A/N: The war is over. Harry won.
IMPORTANT: Because the prequel to this is down to be re-written by me, I will write a quick summary. Draco moved into the Gryffindor dorms in the seventh year, to help Granger in a magical experiment. She wanted to see if she could remove the Dark Mark. Harry and Draco get involved, but Draco cuts it off because he is getting too attached and can't trust himself. Alot better than it sounds, actually, and the plot is being totally re-written, a note for my previous readers, so check it out...uh... as soon as I get it up.
Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had been working in the same building as Aurors for two years, and had somehow managed not to speak to each other. The hurt in Harry's emerald eyes were always apparent when he gazed back into Draco's cold, unforgiving ones. Though if he was to ask, the person whom Draco wasn't forgiving was himself.
But, as all things most, this time of frosty receptions and wordless speaking had to come to an end. In about the most brutal, jarring way imaginable, short of rape.
"Potter! Malfoy! You two will be working together on a project. You'll spend two weeks in a safe house together as an observation point- I'll give you the address, make friends with your neighbors… the threats… and come back and report," Rhiannon- their boss- stated quickly.
Draco moved up, lip curled in a familiar expression of distaste. "Madame Rhiannon, I respect your wishes, but…"
"I know about your past, but ya know what? Fuck you. You can deal with that later. I need both of you working together for your variety of skills. Now shut up, get the keys, grab the Portkey, and go." Neither of them argued after that. Rhiannon wasn't someone to be crossed. Ever.
They walked stiffly, each attempting not to touch the other. But the Portkey was small- a keychain, really- and their fingers brushed. Neither reacted- not visibly, anyway, but thoughts, memories of their last night together were running through their minds, even as the Portkey brought them to a small apartment, in a reasonably uptown neighborhood- the equivalent of Soho.
"Harry," Draco stated, nodding, as he pulled out the key.
"Draco," Harry's voice was colder, more distant- and he had a right to be, Draco reminded himself. He suffered the most, after all.
He watched him for a while, then extended a hand. "Truce?" he offered.
Harry stared for a while, as if in awe that it even existed, then shook it, nodding. "I suppose."
Draco's eyes considered him. "No hard feelings?"
"What use would they be now?" his own voice, cracked and bitter, gave away the truth.
Draco sighed. "Well, I deserve it, don't I? I am sorry, but… things happen, I suppose. But I'm sure you've healed by now.
No, I haven't. Some wounds never heal, Draco, and you were the first person I loved. And try as I might, I still love you. No, I'm not fucking healed! But he resisted the temptation to scream and simply responded, "Not fully… but yes, I have."
Draco's silver eyes flickered. He knew Harry was lying- but he wasn't going to pursue that. He preferred the lie. "Right, then. Come on."
They entered the house, carefully looking over the small flat. There was a miniscule living room, a kitchen, one bathroom, and one bedroom. A note pinned to the door read, 'Sorry… couldn't find anything else.'
Harry groaned. "I'll take the couch, I guess."
"No… it's fine. I will."
Harry nodded. "Can you cook?"
"Poorly. That's what house-elves are for. You?"
"I can. Hermione is still against house-elves, though Dobby does help occasionally."
"Good. If we were eating my cooking you'd probably be dead. So would I, for that matter." And perhaps that would be better.
"Uhm… okay. Is the kitchen stocked?"
"Yes, but we will need to buy more. How long did Rhiannon say this assignment was?"
"Two weeks, Draco. Did you forget already?"
"Yes. I wasn't really paying attention. I was too busy thinking."
"Thinking what?"
"Something along the lines of, 'oh shit, oh shit,' and 'I should have seen this coming," Draco smiled, carefully, cautiously.
"That sounds right," Harry responded. "Around the lines of what I was thinking, really."
He collapsed on the couch, Draco beside him, both careful not to touch. "Did you date anyone?"
"No," the word was cold, frosty. How could I, when I loved you? "You?"
"No."
They both sat there, neither speaking, neither needing to, both calm and content in the silence, more so in speech. For they both knew each other's voices well… once in hatred, once in love, and now… it was neither.
Draco finally stood, switching on the television. "Harry, do we have any movies?"
"I think Rhia would have given us some- she usually makes sure that it seems like a normal house for visitors…"
Draco thumbed through the drawers. "Here they are… oh, there are some good ones…"
"Did you read our cover story yet?"
"No… what is it?"
"Basically, we have two options: either we can be drug dealers-,"
"No. Too dangerous. The local police won't know about what we're doing and if there's a raid we could end up in Azkaban. Also, there are turf wars over this stuff, and we're not here for drugs, are we?"
"Nope… apparently, some of our neighbors are trying to help Voldemort rise again. So that leaves the second," Harry winced.
"What is it? Gangbangers?" Draco muttered bitterly, "because if it isn't, that's what we're doing. Drugs are just too dangerous."
"Uhm… no. Actually, apparently we're lovers who are fleeing from persecution…" Harry sighed.
"Well, no one can ever say that Rhiannon's subtle," Draco muttered.
"Heh. She wouldn't be Rhia if she was," Harry shook his head disgustedly.
Rhiannon Apparated in at that instant, smirking widely. "I did have ulterior motives, Potter, Malfoy. You two need to deal with your demons and stop it from affecting work. I'm your boss, so I'm in charge of making sure that happens, and quick. Here's your dossier."
Rhiannon passed Draco the papers, watching him as he skimmed through it, gray eyes moving quickly. "So, this assignment…"
"Is hard as hell. But I'm sure ya'll can do it. Just get into their circle of trust… and Potter, I have a potion that can help you get rid of that scar. Malfoy, you made it, didn't you?"
"The one for hiding physical markings? Yes." Draco barely looked up.
"Okay. So, smear this on your forehead and report back to me every few days. Got it, boys?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Yeah."
She Apparated out.
Harry turned to Draco, sighing. "Well…"
"And well, and well, and well… we could pass the whole day with these, conversations about wounds never healed, old times and old attacks… but it would be pointless and stupid, which you know as well as I. I do not deny that what I did was bad, but it is over. And…" Harry cut him off.
"I know, Draco. I'm not an idiot. It would be useless to worry at them now, like dogs on a bone. Maybe later… maybe when we have time. But not now. I know."
Draco stopped for a moment, nodding. "Thank you. Now, who are these… people?"
"Rosetta and Desmond le Roi. Two high-born Purebl-."
Draco cut him off with a snicker. "Are you insane? The le Rois are not high-born. Maybe compared to other, non-Pureblood families, yes, but… the Malfoys are high-born, the Parkinsons are high-born. The le Rois are far lower than the Zabini's, and they're already low because of the gambling debt."
He shook his head. "No, they wouldn't have been Death Eaters. They may just be doing this to return into the favor of the elite. In fact, that's the most likely option."
Harry was intrigued in spite of himself- Draco may no longer be the Purebloods' Golden Boy- in fact, years ago, he had said it didn't matter anymore, now that his parents were dead, but he was still a Pureblood, and as such knew the hierarchy.
In truth, Draco was very much an enigma to most Purebloods, and since his family was one of the highest, he was held in great respect. Draco Malfoy, the mystery. Draco Malfoy, the once-Death Eater. Simply his name carried the aura if his reputation.
"Why?"
"Because, the higher you rise, the more you have in your debt, the more powerful you are. Also, the le Rois are new at the game… they're like eager pups, looking for friends. This would be a good way to not only rise in power but get a lot of friends, quick."
"How powerful are you?"
"I'm among the highest."
"So…"
"It would be relatively easy for me to befriend them… actually, they may leap in my lap. And if I introduce you as a friend, you would automatically fall under that as well."
"Is there anything we need to do?"
Draco drew himself up. "Fix up the flat, and get some good clothes. No Pureblood with my status would ever live here, and if that's how we're going to attack, we'd better make my status obvious."
Harry smirked. "I may have been horrible at Potions, but I was good at Transfiguration. First, we'll make this flat much more gaudy… and larger…"
"Harry, we will be shopping, you do know that, right?"
The finished result was impressive, Draco admitted. Through both of their unique styles they had created a very elegant house. It wasn't a palace, but had it's share of classic books and paintings, and was certainly appropriate for a Pureblood.
The walls were painted a light cream, paintings and scrolls hanging on the walls. The bookshelves were everywhere, full of novels, ranging from Draco's own Pearl Buck to Harry's Jane Yolen.
They had two separate bedrooms, each as individual as the person themselves. Draco's screamed class and elegance, while Harry's was a bit rougher. But it worked. They worked.
And both men worked together, blond next to black, silver and emerald, in it's creation, and both were proud of the end result. Though neither knew what would truly happen in Draco's- Harry's- their house.
So, what do ya'll think? I had to do this, and the title comes from the Shakespearan quote, "What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to decieve." So, review, please.