Title:Carte Blanche

Author: Ryyne

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

Warnings: Language is a given. Confusing discussions and way too much plot. And slash!

Feedback: Yes, please!

Note: Thank you all for your reviews! And no worries, much will be revealed soon... in this chapter, in fact. Although I rather enjoy keeping readers in the dark for a while... heheh. Much thanks to my awesome beta, Beth!

Carte Blanche

Chapter Two: Desperate Measures

The wine was the color of burgundy velvet, of dark red roses, of blood. The harsh artificial lighting of the room created a slight glimmer off the top of the liquid; it was not a soft glow, like the moonlight on Draco's skin, but a sharp, unauthentic sparkle. The light penetrated the glass, and formed abstract patches of color within the drink: if the glass moved, the little patches warped and danced sensually. It was a malleable sort of light; unlike that of the sun, or moon, which shone when it pleased, without interference.

This was a stark contrast to Draco Malfoy, Harry observed. Malfoy was like a force of nature: unstoppable, unpredictable, to be reckoned with. He was the stinging hail, the bitter ice, the oh-so-real wind. And yet – Malfoy was also new snowfall, with his nearly white, impeccable hair, pale skin, and thin, graceful brows. His eyes, though: his eyes were the most natural thing about him. Harry considered this. They weren't like ice; no, not at all. They were not transparent, but rather the opposite: perhaps steel, or flint.

Or a recyclable tin can, Harry told himself.

Draco set down the wine glass on the coffee table. He was sitting comfortably on his couch, with Harry in a chair opposite. The mood was tense and unnatural, like the flat's lighting.

'So,' Draco said, focusing his gaze on the other, 'What do you have to say?'

Harry shifted in the seat. 'Well... –'

'Just cut to the chase. I don't have all day – or night.'

Licking his lips, Harry began again: 'Okay, but let me just give you a bit of background here.' Easy does it, Harry.

Draco shrugged, and Harry took that as a sign to continue. Finally, we're getting somewhere.

'As you know, about a year ago, the Ministry appointed a new Minister of Magic, Maura Blackwell.' Draco rolled his eyes, as if to say, Are you daft? Why are you telling me this? Harry ignored him pointedly and went on. 'Within two months of her appointment, new laws were instated in order to, ah... procure the elimination of any and all Dark activity still occurring.' Draco nodded, looking bored. 'Although the general public was in favor of these laws, they soon became – well –' Harry hesitated, trying to find the right wording. '– Excessively fervent.'

Draco snorted, but otherwise remained quiet.

'Even though I used to be the champion of the Light, or whatever,' Harry rolled his eyes, 'And people expected me to be the last to complain, but ever since – well, never mind –' a slight blush stained his cheeks, and Harry cleared his throat. 'I met once with Blackwell. I tried to get her to be more reasonable, before things got out of hand. Like they are now,' he added. Draco shrugged, but Harry could tell he agreed.

'She wouldn't budge, a bit. Then – after the anti-Werewolf legislation – Remus approached me to enlist my help to form resistance against the Ministry. He was in hiding by then, you know – trying to avoid,' Harry's eyes flamed, 'Extermination.'

Draco spoke for the first time in several minutes. 'That's understandable.'

Harry nodded. 'McGonagall also met with Blackwell, but nothing came out of it.' If only Dumbledore was still alive. 'And so, here I am, caught in the middle. It's like the War never even ended, really – just evolved, a bit. It's actually worse now,' Harry chuckled bitterly. 'Both sides are maniacal. The Ministry is completely out of control – innocent people being killed for Dark crimes they didn't even commit – Death Eaters are more vengeful than ever – it's just... it's like Revolution.'

Draco smirked, and shrugged. 'War and Revolution go hand-in-hand, Potter. Look at history; both magical and muggle. War causes cultural tension; hence, revolution. It can't be stopped.' All you can do is try to survive.

Harry rubbed his forehead and smoothed his hair compulsively. By now, it was a reflex, formed through awkward adolescence and matured in the years of traumatic stress following. 'Maybe so, but they said Voldemort couldn't be stopped, and here he is, dead, and here I am, alive.'

Draco picked up the glass of wine. He was slipping into business mode, where he was in passively dominant. Comfortably nestled on the couch, legs crossed, practically yawning in nonchalance, but at the same time intently listening and only speaking when absolutely necessary. He took a calculated sip and then spoke again. Draco loved this feeling of control, of capability, of authority. 'Riddle was human, Potter. He was a crazed individual. Crazed individuals, like bad movie villains, have weaknesses; crazed groups are harder to exploit.'

Harry leaned forward, putting his elbows on the coffee table. 'Well, then we just need to get at Blackwell, according to your logic. Right?'

'I suppose.'

'You suppose?'

'Even if we did, the zeal of the Ministry wouldn't just die out. Look at the Death Eaters. They still have the ideology intact, all they need is a powerful centralizing force to get themselves mobilized.'

Harry seemed to be mulling this over. 'So,' he smiled, and crossed his legs: he resembled Draco uncannily. 'What you're saying is, a highly organized group focused on the same goal is the most difficult to overcome?'

'Yes,' Draco said, becoming slightly suspicious of Harry's new confidence.

'Since you have somehow been able to – what? Elude? -- the Deatheaters, and considering the you are not on the Ministry's good side, either –'

Draco laughed. 'Potter, surely you're not inviting me to join your little amateur tea-party.'

'Er – well –'

'Good Lord. You're that desperate.' Draco didn't leave room for argument.

Harry shrugged, 'Perhaps. But I'm not the one actively wanted by the Ministry, now am I?' He smirked at Draco's wide, gaping eyes; the expression that told Harry he was now at an advantage.

'Are you that desperate?'

Tap tap tap. Remus Lupin drummed the slender, white quill against the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place. It was his favorite quill, and a relatively ancient one too: he remembered using it while grading term papers during his teaching stay at Hogwarts. Harry's practical The Effects of the Patronus, Hermione Granger's highly analytical Modern Politics and Dark Creatures, and – strangely enough – he could vividly recall Draco Malfoy's Psychology of the Dark Arts. Although the boy had just been in third year, the essay had been concise, insightful, and extremely fascinating.

It is widely known that it is not simply a blind assignation that makes a spell "dark," but rather, the intention behind the spell. For example, even if one preformed the correct spellwork and incantation, Avada Kedavra would not kill the victim unless the perpetrator harbored deep-rooted hatred for him or her.

However, one not only needs hatred. The victim must be dehumanized, or brought to a lower level, by the perpetrator. This is why, in a practical demonstration, a person may Avada Kedavra a mouse, it being non-human. This emotional detachment in regards to the victim is paramount to a successful application of a spell such as the Unforgivables.

And then, in a tiny, barely legible scribble at the end, which Remus wouldn't even had noticed had he not had enhanced lycanthropic vision:

And this is why I will never be capable of harming Harry Potter.

Remus had always suspected a sort of twisted mutualistic relationship between the two: their antagonism didn't remind him at all of Lucius Malfoy and James' relationship, or even Severus and James'. It was a motivating force; they pushed each other to greater heights through competition. Harry may have beaten Draco at Quidditch, in public, but it was clear that Draco was superb at academia. Remus even considered Draco a generally better student than Hermione, as her wandwork and practical spells were somewhat lacking at times, whereas Draco was consistently excellent at everything he attempted.

It wasn't hatred at all. It was ambitious dislike, or even reluctant envy, sometimes. It was obvious that Draco was wildly jealous of Harry when they were children.

Yes, the two had a definite, profound connection that had propagated over the years. It would be interesting indeed, Remus thought, to see how this would pan out.

He certainly wouldn't want to be Harry right now.

'You know what, Potter? Fuck. You. I don't need your sympathy, I don't need your help. I can take care of my own business. Entiende?'

'Sure, I understand, Malfoy. So, besides the fact you didn't even know the Ministry is seeking to try you for treason –'

'-- You're delusional –'

'And you're too damn arrogant to even admit that you might just possibly be at a tiny disadvantage here!'

'So what if I am arrogant! Confidence is a necessary thing, Potter. A Malfoy is never insecure.'

Harry glared at him openly. He honestly didn't know why or how Malfoy could get under his skin so easily – he shouldn't even give a damn about the bastard! 'Don't give me that Malfoy heritage shit. Your father was killed because of it; or don't you remember?'

Instantly, Harry realized he had crossed a sacred and forbidden line. Draco's eyes had narrowed to hot slits and his jaw was clenched tightly. Harry had never seen him so incensed, or – well – passionate, before.

'Potter, get out.'

'Wait – I didn't mean that, Malfoy –'

'Of course you did; don't be stupid. Get out.'

With a sigh, Harry ran a hair through his disheveled, angry hair, and stood up. He could feel a fiery feeling in the pit of his stomach, and tightening in his chest: it rather felt like heartburn, actually. On impulse, he swiped Draco's glass of wine, and downed the rest, tossing it onto the floor where it shattered. Draco had stood immediately, and was now less than a foot away from Harry, spitting fire.

'Potter! What in bloody hell are you doing?'

Harry shrugged, and turned to leave. 'You didn't need any more alcohol, anyway.'

'That wine was damn expensive, I'll have you know! And you got spatter on my carpet!'

Harry rolled his eyes. Draco was worried about a wine stain more than being on the federal 'Wanted' list? 'Fine, if you really want it back,' Harry smiled, and before Draco could even blink, had tilted his head, and Draco saw for a second the veneer of pure contempt in his eyes as he swiftly brushed his loveless harsh lips against Draco's.

(Sour taste of wine a passing puff of alcohol-tainted breath Illicit Noble Remember Draco the Malfoy name Remember me Draco the Light of Bad Faith But what is Faith? Warm softness bite of bitter hope Despair Paradox wrapped in an Enigma Harry Remember: Draco Malfoy MALFOY. LUCIUS AUGUSTUS MALFOY)

And Draco pushed him violently away and wiped his lips. He could feel this intense hatred curdling his insides –

And Harry apparated.

That bastard.

TBC...

Note: Yes, it is confusing (I think...sigh). It's confusing for a reason, though... And yes, it is going fast, you might think... But they still would like to murder each other, don't worry.