Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Sanctum Sanctorum	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 28253 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
- 20
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Chapter Twenty-One--In Fury

            Draco felt the explosion of rage like a sunburst in the back of his head, making him stagger and nearly fall in the middle of his run behind Weasley. He shouted breathlessly, but wasn't sure that the git would actually listen to him. He was on his knees with his hands over his eyes, he knew that, and his skin aching, and his head full of magic and a single, smooth, sleek, pointed thought that had no words. It drove ahead, cleaving the waters of Potter's mind, and Draco knew what the end of it would be, whether or not it talked to him to tell him about itself.

            "Weasley!" he shouted again, and felt hands clamp on his shoulders, though the sensation felt faint and far away next to the pressure of the sleek thought.

            "Yes, Malfoy, I'm here," Weasley said, and he didn't sound as strained or frightened or disgusted as Draco would have thought he would. He clung to that expectation and Weasley's defiance of it, to have something to think about that was not Potter and the way he was bursting bounds. "What is it? Is Harry moving?"

            "Killing someone," Draco said, and then gripped Weasley's hand and turned it over. "Swear that you'll give me your blood willingly. Swear."

            Weasley shuddered and tensed, while in Draco's head the sleek thought met its first target and exploded. Now his mind was full of what seemed like steel-feathered birds, screaming as they turned in circles, their wings slicing and shearing one thought from another, again and again and again.

            "Is this blood magic?" Weasley demanded. "Because I don't want to have anything to do with blood magic, it's wrong--"

            "Not wrong if it's given willingly!" Draco shouted, or thought he shouted. The blank whirl was taking over his mind, whiteness by whiteness, steel feather by steel feather, and he knew his head would fly apart if he had to endure it much longer.

            No saying that you won't fly apart if you get closer to it, too. But at least he would then be in a position to stop it.

            "Give it to me!" His fingers clawed into Weasley's hand, and for a moment he thought he would be forced to work with the small amount of blood his nails were digging out. But then Weasley made a disgusted sound and fumbled with what seemed to be a blade, tossing it to Draco. A small knife, Draco decided from the way the hilt fit into his hand, and the blade was dull. But he was a Potions master. He knew how to slice and dice in such a way that he would create large wounds in the skin, because learning how to avoid those had been an essential part of his training.

            "I don't know what the fuck you're doing, Malfoy, but you better not--"

            "Shut up, Weasley," Draco whispered, and sliced. The blood began to flow over Weasley's palm, down his own fingers. He didn't need much more than a few drops, but he still brought his hand to his mouth and sucked in the blood he did get, desperate not to waste it. The more he had, the more powerful he was and the more quickly this could be accomplished.

            Potter destroyed someone else, or maybe that was only in his mind. Of course it was, it was all in his mind, and he could feel the senselessness rising, Potter's blades cutting apart the chains that Draco called logic and sense, splitting the connections, making him, in another moment, as mad as Potter seemed to be--

            No! Focus! The taste of copper on his tongue and Weasley's unsophisticated retching sounds brought him back. Draco tore his hand out of his mouth and forced his eyes briefly open against the patterns of black and white that danced across them, plunging his hand into his robe pocket after another potion.

            This time, he managed to pull it out by himself, and had a moment of grim amusement at that before his head flared with magic again and the thought of what Potter was probably doing had all amusement fleeing away. But at least I don't need to hurt Weasley's tender sensibilities, he told himself as he tipped the potion down his throat. It tasted like cotton, but he swallowed around and through that, and it slid reluctantly down towards his stomach.

            It touched the remnants of the blood on the way, and Draco felt a sensation throughout his being as if he had sudden become the one link an important chain had needed to join together. He nodded. The connection had been made through his body, through the blood of Potter's long-standing friend and the mental bond Draco himself had to Potter. Usually one would have needed a third person, the one who would provide the memories of the target, but Draco had bypassed that requirement with his idea to feed Potter the mental link potion.

            He felt a moment's pride at his foresight, and then the link seized him and whirled him and tossed him high. He thought he felt Weasley try to grasp him and hold on, but his hands fell away and Draco was dancing through the tight space occupied during Apparition, by himself, speeding along.

            His hand touched the first battle potion he would cast, and he listened to Potter's thoughts.

            They were random now, little more than impressions, but still Draco thought he felt, and thought he saw:

*

            The Healer holding the boy died at once, his arms melting away from his body to become little more than a swirling mixture of colors, phantoms and paint that dripped to the floor. Harry saw that, and he saw the wave of color snatch up the little boy and bear him away, as if he were cradled in watery arms, towards the far corner of the cavern.

            Then Harry turned, and the second Healer died trying to scramble away. Harry looked at him, and dust rose from the floor and swallowed him, transmuting him, so that he became dust himself.

            The dust and the colors danced past his eyes, fast and yet flickering, as though there were moments Harry blinked and missed their circulation. He wondered why that was, but the idea slipped away before he could focus on it and became less than important. He turned his head and blinked in truth, and Auror Midnight ducked from him, so that whatever weapon Harry carried in his eyes, or body, or whatever it was, missed.

            Harry didn't mind that he'd missed. He felt curiously detached, watching his rage as a wall of emotion in front of him that didn't connect to anything else, and which he could walk outside and in and around and through when he wanted to. But he wondered what it might be like to feel it again, so he reached out and slipped a hand into the wall, feeling around for something solid--

            It crashed over him, the blinding, breathless fury, the kick up from the stomach that was like orgasm in reverse, the rage. Harry roared and spun around, seeking Moonstone and Schroeder. The Healers had tortured this particular boy, but they were the ones who had set up everything in the first place, who would go on torturing more children if Harry didn't stop them, and he had to find them and destroy them.

            Destroy them, sang a hammering pulse in the back of his mind. Harry wondered for a moment if that was the kind of thing Malfoy heard thanks to the potion, and then put the thought aside as irrelevant. He hurled himself ahead, mind and magic together, to find Moonstone and Schroeder's hiding places.

            They were gone.

            Harry found the place in the cavern wall where they had taken off part of the stone, doors disguised as ordinary rock--long ago, and with Muggle tools, so nothing had showed to his first scan for magical ways to escape--and escaped into other tunnels. Harry started to step into the tunnels, but something hit him in the middle of the back and hurled him away from the entrance.

            An Auror Stunner. Midnight and Rosenbaum were still here, and Harry could kill them if he wanted to.

            He nearly turned around to do it. He nearly stepped ahead down the tunnels anyway. But another thought struck him like the Stunner, and made him hesitate. What would happen if he abandoned the Muggle boy here, with the traitorous Aurors still able to reach him and hurt him? What if there were more children here, children who needed his help and didn't have any other hope of rescue? He had done this in the first place to help the children who needed any form of help he could offer--

            The hesitation weakened him. He could have handled Midnight and Rosenbaum without blinking a few minutes ago, but now he could feel the strength bleeding out of him as they hit him again and again with Stunners, and the shields he had put on himself were faltering, and he turned away from the tunnels and then wavered, because the two Aurors were darting around the room, casting in tandem, never allowing him a moment of rest. Harry roared like a wounded bull.

            Then Malfoy appeared beside him, with a loud whistling noise that seemed to rise up from a depth beneath the floor. Rosenbaum tried to hit him with her next curse, but Malfoy flung a potion at her that caused her to flinch and scream, clawing at her eyes, as it burst at her feet.

            Midnight got through with a curse that made a long, shallow scratch open down the side of Malfoy's arm. Harry moved to shield him, feeling calmer and more rational now that he had someone to protect and didn't have to decide between impossible choices. He opened his mouth to ask Malfoy if Ron had come with him; it seemed odd that Malfoy would have been unable to find him this fast without Ron and the button trick, but Harry saw no sign of his partner.

            Then a short cry came from the side, where Harry's magic had taken the boy, and Midnight turned and cast a spell in that direction. It was probably reflex, to stop the crying and make the boy less distracting for him as a source of noise during the ensuing fight.

            Harry's mind settled. He could feel his magic breathing now in a single direction. He smiled, and his magic reached out in front of him like clutching fingers. He could picture them that way if he wanted to. It would give him pleasure.

            Once again he was outside, detached, from his emotions, but that was because he could predict the future. He knew what was going to happen next, and he felt a vague sense of goodwill, the way he would if he was looking forward to a difficult performance by his favorite singer.

            Midnight turned back as the first edge of Harry's magic reached him, and his left arm broke with a snap like a matchstick. He tried to raise his right arm, because his right hand was holding his wand, and that broke, too. Then Harry's magic reached down Midnight's body and squeezed, and his femur broke, his keencaps, the bones in his toes, and the breaking spread out and around his body, through all the bones, the magic cradling his body to make sure that life stayed in the flesh while Harry shattered and pummeled and made Midnight a work of art.

            He was smiling. He knew he was. But the smile didn't seem important. He was going to put Midnight in pain, and that was all.

            Malfoy's hand fell on his arm, and clamped.

*

            The bravest thing Draco Malfoy ever did in his life was touching Harry Potter when he was in a rage like that.

            He thought about it later, and agreed with himself it was the bravest thing. Some people might say it was the only one he had ever done, but Draco knew better, and he had no interest in debating with people like that, anyway.

            So he touched, and Potter lunged against his hold and turned on him with white teeth snapping, a red flame deep in his green eyes, the magic rising around him and pushing against Draco until he felt as if he was locked in ice from the waist down. But that meant his arms were still free, and he wrapped them around Potter, pulling him close, focusing on the link between their minds that the potion created. There had been a moment when it calmed, soon after Draco's arrival, and he had used that to reinforce his Occlumency barriers, so that when Potter went wild again, Draco hadn't lost himself completely.

            "Potter," he whispered. "No. Not like that. You don't want to do that. I know you don't. Come back to me."

            Potter screamed right into Draco's face, the sound as nerve-shattering and surprising in its depth of sound as a lion's roar. Draco didn't flinch, didn't allow himself to start back. The moment he did that, he thought, Potter would lash out in reaction to the fear, and that Draco had been fearless was the only thing that had kept him alive so far, he knew.

            "You can't scare me like that," Draco said, his voice steady. He heard moaning from the two corners of the room, from the Aurors, and it crossed his mind, at a distance, that he should check and make sure his Intense Light Potion was still blinding the female one. But he could only do that when he could look away from the storm-surge of Potter's eyes, which it wasn't safe to do yet. "I know what you really are. What you are under the Retrovoyance curse, what you aren't right now. Come back to me."

            He could feel some of the familiar sensations in the back of Potter's mind reasserting themselves. The little stream of his thoughts that had flooded and vanished when the fury overran it was coming back. Now and then Draco could make out something that had words to it, like Surprising and Still and Fearless.

            Draco wondered what other gesture he could make to show Potter that he was here and didn't fear him, beyond embracing him. Then he had it. He smiled, not happily, because it was more than a little bit ridiculous, but it would be more ridiculous to die when he might have a solution. He leaned forwards, using the cold grip of the magic around his waist to brace himself on, and rested his forehead against Potter's. The old scar felt unexpectedly rough against his skin.

            "Come back to me," he whispered. "Think of the things that you told me you did when you felt this way. Planned, or flung yourself into work, or cast spells in an underground room. Come on. What do you want to do right now more than you want to kill these people?"

            Potter closed his eyes, and Draco felt his body tremble once. Then his eyes leaped open, he took his wand--and it was a relief to see him with that bloody holly wand in his hand, for once, instead of the wandless power that had crowded and pressed all around him until this moment--and pointed it over Draco's shoulder. Draco saw his lips move to shape the incantation for a Stunner, and the next moment heard a body falling to the floor. Draco released his own breath in a small huff. He reckoned that the female Auror had recovered from the effect of his potion after all, faster than he had expected.

            Potter looked at him, and Draco realized that he was on the edge, still, wand or no wand. His eyes were deep and wild, and he looked as though he wanted to come back to the brink of sanity but hated the trail that would lead him there. Draco frowned. If Potter was rational enough to realize what he needed to do, why not do it?

            "You said," he began. He didn't move his arms, he didn't move his forehead, and he wondered if it was a mistake to be so close, if Potter needed to lash out. Perhaps he would decide that he needed to destroy Draco?

            Then Potter smiled at him, a twisted smile that made Draco's mind recoil back into itself, and the cold grip of the magic on Draco's legs and hips was gone, and Potter was saying, "You said," and he kissed Draco savagely, so hard that Draco felt his lips split open against Potter's teeth and his mind went white again.

            Potter was still kissing him with tremendous force as he surfaced again, bearing him back into the wall of what seemed like an ordinary cavern, but Draco could feel him trembling. Holding himself back, even now, making sure that Draco had the chance to change his mind if he wanted.

            Draco thought about it. Or he thought about it while bits and pieces of his mind shrieked in savage curiosity and glory and fell all about him, battered and broken from their contact with that part of Potter's mind.

            "Yes," he gasped.

            And Potter laughed into his mouth, gave him one more bloody kiss, and then fell to his knees. The magic danced around Draco, a whirlwind like Fiendfyre from which he could see eyes peering and heads and limbs nodding, and his clothes were gone. Potter opened his mouth and swallowed Draco's cock without preamble. Draco felt teeth and arched his hips in protest.

            The teeth were gone the next moment, and Potter flung all the force and fury still raging in his body into his sucking, his tongue scouring Draco's cock, his throat pulling as if he meant to break Draco down into food, digest him, devour him. Draco's head tilted back, his hands found holds in the small cracks in the stone, and he panted and sang a shrill song of desire to the air.

            His world narrowed. Thoughts, gone. The rage in his mind and his worry over what might happen to the two Aurors, gone. The tunnels behind him were the last thing in his awareness to vanish, fading like a sight seen from the height of a speeding broom.

            There was heat, and wetness, and pleasure so intense that it made him tremble with pain. There was that, and nothing else.

*

            Harry had thought he wouldn't know how to do this. He had mostly been with women, and other than a few intense dreams, he hadn't done this sort of thing to another man.

            But he knew, and he could feel his rage settling as he worked on getting it right, on giving Malfoy what he needed, wanted, deserved, on slaking the need that burned in him, too. He reached down and jerked at himself twice, savagely, until it hurt and felt good with the pain. It was better than tearing furrows in his skin with his nails, the only other halfway viable option right now.

            Malfoy's hips slammed forwards against his face. Harry couldn't breathe, but that was okay; the tight red and black spirals dancing in his head became the spirals of breathlessness instead of emotion. He worked through it, sucking until Malfoy drew back a little and he could get some air. Then Harry pulled in a noisy breath and dived into what had to be the last part of it, sucking and swallowing and lashing with his tongue, trying to make Malfoy come. He had to come, he was going to come, he wasn't going to beat Harry with this the way he had fought him so many times--

            And then, yes, he was, though the jam of Malfoy's hips hurt enough this time that Harry wondered if his nose was broken. He swallowed, and swallowed again, the thickness in his throat acting the way a gag would have, forcing him to think about his thoughts instead of voicing them.

            Forcing him to work through his emotions instead of acting them out.

            He closed his eyes against the last remnants of something that might have been shame, and sat back up and away from Malfoy, not wiping his mouth because he didn't want Malfoy to take that gesture the wrong way. He was capable of thinking about things like that at the moment, with his mind clear and unmarked by the cries of the dead. He stared into the distance, thinking. There was the child to rescue, the Aurors to secure--he didn't know if anything could be done with Midnight--and Moonstone and Schroeder to pursue. And someone should go back to the holding cells and check to see if Campion had been freed. If he had, that would indicate Schroeder or Moonstone or both had recognized Harry's magic and knew he was free.

            That was stupid, what you did.

            Harry grimaced and nodded, and stood. Yes, it had been. On the other hand, wailing about that and beating his head against the ground wasn't on the agenda, either. He had enough other things to do. He took a step towards the alcove where his magic had placed the Muggle boy and was presumably still guarding him.

            Malfoy's hand closed on his arm like a vise. Harry found it unexpectedly easy to stand still and turn his head to speak to the man instead of snapping and lashing out, the way he would have a few hours earlier. Yes, the fuck had cleared his head.

            "Did I hurt you?" he had to ask, because Malfoy's face was bloodless. "I'm sorry."

            Malfoy shook his head, once, and then twice, and Harry didn't think the second shake was aimed at him. He dropped Harry's arm a moment later and said abruptly, "It doesn't matter. You should--you should decide what you're going to do about that Auror whose bones you broke."

            Harry nodded once and turned around. It felt good to have a direction, and someone else's eyes could be twice as valuable when Harry was still trying to recover--a little--from having his mind clouded and his eyes used by a sense of revenge that didn't entirely belong to him.

            Midnight was still alive, but moaning softly, continuously. Harry knelt down beside him and cast some of the simple diagnostic spells, then nodded. Midnight's magic was keeping him from worse pain, and either Harry had broken fewer bones than he thought he had or Midnight's magic had begun to work to repair them. He would probably be able to walk in a few days, sooner with the help of a good Healer or Skele-Gro. But with his magical core diverted to what his body saw as threatening injuries, he probably wouldn't be able to cast.

            He shrank away from Harry when he looked up and saw him, his arm over his head. Harry sighed and cast a spell that made him sleep, then turned towards Malfoy. "He'll live, and so will Rosenbaum--the other one," he added, when Malfoy stared at him. "But we should find out what they know before we let them go."

            Malfoy nodded and started to say something else, but a weak cry of, "Help!" cut through the cave before he could. Malfoy whipped around, and Harry started to his feet. "Did you hear that?" he demanded.

            "What?" Malfoy shook his head. His face and knuckles were very pale. "It sounded like an animal."

            Harry glared at him and then stalked towards the cry as it repeated itself. He found the boy his magic had saved in a corner of the cave, surrounded by glittering walls of color. They parted and splashed back into the cavern floor like water as Harry passed them.

            "Help," the boy whispered, and hesitated before holding out his arms. Harry reckoned he was frightened enough not to care about who did the rescuing, as long as they didn't hurt him.

            "How are you hurt?" Harry asked gently, not touching him yet but looking him over.

            "What are you doing, Potter?" Malfoy's voice came from behind him, and sounded strangled.

            Harry turned and stared at him. "Helping him," he said. "I know he's a Muggle, Malfoy, but you--"

            "What's a Muggle?" the boy interrupted. "They called me that. Are you with them?" He pulled away, his eyes huge.

            "I can't understand you, Potter," Malfoy said evenly. "You and the boy are both speaking Parseltongue."

            There was a long moment before Harry's blinking ceased and his brain engaged with a Well, fuck.

*

            unneeded: Well, the ones who would have been most valuable dead or captured are gone, unfortunately.

            ChaosLady: He was smart enough to get out of there right away, because he did figure that out, yes. ;)

            Fullmoons_wings: Thank you! I’m afraid this chapter doesn’t solve the cliffhanger problem, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

            AlterEquis: Sorry!

            Duomi: Thank you! I’m glad that you enjoyed the story despite being uneasy with it at first.

            SP777: Both, I think? I couldn’t choose!

            DemonLordLife: I don’t think I understand?
In Fury
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