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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-Five—Interrogation

            Potter stood outside the room where he had imprisoned Moonstone for a moment, his eyes closed. Then he opened them, turned his head slightly away as though he didn’t want Draco to see his face, and kicked the door to the side. It hit the wall with a thud and came spinning back—only for a wave of wandless magic pouring out from Potter to bring it to a shuddering halt.

            Draco strode in behind Potter, watching the way Potter’s dramatic Auror robes swirled around him, and his boots thumped on the floor, shining more than they should have if he had only applied polish instead of glamour to them. He wore a glamour on his face as well, of course, so that Moonstone could not connect the Auror who had kidnapped him with the supposedly imprisoned Harry Potter. But it was his body that shouted the message, and Draco doubted it was anywhere near as false as his features and expression.

            Potter would kill if he had to. Moonstone might bargain with them, or try to resist, or delay, but he need not doubt that Potter would slit his throat.

            Moonstone, bound in a system of chains that allowed him to move about the room and reach a chamberpot in the corner but not pick up the pot or reach anything he could use as a weapon—or bring his arms above his head—sat on the floor, awaiting them. Draco shot a quick glance around the room, seeing the peeling paper and moldering tapestries and enormous piles of grey dust in the corners, and arched an eyebrow, wondering how Potter had convinced his house-elf to leave this room alone.

            “My partners will find me,” Moonstone said in a lighter and more pleasant voice than he had used with Draco, his head cocked as if he were watching the antics of a particularly clever dog. “And then you will wish that you had done otherwise, when it came to me.”

            “Many people have promised me that over the years.” Potter had used a spell that made his voice warble and waver up and down the scale, instead of locking it into a more human register. Draco saw the effect that had on Moonstone, the slight widening of his eyes and then the settling of his shoulders, as he realized he was dealing with someone who didn’t want to preserve a façade of dignity or normality. “None of them have succeeded in making me wish otherwise yet.” He conjured a chair with a flip of his hand that might look wandless, although Draco knew he carried his wand in the sleeve of the hand that had done it. It was enough to make Moonstone start, at least. Potter braced his knees on either side of the chair and leaned forwards, his smile small and hard on his changed face, which had sallow skin and dark eyes and brown hair. “You might have seen my partner before.”

            Draco wore the glamour Potter had used as Rosefield. Moonstone’s eyes caught on him, and stopped. The next moment, he shook his head. “You are not the same man,” he said.

            “He need not be,” Potter said. “He knows everything that happened in the cavern, and what we don’t know, you’re going to tell us.” He turned the chair so its back was to Moonstone and sat down on it, his arms hanging comfortably over the top. Draco thought it best to take up his station behind Potter. Now that he considered it, he realized that the wallpaper and tapestries were probably scene decoration, the glamours Potter had talked about using on his house, but he didn’t want to touch them. Just in case. “You might as well, you know,” Potter added, when Moonstone started to draw in a breath. “You can lie and bluster and try to hide it, but you are going to tell us.”

            “And you will dose me with Veritaserum if I don’t, I suppose,” Moonstone said, in a drawl that Draco didn’t think was feigned.

            The words told more than he probably imagined, however, at least to a Potions master. Yes, he took the experimental potions that guarantee an immunity to Veritaserum. Draco moved forwards and bent down towards Potter as if restraining him from using violence, enough to hiss the few words of his conclusion.

            Potter nodded without any form of surprise, and simply went on staring at Moonstone. Enough time passed that Draco’s feet grew numb, but he wouldn’t shift his weight, not when that might “prove” to Moonstone that they were weak. Moonstone opened his mouth in an enormous yawn that echoed around the room like the mewing of an immense cat.

            When he closed his mouth, he was in agony. His teeth barely missed his tongue, and he drooled down his robe as he cried out. Or Draco reckoned he was, at least, but no sound emerged from his throat.

            The pain left him as abruptly as it had come. Potter still sat on his chair on the faux-casual position, his hand resting on his wand and his eyes wide and innocent. There was no sign that he had cast the curse, and no sign that he would do it again. Moonstone, wiping away the spittle with the back of his hand, stared at him.

            What was that? Draco wondered. Not the Cruciatus Curse, or it would have been more severe. And after the discussion we had about Dark Arts—although perhaps the wards on the house keep the Ministry from tracking it here—

            But his potions bond with Potter would still have warned him. And the thoughts in the back of Potter’s head did no more than murmur. Potter had cast the spell without the vicious emotions Draco knew necessary to power the Dark Arts. He decided to remain still and observe for right now, keeping his hands folded behind his back.

            “What—what was that?” Moonstone asked for him when he could speak again, and had wiped the spittle off on the hem of his robe furthest from his face. His chains clinked as he returned his hand to the side, and his attention was all for Potter. At least he believes we’re serious now, Draco thought, and restrained a chuckle.

            “Like it?” Potter’s voice was low and modest, the way Draco imagined he might give an interview with someone approaching “the most famous Auror in Britain” about one of his cases. “It’s something small. Something special. It’s a spell that finds some of the pain you’ve caused in others and revisits it on you. It wouldn’t do anything if you’d caused no pain, and it only works on the physical level, not the mental level. That’s the distinction the Ministry makes between Dark pain curses and ones it doesn’t regulate, did you know? The Cruciatus Curse became illegal in the first place because it can drive one insane after enough minutes under it. Not many people know that.”

            Potter, you fool, Draco thought, and then let the thought trail off, because he had no doubt Potter was telling the truth and his light, pleasant tone was no joke. He had spent a moment readying himself before entering the room, yes. Draco had thought it was to put on a more convincing act.

            Now he wondered how deeply Potter had gone into himself to find the strength to perform a pain spell calmly, without rejoicing and without cruelty. Just doing it. Only doing it, action and explanation and no more.

            Draco felt a painful sensation jolt through him, so diffuse he could not have explained whether it was astonishment, or anger, or sadness, or arousal.

            He considered the last one and rejected it as Moonstone said, “I did not torture anyone. I did not agree to do so. I never have.”

            “The spell has a less than literal definition of cause,” Potter said, his tone so gentle it might have been an apology. “If you gave the orders for the torture, then it is the same. If you ordered those children kidnapped, their magic drained or their bodies cast in the street if they proved of no use to you, then you feel it. The spell doesn’t affect you if you have no connection to what has happened, of course. Of course not.”

            Moonstone spent a moment in what might have been deep contemplation of Potter's words, though watching the way his hands clenched down on his bonds, Draco doubted that was the truth. Then he said, "All I need do is tell the truth after I leave, and there are people who will spend their lives hunting you down and destroying you."

            "I have no doubt," Potter said. "If we left you alive to tell the truth, you would do exactly that. But if you continue to lie and do not cooperate, we have no reason to leave you alive."

            Moonstone paused again. Draco could watch the emotions changing in his eyes, building up. Not panic, not when he had been in these kinds of situations before, survived, and no doubt believed he would again.

            But realization that Potter was not playing by the usual code, the kind where those who kidnapped someone of Monstone's stature realized who they were dealing with and gave him courtesy and acknowledgment of his power even when he was captive. Potter did not care, and he would break the rules and continue not to care if Moonstone pushed him.

            "Very well," Moonstone said, and seemed to transform himself into someone who would not mind answering their questions. No one ever had said that he was stupid, Draco remembered, only greedy. He leaned back on his elbows and gave Potter what he probably thought was a carefree smile. "Could I request some food and a little more comfort in the matter of my bonds? That would ensure I am not distracted by physical pain as I am speaking."

            "I already spelled a Nutrient Potion into your stomach," Potter said, his voice and face not changing. "And the bonds will not loosen as long as you intend to attack me, which you do."

            Moonstone's smile faded. Then he said, "You would still find me more cooperative if you attended to me."

            "I'm sure I would," Potter said. "But the truth is all the cooperation we need."

            Moonstone glanced at Draco, as if he thought he might overrule Potter's decision. Deciding on his role in a moment, Draco lifted his hands and shook his head. Potter caught the gesture and gave him a faint smile, then focused on Moonstone again. Draco, with enough free time at the moment to listen to Potter's thoughts, heard Smarter than he looks with that glamour on, and wondered if it referred to him or Moonstone.

            Not that he would mind if it referred to him. Of course his natural features and voice expressed his intelligence better than any glamour could.

            "Very well," Moonstone said, and his voice was low and charged. "We made the greatest magical discovery of the century, using only the notes of a mad old Potions master that no one else was paying heed to. Yes, it involves the deaths of Muggle children, and we knew we would be turned into pariahs if we let someone else know the source. But consider the Healing we could accomplish. The magical abilities we could bring back that have been lost for centuries. The way we could diminish the power of someone who had the chance to become a Dark Lord."

            Draco didn't think Moonstone noticed, both because he was facing Potter and because he was becoming caught up in the story he spun, using words rather than observation to make Potter listen to him. But Potter's back had gone through a ripple and then stiffened when Moonstone had spoken the last sentence. Perhaps someone else had once expressed the opinion that Potter had power great enough to become a Dark Lord and should be stripped of it.

            "If you have the secret of the method well in hand, why are there failed experiments?" Potter asked, and his voice descended to a neutral hum. His thoughts whispered, Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.

            One word repeated over and over was more disturbing than Draco had seen Potter in some little time. He crossed his legs, not at all incidentally pushing his knee into the middle of Potter's back.

            Potter blinked, which Moonstone seemed to catch, but not to interpret the right way. He smiled a bit and nodded. "If you think it over, you will see why this is a stupid question," he said. "The method is young. We have taken it from the notes of a Potions master who was not sane in the conventional sense of the term." He leaned forwards and lowered his voice as if he thought there was someone else in the house who might steal his secrets. Well, for all Draco knew, he might actually think that, given that the glamours on the house and Potter and Draco would prevent him from knowing where he was and who had taken him. "There are experiments proceeding now that do not need any second thought, however. We have the method well in hand by now. And we have more than enough willing subjects."

            "How interesting," Potter said with a calm tone that Draco didn't think he could have bettered himself, while his thoughts battered and shrieked Destroy him! against the inside of his skull. "I had the impression most of your subjects were not willing."

            Moonstone's glance went to Draco. Draco blinked innocently back. Of course, he wore the glamour of the face that Moonstone would have last seen on the body destroying the cavern. He said nothing, though, and his silence seemed at last to drive Moonstone back on the answer that he would have to make to Potter. "The people who contribute the magic are not always willing," he conceded. "But those who receive it from us are, and understand there might be some risk."

            "And the wills and opinions of the donors are not worth considering?" Potter had a sweetness in his voice that was more dangerous than the thoughts muttering to Draco now, which had gone wordless.

            "They are not old enough to understand the greater purpose," Moonstone said. "But I have no doubt that many of them would agree, if they were older and could know. Of course, older, they would be useless to us."

            "And the donors who know nothing about our world, and no notion of what they are taking into themselves?" Potter leaned forwards on his chair, and from Moonstone's slight smile, Draco knew he was thinking that his words were working at last and he would convince Potter. Draco was the one who saw the muscles along Potter's spine clench again and knew he was just barely holding himself back from Moonstone's throat.

            Draco pressed his knee harder into Potter's back. The muscles quivered and relaxed against him, but Potter was still waiting for a response from Moonstone.

            "They are, ultimately, nothing more than tools," Moonstone admitted, only he did not speak in the tone of voice that would have showed he considered it an admission. "They would choose differently if they could know and understand us, but they cannot."

            "They are children," Potter said, and his voice came out low and vicious enough to make Moonstone's dark-blue glamoured eyes narrow.

            "They are animals," he snapped back. "Compared to us, in knowledge of the world and intelligence and ability, they are. And do you object when animals are slaughtered for your table? Do you think they would die willingly if they understood their purpose? Or do you eat the meat and lean back in satisfaction?"

            Potter went still, eyes fastened to Moonstone's face, and his thoughts in Draco's head through the bond said, That's what he thinks. That's why nothing will convince him. This isn't an argument made up to let him live with it. He believes it.

            Potter's tactics changed. A small smile caused his lips to quiver and curl up, and he cocked his head. "I don't believe that about animals, no," he answered. "But neither do I believe Muggles are animals." He dropped a taunting little note into his voice that required--no, demanded--that Moonstone try to convert him.

            Draco glared at the back of Potter's head as Moonstone sat up in his bonds. This was the kind of time he would have liked the Potions bond to run both directions, so he could send his disapproval into the back of Potter's mind and make it strike home. What are you doing, you idiot? Do you have any bloody idea?

            Moonstone smiled and cocked his head. "We have to think of them as that," he said. "Because they cannot share in our lives, in our perceptions of the world. Nothing makes sense to them, they do not see us and our lives, without magic."

            "We could try to show them," Potter said, barely moving his lips. Because Draco was watching for it, he saw the movement when his wand began to surge in his sleeve, but he couldn't make out the fluid nature of the gestures, or at least they didn't look familiar. "I've heard some people suggest that, that we reach out and teach Muggles about us, and fuck the Statute of Secrecy."

            Moonstone blinked, at what Draco imagined was the language, but didn't give in. "We need the Statute of Secrecy to keep our worlds separate. Just because they can't understand us doesn't mean they couldn't destroy us. They are powerful. Powerful, dangerous brutes. Becoming stronger would be a good thing in another way, would keep us alive through the war between our two nations that is coming someday."

            "A war?" Potter asked. His voice was weak. He sagged back in his chair, and his hand left his wand. Draco thought he saw a brief tendril of blue-grey light, hard to make out against the grey background of the walls.

            He had seen that before. It was the spell to read someone else's magical signature, which Potter had performed once before in Draco's flat.

            He can't think that he'll get anything usable out of Moonstone now, surely? Moonstone is paying attention to him and must have seen that, and he'll feel--

            Then Draco stopped. He still thought that Moonstone, last time, had not sensed the spell, but the strength of Potter's own magical signature, which there was no way to disguise. And he had a distraction, now, this intricate conversation and the weak arguments that Potter was trying to put up against it. It was the perfect time for Potter to learn anything that he hadn't learned from him.

            Which meant he had decided this interrogation was useless to gain actual information, or at least to persuade Moonstone to cooperate fully with them. Which must mean he intended to kill Moonstone at some point in the future.

            Draco half-shut his eyes, and wondered for a moment if he was growing too used to Potter, to be able to tell things about him with a single glimpse of a gesture that even his friends might have trouble learning.

            But perhaps it had something more to do with growing used to the chattering potion-bond in the back of his head. When he listened, Potter's thoughts emerged as full and distinct voices, but that wasn't always the case; when he focused elsewhere, the thoughts blended into one sound, and Draco might pick up information from them without consciously being aware of it.

            That meant something. That meant something Draco wanted to tell Potter as soon as possible, because he wished to have some of that intense attention focused on him, and that was enough of a reason.

            For now, he remained patient and silent, let Moonstone think he was the inferior one or the intimidated one in this situation, and listened to Moonstone's useless words of attempted conversion and the far more interesting ones in the back of his own head.

*

            He'll never change, and he'll poison the information we get any way he can.

            Harry felt a cloak of peace drop over him. He didn't want to use pain spells on Moonstone, and he saw now that he wouldn't have to. They would have no lasting effect; the man would recover from them and decide, once again, that Harry wouldn't dare kill someone as valuable and powerful as him. The best thing was to get the information they needed by other means and decide later what to do with Moonstone. He was no longer the most important bargaining chip they had.

            The arguments flowed away, and meanwhile the cold voice in Harry's head and the gold letters before his eyes told him everything he needed to know. He memorized as much as he could, but wasn't that concerned. When he put the memory in a Pensieve, he expected he would see everything he needed to know.

            Or else he would use one of the potions Hermione had told him about, one that could make a person relive a memory perfectly, down to the smells and sensations of touch. One way or the other, they would have this.

            He was far more conscious of Draco behind him, through the cold voice, and the knee that rested along his spine. Harry was doing his best not to shiver or flinch because of that, however. He knew they had certain things to talk about when the interrogation was done, and he only hoped they were the same things he wanted to talk about.

            Moonstone wound down at last, and Harry nodded and rose to his feet. "You've given me a lot to think about," he said. "You'll have food in a short time." It would be food of no very great quality, but not poisoned and enough to keep the man alive. Harry felt that was all he was owed right now. "In the meanwhile, think about other ways that you can be useful to us." With a flick of his wand in his pocket, he ended the spell to read one's magical signature, since he didn't want it still active when he was out of the room.

            "You could be more powerful than you are now," Moonstone said softly, eyes narrowed as if he could make out Harry's magic dancing on the air like a heat haze. "Someone like you would be welcome in our ranks."

            Harry gave him a non-smile and stepped out of the room, then spent a few minutes making sure the locking spells on it were secure, and the trap spells in the corridor outside. Even if Moonstone managed to escape his room, he wouldn't manage to escape the house. Harry had too many failsafes and traps, and an order for Kreacher to appear if he had to and hold Moonstone. The house-elf had promised, ecstatic that he might get to wrestle one of his master's enemies. Harry thought the Battle of Hogwarts had given him a taste for action.

            Draco's hand settled on his wrist. "Remove the glamours," he whispered. "And come to my room."

            Harry glanced at him, turned away from the face of Rosefield whom he had once seen in a mirror, and swallowed. Then he nodded, and cast the spell that removed the glamours. Draco's hold on his wrist never faltered as he brought Harry down the corridor.

            When Draco had shut the door behind him, Harry glanced around. The room had more furniture than he remembered it having; Draco must have conjured his own. Harry sat down on a sturdy stool and waited.

            Draco locked the door quietly but comprehensively. Then he faced Harry, and Harry smothered a gasp at the feverish shine in his eyes.

            "We are going to talk," Draco said.

            Overwhelmed, and beginning to feel overall that what they wanted to talk about might overlap, Harry nodded, and watched Draco smile, sweet and dangerous and slow, as they began.

*



            ChaosLady: I can promise that, at least, not everyone is going to die.

            SP777: Thanks! More action scenes upcoming, including a specific kind next chapter...

            It would be the chapter "In the Ministry Archives."

            AlterEquis: Draco is definitely going to demand that.

            Fullmoons_wings: I think Ron and Hermione might actually have more trouble getting away because they have more to lose. Of course, Harry thinks the same way about Draco, and I think that's being proven wrong.

            And thanks for letting me know.

            unneeded: Moonstone will explain that later. For now, Harry is concentrating on living moment to moment.
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