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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
- 21
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Chapter Twenty-Two—In Terror

            Watching Potter kneel in front of a boy whom Draco had thought a Muggle and listening to them speak Parseltongue would rank among the most surreal experiences of Draco’s life.

            Those sliding syllables took him back immediately to the nights when he had sat in a chair at the Manor’s dining table, and listened to the Dark Lord speak to Nagini. Commanding her to hunt, to eat, to kill, to dine. To bring terror into someone’s life, and because of the way Draco couldn’t stop dreaming that someday she might eat him, or his parents, that life was often Draco’s.

            He kept his hands clenched in front of him now, his breathing light and steady, because not doing so would probably make him fly apart in a panic. Potter had gone back to the boy after Draco’s announcement about his language, with a single-minded concentration that Draco found himself burning with envy of. He had no reason to envy Potter, and he told himself that with a sharp shake of his head and a concentration on what was in front of him.

            “What are we going to do now?” he asked.

            Potter spent a few more words hissing at the boy, then turned away from him and looked at Draco, probably to force himself to switch to English. “I don’t know,” he said, with a frankness that made Draco want the Parseltongue back. At least then he wouldn’t have to hear about how fucked they were. “The boy doesn’t seem able to speak English; there was no sign he understood you. Whatever they did to him, it gave him magic, but it took away his language.”

            There was a light in the back of his eyes, and a wave in the thoughts that connected to Draco’s, that told him to be careful. Potter wouldn’t care who got in the way when he was charging to someone’s rescue, but Draco did, and would. He caught Potter’s eye and said, “We can’t take a child speaking Parseltongue into any wizarding village and expect him to be unnoticed.”

            “No,” Potter said, and his smile was small, and complacent, and unholy, and utterly ruined Draco’s day. “But we can expect him to be unnoticed if we take him back to your flat.”

            Draco half-closed his eyes, and counted all the way to twenty before the boy made a weak noise and interrupted him. Potter twisted back and hissed something that was probably meant to be soothing, but still danced up and down Draco’s spine with an unacceptable kind of menace. He licked his lips and tried to resume his speech. “Potter, no. Moonstone and Schroeder already have my name from you, or rather from the man you were playing. The minute they come back and realize that you’ve disappeared, they’ll check there.”

            Potter shook his head. “They don’t know that you came here to help me. They have no reason to suspect you.”

            “Having my name known by Rosefield, and passed to Eelhardt, is going to be enough,” Draco said shortly. He had seen Moonstone produce marvelous, and horrible, results before because he had a scrap of information that someone else didn’t have. He wouldn’t test himself against that money and that power before he had to.

            Except he was starting to suspect that he would have to. When he looked at Potter, he felt the throb in the back of his mind and the throb in his satisfied cock, and knew they were—tangled, now. Beset. Draco would have to keep Potter around until he figured out what to do with him, at least. And Potter was going to be a mad monster to anyone who tried to separate him from that child. Free from the influence of the Retrovoyance curse or not, Draco didn’t think he could count on him to act sane.

            “I’m sorry,” Potter said, and the apology shocked Draco into looking at him. “You’re right.”

            Draco stared. “What?” He had hated the way Potter had acted before, the unpredictability of it, the way he had of pressing into someone’s life and just effortlessly taking over, and the way he had done it to Draco’s. But he hated more the sensation that Potter would go somewhere else and Draco would never know where it was, or that he would listen to the thoughts in the back of his head and have no idea what had caused them, what combination of actions near Potter or around him could do that.

            “It’s not fair to involve you anymore,” Potter said, and then whispered a Lightening Charm to the child and rose with the boy securely cradled in his arms. The boy buried his face against Potter’s chest and didn’t look up. Draco wondered for a moment that a child so abused should trust anyone, but perhaps it made it different that Potter could speak to him. “You’ve done so much already. Come to my rescue twice. Forced me to see sense. Used a potion that might have been the saving of us, since you probably followed my thoughts to get here.” He gave Draco a faint smile that was still dazzling in the way it cut through the darkness. “Thank you.”

            “I used Weasley’s blood to follow you here,” Draco said, speaking without thinking, because this truth was less bizarre than the one he was hearing. “And combined it with my thoughts and memories of you, and a potion. Normally, you can do that trick with three people. One to contribute the blood, one to contribute the memories—and they both have to be people familiar with the one they’re tracking—and one to swallow the potion.”

            Potter smiled, a relaxed, easy expression that for a moment told Draco how he looked when he wasn’t chasing down child abusers. “But it worked for you without the third person because you already had the link to me, right?” he asked, and then nodded. “That was clever of you to think of doing it that way.”

            “Weasley had to be convinced it wasn’t real blood magic,” Draco began, and then interrupted himself. “You distracted me, Potter. What do you mean what you say it’s not right to involve me further?”

            “I have to take this child away somewhere where he’ll be safe,” Potter said, and then paused, a shadow falling across his face. “Child,” he muttered. “That’s probably what they called him, too. I don’t even know his name.” He hissed something to the boy, who jerked his head up and replied with what sounded like a rolling gasp to Draco.

            “Oh,” Potter said, and Draco wasn’t even sure it was a word he was supposed to understand, it was so softly sighed and said with such an expression of surprise on his face. His hand rose to cup the back of the boy’s neck, and he shook his head, his hair bouncing around him and making Draco wonder how long it had been since he’d had a haircut.

            Irrelevant thoughts, thoughts that have no place here, Draco thought, and pictured his mind as a crystal, bright and pure and flawless, without any of the distracting lights charging around the inside that his thoughts wanted to put there. For a moment, the image trembled and he thought it would shatter, but then it broke in the best of ways, filling his head with true clarity and brilliance.

            “Tell me what his name is, Potter,” he said, and he said the words without pleading or command. That was the best part about it, the ability to sigh out the words like that, and have Potter listen to him.

            Potter raised his head and blinked in wonder, then seemed to understand that even an implied question required an answer. It hadn’t taken Draco long, after all, considering everything, to teach him that. He swallowed and answered, “Adam. I knew—there was a boy I knew on my first case named Adam.”

            “And what happened to him?” Draco asked, because Potter’s thoughts whispered Remember.

            “I—he died,” Potter said. “We got him out of the house that held him, but it was too much for him, and he—went.”

            Draco found that he didn’t want to know what kind of horrors the pauses in that sentence concealed. Yes, it was perfectly possible that it was a maudlin story, the kind that would only affect Potter, but still.

            “You can bring him to my flat,” he said. “For now,” he had to add. “It’s late, and we need to find Weasley and make sure he knows what happened. And we need to make decisions about what we are going to do next.”

            Potter didn’t seem to notice the pronoun. He nodded two times, quickly and jerkily, and then again a third time, more slowly. He cradled Adam against his chest and said something else in Parseltongue. Adam tightened his arms and hissed back, and then, as far as Draco could tell, fell asleep. He didn’t know whether exhaustion or something more sinister prompted that slumber.

            And as far as he could tell from the way Potter held the boy, it wouldn’t matter. Anyone trying to get near the boy to harm him now wouldn’t get far. And Potter would treat any wound, any poison, any need for rest.

            Draco read the devotion in the way he held himself. And in the way he looked, too, but Potter didn’t seem to be looking at him. His eyes stared through the cavern wall when he wasn’t looking at the boy, and his body was taut and still. Once again, as Draco had seen only once before, Potter’s body and mind matched. The murmuring thoughts in the back of his mind murmured, Have to find, and Rest, and In the morning.

            Draco reached out to take Potter’s arm to Apparate them, wondering as he did so why he felt so lonely.

*

            In between the thoughts about Adam and the explanation he was already envisioning for Ron—who was owed nothing less than the truth, complete and whole, no matter how embarrassing it might be—Harry noticed the way Malfoy stood and sat around him, even when they were back in the flat and Ron was in full, yelling flood. Adam had gone down for a nap on a Transfigured pallet in Malfoy’s back bedroom, and Malfoy himself sat across from Ron, listening to him rant without moving.

            They had involved the man, and he wasn’t getting out of this without some scrapes. Harry saw that, now, and saw how silly he had been to assume that he and Ron would go ahead with this plan to fight Moonstone and Schroeder, whatever it turned out to be, and Malfoy would walk away.

            Moonstone and Schroeder knew his name. He was involved in this fight, whether that was what he would have chosen or not. Malfoy had no choice but to listen and to contribute and to plan, and knowing him, he would fashion a better scheme than Harry and Ron could have alone, full of backups for contingencies that they hadn’t considered yet.

            But…

            Harry wondered how much Malfoy’s involvement had cost him so far. Had it got him anywhere near the revenge he desired? He’d had to use his magic and his potions, but for little tangible gain. That had to sting someone like Malfoy, who had had a thriving business until Harry showed up, and then Harry had arrested one of his assistants and started the whole tide of shit flowing downhill.

            Could you have left Adam there? Could you not have arrested Campion, once you began to realize that he had anything to do with this?

            Harry shook his head. He knew what the answers to those questions was already, which was why they were less than interesting.

            He could have gone about it in a different way, though. He could have told Malfoy his suspicions about Campion and had a private interrogation, instead of one in the middle of the Ministry. Do it subtly enough, and Campion might never have realized there was a problem, and that meant, in turn, that Schroeder wouldn’t have known.

            Their biggest advantage, surprise, had been lost, and mostly because of him.

            “…and then you Apparated away, right after you swallowed my blood, and—Harry, are you listening to me?”

            Harry shook his head and turned to face Ron. “Sorry, no, not for the last bit,” he said. “But you were saying that I was irresponsible and didn’t take enough precautions. I don’t think any precautions could have kept me safe from Moonstone, because we didn’t know that he could recognize magical signatures like that. But the rest of it, yeah.”

            Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you accept responsibility like that in a long time, mate,” he said cautiously. “I mean, it’s great, of course it is, but I just want to know—why.”

            He faltered to a stop, perhaps because Malfoy was watching him with cool contempt. Harry rolled his eyes at Malfoy—he should know better, when he had seen Ron be more strong and courageous and useful in the last little while than Harry himself—and answered, “Because the Retrovoyance curse’s influence is gone. And I have someone else to make plans for now.”

            Malfoy seemed to stop breathing, but Ron didn’t notice, if the intent way he was staring at Harry was any indication. “Who?” he asked.

            “Adam,” Harry said. “He can’t speak English. I may be able to find out what they did to him and reverse it, but for now, I’m the only link he has to the outer world, the only one who can understand him.” He felt something powerful grip his chest and fill his mouth, the way the rage used to, but he didn’t recognize it. The closest thing to it he knew was an impulse to cry, and he didn’t do that anymore. “I have to stay with him and work with him until he’s either healed and can go home, or until we take down Moonstone and Schroeder, or something else definite happens. But that means I’ll probably have to go into hiding with him. He’ll need somewhere safe.”

            “You can’t go into hiding,” Malfoy said quietly. “That would confirm for Moonstone and Schroeder what they might have suspected, when they felt the strength of your magic.”

            Harry shook his head back at him. “It’s the safest way. If they suspect me and want confirmation, they’ll find some way to make Campion tell the truth, or break the spell on him. In hiding, I can keep Adam safe and make them unsure about what I’m doing and how much I know. And you can walk away from this, Malfoy, with my deepest thanks, and with payment if you want it.”

            Malfoy leaned an arm against the back of his chair and turned a gaze on Harry so rich in contempt that Harry flinched in spite of himself. It was nothing like the way he had looked at Ron.

            And it told Harry that he had done wrong, again. How? He had thought he was thinking it through from Malfoy’s point of view, remembering that he had done all this for them and yet received no payment and precious little gratitude for it. He had thought Malfoy would take his freedom with both hands.

            “I would still be in danger,” Malfoy said. “You used my name.”

            Harry spread his hands. “But if I walked away with Adam, and you didn’t know where I was, then they would have no reason to trouble you. They couldn’t make you tell what you didn’t know.”

            “Do you think the questioning will stop at that, that Moonstone would ever believe I was not lying to him?” Malfoy’s eyebrows rose. “He would lie to someone about this, and he treats everyone else by his own standard of distrust. No, Potter. It would become an immediate and tormenting threat to him, and he would be sure that I held something back. Whatever you do from now on, our strength and safety is in allies. You will have to let me help.”

            “And me,” Ron said, sounding as though he didn’t know why he had let Malfoy speak for so long. Harry smiled at him, but didn’t turn his eyes away from Malfoy’s face, because he couldn’t. “Besides, mate, could you even care for a kid on your own? I don’t think so. The only times that you’ve ever baby-sat were for a few hours.”

            Harry grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t know what to do. But how are we going to keep him safe from Moonstone and Schroeder, and keep them from finding out that we took him? They might be moving the other children they’ve tortured to some more secure place right now.” The thought made his mind churn, but he kept still when Malfoy held up a hand in front of him as though to command his attention.

            “Have you thought about this in detail?” Malfoy asked quietly. “What do Moonstone and Schroeder suspect, and what do they know?”

            “But that’s the one thing we can’t know,” Harry argued. “Unless we ask them, and we can’t.”

            “Can’t we?” Malfoy smiled, and his face was as bright and pale as a vampire’s, his teeth as sharp. Harry surveyed him in fascination, and Malfoy half-turned his head as though he resented the scrutiny. “I think being with Gryffindors has infected me,” he murmured. “I have a plan that relies on daring and boldness.”

            “Instead of keeping your head down and sneaking around in the shadows?” Ron muttered. “How surprising.”

            Harry darted an irritated glance at him. He knew Ron was trying to deal with his tension the only way he could, but Malfoy had already risked a lot for Harry, and more than once. Ron seemed to remember that in the next moment and gave a short nod, shrugging his own apology.

            “Or using potions to achieve the same result, yes,” Malfoy said calmly. “I need not only do those things, though they lie within the range of my expertise.” He turned back to Harry. “Not when we have someone with powerful magic at our disposal.”

            “I don’t know if I can muster it like that except when someone else is in danger,” Harry admitted. He could feel the forces swirling through him now that had reduced one Healer to dust and the other to something even more elemental, and shivered. Malfoy half-closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side like someone listening to divine music. Well, he would, wouldn’t he, when he had that potion that connected him to Harry’s thoughts? “It’s—it would be hard for me to do that on the spur of the moment.”

            “I didn’t mean the sheer strength of your magic, actually, or the strange weapons that you can make out of it,” Malfoy remarked, opening his eyes. “I meant that you can speak Parseltongue, and that you can cast a corporal Patronus charm, and that you are a better actor than I thought you were.”

            “You want me to go in person to fool them again? I don’t think—”

            “Would I suggest something that wouldn’t work, Potter?” Malfoy leaned forwards again, and something about the curl of his hand around the arm of his chair, and the way his chest heaved, made Harry remember that stupid blowjob in the middle of the cavern. He lowered his chin to his chest and stared at his hands, wondering how to apologize without revealing to Ron what he was apologizing for. “No. Not when we know our enemy now. I plan to contact Moonstone, to use his knowledge of my name against him, and offer to tell him what he wants to know in exchange for further immunity from his prosecution.”

            “What?” Ron exclaimed, but Harry threw out a hand to stop him from drawing his wand. There had to be more to it. He knew that now, to the point that the thought of Malfoy lying made him snort. He held Malfoy’s eyes and tried to use the back of his mind, not that he could consciously control the thoughts there, to urge him to continue.

            Malfoy flushed on the end of his thoughts and lowered his eyes, as if he knew what Harry was saying and it upset him for some reason. Or…Harry had seen him flush like that when Harry was going to suck him, too.

            But that was another discussion altogether. Malfoy flowed on. “I’ll bring him here and tell him a carefully-constructed lie, one that will make him think all he wants most—for there to have been no true breach in security, that the person who found his way to them is some lone madman whom I also disclaim—is true. And in the meantime, Potter, you will use your magic to sound his magical signature.”

            Harry blinked. “That art relies on Legilimency, doesn’t it? I’ve never had talent enough at Legilimency to be worth mentioning.” During Auror training, the Ministry had tutored those who did have that kind of talent in the basics, but Harry’s mind had remained way too open and his thoughts not concentrated enough.

            “No,” Malfoy said, with a patience that rang as if it was made of steel. “Reading the magical signature is a spell, and one that takes a good deal of power. Not often useful under torture, since the victim’s magical signature would change, and someone trying to do it from hiding might well fail at holding his Disillusionment Charm, or glamour, or whatever else is keeping him from sight.”

            Harry nodded. “But I still have a certain Invisibility Cloak.” He paused. “Are you sure Moonstone can’t see through them? Some people like Dumbledore could.”

            “He’s not that strong,” Malfoy said. “And one of my—associates—used a Cloak to hide from him before.”

            “He might be more alert this time,” Ron objected. “He has to be rattled.”

            “That doesn’t mean that he was not rattled the last time that my associate sneaked in and out with a cauldronful of Potions ingredients that Moonstone no doubt would have liked to keep for himself,” Malfoy said peacefully. “No, I think we can do this. But it will depend on very careful timing, and a plausible lie.”

            “If they find out that Campion isn’t Harry, then the whole plan is rubbish,” Ron said. “How are we going to keep them from doing that? Or at least know if they have?”

            “Why, Weasley, I thought you would never ask.” Malfoy turned towards Ron with a smirk that was more like a smile. It made Harry wonder, for a moment, why Ron and Malfoy, who had hated each other so long, could share a better relationship than he and Malfoy did.

            But he knew the answer to that. Their relationship had been fucked-up by the war and everything else in Hogwarts, and since they had met again, he had done a lot of the fucking-up himself. He settled back and listened to Malfoy outline for Ron exactly what an interested Auror inside the Ministry, openly repenting for having been partners with the mad Potter, could do.

            And he listened, too, for any cries from the back room, cries that would only sound like hisses to the others.

*

            Want a better one with him, said Potter’s thoughts, constantly, in slightly different words and slightly different tones, but always returning to those core words.

            Draco held his face firm and still, and conversed with Weasley with marble-like dedication and control, and refused to let the shivers of strangeness disrupt his life. Potter had done enough of that already. He could have the courtesy to wait and unleash any other strangeness in the future, after the execution of their plan.

            Draco, though, knew they wouldn’t be that lucky. Which meant they needed a contingency plan.

            As he had several times since Potter had walked into his shop to tell him about the Divination Professor’s vision, he thanked Merlin there was a Slytherin among them.

*

            ChaosLady: It was the sex more than Draco that calmed him down, but Draco and Harry might not make that distinction.

            unneeded: That’s the kind of thing Harry will always have to wonder about.

            Fullmoons_wings: Thanks! But I don’t think this really counts as a cliffhanger.

            AlterEquis: Thank you for reviewing!

            tiggator: Thank you!

            the_Lady: Of course you can quote me! I’m amazed and pleased that I found a way that works for you.

            SP777: Well, a twist that I planned for. But yes, one that is going to change things.

            Teania: Thank you! Hermione does appear in Chapter 23, though not here.

            Duomi: Thank you! And yes, that’s the reason Draco looked like that. He couldn’t believe how easily he’s given in to something that crazy, and then he would have liked it to mean more to Harry than it did.
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