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: More Tortured!Characters. Author Sadism. ...Yeah...

Feedback: I adore all my reviewers! Thanks so much to everyone who left reviews, especially longer ones. You have my heart!

Note: This chapter is shorter/has less quality because I just had exams. However, now that school's over, expect more frequent updates (barring my time spent oversea)!

To Jharrel Finkle: Thanks so much for the offer (I'm extremely flattered!), but I already procured a beta for this particular story. Nevertheless, if you're still interested, my next HPDM fic (already in the works in my busy little mind) will likely need a pretty strict beta, or betas, so review/contact me if you'll be interested in that !

And a personal and totally frivolous note: Is anyone else totally psyched for the movie adaptation of RENT? (Just watched trailer.)

Carte Blanche

Chapter Four: Freudian Philosophy

"So, how are things with you, George," Lupin asked in a fatherly tone while setting a pot of tea to boil. "Everything alright?"

George sighed, sitting down in the kitchen chair. "Relatively, yes. Subjectively – no, not really."

Harry frowned slightly, and leaned back in his chair. He was always at ease with George; ever since Fred tragically died, he and George had a common thread. They could talk – really talk. Not like Ron, or even Hermione – granted, they were his best friends regardless, but sometimes they just didn't get Harry. George often did. George was an easygoing, relaxed person; extremely easy to get along with. Of course, Harry and George didn't often gossip and their respective personal lives, they just usually conducted therapeutic discussions.

Fred had died after the War was over: it was a shock to everyone when the news of his death came out. The cause was still unknown; all that was known was that he had been found, cursed dead, in a dark alleyway in Hogsmeade.

George had been ... devastated; although Harry wasn't certain that any word could express the magnitude of his trauma. Wizarding twins, Harry learned, were not as similar as one might think to their muggle counterparts: wizarding twins had a very potent and unique magical bond, somewhat akin to the typical soulmate bond (which is most pronounced between magical creatures such as veela and werewolves). The twins' magical signatures were identical, as with their genetic information. Many times their magic could intermingle and become mixed-up – spells could go haywire, particular curses could affect not only the one who was hexed, but also the other twin; things like that.

For all intents and purposes, then; George had lost half of himself in the death of Fred. He would never quite be the same again, Harry knew. It had taken him a while to regain his magical strength – for about two weeks immediately after the incident, George had essentially been a squib – but it would take him even longer to revert back to his typical lifestyle. The before life.

Harry had many 'before' lives himself, he told George. The 'before Voldemort' life; even the 'before Magic' life. Before Hogwarts, before Cedric, before – before Sirius. And then the 'after' life. After Hogwarts, after Voldemort's defeat, after the War.

Somehow, in some distant, foreign part of Harry's mind, a small whisper of truth said: After Draco.

Harry shook his head and shivered. "So – what – um, what changed?" He noticed George's look. "I mean, I thought you were doing relatively well, last time we got together."

George shrugged noncommittally. "Yeah, well... you know how it is."

Harry nodded. He did.

"So," Remus broke in, after a pregnant pause, "How's the new flat going along?" He stopped for a second. "Um. Landlord nice?"

"Yes, mostly; she's a muggle, though," Remus made a small 'oh,' "And, well ..."

"Mm," Harry agreed. "Nothing to talk about."

"Nothing of any consequence, at least." George smiled without humor. Smiling was always his defense mechanism.

Ever since the War ended, things had always been different. Such world events don't end with a complete conclusion, wrapped up with a relieved sigh and a few sad smiles. Harry had somehow expected, that once he killed Lord Voldemort, things would just melt away. Instead, the body count had actually increased for a few months, then slowly died away as the remaining Death Eaters were killed off. Then, Graduation. Then, some random attacks; just scares, people thought. However, soon enough, the "random attacks" were regularly making headlines in the Prophet, among other periodicals.

Then – then the Ministry, the rising Death Eater factions – then the societal and political overturn, a sort of a conceptual war (if such a thing existed). It was as if Voldemort was just the Bastille of the French Revolution, or the beheading of the King: a respected climax, but certainly not the end; not even close. At least with the Dark Lord, there had been decided sides. The Light, and the Dark – an easy enough decision, as they go. But now?

Harry sighed. There was a long pause, in which George rubbed his forehead, a cute frown pulling down the skin around his mouth.

"So," George said, after Remus hurried to pour the boiling tea from the screaming pot, "what exactly was Malfoy doing here?"

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "Not much, just being an arrogant little prick –"

Remus' teasing voice drifted over to them from the counter area. "How do you know he's little –?"

Harry colored immediately."Especially as I thought you just 'attacked' his mouth," Remus continued nonchalantly. "Earl Grey or English breakfast, you two?"

George raised a bright orange eyebrow and grinned.

"Okay," he said, in his original Weasley twin element, "You definitely have to fill me in now."

Harry just groaned. Things are just not going my way lately.

Draco pursed his lips together as he wandered throughout the Nice marketplace. It was a sunny, bright day; much the antithesis to Draco's current attitude. If you squinted enough, you could vaguely see the cartoonish cloud of gloom hovering over his perfectly groomed hair.

There were large groups of people, milling around; Draco could catch a few snippets of conversation ("Combien por un melon?" "Savez-vous le français, autre que 'l'omelette de fromage' je veux dire?"), but never heard or saw any wanderer that had a pronounced English accent. Sighing, he headed over to a fruit stand in the less crowded area of the market. He picked up an inordinately large orange, and glanced around. Come on, c'mon ... stupid Gryffindors. I rather think I actually prefer Ravenclaws, now. God. 'Secret agent' my arse. What kind of person calls themselves some inane phrase taken from some god-awful muggle movie, anyways?

"Oh!" A suspiciously un-French person cried as they appeared at Draco's side. Draco tilted his head down slightly and saw a slicked back mop of fine, mousy-brown hair.

"Took you long enough," Draco grimaced distastefully. "And take your voice down a notch, for Merlin's sake."

"Sorry," Neville Longbottom muttered. "But about a billion people are holding oranges or tangerines or whatever the hell they are at this market. Our signal needs some work."

Draco just shot him an impatient sneer. "Yeah, sure. What d'you have for me?"

Neville licked his lips nervously, glancing around. "How about first we," he motioned towards the perimeter of the street, not completing his sentence.

Draco nodded, and began walking out of the crowd; his informant followed, jogging a bit to keep up with the Malfoy heir's long, powerful strides. Once they were reasonably out of any person's hearing range, Neville began relating his information. Draco intently listened, silently cataloging even the most minute details in his mind.

After about fifteen minutes, they separated; Neville's hands empty as he had refused the gold coins Draco had offered him. "Business transaction," Draco had told him with a smirk. "And you get me fifty times the amount of gold I'm offering you now." Neville still refused. Draco shrugged, pocketed the money, and then apparated.

Neville looked morosely at the spot where Malfoy had just been. He sighed, and picked up the orange his companion had discarded. "Someday, Malfoy, you're gonna get yourself in trouble." He took from his pocket an article he had clipped from the Prophet, and regarded it as if it was an obituary. "You're gonna get yourself killed, for sure."

BLACKWELL ASSURES MASS EXECUTIONS OF SUSPECTED DARK INFORMANTS IMMINENT.

"Harry," said Remus, now rinsing the used teapot, "I'm curious. Why did –"

"I kiss Malfoy?" Harry finished. Remus nodded, half sheepish and half amused.

"I... I don't know," Harry admitted freely. He felt so calm and open around his former professor; Harry could often see why Sirius and his father had enjoyed the werewolf's company. A quiet, calm, diplomatic person; yet with an undeniable mischievous streak.

"I was so pissed, and we – he – I don't know. He was just there, and there was just this surge of –"

"Passion," Remus interrupted with a dry tone.

"Hatred," Harry corrected, rolling his eyes towards the older man.

Remus was silent; his emotions conflicting. "You know, Harry," he began slowly. "The 'flip-side of the coin' cliché often has actual merit..."

"Oh, please. I do not have a thing for Draco Malfoy."

"Well, sometimes stressful situations lead to things that wouldn't happen normally, I admit that. But, just because they wouldn't happen normally doesn't mean that there isn't any valid basis to them... trust me, I'd know..."

"You're sounding awfully Freudian or something, Rem. Next you're going to start analyzing my dreams and telling me I secretly want to make mad love to him," Harry told the other wryly.

"Well I'm not ruling it out as a possibility," Remus grinned, as Harry grimaced.

"Oh, Merlin. I think I need to vomit."

"Harry, don't be disgusting."

"Look who's talking!" Harry stuck out his tongue.

"That's mature. I can't imagine what charming young Draco sees in you."

"..."

TBC...

Translations:

Combien por un melon: How much for a melon?

Savez-vous le français, autre que 'l'omelette de fromage' je veux dire: Do you know any French, other than 'cheese omelette' I mean?

Thanks to my beta Beth for the translations!

Note: REVIEW! (Even though I personally think this chapter is rather boring. Oh, well, it has very needed information.) Also, to answer a reviewer's question, Hermione and Ron will be making an appearance soon :)

Next chapter: Remus and Harry talk some more; Remus reminisces; and some fun HD "drama"! And perhaps some more of "Businessman"!Draco.