To Walk a Narrow Path: Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Two: To Walk a Narrow Path
The call of the horn streaked across the sky, halting the storms in place. Harry gasped, heart stuttering in his chest as Crom Cruach’s gaze landed on him.
“You!” The Dark God’s hand slammed down onto the altar. “You will pay for that, you pathetic little mortal!”
The clearing erupted into chaos. Some of the mass orgy members sprang up, some with wands, others with weapons, rushing mad at the three of them. Snape leapt forward, wand slicing through the air, taking down a swath as he darted to the side, drawing most of the away. The Priest rushed at Draco, screaming in a language Harry could not understand. That left Harry with the god, alone on the field, with just his wand to defend himself.
Harry felt faint, his mind still reeling from the desperate gamble seconds before. When they had crested the bluff, when they had seen the two altars, paired side by side, the way the god and priest stood with arms extended, ready to strike - Harry’s world had stuttered to an agonizing crawl.
The Morrigan could not die. Nor could the Winter King. He refused to allow it. They had come too far, fought too hard, for all to come to naught. No, in that second Harry had reached with all of his will and twisted the future, talking the two gods away from the altars, twisting their position so that they reappeared across the clearing in the temple, away from the deadly strikes.
The attempt left him reeling. He clasped his wand in his hand, air rattling in his throat as Crom Cruach rushed at him.
Spells did little to deter the god. Binding spells slid off the conjured flesh. A slicing spell caused a small wound to appear on the god’s arm. They both froze in shock for a long second, staring at the dotted line of blood that rose to the surface of the pale skin.
“So you are the Dreamer the worlds have whispered about.” Crom Cruach gathered the drops of blood onto his finger and sucked it clean. The dark, fathomless eyes did not stray from Harry’s face. “Time keeper by default, one of the last of your abilities, I’d say. Since I’ve murdered most of the rest,” White teeth were shown in a vicious parody of a smile. “I’ll enjoy eating the flesh from your bones, boy.”
Then he attacked.
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Severus, for one heart-stopping second, was bitterly grateful for his years as a member of the Death Eaters. The vicious curses rolled off his tongue with ease, even as his off hand, still heavy with the strange axe he could not seem to put down, swung down to crack a skull in half.
“The temple!” A flash and it took all of Severus’ strength to keep from cleaving Harry in half. “They’re in the temple!” The air around the boy twisted and he was gone, appearing across the clearing with a nasty hex aimed straight for the Dark God’s groin. Gryffindors, he sighed.
The temple sat on the south side of the bluff, opposite the massive orgy and dotted pyres. Severus set his jaw and blasted his way through the mindless bodies, ducking a wild swing from a man holding a rake, kicking out at the man’s chest and hearing a satisfying snap as the man tumbled away.
“Snape!” A scream, a voice Severus had hoped was dead and gone. Narcissa Malfoy rose from the mess of bodies, naked and shiny from fluids he would rather not think about.
“You,” he growled back at her. Her hands were empty, as were her eyes, lit just by the wild rage that had consumed so many around her. He leveled his wand at the woman, praying that Draco would not see.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said as she screamed and rushed at him.
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Draco stumbled as he lunged away from the wicked point of the Priest’s sword. It was more of a short sword than anything else - it was wicked sharp and the man knew how to use it, as Draco had found out, much to his displeasure.
He needed to be at Harry’s side. He needed to help him with the frothing mad cow of a god that kept running across the field starkers, with bits flapping about that Draco had rather not see on an old man. Ever. It didn’t help that the very ground he scrambled over was littered with naked bodies - and sometimes parts of naked bodies - which, again, he had rather not seen. Ever.
The wild pulse in his chest had expanded from the second the Priest had screamed and rushed at them. The burning in the back of his throat grew hot, his eyes wide, even as the muscles he had dreamed of started to flex under his skin.
It was rather distracting.
He ducked away from the wicked blade, swiping a blinding spell behind him. It missed, but the Priest was forced to jump out of the way, his foot landing on a spike of metal. The Priest shook it off and smiled, causing Draco’s stomach to plummet.
“Blast and hell!” Draco sprinted away, back cramping with impulses he could not understand. A rough wooden structure rose up around him. “Just bloody die already!”
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Severus spat on the decapitated body of Narcissa Black, taking his gaze away from the field of battle for a precious second. I had always wanted to pull your hair out. Now I have.
“Snape,” a gravelly voice came from behind him, just as a bright spot of pain sliced along his side.
He twisted away, a growl of pain caught in his throat. McNair stood behind him, a curved carving knife in one hand, wand in the other.
Severus didn’t bother to respond. McNair was a vicious animal, but stupid. The Death Eater could be counted on to draw the fight out, to want to wound his enemy instead of killing him, just to watch him bleed. It gave Severus maneuvering space. McNair would want to torture him to death - Severus just wanted the man dead.
Ducking away from the carving knife was easy. His axe lodged in McNair’s shoulder, causing the man to shout and wiggle away. Severus spun the handle in his palm, the move coming as natural as breathing, twisting the wound open. McNair cried out again and sent a hex at Severus’ legs. He had to duck away, unable to bring up a shielding spell in time.
Then McNair made a mistake. He rushed forward, seeing Severus off-balance, the wicked knife aimed for Snape’s chest. Severus brought both wand and axe around, the thick head of the weapon lodging in the man’s belly as Severus’ slicing hex took McNair’s head clean off.
Severus twisted aside as the body continued forward, wrenching his weapon free with an almighty heave. He had a minute to wipe his face with his sleeve and to catch his breath. Then he turned, wand and weapon ready, plowing for the temple, ready to cut down all that stood to oppose him. He would not fail.
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Draco was bleeding in more places than he cared to think about. The Priest did not seem to feel pain. Despite the many times Draco had wounded the man, he did not falter from his relentless attacks.
It was starting to piss Draco off.
The rough wooden structure was the base of another pyre, this one larger than the others dotted around the clearing. Several large pillars had been sunk into the ground, causing the two, at times, to circle around them like children on a playground.
The muscles in Draco’s back were starting to cramp and hinder his movement. He tried to keep half an eye on the field of battle beyond the Priest, watching as Harry flitted in and out of sight, dodging all of the god’s blows.
He was in the middle of checking Harry’s position when he slipped. It was a stupid mistake, his mind informed him. His foot had slid in the bloody mud, making his dodge a half second too slow.
The short sword connected with his middle and rammed him to the post.
Time stuttered. The Priest breathed into his face, bloody and sweaty and so rank that Draco’s stomach turned. The Priest began to twist the blade, but Draco stuck out with his fist, smashing the man’s nose flat with a vicious punch. The man reeled back, hands coming up even as he shrieked.
That was when Draco saw it. Just beyond the Priest’s shoulder, on one of the few clear spots of the bluff, Harry had fallen to his knees, hands and head down, panting for breath. The Dark God pounced, gleaming sword held high, even as Harry’s head came up, slow. Too slow.
No, Draco felt his blood go cold. Absolutely not, I refuse! It was as if a switch had been thrown in his head. The pain receded. The sounds of battle, the moaning, the cries of pain, all of it faded away into a blur of white noise.
Draco would not allow Harry to die. He would not.
The world twisted into a new shape around him. He plucked the sword from his middle with ease. The shifting muscles in his back no longer cramped, causing his body to jerk uncontrollably, no. He knew what those muscles were for. He knew how to use them now.
A blinding rush of power swept along his skin. The Priest was screaming, a weapon in one hand as he rushed at Draco. A clawed fist stuck out, knocking the man flat. A barbed tail came crashing down on his head, cracking it like an egg. The rush of the orgy seemed to be lifting from the crowd. They all screamed, some pointing, some fleeing, others gathering weapons and charging at Draco with death in their smiles.
The dragon reared back, breath hot as fire exploded across the clearing, the wild magic twisting his spells into reality without the need of a wand. Draco laughed, the sound coming out as a triumphant roar.
He launched into the air, his powerful back muscles moving his wings.
I’m coming, Harry. Hold on.
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Severus ducked into the temple as a blast of dragon fire roared over the clearing. A dragon? Honestly, Draco…He pushed the thought from his mind.
The gods were struggling on the altars, the weak sounds of their voices cutting the thick silence of the room. Little could be heard when the temple door shut behind Severus - silencing spells, if he had a spare moment to guess.
“Who comes?” A man’s voice rasped out.
Severus quelled the first few responses that were ready at the tip of his tongue. “An ally,” he said instead and waded forward. The floor of the temple was sticky with dried blood and bits of half-burned flesh.
“Who -”
“No time,” Severus slid his wand away and grasped at the bonds. The woman shrieked, eyes flashing open as she bucked on the table.
“LetmegoletmegoLETMEGO!” Her scream grated on his ears.
“I’m trying,” he snapped.
“There is not time,” the Winter King rattled his wrist bonds. “Only Crom Cruach can undo the locks now.”
“Then any suggestions?” Something crashed into the side of the temple.
“The axe,” the gods’ eyes gleamed. The Morrigan’s head came up and there was sense in her eyes.
“I had wondered where that had gone,” she said. “Use it to break the links. Hurry!”
“The links are on your skin, you daft twits,” Severus pointed out.
“Just do it!” Gwyn ap Nudd’s voice filled the room.
Severus took a deep breath and then eased around the altar to their heads. The Morrigan’s dark eyes tracked his every move. He hoisted the axe up over his head, eyeing the chains.
“Do it,” the Winger King’s eye shad taken on a strange glow.
Severus grasped the handle with both hands, raising the axe high, high over his head. He caught a breath, holding it tight in his chest.
He brought the axe down with all of his might.
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The world was hazy at the edges. Harry could not tell the difference any more between reality and the hazy strands that crisscrossed his vision.
The Dark God was coming. Harry sent off a nasty hex he had learned from Blaise, feeling a jolt of pride in his chest as the god stumbled. Harry reached, grabbing the nearest strand of the future and swapping it with his.
He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to work that way, but at that point, he didn’t care. It got him away from Crom Cruach’s magic and his wicked blade.
The inside of Harry’s mind was a different story. Each time he reached, each time he twisted reality to move him from point to point, a little more of his mind shattered. He could feel pieces slipping away as he dodged; his favorite color - twist - the smell of his aunt’s best chocolate cake. Little pieces of him crumbled each time he moved away, breaking down the door of his inner most sanctum one splinter at a time.
One last twist and he found himself kneeling in a spare, clear bit of dirt. The edge of the cliff was on his right. The mess of flesh and blood and burning bodies was to his left. He flung his hands out and caught his palms on the dirt, feeling the heavy weight in his chest and throat.
He couldn’t do it again.
A sound caused him to look up. A million futures flashed in front of his eyes. Crom Cruach’s cruel smile split the pale face bathed in blood. It was the end. It could not be the end. It couldn’t.
Harry took a deep breath, feeling the futures slow and settle around him. Somehow, he knew it would be his final move, his final strike against an evil he’d had no intention of waking.
The sword glinted in the murky light. A flower of fire exploded across the clearing. Somewhere, Harry thought he heard a dragon roar.
Danu, he whispered into the growing stillness of his mind. I am so scared.
Warmth began to spread in his chest. The futures pressed down on him, bearing present and past into his soul. The first time he ever did magic slid across his mind. The shape of Ron’s smile on that first Hogwarts’ train. Hermione’s laughter from third year. His aunt’s cookies, sneaked to him once when he was very little. The warmth of Professor Snape’s hand on his shoulder. Sirius’ grin. And Draco - all of Draco - pale eyes and narrow glare and cold hands and - and - and…
It boiled up inside of him, the agony, the loss, the pain, the love of all his life. He gathered it up and flung it away, straight into the god whose finishing arc would end the strands of all his futures if he did not strike.
Harry screamed, hands clutching at the ground beneath him. Crom Cruach reared back, gleaming sword falling from his hands, torso split open from collar to groin.
Harry’s vision turned dark at the edges, spiraling inward as he fell back, back and back, away from the scream of an enraged god, away from the roar of a bloodthirsty dragon and the cries of two death gods, freed from their bonds.
Warm arms caught him before he could fall forever. A woman’s soft hands eased long bangs from his face. He thought he heard soft voices whispering into his ear, how proud they were of him. He closed his eyes against the sight of his mum and dad and let everything go.
End Chapter Fifty-Two
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