Chapter Two

As it transpired, the journey to Germany was exceedingly dull, largely because Malfoy deigned only to speak three words to Harry the entire time. His 'Good afternoon' as he joined Malfoy in their car was merely repeated, and his offer to help place his case in the overhead locker on the plane was met with a 'No.' That was it.

Harry, however, was not to be dissuaded. He kept up a steady stream of chatter, the more benign and arbitrary the better, offering his opinions on anything from the quality of the leather upholstery of the seats, to Prime Minister Wilson's latest economic policies, to Arsenal's chances in the league, to how one should mix the perfect gin and tonic, of which he indulged in three on the flight. Unsurprisingly, he was unable to tempt Malfoy, but his irritation at Harry's drivel combined with the obvious disapproving of him drinking were the only amusement he could drum up. Besides, it took a lot more than some watered-down gin to affect Harry's senses in any meaningful way.

The hotel they had been booked into was opposite the last confirmed location the Lestranges had been seen at, on a street not far from the wall that divided the city between East and West. After another silent car journey, Harry followed Malfoy into their establishment, which he was pleased to say was not entirely uncomfortable, and stood beside him as they waited to speak to the young woman at the check-in desk.

"Good evening," Malfoy spoke in perfect German before Harry could even open his mouth. "We have a reservation for two rooms, under the names Richter and Klein. I believe my secretary requested a south facing apartment, if possible?"

He gave her such a charming smile the girl couldn't help but wilt, and Harry felt a surge of irritation. He resisted the urge to shout at the girl that her fancy was completely wasted, as the man was nothing other than a dreary stick-in-the-mud of the direst sort. But of course he did not, and feigned polite interest as Malfoy fed her a line about them being architects interested in the development of the area, keen to sketch a variety of the buildings currently standing across the street. No trace of his Russian inflections ever surfaced.

"I see you studied German with far greater dedication than English," Harry couldn't help but gripe as they made their way over to the elevators. Why did it bother him that Malfoy spoke to the girl with far more skill and enthusiasm than he ever had to Harry in all their years of acquaintance? They were from opposing sides for God's sake, what did he want?

Malfoy didn't look at him as he leant across his body and jabbed the lift's call button. "I have no trouble at all with the Queen's English," he said with perfect received pronunciation that startled Harry enough to get him to turn and regard his companion's profile. "I find it tiresome," he added, slipping back into his thick Russian drawl. "Besides, I do not hear you attempting my language."

Harry smirked as the elevator pinged open. "I'll speak Russian when we're in Russia," he informed him.

Malfoy surprised him by sweeping his arm forwards. "After you, Your Highness," he said. He didn't have a trace of humour about his voice, but it wasn't hostile either, and Harry had to conclude as he stepped inside and eyed him up warily, that he had to have been making a joke. The thought was more than a little disturbing, but also, strangely comforting.

They had two rooms side by side, south facing as the girl had promised, affording them an excellent view of the Gasthaus Berlin. It looked to be an even nicer hotel than their own judging by the gilded trim façade, and the fact it had a finely dressed doorman greeting every guest as they walked in. Over the next several hours, Harry was able to observe him interacting with dozens upon dozens of guests as they entered and exited the hotel, and thought it would be good to question the fellow if at all possible. None of them were the Lestranges, but Harry knew they would probably have to wait days to determine whether or not the couple had moved elsewhere. For now, they would just have to be patient.

To ensure they had eyes on the hotel at all times, they had to stay together no matter the time of day. They moved between the two rooms so as not to arouse housekeeping's suspicion, but, other than breaks for one or the other to freshen up in the bathroom, that meant he was forced to spent the next few days in the frosty, silent company of Draco Malfoy. The only time Harry was able to snatch a couple of words with someone else was when they had their meals delivered, but even then he had to be brief so as not to risk the staff glimpsing anything they shouldn't.

He was bored, but he was also focused. On the fifth day they were finally rewarded with a sighting. Both Mr and Mrs Lestrange had altered their appearance since the photos MI6 had on file had been taken; he had shaved his beard and dyed his hair darker, and she had grown her curls out impressively, making Harry think she was perhaps wearing some kind of wig. But there was no doubting it was them as they stepped into the waiting taxi to whisk them off to wherever they were headed. Harry's sprits lifted significantly after that.

He remained just as dedicated over the next few days as they began to slowly log patterns in the couple's behaviour, but his reserve thawed back to its natural eager state. In that he began rabbiting at Malfoy again, regardless of whether or not he got any response.

Most of what he told him was utter nonsense, inventing friends and spinning half-truths mixed with pure fiction just to have stories to tell. He talked of old school adventures, and his 'brother' and his 'sister-in-law', and old news reports he'd heard, and even a vaguely honest account of the Oxford-Cambridge boat race he'd been fortunate enough to addend last year. Being an Oxford gent he couldn't help but enthuse at their win, and he could have sworn he caught the barest hint of a smile as he glanced at his companion as he finished that particular tale.

He and Malfoy were not supposed to be comrades, but Harry longed to get any kind of reaction out of such a stone-faced man. He'd seen him damn well smile at that receptionist girl, and he knew there was more lurking under the surface than the KGB agent let on.

After encountering him for the third time on a mission several years ago, Harry had done his research on Draco Malfoy. His father had been a Nazi sympathiser, colluding with them during the war, and Malfoy Junior and his mother had suffered prejudice for it even after Malfoy Senior had taken his own life. Agent Malfoy was dedicated to his country's prosperity though, and had applied for a government position as soon as his conscription to the army had ended at age twenty one. He was swift and efficient, but unlike other agents of his ilk, Harry had observed he was not cruel.

Which probably explained why Harry had let him go once or twice when he really should have brought him home for interrogation. Malfoy had known the suffering of poverty and starvation as a youth, and he had made it through numerous Baltic winters through sheer stubbornness alone before being able to provide stability for him and his mother. He did what was necessary and had pride in his country, but there was no denying there was something that set him apart from other Soviets.

Was that why he had been selected for this mission? This ridiculous H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S. nonsense? Did his less-than-completely-ruthless mentality make him a soft option for the Brits, or was it compassion that would strengthen an international experiment?

Harry guessed only time would tell on that.

After their initial confirmation that the Lestranges were indeed still at the Gasthaus Berlin, both Harry and Malfoy had left the hotel briefly, one after the other, to make contact with their own agencies and convey the news securely. Now, twice a day every day, they would take turns to meet their handlers; Malfoy would go before they first switched over the rooms at 10am, then Harry would go once they were settled back in Malfoy's room. They would repeat this again at 5pm before they moved back to Harry's room. Harry's morning meeting was at a café down the street, his afternoon rendezvous in the middle of the Jannowitz Bridge. He had half a dozen agents that rotated who would see him, and slowly the information started to trickle through.

By the seventh day there were other teams put in place from both M.I.6. and the K.G.B. to tail the couple wherever they went, but Harry and Malfoy remained the only crossover unit. They were the only ones to have all the information at hand. So, when the Russians observed Rodolph Lestrange visiting a locker in Jannowitzbrucke train station, and then the Brits saw Bellatrix visit the same locker two days later, Harry and Malfoy knew they had something.

It took several more days to work out it must be some sort of drop point, and Harry became increasingly convinced this was where they were likely to discover something useful, maybe even the list they had been sent to the country to find. Therefore, they prepared to switch the nature of the mission from observation to action.

On the Wednesday morning of the third week of February, a team from M.I.6. set up camp in the room Harry had been using, and another K.G.B. team settled in Malfoy's. Housekeeping were distressed by all the extra bodies milling about, and Harry had to tip them extremely generously to not worry about the upheaval. One of the women wouldn't stop fussing, bleating in her native Polish which Harry couldn't speak as well as German, and she kept picking up clothes from the floor and trying to put them in the wardrobe, getting in the way of the six or seven men that were doing their best to set up equipment. Harry cursed, trying to explain that they were just surveyors, aiding him and Malfoy in their architectural report. She appeared a little mollified by the time he ushered her out of the door with an extra couple of Deutsche marks for her trouble, and the rest of the team were able to set up without further interference.

That finally left him time to shower and dress, troubled by the bad timing. Normally they had until at least 11am until they had to concern themselves with cleaners, and this had put him behind schedule. Finally though, he and Malfoy were allowed to leave the confines of the hotel for more than just half an hour, and actually engage in some field work.

Harry couldn't help but relish the stretch in his legs as he and Malfoy marked out every possible inch of Jannowitzbrucke train station, situated uniquely on the bank of the river Spree. Their colleagues had determined that the locker was positioned in a corridor near the ticket booths, and marked as number seven; the second row from the left, the second door from the top. They did not want to obviously approach the drop point though without first checking they were not being watched, or without marking every exit route.

Ideally, Harry would have preferred to have found a way to remain in the station after it had closed, when the members of the public had gone home so they could attempt to retrieve whatever was inside without being disturbed or risking anyone else getting in the way if it came to a confrontation. But as it often went with these things, that wasn't the way the chips fell.

Neither Lestrange was due to appear at the station at least until the next day based on their schedule so far. But as Harry was doing another sweep of the concourse to check the number of paces between platforms, he saw the distinctive mass of Bellatrix's curls as she swept imperiously into the station.

He didn't pause in his stride one second as he turned and headed to where he had last made eye contact with Malfoy. Fortunately, his partner was as unflinchingly aware of him as he was Malfoy, so he too changed his course, both of them taking the obvious path towards the locker.

They had two choices as Harry saw it; allow Lestrange to remove whatever was behind the door and risk trying to take it from her afterwards, or attempt to spring the lock and recover the contents before she had the time to reach it. The second option was preferable, as if they were swift she would not see their faces and it would allow them extra time to make their escape. However, they only had a minute and a half maximum head start on her, and he wasn't sure that was enough of a window to pick the lock without any passers-by noticing.

His heart rate naturally picked up as he and Malfoy approached one another in front of the lockers. It was just gone 6pm, which meant rush hour and the station was heaving with commuters. That gave them a little bit of cover to work he supposed, but if any one of the German civilians looked over and saw they were without a key, it could spell disaster very quickly. Also, Bellatrix may have been of the fairer sex, but her portfolio was far bloodier than that of her husband's. Harry did not want to put any innocents between her and them if at all possible.

Malfoy reached the locker first, and was evidently on the same wavelength as Harry as he already had two pins out, sliding them into the lock before he had even stopped walking. Harry came and stood next to him, hopefully shielding him from any curious commuters from seeing what he was up to, and within seconds the he heard the lock tumble. "Impressive," Harry couldn't help but murmur as Malfoy yanked the door open.

Inside sat a single, small circular canister which Harry assumed from years of experience to be a reel of microfilm, and his heart leapt. The information on those slides could be absolutely invaluable.

Once the Lestranges knew their rendezvous point had been compromised they would obviously flee, but the other agents could keep tabs on them for that. It was now Harry and Malfoy's duty to get that microfilm out of the country.

Harry snatched it and placed it in his pocket as Malfoy shut the door. He glanced up to check they had enough time before Bellatrix was upon them, then hastily began to relock it using his picks. But Harry looked behind them, from the opposite direction that Bellatrix was heading, and made eye contact with a stranger. He had no idea who he was, but as soon as the man spotted them beside the locker, he reached inside his jacket, his face alight with surprise and anger.

"Time to go," Harry cried. He grabbed Malfoy's arm, dragging him away from the locker, his pins clattering to the ground as they broke into a run.

Luckily, there were plenty of people rushing around trying to catch their trains, and some were even hurrying beside Malfoy and him. But Harry knew that blending in would be essential if they were to make a getaway, and the man would be looking for two men sprinting away, so he slowed them down to a hurried walk. He hoped the other man hadn't got a good enough look at them to identify them in a crowd, but Harry had no way of knowing what kind of training he might have had. He really didn't want to risk pulling his gun amongst so many civilians, but he touched his hand to the handle just in case.

"You have it?" Malfoy double checked, presumably referring to the microfilm case. Harry let go of his arm, as he was perfectly capable of keeping up by himself, and that sort of contact would only draw attention. But a part of him was tempted to keep hold of him anyway, for a kind of reassurance, which was absurd.

"Yes, but we can't risk being caught now." They pushed through the crowds, and Harry looked around for the best route to take. They had been forced towards the trains and away from the major exits. They could take one of the emergency routes, but that would lead them to the railings out by the river, which gave them little cover once they were out in the open. They just needed a place to turn themselves around without being spotted…

"Quick," he said, grabbing Malfoy's arm and steering him once again. There was a photo booth to their left, the kind where one could print out passport i.d.'s, and it was currently not in use.

Malfoy didn't seem to understand what was going on until Harry shoved him inside, yanking the curtain shut behind him as the small space forced him to drop down…on top of Malfoy's lap.

Malfoy stared at him in utter incredulity. "Potter," he said slowly. "What are we doing?"

"Hiding," Harry said as if it was perfectly normal for him to be strewn across his lap. To be fair through, this would probably be the last place a lot of people would think to look for two men, and Harry congratulated himself on his ingenuity. "If you're legs weren't so long, I'd be able to fit on the seat."

Malfoy didn't seem to know where to put his hands, so he had them held up defensively. He swallowed, making his Adam's apple bob, and his eyes widened even further. Unfortunately, those small actions made Harry forget all about the neo-Nazis currently chasing them outside, as his goal of shaking Malfoy's unshakable resolve finally came to fruition.

He could have made a joke about finding oneself it tight spots being all part of the job, but then he remembered what the day's date was, and decided to have some fun. "Happy Valentine's Day old chap," he said with no small amount of devilment. He reached into his pocket for some coins, purposefully wriggling over Malfoy's groin, and feeling rather pleased with the outraged gasp that earned him. "What's say we celebrate?"

"W-what?" Malfoy managed to stammer.

Harry found several pfennigs and dropped them into the machine's slot. "Oh come on, homosexuality's all the rage now back in Britain, or hadn't you heard? I think we should mark this date of ours with a photo, don't you?"

He was barely holding back his mirth, but he could feel Malfoy's eyes on him. He was probably disgusted by him, but Harry had been looking for a chink in his armour for weeks, years really, and he would take any sort of reaction he could get.

The light blinked at them to indicate it was almost ready. "Now say cheese!"

Harry amused himself greatly by pulling different poses. First, he looked seriously into the camera over his glasses, then he pushed them back up and pretended to rearrange his tie, then he smoothed down his wayward hair, which tended to do whatever it wanted no matter how much wax he combed through it. Finally, he turned to Malfoy to see what he was doing.

He found him staring at Harry, his pale lips slightly parted. It was then Harry realised his slender hands had come to rest around his hips. In the blink of an eye, the atmosphere in the booth went from playful, to highly charged with…something.

Harry would admit, if pressed, that he found little disparity in the appealing nature of the male and female forms. They held diverse attractions for him of course, but he thought it strange that most people would only prefer one or the other. Obviously, things had been different before; when if caught in a sticky situation, two gents could find themselves looking at a stint behind Her Majesty's bars. But, like he had just told Malfoy, the law had changed in the last year. It probably wasn't an activity one wanted to be flaunting in front of Joe public, but nonetheless Harry had been extremely pleased to see the act of intimacy between two men decriminalised.

He'd had his fair share of flings with young lads before, so perhaps he wasn't being as discreet as he should have been with the uptight Russian agent. But he hadn't walloped him yet, so there was every chance Harry could still pass this off as a jest. However, he couldn't deny that sitting there in that tight space, arms around one another and chests practically pressed together, his body wasn't being affected. The air seemed to fizz.

The machine whirred and clicked next to them, having taken the last photo a good few minutes previously. It stirred Harry back to reality. "I suppose we should see if the coast is clear?" he asked.

Malfoy's face remained slightly slack, but he nodded. So Harry detangled himself as carefully as he could, and exited the booth to take a look around. There appeared to be no sign of the Lestranges or their accomplice, but Harry took another thirty seconds just to be sure.

"Alright," he said.

Malfoy clambered out beside him, smoothing down his trousers as he stood. The photo booth made another grinding noise, then spat out the strip of pictures into the dispenser. Harry picked them up, not willing to leave any evidence behind of their being there. Once they were pocketed alongside the can of microfilm, they turned to walk towards the exit.

His heart was certainly thumping now, harder than it had when Bellatrix had been about to uncover them. He was being an imbecilic though; he couldn't have Malfoy, he was an enemy spy. It didn't matter that they were on a temporary truce. He was quite sure that once this H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S. business was all taken care of they would go back to aiming pot shots at one another from opposite sides of the Iron Curtain. There was no way he should be considering just what had been stirring under his legs back in that booth. Except, something had stirred. He was sure of it. Perhaps Malfoy wasn't as disgusted by his flirting as he might have presumed?

He didn't get all that long to dwell on his rebellious libido though, as bad luck struck yet again as they exited the station into the street beyond. Harry checked left and right before going to cross the road – then checked left again as he realised Rodolphus Lestrange was stood less than ten feet away.

Harry spun and pulled Malfoy with him, but Rodolphus had obviously got their descriptions from his associate, as he let out a cry, and Harry didn't have to look back to know he'd broken out into a run.

"Go!" he urged Malfoy, but he was already ahead of him, and with his long legs he stayed that way as they careened through the night-time streets of West Berlin.

They zipped around scores of people, many of which were couples on a romantic stroll towards candle-lit dinners, or so Harry imagined. He couldn't remember if he had ever taken a girl out on Valentine's – he was normally too busy concerning himself with this sort of nonsense to even realise what the date was. Last year he was pretty certain he had spent it in a drug den playing cards with cartel flunkies in an attempt to gain the whereabouts of a bomb that was due to go off. So, this year was an improvement if he considered he'd already got to cop a feel of a very handsome, if not rather obstinate fellow.

They hurtled through a plaza, causing many people to gasp and shout out, but Harry wasn't concerned about them. They just needed to shake Rodolphus, then get to a safe house. There was no question of going back to the hotel, but that didn't matter as their colleagues would clear the rooms for them. They just needed to be lucky and take the right turn.

They hadn't had much luck though so far, Harry surmised as he dashed around a flower stall. There hadn't been anyone scheduled to come to the station for at least another day, and to have Bellatrix arrive accompanied by another of Voldemort's men rang alarm bells. Rodolphus could very well have been summoned there by his wife, but what if he had already been lurking too? What were the chances they had all been present, on the day Harry and Malfoy had made their move on the locker?

He hated himself for it, but his training made him glance at Malfoy as they sped down a flight of stone steps and around a fountain packed with locals and tourists alike. As much as he wanted to, he really couldn't trust a Rusky.

He jumped over a man that was honest-to-God down on one knee, ring box in hand. "Dreadfully sorry!" Harry cried as the girl in front of the man shrieked and covered her mouth with her hands. Harry didn't stop running though. He continued following Malfoy, despite his mounting reservations, deeper and deeper into the darkened streets of West Berlin to who knew where.