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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.

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Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Twenty-Four—In Magic

            Harry cast the spell slowly. He knew that it would have to be done slowly, that rushing would reveal to Moonstone that he was there and quite likely not succeed in drawing any information out of his magical signature, either.

            But it was hard to go slowly, so hard, with his hand shaking on the wand and the knowledge that one of the men who had hurt Adam was in the same room with him. Harry realized that he was taking deep, gasping—but soundless—breaths and made himself hold his breath altogether for a moment, the syllables of the incantation running in his mind only.

            You are not going to mess this up. If you want a chance for vengeance, then you are going to make sure that you do this right.

            A blinking of his eyes, open and then shut, and he was calm, and could draw on his power as he needed to. His wand flicked out again, and there it was, the tentative tendril that wandered from him to Moonstone, a glow of blue on the air that faded when it crossed in front of the fire. Harry smiled. There was a reason that Malfoy had had Moonstone sit so near the fire, then. Sometimes it bewildered Harry, how clever Malfoy was, how—

            Think about that later, he ordered himself sternly as his concentration wavered and the tendril nearly split apart, the blue arms reaching out with as if they had been startled into jumping. You have to cast the spell first. You have to make sure that you know everything he knows about those children.

            And there it was, the first information flowing, flowering, down the tendril and into Harry’s mind. He caught his breath, and his balance wavered for a moment, one hand flying out so that he could support himself against the wall. That made the Cloak rustle, but no more, and, involved in the negotiation with Malfoy, Moonstone did nothing more than turn his head, once, his blue-black eyes far away.

            Malfoy hadn’t described exactly what the information would be like. Harry had thought of memories, images, even sensations; that was the way he had sometimes picked up on the memories of the dead through the Retrovoyance curse, after all.

            But no, this was a cold voice speaking in his ears, and words appearing in front of his eyes, curling gold letters like some of the official Ministry reports Harry had seen in his time as an Auror. Scrawling by, making his balance waver, making him bite his tongue as he thought of the consequences of this if Moonstone should happen to pay attention just now…

            But that wasn’t going to happen, Harry told himself. Moonstone was sensitive to magical signatures, yes, but that usually meant he would be blind to what happened to his own, Malfoy had taught him, since he was so involved in reading others’. He wouldn’t know what happened to him even if he recognized that something was.

            And Harry had to pay attention to the information unfolding in front of him, or take a large chance that it would be lost forever. He blinked, shook his head, and refocused his attention.

            The children enchanted to lend their power to objects. The children drained to give their magic to Muggles. The Muggles bound to give their power over. The Muggles taken and turned and taught, the Imperius used only when unnoticed. It does not work well on children, with their impulses and their less refined sense of obedience and rules.

            Harry hissed beneath his breath. That explained the robe he had heard whispering Parseltongue in the room where he and Malfoy had hidden. Somehow, they could give the magical abilities to Muggle children, and then take the abilities from those children and apply them to objects. And some of the other things Harry was seeing…

            Moonstone and Schroeder had found a way to transfer magic from other people to themselves after all. They took it from magical children first, gave it to Muggle children, and then took it for themselves or other people, or applied it to objects. Something about the way that it passed through a magical core to a completely non-magical person changed it, and made it no longer subject to the restrictions that the direct process of stealing another person’s power had always had.

            They’ll be powerful in and of themselves, soon. It won’t matter that the process takes time; they can move all the magic they need from multiple children, as long as they’re willing to kidnap and kill and torture. And of course they’re willing to do that.

            Harry held himself still, and didn’t make a move that could have revealed him. He wanted to, he wanted to kill Adam’s tormentor, but he was no longer mindless because of the Retrovoyance curse or anything else. He was a responsible adult who owed his life and freedom to Malfoy and Ron. He would repay the debt.

            Then came the information he had been waiting for, the list of locations where they were holding kidnapped children. They might be magical or Muggle; Harry didn’t know. He shuddered as that cold voice spoke, because it sounded so much like Voldemort that it made evil memories whirl around in his head like leaves in a windstorm.

            The names of the buildings and towns were unfamiliar, but Harry didn’t care. He opened his mind to them, memorized them the way he could memorize a witness’s exact words and facial expressions and gestures during certain interviews. He would have them again when he needed them.

            Some of the last few places were in London, or at least sounded as if they could be. Harry smiled, and felt his face pinch. He would enjoy the raids there, with a violent enjoyment that he doubted any of Moonstone’s people could comprehend before they felt Harry’s magic smashing into their faces.

            “Who is there?”

            Harry froze the way he once had when he had to hide in a pile of rubbish with Death Eaters looking for him. He was sure he hadn’t breathed, hadn’t sighed, hadn’t chuckled at his last thought, but Moonstone had risen to his feet and scanned the shadows, his hand on his wand.

            Draco stood, too, and his face was smooth with surprise. “My lord?” he asked. “You heard something?”

            “I know I did,” Moonstone said. “I know I felt something.” His eyes traveled past the corner where Harry crouched under the Invisibility Cloak and locked on the door to the back room where Harry had left Adam. He took a long, heavy step forwards, his robe swaying behind him.

            Harry rose soundlessly to his feet, his breath caught in the center of his chest, his hands clenched near his heart. He wouldn’t attack unless he had to, he didn’t want to, but if Moonstone tried to go near Adam’s room, if he once thought he would get away with hurting him again, then Harry would strike. There was no doubt of that. Protecting Adam was a solemn promise that came before everything else.

            Draco sighed in the manner of someone who disliked having his business deals interrupted, and reached out to lay a hand on Moonstone’s arm. Harry admired him for that. He knew he couldn’t have touched Moonstone with any semblance of normality at the moment. “My lord? If you sit down and give me time to engage my wards, they should tell me whether anyone foreign is in my flat. If you—”

            Moonstone turned and held his wand against Draco’s throat. Draco went with that snake-stillness Harry had sometimes seen him display as they hovered together above the Quidditch pitch, locked together in pursuit of the Snitch. His eyes never moved from Moonstone’s glamoured face.

            “You could easily key someone into your wards if you wanted them to be here,” Moonstone whispered. “What have you done, Malfoy?”

            “Invited you here, and tried to speak to you,” Draco said, still without batting an eye. “Does that mean you’re going to kill me?” He reached up and let his fingers hover a few inches above Moonstone’s wand, “Let it be for the presumption of having no idea what you’re talking about, rather than the presumption of inviting you. That, I could not have anticipated would be presumption, not when you did me the honor of accepting the invitation and coming here, past those selfsame wards that you distrust now.”

            Moonstone hesitated, forced to deal with the complexity of Draco’s sentences, and Harry used the distraction well. He eased towards the room that held Adam, already planning a way to break past the wards that would open a hole in them and knit the hole shut immediately. Then Moonstone might search the house to his heart's content and still find out that he had been wrong, and Draco—well, Harry would have to trust Draco to take care of himself. From the way he was staring at Moonstone now, he seemed to have no doubt that he could.

            “No,” Moonstone said then, and something about the tone of his voice, or the way he shifted his wand to press the flat tip against Draco’s throat, or the way he shifted his weight, made Draco’s lips turn white. Harry paused, his heart going so fast it sounded like a distant hum of music. “I do not believe it. You may have invited me here to question me, to capture me, or for an honest trade, but you know too much, and what you do not know you shall tell me. Impe—”

            Harry had no idea what Draco’s resistance to the Unforgivable Curses might be like, and no time to question himself. He attacked.

*

            It was like watching the air come to life.

            Draco heard the Curse forming on Moonstone’s lips and had time for a moment’s calculation, and a moment’s fierce regret that they had not found some way of disguising Potter’s magical signature after all. That was what Moonstone had to be reacting to, the strength of it, though he didn’t seem to know that himself.

            That was all he had time for, and he knew Moonstone had spent too long talking when the air turned into a Cloak and a moving Potter, and Potter flung the Cloak over Moonstone’s head and then kicked him in the middle of the back while drawing the Cloak tight around his head and shoulders.

            Moonstone might have killed Draco in that moment, if he could have managed a nonverbal spell with one incantation already in his mind, and with his nerves and senses reeling under the shock of a sudden assault. As it was, he staggered to his knees, and Draco rolled out of the way, snatching his own wand up as he went. Things were going too badly to salvage with exactly the plan they had had at first, and so he wasn’t going to argue that Potter had fucked up. They had to deal with what was in front of them.

            Moonstone cast a spell that made the inside of the Cloak blaze briefly, but didn’t cut through it, or burn it. Potter laughed full and deep, and whispered a spell that made Moonstone’s arms jerk helplessly into the air. From there, Potter snatched Moonstone’s wand and stuck it deep into a robe pocket that sealed shut with a snap. Draco opened his mouth to ask why he hadn’t simply used the Expelliarmus spell, and then shut it again. Because that was Harry Potter’s signature spell, of course, and Potter had no interest in telling Moonstone who he was dealing with.

            Moonstone still flailed about, but Potter planted one foot in the small of his back and kicked out with the other, pressing down and holding him still so that his other foot could swing in and hit his ribs. Draco didn’t hear the splintering of bone, which was a shame, but Moonstone wheezed, and at the same moment, Potter whispered, “Obliviate Incantatem. Stupefy.”

            The Cloak-covered bundle on the floor, so thoroughly wrapped by now that Draco wasn’t even sure where its head was, slumped over. Draco lowered his wand and stared at the panting Potter, who studied his prisoner closely. Not as much pride as Draco had thought, then, to trust to the strength of his spells without checking them. Or perhaps he wasn’t as arrogant without the influence of the dead dogging his every step.

            It was then that Draco realized he had heard nothing from Potter’s mind ever since the attack began, not even the sleek deadliness of the thoughts that had appeared when he began the slaughter in the caverns. The thoughts were creeping back now as Draco listened, small chattering rivers once more beginning to flow to the sea and saying things like Moonstone is down, and Got him! and So glad, but for a few seconds, their streambeds had been dry.

            If he ever attacks me like that, then I shall have no warning.

            Draco attempted to put that thought away, then reminded himself in what direction the potions-inspired bond flowed and which direction it didn’t, and said, “So. What was the spell you cast just now?”

            “The Obliviate Incantatem?” Potter blinked at him, eyes the shade of green sometimes found in sunset skies. “It takes away his memory of the incantation of any spell he performed within the last two days. He won’t be Apparating away from us, at least, or using the Imperius Curse.”

            Draco swallowed and shook his head. “That’s not possible. I mean—someone will notice that if we try to prove he did something, or get information from him and then set him free again.”

            Potter smiled, a bright wolf’s smile. “No, they won’t. The incantation is nearly the same as for a Memory Charm, but it’s not actually that closely related. It’ll fade off within a month. A shorter period of time, if I will it.”

            “This is one of the spells you invented?”

            “Modified,” Potter said, with a small shrug, and pulled his Cloak away from Moonstone, folding it up tenderly to tuck into a pocket. “I found the basic description in a book of spells, but it seemed the wizard who made it up could never get it to work properly. I found the key in the strength of my will.”

            Can resist the Imperius Curse, said his thoughts, all chiming together now in smugness, if streams could be smug.

            Draco thought he had known that before, but it was good to be reminded of the knowledge. And how powerful Potter was. And that he had spells they could use to their advantage, when he was not insane.

            It was not good to be reminded of the throb between his legs, of what Potter had done to him a few days past, or to think of what he could do if he ever focused properly on Draco, instead of just as a means to an end.

            This thought, Draco did tuck away for later, and he nodded to Moonstone. “So. What do you plan to do with him?”

            “Interrogate him,” Potter said. “I doubt the Imperius Curse would work on him, and for all we know, he may have made himself immune to Veritaserum. Can you do that?” he added suddenly, cocking his head like a dog.

            It was good to be reminded that Potter did not know everything, and might have to rely on his expert, resident Potions master for some advice. Draco nodded. “With a few experimental potions, which Moonstone might or might not have access to, but would certainly have the gold for.” He stared at Moonstone, and shook his head. “In the meantime, how do you plan to keep him imprisoned with a child in tow?”

            Potter looked at the ceiling. “Hermione asks me questions like that, and now you,” he muttered. He cast a Lightening Charm on Moonstone, bound his hands and feet with conjured ropes, and scooped him up over a shoulder. “I do have an extensive house I’ve inherited with rooms that can turn easily into traps, and a loyal house-elf who will keep anyone I bring him bang in place.”

            “And give him the chance to realize where he is, and who you are?” Draco worked up what he felt was quite an impressive sneer and launched it at Potter. “Why would you wish to do such a thing?”

            Potter sighed. “If he only ever sees the inside of one room, then he won’t realize. And if you think I’m unskilled with glamours and spells that he’s never heard of—”

            “It is an unacceptable risk,” Draco interrupted, quietly but firmly. “I merely refer you to that.”

            Potter shrugged with the shoulder that didn’t hold Moonstone. “So is anything else—letting him go at this point to tell someone else what we may inadvertently have revealed, or taking the chance of an interrogation here, or going somewhere else. And you can be sure that he’s not going to see me as I really am. And I won’t give him a chance to hurt Adam.” He glanced at the door that hid the boy.

            Draco nodded. He could accept that, at least. He marshaled his next arguments, and then they fled as Potter turned to stare at him.

            “And you,” Potter whispered.

            Draco frowned. “Pardon? You believe I would wish to hurt the boy?”

            Potter shook his head, the faintest rush of a smile curling along his lips, while his thoughts chattered something wordless about happiness. “I meant that I wouldn’t allow Moonstone to hurt you, either, no matter how much he might wish to.”

            Draco paused. Then he said, “If this is about my not being able to protect myself, you will wish that you had not said that.”

            Potter sighed and rolled his eyes as though he wondered what he was doing here. “I’m trying to tell you a simple truth. I know you can protect yourself. I know you can help me. I know you can protect me, even. You’ve proven yourself more than skilled at all of those so far. I just want to return the favor.”

            Draco considered that. It was not something he was accustomed to someone offering him, which was one reason he felt compelled to hesitate. But Potter’s face had a bright and burning sincerity Draco did not think he could feign, and all his thoughts sang together in chorus, thoughts of protection and Draco’s name and offerings. Draco did not think he understood the last bit, but otherwise, they were congruent with Potter’s words.

            “Very well,” he said. “Then I will allow you to return the favor, and only insist on accompanying you to your house under a glamour.”

            Potter scowled. “And your business won’t suffer if you shut up your shop and come to stay with me for a while?” Moonstone shifted and moaned, and Potter cast a charm to send him into a deeper sleep without looking at him, and without words. “Like I said,” he added, perhaps catching sight of Draco’s expression, “I know what you’ve done to help us. I just don’t want to cause any more harm than I can help.”

            Draco snorted. “There is harm that I can afford, and harm I wish to court, and harm I wish to avoid,” he said. “This fits into the first two categories. I am entitled to a holiday after all my hard work.”

            Potter’s smile cut like a comet. “Of course you are.”

            After that, it didn’t take them long. Potter cast more spells to ensure that Moonstone wouldn’t wake and would be dazed and suggestive when he did, waited for Draco to lower the wards, and Apparated to his own house. Then he came back for Adam, while Draco prepared himself to inform his assistants that the shop would be closed for the next week and attended to the few commissions he still owed. Not as many, lately. He had entered a period where he wasn’t doing much brewing for anyone else, and his own experiments had slowed, as well.

            Hardly surprising, when they must wait on Potter’s handiwork.

            But when he listened to the contented song in the back of his head, and when Potter smiled at him when he was ready to leave and reached for his arm to Side-Along him, he hardly cared.

*

            They didn’t understand. Draco and Hermione and Ron and the rest of them. Adam really didn’t understand, but Harry could hardly blame him, not when he didn’t speak English and had been born Muggle.

            He was gone. There was no coming back from this. He had told Hermione that he was willing to give up his life for Adam, to start a new one and go away if he had to, but what he had done to Moonstone had clinched that he had to.

            He might have made the wrong decision, taking down Moonstone when he threatened Draco. It was possible—barely possible, said Harry’s Auror instincts that had read Moonstone’s eyes and hands, but still—that Moonstone might have backed off and not cast the spell Harry had felt him getting ready to cast. That buzz in his magical signature was distinctive; Harry had felt it in the air moments before some spectacularly nasty death curses had flown.

            Either way, he had chosen to lighten Moonstone of dignity and consciousness, and that was not something he would forget. If they let him go, he would figure out who had done this to him, or crawl into a hole and die trying. If they let him go with a Memory Charm, he would never stop until he had figured out how to dig underneath it. If they killed him, then Harry would face charges of murder.

            Harry had exiled himself from the Ministry and his job with this action. He had been willing before, and that was a good thing. It meant he could face the new life with equanimity, rather than fretting and squealing over something he couldn’t change.

            So he spoke gently as he settled Adam into a bedroom that was brighter and cleaner than most of them on the first floor, and led Draco up to a second-floor one with a bow and no words, and checked on Moonstone in his prison, without much more than an occasional flinch of wonder in the back of his mind. Everything had changed, but he had thought it might.

            He watched the way Draco watched him, and wondered. He checked the wards and the traps on Moonstone’s room, and set up the spell that he wasn’t going to tell anyone else about because it was a last resort in case Moonstone escaped, and wondered. He reassured Adam that he wouldn’t leave him, and cast spells that ought to find any magic on him and didn’t find any, and wondered.

            He wondered if he would manage to keep Ron and Draco and even Hermione from possibly going away into this exile and never coming back, too.

            He wondered if he would find Adam’s family. He couldn’t remember his last name or the first names of his parents, and Harry didn’t know if they would ever locate anything more to go on. Besides, it was useless taking him back to his family, found or not, if he only spoke Parseltongue. Possible imprisonment in an orphanage was the kindest fate Harry could imagine for him in that case.

            He wondered when Malfoy had become Draco.

*

            unneeded: Probably not well!

            They don't yet know how far back Moonstone's schedule may have been thrown; they'll need to ask him that.

            ChaosLady: Thanks!

            Fullmoons_wings: Thank you! Harry does want to cure Adam and return him to his parents; he just doesn't know if it'll be possible, particularly if he continues to speak Parseltongue.

            Draco will participate in the interrogation next chapter, if needed.

            AlterEquis: Mostly what they wanted it to reveal.

            SP777: I don't think a mental bond alone would really help Harry. He might get more affected by what Draco thinks of him that way.

            Anon: Thank you! I hope that you continue to enjoy it.
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