Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Ginny Weasley are property of J.K. Rowling. This is an unauthorized fiction. I am not receiving money for this fiction.

A/N: Harry Potter meets Silence of the Lambs meets film noir. This is my second HP fic, I usually write for the LotR fandom. Hope it's enjoyable! Oh yeah, ignore the fake "Latin" in the spell names (give me a break, I studied Elvish!).

DAY 1

          "Where did they find him?"

          "Remus, you know I can't tell you that."

          "Sirius –"

          "Don't 'Sirius' me. I'd pour out every last detail if I could, but I can't. It isn't my decision."

          "Alright, alright, I'll go at it blind, then."

          "Not quite blind. This is all strictly off the record – you have leave to use whatever methods necessary."

          "I'm not going to torture the kid, if that's what you're suggesting."

          "You call one of the most infamous Deatheaters of our times a kid?"

          "That's what he is."

          "Somehow I can't share your sympathy."

          "Maybe I have an affinity. I know what it's like to live in the shadow of evil."

          "Yeah, but you're not a traitorous, murdering git. He deserves what he'll get, and much worse besides."

          "Well, he won't get it from me. I'm not going to break him, even for the Ministry of Magic. If it takes longer to get the information, so be it."

          "Don't take too long. Ginny Weasley's life is at stake."

          "What - ?"

          "You didn't know? She disappeared from Hogwarts two days ago. The same day this guy was picked up. He knows something, or I'm a Muggle."

          "That changes things."

          "I thought you might say that. There isn't much room left for conscience, is there?"

          "There has to be. He deserves a chance."

          "Maybe you're right. Good luck, Moony."

***************************************************************

          One wouldn't have expected Remus Lupin to be an interrogator anymore than one would expect him to be a werewolf. But he was both, and the one quality perhaps honed his skills as the other. As he sometimes said himself, living a double life gave him double insight – and it was insight and intelligence that counted on his job.

          He would need a good measure of both this time, he thought as he closed the door behind him and surveyed the room. It was fairly large, but empty except for a table and two chairs in the centre. There were no windows, and only the one door. He guessed they were underground, but there was no way to know for sure; the location of this place was secret. Only Sirius Black, former Auror and convict, now head of this branch of the Magical Intelligence Agency, could have told him that. Not that he ever would, Lupin reflected wryly as his gaze came to rest on the other person in the room.

          The object of his attention was seated on one of the two chairs, across the table from him: a wiry towhead, sporting two pale hawk eyes and a sceptical twist to his mouth. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, which must have been a blow to his pride, and a wand was conspicuously missing from the picture.

          "Draco Malfoy," Lupin said, pulling the second chair up to the table and sitting down.

          "Professor Lupin," Malfoy said, "I thought you moonlighted as a wolf, not a pig."

          "And I thought you were a student, not a Deatheater," Lupin replied.

          Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "That's funny," he said, "Everyone else knew I would be a Deatheater even before I was one."

          Looking at him, Lupin could believe it. Despite his boyish face, Malfoy's contemptuous stare was about as young as the Pantheon. He radiated arrogance, even here, as a captive of his enemies. And yet, Lupin could not bring himself to hate the kid, despite his infamous deeds. Two years ago, Draco Malfoy had nearly delivered the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry into the hands of the newly returned Lord Voldemort. Malfoy had escaped that time, but the crime had not been forgotten. Lupin doubted that Malfoy would still be alive if it hadn't been for the information in his head – information protected by an Obstaculus charm, unbreakable by either truth serum or spell, as had been unhappily established. That knowledge could only be given up willingly by the subject. Most other interrogators would probably have resorted to drastic measures immediately, utilizing every means possible to make Malfoy "willing." But Lupin was convinced that such an attempt would be useless in this case. Besides, he didn't have the stomach for it.

          "You're wasting your time," Malfoy said, stretching his arms out in front of him as if to show off the Dark Mark tattooed onto his white flesh.

          "I haven't said anything yet," Lupin pointed out.

          "Don't bother starting. I know the drill."

          Anyone would have thought the kid had been in this situation dozens of times before. Then again, maybe he had – Lupin wouldn't have ruled out the possibility offhand.

          "I'm here with an offer from the Ministry of Magic," he said. Privately he doubted that Malfoy gave a leprechaun's Galleon about the Ministry, but at least it would get a conversation started.

          "You are subject to sentence of death for treachery of the highest degree under the laws and ordinances of the Ministry," he said, "But the Minister is willing to spare your life – if you will reveal the location of Voldemort's headquarters, as well as everything you know about Deatheater movements. On top of that, everything concerning the abduction of Virginia Weasley two days ago."

          "It must be demeaning to be the Ministry's messenger boy," Malfoy yawned dismissively, "Or messenger werewolf, I should say. Fetch, Laddie! Roll over! Pump the scary Deatheater for us, Laddie!"

          "Do you really think that's witty?" Lupin asked dryly.

          "I think you're mighty dense, to come in here and ask a bunch of idiot questions like that."

          "Oh, those aren't my own questions. I have a whole different list. Interested?"

          "Fire away," Malfoy said, to Lupin's mild surprise. Well, he wasn't about to miss the opportunity.

          "Why did you become a Deatheater? When? What did they promise you in return? What did it take to make you betray Hogwarts? How did you kill your mother?"

          Malfoy stared at him, momentarily devoid of composure. Lupin thought he saw something flicker in those eyes – fear? Something else? Then Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and his thin lips compressed to an even thinner line.

          "Well, well, Professor," he said, "You have more nerve than I thought. Must be the werewolf talking." He paused for a moment. "I didn't kill my mother," he said finally, in a tone as flat as the surface of a glacier.

          Lupin allowed himself a disbelieving laugh. "Oh? Then who did?"

          Malfoy glared at him. "No one," he said, "She's alive."

          "You'll have a hard time convincing anyone of that," Lupin said, "Considering that her body is several feet underground and probably quite decayed by now."

          "You wouldn't find Narcissa Malfoy there."

          "Then where would I find her?"

          But Malfoy shook his head. "I don't talk for nothing," he said, "You pay for every word that comes out of my mouth."

          "Pay with what?"

          "Nothing much – yet," Malfoy smirked, "I want answers. It's awfully boring sitting around here for hours, and you interest me. For every question you ask, I get one as well. A personal question. And only the truth goes."

          "Quid pro quo," Lupin murmured, "I hardly expected you to be a philosopher – even if a typically cynical one..."

          "We aren't always what we look like," Malfoy answered coolly.

          "That remains to be seen."

          For a moment neither of them spoke. Malfoy's delicate hands twitched slightly where they lay on the tabletop. Lupin sat as serenely as a Buddhist statue. One could have heard a wand drop in the room. But in the end it was the younger man who spoke first.

          "Alright," he said, "What are you waiting for? Ask something."

          "I already have," Lupin answered, "About ten questions. Take your pick and answer."

          "Fine," said Malfoy, narrowing his eyes, "So you want to know about my mother."

          In truth this interested Lupin the least of all, but he knew it would be wiser to play along until he could turn the conversation to more urgent matters. And obviously the issue was important to Malfoy; he might be able to learn something valuable about the boy.

          "You say she's not dead," he said.

          "That's right. The grave is empty. The body was a conjuration – a tricky version of the Malgraphicon spell, I'm sure you know the basics. It held for about a day after the funeral. If you were to dig up the coffin, you wouldn't find so much as a bone."

          "And everyone assumed either you or Lucius had killed her..."

          Malfoy howled with laughter. "He kill her?" he repeated sarcastically, "When heaven burns! My father could never raise a finger against her – could not. She controls him to the last shivering ounce of his puny soul. If he has one, that is."

          Lupin frowned. "I don't understand," he said.

          Malfoy leaned confidentially across the table. He seemed to be enjoying himself perversely; his eyes sparkled with secret laughter as if at some grotesque private joke. "Have you ever heard of the Imperius Ecstatus curse?"

          Lupin repressed a shudder of disgust. "A witch or wizard seduces a subject... at the moment of orgasm, he or she lays a special form of the Imperius curse on the victim. This form of the curse can never be broken or even resisted, and the victim can be controlled without words – telepathically, so to speak. But you don't mean to say..." He trailed off, feeling slightly nauseated with disgust.

          "... that is how she got him to marry her. And all the rest, of course, the Deatheater business. My poor fool of a father never stood a chance. She was the clever one, she was the schemer all along."

          "And she passed it all on to you," Lupin remarked, "Then retired to let you run things for her."

          "Not quite. When my... ploy at Hogwarts failed, she decided to disappear rather than face the embarrassing questions that might follow. It didn't suit her to admit openly to being a follower of Voldemort's. She had other plans; dying left her free to put them into action without interference."

          "What plans? Where is she now?"

          Malfoy smirked. "I think I've said about enough," he said, "It's your turn."

          "Fair enough," Lupin replied, unruffled, "Ask away, if you think you can learn anything from me."

          "I've already learned more than you believe. Now then," Malfoy considered for a moment, "... Have you ever killed anyone?"

          Lupin almost snorted in amusement. Did Malfoy think he could trap him with psychological nonsense? Maybe this was just the kid's sadistic idea of a game. Or was there another, subtler intent behind the question?

          "Yes," he answered calmly. Malfoy raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Lupin volunteered no further information. He was curious as to what Malfoy would ask next; questions, in this case, could be almost as revealing as answers.

          "Who was it?" Malfoy asked finally.

          "No one you know. A woman. It was a long time ago."

          Malfoy's eyes glittered with wicked amusement. "A lover?"

          "A friend," Lupin replied without batting an eyelash. Malfoy's guess had been correct, but Lupin was not fool enough to give the boy that kind of hold over him, and he was not too uptight to lie if necessary. Besides, the memory was... painful. He should have expected as much, that a person like Malfoy would sniff out anyone's weak points, given the chance. But he was convinced that he could win this game yet; and if he did, he might save more than one life.

          "How did it happen?" Malfoy asked.

          Lupin watched Malfoy's face intently. The young towhead seemed... expectant. Lupin had the feeling that his words were like a potion to the kid, a nectar of oblivion, something he had to hear. There was something the boy wanted... it occurred to Lupin that Malfoy had doubtless had quite a bit of experience with killing. It was an odd way to bond with a subject, but... he decided, on a hunch, to tell the truth.

          "It was after I had graduated from Hogwarts," he said, "The girl was a friend of mine from the school. We were very close. After the graduation, we both spent a couple of weeks in Hogsmeade. One night... it was the full moon. I went to the Shrieking Shack, where I could face the change and become a werewolf without endangering anyone. She... she followed me. In those days there was no potion that allowed me to keep my mind in the werewolf form. I never knew what happened until the sun rose and I awoke in human form to find her bloodied body beside me."

          Malfoy took the nightmare story as a matter of course. "Well, well," he said, "So you murdered your little friend. I do believe you're in need of redemption almost as much as I am."

          Lupin shrugged. "At least I didn't try to betray my entire school to Voldemort."

          Malfoy flushed bright red. "Don't lecture me," he hissed, "You don't know a thing about that; no one does. Don't think you can guess at the Dark Lord's motives, or... or..."

          "Or your mother's?" Lupin suggested nonchalantly.

          For a moment he thought Malfoy would physically attack him. He was surprised himself at the reaction his words had provoked; Malfoy's fists were clenched white on the table, and his eyes glared daggers. Obviously he had struck a nerve somehow, but he wasn't sure how or why. What did Narcissa Malfoy have to do with all this? Had she prodded her son to take the frightful actions that nearly delivered Hogwarts to Voldemort? It wouldn't surprise him... but why did Malfoy find the mention of the idea so unbearable? Did the boy have a conscience after all? The thought seemed vaguely ridiculous. And yet, he could not rule it out as impossible. Sirius had always said that he was too soft-hearted for this job... but as he watched Malfoy's pale young face, Lupin felt sure that the mind behind was far more complicated than a mere clockwork that only parroted Voldemort's evil. If only he had the time, this boy might still be redeemed. But he didn't have time, not with Ginny Weasley's life at stake.

          "Alright," he said, careful to conceal his thoughts, "Maybe I don't know everything. But I'm only too happy to listen to you, since you have all the answers."

          "No," said Malfoy, mastering himself somewhat, "You can come back tomorrow. Tell me a nice story about your murdered lover, and maybe I'll talk some more."

          Tomorrow was too late. Lupin wasn't about to wait that long, not if he could help it. He decided to risk a more direct question.

          "I'll go if you tell me how to find Ginny Weasley."

          Instantly, he knew he had made a mistake. Malfoy's satisfied grin was only too contemptuous.

          "Still hung up over the little redhead?" the smooth-faced Deatheater crowed, "And I'd begun to believe you had more sense."

          Lupin silently cursed his overeagerness. He had been too hasty; the chances that Malfoy would tell him anything now were minimal. Everything he had accomplished had fallen to ruin: any signs of uncertainty on Malfoy's part were gone, and the slick, confident minion had returned.

          "I'll tell you one thing," Malfoy said almost gleefully, "If you don't find her in the next seven days, don't bother looking."

          Lupin couldn't help slamming the door in frustration when he left.

A/N: Well, what do you think? Is Draco evil? Can Lupin redeem him? Can he save Ginny? Will the author be able to resist describing Draco in many sexy poses in the coming chapters? Why is Draco so sexy, anyway? And why won't he go out with me? He never answers his message machine... *sniff* Little twerp... maybe I'll call Moony next time... heh heh...