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: Definite slashiness.

Note: Another short one, since I'm off overseas. See you all in two weeks! I'll get the second half of the chapter out ASAP once I return.

Carte Blanche

Chapter Five: Part One – Interruptions, Or Not

Harry tossed and turned in the bed in his apartment. He had gone home around midnight, after having one too many martinis, and had literally fallen into bed. Sleep didn't come too quickly, though. He rolled over, folded the pillow over his head as if his neighbors were playing heinously loud music, kicked off the comforter, and repeated the cycle as needed.

Finally, he calmed, and a certain somnolence came over him. The last thing he remembered consciously seeing was the pale, full moon, heavily hanging in the night sky.

Harry felt unnaturally drowsy. There was an undeniable pressure on his head, stifling rational thought; he felt, strangely enough, drugged. When he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized there wasn't just a pressure on his head – but all along the length of his body.

Oh. Someone was lying on top of him.

He blinked, rather befuddled. It was dark, and he tried to squint and find out who – or what – was on him, but all he could see was a silhouette. Definitely a human figure, though, and possibly – female? The person was certainly slender enough, and not very bulky nor weighty.

He raised his arms, and tentatively explored the body with his hands, running them down the sides. Well – there weren't many curves, no defined waist or hips – he experimentally slid his hand over the person's chest and arms. Flat and slightly muscular, respectively.

Okay. Male, then. Slim, elegant, and perhaps very feminine male, but a male nonetheless.

The man, previously lying limp, now began to acquire a sense of strength and action about him: his muscles tensed, legs moved to the sides, and he ran a hand slowly through his hair – his blond hair. The moonlight created a pale gleam on his crown.

Harry's mouth suddenly felt dry and fuzzy.

Accompanying all of this was a strong and sour sense of deja vu.

Harry screwed his courage and ran calloused fingers gently down the side of the blond man's face. The man turned towards him, seemingly surprised, and brought his hand to rest on top of Harry's. His weight abruptly shifted and Harry felt oddly... excited.

But before the blood could rush from Harry's head, the person began to writhe – not in a sexual way, but rather in pain. Gasping groans were slithering out of his mouth, and it was possibly the most nauseating thing Harry had ever seen. Harry didn't even know why, but this thoroughly disturbed him, and he pulled himself out from underneath the man.

As Harry tried to comfort the stranger in pain, the world around him suddenly became more glaring, more clear. Not like daytime, but rather as if the dark shadows were lighting the room, somehow. Like that poem by that muggle author, John something, Harry thought. The room was its own Hell.

And in this hellish bubble, Harry felt an inexplicable urge to touch the man's lips with his own. He was holding the man down by his arms, firmly, trying to stop the man's shaking; he now brought his head down closer to the stranger's.

In one brief, illuminating moment, the dark light flickered across the blonde's face and his eyes flashed silver. Harry gasped in sudden recognition, but didn't have time before the man lifted his own lips to Harry's –

Harry bolted upright, sweating furiously. For a moment, the world swirled around him, but slowly his eyes cleared and in a fit of consciousness he noticed someone was knocking loudly on the door. Oh. Shit. Harry felt himself blush.

Sighing, Harry threw off the minimal covers he had and padded sleepily over to the door. Without any regard for caution, he opened the door, quite ready to give the person on the other side a full-frontal glare of epic proportions. God, couldn't he even get a wet dream in peace?

However, when he swung open the door in sleepy irritation, the image that stood before him practically made Harry pass out in irony and shock.

A blonde, gray-eyed, slender man; scion of the Malfoy line; and spy extraordinaire. Draco Malfoy.

Harry gave an indistinct glare of epic proportions to the universe. Which, Harry was sure, hated him with a fiery and altogether unfair passion.

"May I come in?"

"Uh... Sure. Yeah. Come," Harry yawned. Draco raised an eyebrow, and Harry blushed again. "In. Come in."

"My apologies for waking you."

"Nah, it's fine. Not missing anything terribly important. Like sleep. I can do without sleep. I've done without it for a while and –"

"Potter?"

"Yes D – Malfoy?"

"You're babbling and surely delirious," Draco commented, as he followed the brunette into the living room. "Not to mention a little excited."

"Me? Excited?" Harry squeaked, and cursed himself as he cleared his throat. "No, I'm just half-asleep, and I tend to get rather crazy and uninte – unintelli –"

"Unintelligible?"

"That's it," Harry smiled weakly. He then sported a hundred and four degree fever as Draco pointedly looked at Harry, then downwards.

Harry groaned in total embarrassment, and put his face in his hands.

I hate my life. I really, honestly do.

Please Review (was the dream sequence decent?)! Even though it's quite short. However, in two weeks (after I return), I'll get the next one up ASAP!