And now…
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SPIDERWEB
Chapter 16- Faster
"Severus?"
"Draco. Are you hurt?" His dark gaze swept over Draco from head to toe, assessing him. Picking up the black, half-weary, half-sad circles around his eyes, the softness of his muscles, and the bloody rags bandaging his wrists.
... the state, pathetically fragile, in which he was.
"You're hurt," Severus repeated. This time not a question, but a dry, unpleasant affirmation, in which only those who knew him well, would have heard the old hidden concern, of Severus Snape.
For Draco, who was his nephew, and had grown up listening to it every time a new wave of influenza ravaged the school, it was impossible to ignore.
It made him feel the ridiculous desire of reassuring his godfather. Ridiculous, because it would have been useless to try and hide the gravity of his condition, from someone like him.
Suddenly, something beyond the cavern of rubble and human remains they were in, thundered and resonated...
The unmistakable sound of falling rocks.
Draco's breath caught in his throat for a moment, as the guardian's eyes sharpened into radioactive green slits, and his posture became even more tense, like a trap about to spring up.
The sound got stronger, closer, as seconds ticked by.
"Whoever it is, they're coming, and we should leave before they arrive." Quiet, practical. "Can you get up?" Snape asked Draco, and stepped forward to offer his help.
Raksa hissed, and it was as if the old Head of Slytherin's house had just seen him, and not in all the time he had been in the cave already, for all the attention he had lent the other dominant, up to that moment.
The look he gave the Guardian was cool and calm, and expressed a total lack of care about the unveiled aggressiveness of the other.
"We do not have time to prove who the dominant male is now." The Potions Master raised an eyebrow, showing what he thought of such an act. "I suggest you help Draco get up, so we can leave before the Dark Lord's servants, or one of our fellow rebels, arrive, and see us as we are now." Maybe he and the other dominant, could have changed into their human shape before being discovered, but he doubted Draco could. As recent as his transformations were bound to be, and wounded as he was, he would not control his instincts well enough for it.
oOo
Snape's gesture of allowing Raksa be the one who held the submissive blond, despite his not so veiled sarcasm, did much to gain the collaboration of The Guardian. Even so, Harry still remained incredulous at the back of their shared mind, not entirely sure of what to think about Snape.
Anger, confusion, the old familiar resentment of his childhood ... but also vague doubt, since as with Malfoy, he could be mistaken in judging him for how little he could remember. Moreso, when he had not been present during those fateful days, in which he was abandoned by all.
The sound repeated, louder.
Now was not the time to think about such things.
Raksa was next to Draco in an instant, curving an arm around his waist to support him, while the blond slytherin used his diminishing energy reserves, to stand, letting The Guardian carry most of his weight.
"Follow me, and do not make a sound," Severus said in a quiet whisper.
Moving among the rubble quickly became a nightmare.
oOo
The corridors had been blocked by the battered remains of the upper floors, which left only holes narrow as burrows, to move between open viscera, sharp stone, and rubble that could collapse at any moment.
At every step their feet slipped on the floor soaked in viscous blood. The smell of decomposition flooded their lungs, and stuck to their throats.
From time to time, the moan of some dying man reached their ears, but they could not stop to help those who could not be saved.
Not with ones who could be Death Eaters so close.
And though Draco knew there was nothing that could be done for them, turning his back on those in need made his skin freeze, and stomach twist around a nonexistent knot, though there was no feeling to back up the sensations.
The spider continued to act like a cloak between his chest, and his mind. And the emptiness where his heart should be was a blessing in the midst of such a nightmare.
When the spaces were too small for Raksa and him to fit together, Draco had to cling to the walls to support himself, as he crawled forward, trying not to think about what he was touching, what his fingers found when it was not hard rock under his buds, but soft, slippery masses on which his phalanges sank.
The sticky moisture like honey that clung to the skin. The solid and chipped pieces he could often delineate underneath…
Bones under flesh.
The scratches and abrasions he sometimes received when moving against stone... the fatigue that made his body heavy ... Draco knew he was running out of strength, getting slower and slower ... more clumsy ... and did not know how much longer he could stand the pace.
The sounds, like those of animals in hunt, came closer and closer, and it was obvious now that they had picked up the trail of their little procession, as it was obvious too, they could only be Deatheaters. No member of the light that could be searching among the rubble, would have ignored the dying people in need to catch with them.
Soon they would be caught, and then it would not matter what resistance they might present. If the Deatheaters gave the alarm, the result would remain the same… No matter how many they killed, the rest of the army would not be far in their attack of Hogwarts.
In the end, when they ran out of strength and their bodies could no longer sustain more wounds, they would die.
They had no chance against a force like that of the Dark Lord's armies, and Draco knew the other two were well aware of it.
He could feel it in the way they pulled him so insistently in search of an exit. In their frantic gestures, in the heavy silence that curved around then...
Draco was a burden in his condition. But Severus and Raksa refused to leave him behind. That, too, was evident, in the worried shadows of their eyes, and in the tenderness of The Guardian's touch.
Draco forced himself a little further, to the limit of what his organism was capable of, and prayed in silence for him not to be the cause of any of them dying.
oOo
It happened almost at the same time.
The touch of fresh air in his nostrils, and the stroke of the first curse.
The impact threw them to the ground, as stones, wood, and corpse chunks rained around them.
The hit was so strong, that although the chitin protected him from the most violent encounter with the ground, Draco felt his whole body complain about the abruptness of the deal.
His muscles burned as if passed through boiling oil, stiff and tight, and they did not respond when he tried to get back on his feet.
He had no strength left.
Beside him Severus and Raksa were already up, facing where the attack had come from.
Draco followed their gazes.
At the entrance to the narrow corridor where they were, a group of Deatheaters had just arrived.
Their eyes were cold wells full of cruelty, their smiles cut their faces pale as blades, and their giggles had the cadence of bloodlust.
One of them held his wand up with a light spell, illuminating the way in a vague green light that reminded Draco of sick things about to die.
The phosphorescent circle didn't reach the three widows, but their smiles and postures said they knew there was someone there. Maybe they could guess their figures in the dark? He did not know, he did not want to find out either. The curse had given them up if nothing else. Without doubt their exclamations when rolling on the ground had already been enough.
It did not matter if they could see them now or not.
Another small breeze brushed the fine hair at the back of his neck, and the smell of the outside became unbearable. The scent of the pines in the forbidden forest, the burning smell of fire somewhere in what was left of Hogwarts, the cold of snow and night. They were so close, so close to the exit, that he could almost taste it on his tongue.
If only they could escape from these monsters...
Now they were a small group, but soon more would arrive. If they wanted to get out of there, it had to be now.
One of the Deatheaters, the one who looked like the leader, stepped forward.
"Well, well, what have we got here?"
Draco tightened his hold on the wand.
"Where did you think you were going, boys?" The Deatheater's wand swayed between his fingers almost indolently, totally certain he was in control of the situation ... Too bad it was not so.
Raksa passed by Draco quick and silent like a gust of wind, and the head of the leader was no longer attached to his body.
Blood splashed on the already soaked walls of the corridor, traces of vibrant and fresh red, over the already coagulated blackish brown, painting drops like stains of scarlet lacquer, on the skin covered with old crusts, of the exhausted blond man.
Severus only took a second longer to join the fight.
Chaos exploded in the hallway.
The howls of terror, pain, and anger burst into a rising cacophony, a long note, which grew louder and louder, until it hurt his ears.
Hot guts poured down to the puddles of the already bloody floor, the sounds of broken limbs joined the battle orchestra, bringing their own peculiar tone of agony. Curses crackled in the darkness with intense lights of red, blue, and green flasks, which showed the carnage as quickly as they left it in darkness.
Deatheaters did not stop coming at the sound, but Raksa and Severus moved as fast as the lights behind the window of a moving train. They were lethal shadows, murmurs impossible to capture, silent death-bearers, terrible monsters.
Draco could not stop looking, shaking and shaking, in the early stages of shock. The exhaustion, the psychic pressure... although the spider was mitigating it, the symptoms began to be seen. He did not know how much time he had left before all his barriers collapsed.
Even so, he could not have looked away from what was happening even if he had tried, even if he had wanted to.
The bodies of Raksa and Severus were black and glistening silhouettes, covered with sparkling red and alive, between the torn robes and the cadaverous masks of the dark soldiers. Their faces contorted in grimaces of visceral hatred, showed fangs oozing with green poison, vitae and saliva, sliding steadily down their jaws.
Their mirror-like eyes, intensely black, terrible and beautiful, kept searching for him... to make sure he was safe, to warn him not to move.
No one could reach him through this barrier of iron wills, endowed with teeth and claws, that acted as a crusher. Through those two men who were struggling to keep him safe.
Draco knew they were putting themselves in serious danger to protect him, and the feeling was ... He could not feel anything, nothing at all. But the fear for them was like a fish inside a tank. He knew he had it, but the spider's glass barrier prevented him from touching it. Still, sitting on the floor, his heart beated with the speed of a hummingbird, and as strong as a blacksmith's hammer. His body was collapsing, and he kept thinking; 'They can not keep up this forever.'
Draco stepped back, using the wall for support and forced himself, millimeter to millimeter, to stand up. It all hurt. Merlin... His stomach revealed itself violently, and he needed all the support of the stone to soldier the arcades as they ran through him like a convulsion. He put a hand to his mouth, wiping the bile that had risen to his lips with white, milky, fingers shiny with chitin.
He felt sick.
"Stop it," he muttered. He could not raise his voice from where it was trapped down his throat, which was closing until it was horribly difficult to breathe, but he knew they could hear him.
He hardened what was left of his voice, until he made it like a rock.
"Go away." If they left now, maybe they would still have a chance to get out of this alive, but not if they had to carry Draco. Not if they had to keep his broken pace.
Raksa looked at him.
"Go." Draco.
The Guardian's arm sank to the elbow on a Deatheater's torso, anger a living thing in his gestures.
"No," he hissed.
Draco heard the word made determination and rage, despite the distance and the noise. He vaguely wondered if it was a spider thing. If he was changing even more to suit it. If he really was still talking to Raksa, or if this violent creature was Potter again. Maybe. But it did not matter now.
"There is no time. Both of you… Go."
Severus looked up at him, with the familiar, dear, gaze of his childhood. And Draco wished to be sleeping between the silken, starched sheets of his bed in Malfoy manor. And the longing was so intense that it ran through his bones with a painful twinge.
He had spent many nights of childhood in that bed, sleeping, waking and stirring, studying the drawings of dragons and unicorns that his mother had ordered be painted on his ceiling, so that Draco had something to look at when sleep was slow to arrive, and made him company when nightmares woke him up, and he was too embarrassed to go and find his parents.
Now he would give a lot to go back to that happy time. In the midst of his family. But not the life of these two men.
He emptied all those memories from his mind, and hardened his face to the carved facets of a statue.
"GO!"
Severus only turned his eyes to Raksa.
"Get him out of here, I'll keep 'em."
Draco felt that what was left of his strength escaped with the breath of his lips.
"Do not... Severus ... NO!"
His body began to collapse, but Raksa or Potter was already there to hold him. Grab him, pull him.
Severus stood as a barrier between them and the Deatheaters, fighting with the violence of a grim reaper, but there were too many, too many. How much could he endure?
His godfather ... his godfather ...
"Draco, go to the house." And the man who had been like his second father, turned his head, soaked in blood and guts, and outlined by the light of the curses, and looked at him like he had when Draco had been a very young child. A baby playing hide and seek under his cloak, and enjoying the stories he told sitting on his knees. A black, quiet look, that said more than a warm embrace could say.
"Wait for me at my house." - And then his eyes changed to something ... something worried, something strange, something on the brink of anguish. - "But do not go to the forest. Draco, do not go to the woods."
"Uncle Sever ..." Draco felt weak as a child.
"Do not go to the woods." His eyes then left him, to rest on Potter for just a second.- "TAKE HIM!"
'NO NO NO'
But they were leaving already. And the silhouette of his uncle was lost in the darkness.
To be continue
Note: First of all I want to thank those few readers that helped with their opinions, so I could better assess this fic. Thanks guys.