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: Slashiness, angst, etc. All that good stuff.

Note: I'm back! Sorry about the long wait. But here it is, and I'm glad everyone enjoyed the dream sequence ;) Expect the next one out in another two weeks, and then we'll hopefully be getting back on the original one-week schedule. And they'll be LONGER...bashes head against wall Work actually makes me have less free time than school does! (Plus spending weeks traveling.)

Carte Blanche

Chapter Five: Part Two: Sense and Sensibility

"You know," Draco commented as Harry uncomfortably prepared drinks for the both of them, "I never would have expected the great Harry Potter to be so sexually deprived."

Harry blanched. "Well, I never would have expected the proper elitist Draco Malfoy to be so utterly tactless."

"You learn a new thing everyday," Draco smiled sweetly. "Are those your own flannel pajamas? They're gorgeous."

"Oh don't patronize me," Harry snapped. "You probably wear green velvet boxers, for all I know."

"You're quite the psychic. Ever had your inner eye checked out?"

Harry blinked, momentarily taken off-balance, then grimaced. "Green velvet boxers?"

Draco returned the look levelly. "Worn flannel pants?" Harry just glared, and Draco continued, unaffected: "No wonder you're so deprived," he drawled.

"I'm not – deprived –"

"Oh, do grow up. I'm not the one going around kissing people for leverage," Draco said, unusually calm.

Harry's eyes grew wide and he started sputtering. "I do not – what – leverage? -- that wasn't for blackmail!" He blurted.

Harry barely noticed that his heart had begun to beat faster, perhaps even as quickly as Draco's cheeks had grown bright and beautifully pink. He felt as if he was standing on a bridge, on the edge of a dam, about to watch the damn break and water violently rush out of its confined space. Unfettered emotion running rampant.

It was the last thing he needed, this strange and inexplicable passion, this falsely incurred desire, and yet –

"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..."

Remus' benevolent and accepting face; his quiet, unassuming manner.

Harry suddenly felt guilty. He'd been ignoring Remus all this time, who'd been – and Harry felt he should have known – right in his analysis of his and Draco's strange and dysfunctional 'relationship.'

He silently sighed. Remus. And... Sirius. Harry blinked back tears, scolding himself: Don't be stupid, Harry. Don't be a fool. That's nothing like this – nothing.

Forcibly bringing himself back from his quiet musings, Harry noticed with surprise that Draco had turned away from him, and had poured himself a rather large shot of hard liquor. The staining blush had still not drained away from his normally pale cheeks.

Harry hadn't ever seen the Malfoy heir so strangely vulnerable, and... and human. He was entirely unprepared when the blond began to speak.

"What was it for, then?" Draco asked quietly, pure curiosity thickly permeating his tone.

"I don't know," Harry said honestly and in embarrassed but determined earnest. "Really – I don't."

The Slytherin raised a brow. "How can you not know?" He scoffed.

Harry didn't answer; he just shrugged. Somehow, this confrontation 'of sorts' was turning out to be less than horrific. In fact, it was as anticlimactic as he could ever possibly have imagined. The previous image of an emotional torrent had dispersed completely in his mind. Part of his mind wondered if he should just make biscuits and tea and have a nice little midnight teatime. A domestic, quaint sitdown. With, incidentally, Draco Malfoy.

Uh, huh. Harry could vividly imagine Draco in a preppy house-husband's outfit – complete with pink pinstriped apron – daintily serving tea on a silver platter.

Or someone's head. Either way.

"Well, Mr. Boy Wonder, if I were you –"

If you were me, that'd be taking narcissism to a whole new level.

"-- I'd think about things before acting," Draco finished, a condescending and ever-so-slightly preachy look on his face.

"I thought I was a Gryffindor," Harry smiled lopsidedly.

The Slytherin shrugged. "A hundred galleons says that if you were sorted now you'd be plopped at the Slytherin table without so much as a blink."

"I'm flattered." Harry fanned himself in a flippant manner.

"See, you're becoming more like me everyday," Draco said triumphantly, a small smile threatening to upturn the corners of his mouth. Harry's eyes widened in pretend shock.

"Oh, say it isn't so!" He mockingly swooned, and – incidentally – fell, quite on center, into Draco's arms.

Draco's eyes widened in quite real shock. Any moisture in his throat immediately vaporized and the still-conscious part of his mind vaguely wondered whether he should be feeling disgust or happiness right now.

It settled on comatose, as Draco had completely frozen – that is, except for his hands, which were tightly gripping the thin fabric of Harry's shirt.

The brunette blinked once, twice, and then placed his hands lightly on Draco's shoulders in order to hoist himself up. However, upon doing so, Harry found his position worsened, his face being mere inches from that of the blond's. Harry noticed with acute detail the small twitch of Draco's aristocratic nose, the way his grey eyes narrowed in concentration, and his beautifully furrowed eyebrows.

Harry instantly felt like a specimen, like a magical creature under intense scrutiny. Like Draco was preforming some sort of scientific analysis on him, determining his – what? Worthiness?

Quickly, and with some anxiety, Harry removed his shuddering hands from the other man's shoulders, then turned towards a table chair, gripping it. He thoroughly ignored the wave of confusion and irritation that passed over Draco's countenance; instead, taking a deep breath, he said:

"Why don't I get dressed. We can take a walk and you can talk."

Draco shrugged his acquiescence, cheeks slightly flushed (though with anger or lingering excitement, Harry couldn't tell). "Good. I came here on business, after all. Not pleasure." His eyes narrowed. "Seems you tend to get the two confused, sometimes."

The words felt like a slap to Harry's cheek. Draco's eyes were cold, now, and Harry soon felt a similar numbness creep over his face, creating the acceptable expression of nonchalance and indifference. He quickly grabbed a large overcoat, and pulling it tightly around his t-shirt and sweatpants, he and Draco walked out of his apartment, down several flights of stairs, and into the dark street, their respective prides and right minds regained.

Sensibility could be a bitch.

Please review! I promise a longer one next time. And with more plot, obviously. --;; Somehow I feel as if the characters are OOC here. Hm.