
But Draco could barely catch his breath, let alone realize it, or incorporate enough to see where they came from.
At his collapse, the broken ribs brushed his lungs in a violent scrape, that made him convulse.
Oxygen was burning his insides every time breathed, turning his breath in a succession of desperate moans, almost completely chocked.
Pain seared his chest ...
In his mind, he barely registered a strange sound, like something hard crashing gently against, mossy, damp stone floor. Rhythmic sounds ... getting closer, and closer ... that eventually stopped beside him.
He could feel he was being watched, as he struggled to breathe, and listen to the murmur of a healing spell, spoken almost reluctantly. But he needed all his concentration to keep breathing.
Finally, slowly, the attack eased under a reluctant magical presence, that hardly helped enough to stop the feeling of asphyxiation.
Exhausted, and with the feeling of having more in common with a frayed piece of wool, than with a man, Draco rested limply in the skins, just trying to breathe normally.
All his joints seemed stiff, his muscles sore, after the agonizing experience he had just suffered. Draco was reasonably sure, that it was not just one, the ribs he had broken.
'I need a medi witch as soon as possible' thought to himself. But at least, he no longer felt as if the air he was trying to suck, burned inside, with each new, desperate, inhalation.
He blinked languidly, trying to focus his gaze on who had saved him.
Silver gray, met with intense and hard, like colored glass, green.
Black chitin, burnished like polished obsidian, under the spectral greenish light of fungi. Long, powerful, elegant legs, finished in tips as blades. Powerful jaws drenched in poison.
Looming over him, stalking him ... the great acromantula of the clearing watched him.
Draco's breathing quickened, and blood threatened to turn into a wild roar in his ears... somehow, in some small corner of his mind, he acknowledged that the shock and blood loss, were converging into a panic attack.
And immediately, he raised his occlumency barriers to stop it. The firm walls Draco knew so well, arose around the edges of his mind, like a dam.
'Calm.' He told his mind, and the turbulent waters of his thoughts, became a calm pond of clear water.
The memories of the desperate cries of the Death Eaters, while being eaten alive by a dozen acromantulas, passed briefly through the surface of the pond, but he firmly pushed it to the background.
If the arachnid wanted him dead, he would be by now. If he were storing him for food, like many spiders were accustomed to do, he would not have been so carefully bandaged, nor kept in what could not be anything other than the nest of the huge spider.
The tip of a leg, thick and black with chitin armor, landed on his torso, forcing him to remain lying under gentle pressure, though Draco had not moved.
He remember how that same leg had staved a man from side to side, and it served to remind him, of what kind of creature he was facing.
Draco kept his gaze steady.
The spider snapped his jaws in disgust.
"I will not devour you." he hissed, as if he needed to reaffirm his intentions with words.
The contempt and disgust in the tone, surprised the blond. It was almost as if the creature regretted not being able to do it, and hated him for it. Or as if the creature kept a grudge against him, and this only exacerbated it.
'Ridiculous, I had never before encountered an acromantula. He has no reason to hate me. Unless he hates wizards as a whole.' Which, considering what would a wizard do, if he had access to a member of the specie, it was very probable.
Various potions that employed acromantula parts on their recipe, brushed his neurons.
Reasons that made even more strange the affirmation. Why not eat him?
'I need answers.' And fast.
He could not stand still when so many lives depended on the information he had.
The spy narrowed his eyes, studying the creature with the patient calm of a snake. If the acromantula was able to speak and understand, then he must be able to convince the arachnid, of letting him go.
"Are you the one who saved me?" Draco made his voice steady, sure.
Because showing weakness to a predator, only served to be seen as prey. But show him strength, firmness and security, and you may gain his respect.
His gaze searched the arachnid's, making no effort to free himself from the weight of his leg, as if he did not care the least, that the limb rested upon his vital organs.
Projecting himself like someone strong, someone at the same level of the spider. But carefully, without being too rebellious. No prey, but not a threat either. An equal.
It was obvious that Malfoy was nervous, he could smell it on him, under the essence of the rancid dried sweat of the race, the clotted blood from his wounds, and the maddening scent of his pheromones.
Pheromones of his own specie, but mitigated by some kind of spell.
He breathed deeply, vaguely surprised that Malfoy was able to hold his gaze, and not start trembling under the kind of pressure, he knew, he provoked. Some improvement from the coward and whiny teenager, he remembered from his years at Hogwarts. But ... could he had expect something different?
'Of course he has one can become a murderer, and still remain a child.' The hardness of the tone, was a sudden burst of red thorns in his mind.
Thus, having Malfoy lying down and shirtless, let him see perfectly the mark on his right forearm. That black mark, in contrast with the pale, silky skin, which was the statement, announcing to the world, what the man who was carrying it, had become.
A lackey of darkness, a Death Eater, a murderer ... a wizard after all.
All wizards were murderers. The difference between Death Eater, and member of light, was merely superficial. He knew it very well. He knew-it-very-WELL.
And he would have found special pleasure in killing this particular one, had he not needed him so much.
Fate was a cruel and deeply sadistic lady, but he had known that since childhood.
That from all the people in the world, who could have been appropriate, it had to be him, it was nothing more than a few more grains, on a mountain too large, for a few grams to make any difference.
The really important thing, was that he had found Malfoy.
And he would use, would take, him, in any way he wanted, even if he had to force the blond. And he did not lie to himself, it will have to be by force. Malfoy was a tool, and one that he could not afford to let go.
The arachnid noted that the young Death Eater seemed to be waiting for something, and realized he had been deeply in thought, and had not answered his question. Annoyed, he shook his head.
"Yes, I'm the one who saved you." As he spoke, the creature watched the man coldly, admiring, in a critical way, the broad expanse of his chest, narrow waist, and long, muscular legs.
Malfoy was attractive, that was true, he had the athletic physique of a runner, or of a Quidditch player. His hair and skin, as pale as the calcareous sediment from the edge of the lake. And years had put a hard look, who spoke a great resistance, in his eyes. Taking this all into account, he thought the blond would be ... appropriate, for what he needed.
But that did not make the choice more bearable.
He appreciated that the wizard was wounded, and would need a few days to recover, so he could harden himself for what had to be done.
Malfoy's injuries, although serious, with the curative salve he had applied, would not take longer to heal.
And when that happened ... he snapped his jaw nervously, and looked again at his prey.
The old slytherin seemed to be studying him, as if trying to find the best way to approach him. He was probably thinking about how to get out of there.
'In that case, I'd better make things clear.' The words of satisfied cruelty, had an acid aftertaste.
He increased the pressure slightly.
Draco gasped.
He could hardly breathe. His lungs pressed painfully against his broken ribs, threatening to pierce the soft organs. And if that happened ... he would die.
He coughed weakly, unable more. Resisting would have been useless, and would only have infuriated the arachnid. So Draco stood still, despite the threat of panic.
He continued looking at the other directly, showing that he was not afraid, despite being aware of his strength, and the very real possibility of death. But he did not think the acromantula would have saved his life, to kill him now.
The old slytherin seemed about to choke. But he was keeping his gaze despite everything, firm and quietly. If only in appearance.
He knew internally the blond was on the verge of a panic attack, the notion very sweet, like honey over the years of taunts and cruelties he had endured. And that brought him to the current problem.
'I tell him now, or wait his recovering?'
He was sure that Malfoy had no idea that his blood was not as pure as believed. Especially, considering that the spell he could feel surrounding him, acting as a barrier against that part of his blood, which was not fully human, was a very old one, with years, perhaps decades, of existence in the body of the slytherin.
It was no mystery why he had not laid hold of his true nature, to save himself. He didn't even know existed. If he had known, he could have asked the acromantulas for help, and they would have given it on a silver platter.
He frowned, or the arachnid equivalent.
That was a problem.
But one that had easy solution.
"I won't kill you." he said, and eased a little of weight, allowing the blond to breathe more easily. "I have other plans for you. Finite Incantatem."
A spell like that could never have been undone without months of hard work, study, and untangling of the magical knots that kept it. But he had a terrible, bubbling power, under his flesh, aggressive enough to undertake the task in a matter of minutes.
The strength of his magic reached the center of the seal, imprisoning the spider of Malfoy, and surrounded it with the intensity of a conflagration, tearing and biting with wild enthusiasm, to devour it completely.
Draco howled like an inhuman thing.
To be continued
Note: Hi again, and hope you are enjoying this so far. It's going slowly and without much darkness so far, but give it a few more chapters and you will probably hate me. XD
So, I'm not a native English writer, and even if I'm learning, I still make lots of grammar and spelling errors. That's why I'm searching for someone willing to do beta work for this fic, and if possible, to undertake the gargantuan work of editing Dementor kiss. I know it's a lot of work to do, so I'm sorry to ask, but if there's someone willing I will greatly appreciate it.
A, I speak Spanish, so if the one who wants to try, speaks it too, and is willing to explain to me my grammar errors so I can improve, it would be the most fantastic thing.
Thanks, and read you soon.