Steve took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He was going to do this without being an idiot. He'd worked with people he found attractive before, even other men he found attractive.

Steve had never pursued anything with a man, but he wasn't going to do that now either, right? I don't even sound convincing to myself, he lamented. Determined to behave like a professional, Steve squared his shoulders and walked into the library.

His resolve faced a test the instant he saw Harry. He'd taken his hair down, and it flowed past his shoulders like black silk. Untamed wasn't the word Steve would use for it now. Disheveled was a better term. Frankly, it looked like Harry had just rolled out of bed, and Steve wanted nothing more than to bury his hands in the flowing locks.

As Steve watched, Harry tucked a dark, wavy strand behind his ear as he looked over a map on a large wooden drafting table. With a what he hoped was an inaudible whimper, Steve closed the door behind him.

The arresting green eyes looked up and met his. "Welcome to my workroom." Harry patted the stool next to him. "Have a seat and we'll get started."

It was a handsome room, done in rich greens and golds. All the furniture looked comfortable and sturdy. Overflowing bookcases covered two of the walls. On the far side of the room, there was a wide plush window seat under a stunning picture window.

As he joined Harry, Steve noticed soft music playing in the background. He didn't recognize it, but that was his new normal. At least it wasn't full of screaming or harsh sounds like the stuff Stark listened to. It reminded him of the traditional songs his mother and other Irish immigrants in his old neighborhood sang.

Steve sat down, taking care that no part of his body touched the other man. There was no reason to tempt fate.

"Here's where the informant saw Sgt. Barnes," Harry said, pointing out a blue pin on the map. "At a farmer's market near the Old Town sector of Bucharest."

As Harry talked, Steve noticed the other man had rolled up his sleeves, revealing leanly muscled forearms. There were a few faint scars, faded reminders of an active lifestyle. The wide, unadorned, black leather cuffs around the man's wrists caught Steve's attention. They seemed jarring and out of place.

Oblivious to Steve's distraction, Harry lifted his hand and a file folder floated from a nearby table and fell into his hand. Steve again felt an electric sensation. Steve blinked twice; he'd seen Shacklebolt perform several spells this morning. He always used his wand and Steve had the distinct impression all wizards needed a wand.

"You don't use a wand?" Steve asked.

Harry glanced over and shrugged. "I haven't used a wand in years. They tend to explode if I try." He looked away. "It was one of the more successful experiments."

Steve had to accept reality; his foot was never coming out of his mouth around Harry. Desperate to change the subject, he asked, "You had questions for me?"

"I do," Harry said, still not looking at Steve. He pulled a yellow legal pad and another fountain pen from the drawer on the side of the table. The top page was full of Harry's neat handwriting.

Not liking how closed off Harry seemed, Steve tried again. "What type of questions? How do they help you?"

Harry had shown pride in his skills when they first met (I'm a bloody good tracker) and Steve knew when people talked about the skills they took pride in, it cheered them up.

Sure enough, the corner of Harry's lip turned up, and he faced Steve again. "Often, people's habits are subconscious. Especially if their mind is on other matters."

Harry seemed to warm to his topic quickly. "So, things like where they shop. If they buy the morning or evening edition of the paper. It can all help narrow down a starting place."

"And you think I can help with that?" Steve asked.

"You know Sgt. Barnes best," Harry said with an earnest smile. "My best guess is his memory is spotty right now, and he's likely operating on instinct."

Steve nodded. That made sense. It sounded a lot like what Natasha would do. "How is what you do different from a normal tracker?" Steve asked.

"The true difference comes when we're in Romania."

Pleased his plan worked, Steve made sure he appeared attentive.

"There are several spells that can locate people, but their range is limited, so the more I can eliminate now, the more effective the spells will be," Harry said.

"I understand," Steve said, "Ask away."

Harry pulled the cap off his pen, settled the legal pad, and for the next thirty minutes asked Steve the most exhaustive series of questions he'd ever faced. Harry filled several pages with neat longhand, everything from Bucky's coffee habits to if he liked to walk while he was thinking. There were several questions Steve couldn't answer, but Harry didn't seem concerned. Mostly, it felt like a high-speed trip down memory lane.

Harry set aside his pen and paper, rolled his shoulders, and ran a hand through his hair. The renewed surge of attraction caught Steve by surprise. This is getting ridiculous, Steve thought. He had to get himself under control, and soon.

"I don't know about you, but I desperately need to stretch my legs," Harry said as he stood. "Sunshine wouldn't come amiss either."

It took more effort than it should, but Steve managed not to physically jump at the offer. "I should stop by my hotel and pick up my things," he said, trying to sound casual. An hour would be enough to get ahold of himself, he hoped.

But, of course, fate still hated him.

"No worries, Kreacher can do that. I thought you might like to see our accommodations for the trip. I can set it up in the back garden," Harry said with a smile.

And because he was a complete idiot, Steve agreed with a nod.

Harry called for Kreacher, and the elf popped into the room. "Will you please go to Captain Rogers's hotel room, collect his belongs and put them in the blue guest room?" Harry asked.

"Very well, Master," Kreacher said before turning to Steve. "The name of the hotel the savage be staying in? And his room number?"

Steve blinked, but before he even considered how to respond, Harry turned to Kreacher. "Captain Rogers has earned his title, please use it," he said in a firm tone.

Kreacher lowered his head and nodded. "Kreacher will."

"It's the Islington Inn, on the Essex Road, room 23," Steve said flatly. The elf seemed determined to get under his skin, and Steve was just as determined not to let him.

"Kreacher knows it," the elf said.

"Thank you," Steve said.

Kreacher turned towards him. Steve didn't like the look in his eyes.

"You be most welcome," the elf said with a gleeful smile. "Captain Savage." With that parting shot, Kreacher popped out of the room.

"Bloody hell, I should have seen that coming," Harry said with a groan as Steve stood staring at the spot where the elf had been.

His lips twitched. The more he thought about it, the funnier it got. Captain Savage, his mind howled. Unable to contain it, Steve threw his head back and laughed. Harry watched him with wide eyes for a moment before his lips started twitching and Harry joined the laughter.

After a couple of minutes, they calmed down, though they both still sported wide smiles.

"Thank you for not taking Kreacher seriously," Harry said as he caught his breath. "I swear, he's a holy terror and can find loopholes faster than any being I've ever met."

"It's fine," Steve said with a smile. Smiles and laughter looked good on Harry. "Stark has called me worse."

Harry shook his head with a fond grin. "Come on out to the garden."

Harry led Steve out of the library to the far end of the hall. Tucked under the stairs, almost hidden from view, was a sturdy exterior door. Harry opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight; Steve followed and was immediately struck speechless.

He'd been expecting a tiny yard typical of row houses, but this was a far cry from typical. The garden was enormous, close to twenty square yards, with an open lawn in the center. Trees crowded the fence in the back and to the left was a large greenhouse.

Steve turned on his heel to see it all. "How?" he murmured.

"Wizard's space, some call it pocket space," Harry said with a smile. "It's fairly complicated magic, but not unusual in magical homes."

He pulled a square bundle out of his pocket, the size of a large wallet. As he set it on the ground and backed away, Harry said, "And as another example."

He waved his hand at the bundle and before Steve's eyes, an old-fashioned square tent erected itself.

Tucking back the flap, Harry gestured for Steve to go inside. Though he was expecting something amazing by now, the tent still surprised him. He stepped into a large open space; to the right were several wide, plush couches and sturdy armchairs. A large butcher's block island with half a dozen bar stools separated the kitchen area. There were three doors on the left-hand wall. It easily ranked as one of the cleverest things he'd ever seen.

"Kreacher will stock it with food tonight," Harry said as Steve looked around.

"The first door is your bedroom and the center door is the loo." Harry opened the first door for Steve to look around. It was a good-sized room, a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and two armchairs in the corner, all done in shades of blue.

"This is amazing, Harry," Steve said with a sincere smile. "Certainly, more comfortable than a standard hotel room."

"Since the first time I saw one, I've loved magical tents," Harry said with a small, fond smile. "I'll let you poke around on your own for a minute."

As he moved to the kitchen, Harry said over his shoulder, "It's been a few months since I've used it. I want to check everything's restocked."

"Take your time," Steve said as he pushed at the wall of the tent.

It looked like fabric, but was solid under his hand. He shook his head. Magic seemed to make nonsense real, so he decided to stop trying to make it follow logic as he knew it. Stark would either love it or explode, Steve thought with a grin, and Natasha probably already knows about it.

He could still hear Harry bustling around the kitchen as he checked out the bathroom. It was a decent size, not huge, but big enough he didn't feel all knees and elbows as he had in some of the space-saving bathrooms he'd seen. No tub, but the shower was larger than normal.

He wandered back into the living area as Harry exited the second door. His bedroom, Steve assumed.

"All done?" Harry asked as he headed for the tent flap.

Steve nodded as they walked back into the garden. "It's amazing," Steve said approvingly. "Where are you going to set it up in Romania? And how will you keep people from seeing it?"

"Do you want to walk around the greenhouse while I answer that?" Harry asked. "There's a few things I need to go over with you as well."

"Sounds good," Steve said. He hadn't been here long, but thus far, he hadn't seen Harry relax. The other man seemed to need to stay busy.

The greenhouse was stunning and larger than it should have been. Raised beds lined the walls, the center occupied by larger trees and bushes. Steve didn't recognize any of the plants, but appreciated the greenery.

Harry wasn't rushing and set an easy pace. "There are several sizeable parks in Bucharest. I'll find a secluded spot and set the tent up there," Harry said as they passed a bush covered in small purple flowers. The smell washed over him, and Steve smiled. His mother had loved lilacs.

"Then I'll set some temporary wards that will hide the tent and repel anyone without a passkey," Harry said.

"Passkey?" Steve asked.

Harry nodded. "I'll give you one later," he said. "There are a couple of options. You can wear a cuff or necklace." Harry glanced at him. "Or I can use a special ink and draw the key on skin. Up to you."

After thinking for a moment, Steve shrugged. "I'm not much for jewelry."

"That's fine; the ink only lasts a week," Harry said as they passed into the far section of the greenhouse. Grass covered the ground, there were a few oversized, cushioned wicker chairs grouped together. Harry headed straight for them.

"This is my favorite part of the house," Harry said with a restrained delight.

Kicking off his shoes, Harry sat and curled his legs up in the chair. Steve took the chair opposite and saw a small rock fountain tucked into the corner that lent a relaxing note to the area. Otherwise, the area was uncluttered, with the glass walls and ceilings, the space was airy and bright.

Harry pulled a rubber band from his pocket and Steve watched as all that lovely hair was ruthlessly slicked back into a bun. He didn't want to guess what expression was on his face because when Harry turned to him, his brows furrowed.

"Captain Rogers?"

"You can call me Steve, you know," he said huskily, without thinking of anything except hearing his name in Harry's alluring accent.

Steve held Harry's eyes and waited.

"Of course, if that's your preference, Steve." Harry looked confused again.

Steve gave himself a metaphorical slap. Harry saying his name sent a shiver down his spine and he felt sixteen again. That had not been a pleasant age for him.

Once again, trying to change the conversation, Steve asked, "What did you want to go over?"

A small frown stayed on Harry's face, but he began talking. "As soon as I see Sgt. Barnes, I'm going to place a tracking charm on him," he said. "That way, even if I lose sight of him, I can follow the charm."

Harry glanced his way and Steve nodded to show he was following along.

"The charm I favor will let me track him from up to a hundred miles away." Steve's eyebrows raised. "It's a case of better safe than sorry," Harry said.

"Once the tracking spell is in place, I'll approach him." Harry paused and deliberately caught Steve's eyes. "Alone."

Steve frowned and opened his mouth, but Harry kept talking. "He doesn't know me, so I'm hoping he won't see me as an immediate threat."

"He recognized me," Steve said with a dogged frown.

"Possibly recognized you," Harry said, his voice clipped and cool. "According to the report you wrote."

This wasn't the friendly, easy-going man he'd spent the afternoon with. This was the Harry that had stood up to Fury. Steve didn't enjoy having it turned on him.

"He pulled me out of the Potomac," Steve said with stubborn insistence.

He needed to talk to Bucky, needed to make sure his friend was still in there. That Steve hadn't lost every connection to who he had been, that he wasn't alone in this time with nothing but fading memories. But more importantly, Steve needed Bucky to be alright. He knew with sickening certainty how Bucky would feel if he remembered what he'd done as the Winter Soldier.

Sitting up straight in his chair, Harry tilted his head. "He also stabbed you, shot you three times, fractured your eye socket and your cheekbone."

Wincing, Steve carried on; he wasn't giving up. "Hydra brainwashed Bucky and ordered him to kill me." He looked at Harry with imploring eyes. "But he didn't. I need to talk to him; to make sure he's alright."

"Steve, I'm not saying you can't talk to him," Harry said in an unwavering voice. "I'm saying you can't do the initial approach."

"You want Bucky to come with you voluntarily?" Steve asked as he realized Harry's intent. "You're not trying to capture him?"

Everyone else Steve discussed the situation with referred to Bucky like an escaped mental patient or a feral animal. To preserve his sanity, Steve stopped protesting the characterization and turned his concentration to making sure Bucky's treatment was humane after his capture. What Harry seemed to offer was beyond his wildest hopes.

Harry's body language eased a fraction. "I think, after what he's been through, Sgt. Barnes deserves a little consideration."

Sure now that he understood Harry's intentions, Steve nodded and gave Harry a grateful smile. "I can agree with that."

Steve frowned as a thought crossed his mind. "What if he tries to attack you?" He didn't like to think of Bucky hurting an innocent person, but he also didn't want to see Harry hurt.

Harry waved a negligent hand. "I have a portkey that will take us both outside the city." He wrinkled his nose. "I won't risk any collateral damage."

Though pleased he wanted to protect civilians, Steve was more worried about damage to Harry. "Will a 'portkey' keep him from hurting you?"

"A portkey is a charmed object that will take someone to a specific location. That's all it does." Harry shrugged. "I can take care of myself," he said with assurance.

He tried not to appear doubtful, but even Steve found it challenging to fight Bucky. It was clear Harry had some strength, but it wouldn't be a match for the super-soldier serum and Hydra's training.

With an annoyed frown, Harry slipped into his shoes and stood up. He walked away from the chairs and stopped in an open area. "Come here," he said with an exasperated look.

Standing, Steve reluctantly moved until he was a few feet from Harry. He could guess where this was going and there was no way he would hurt Harry.

Harry raised a brow. "Well, come on."

"I'm not going to fight you," Steve said with determination.

With a long-suffering sigh, Harry ran a hand through his hair, pulling several strands loose. "At least attempt to restrain me," he said with a weary sigh.

It was clear to Steve from the stubborn tilt of his chin that Harry had no intention of giving up on this idea. Steve resolved to treat Harry with kid gloves. Maybe if he grabbed him, Harry would understand Steve's concern. You just want your hands on him, his mind taunted.

Without a warning, Steve lunged. He made it two steps before he slammed into an invisible wall that felt constructed from pure static electricity. If the wall hadn't been flexible, Steve would have busted his nose. And it was absolutely impenetrable. As he stopped pushing against it, the wall vanished.

Harry turned his back to Steve. "Again," he said in a bright tone.

This time he got a hand on Harry's shoulder before Harry twisted out from under him. Steve kept trying, but it was like sparring with Natasha. Harry was cunning, agile, and had an almost preternatural awareness of his surroundings.

After a minute or two, Harry held up his hand and Steve stopped dead. Not by choice, a force he couldn't see held him. The only control he had over his body was the ability to breathe and blink. Before Steve could get agitated, Harry released him.

"I really can take care of myself, Steve," Harry said softly, but there was no disguising the steel in his voice.

After that demonstration, there was no chance of Steve arguing. "Oh, believe me, Harry, I noticed," Steve said with a self-deprecating grin.

Harry had some decent defensive training, but given what he knew, Steve was reluctant to ask about the extent.

Before he could say anything else, Kreacher popped between them and turned to Steve. "The Captain's things be in the blue room."

Not giving Steve a chance to respond, he turned to Harry. "You be having company, Kreacher will serve dinner in the dining room." The elf seemed to dare Harry to argue.

Harry pouted prettily, and Steve's fluttering stomach was back. "Can we have dinner in the garden?" Harry asked with a hopeful grin.

Kreacher stared with hard eyes before sighing. "Kreacher will serve dinner in the garden. It be ready in one hour."

"You're brilliant, Kreacher," Harry said with a full smile. The elf disappeared, muttering under his breath. Steve thought he heard the word heathens.

"I'll show you to your room so you can freshen up," Harry said as they made their way back to the house.

They walked into the house and up the stairs. Harry opened the second door on the left and stood aside. "This is yours." He pointed across the hall. "My room is there. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

The elf's comments gave him pause. Was he expected to dress up? Steve had brought nothing even close to formal wear. The only thing that might pass for nice was the blue button-up and khakis he was wearing now.

Harry must have noticed his hesitation. "Steve? What is it?"

None of his training had taught him how to subtly ask this kind of question, not that his personality tended towards subtle anyway. He already thinks you're an idiot, Steve reminded himself.

"Am I supposed to dress up?" Steve asked candidly.

"For dinner?" Harry asked with a smile. "No. Formal wear always makes me feel awkward."

Harry leaned forward and in a conspiratorial tone said, "Ignore Kreacher. He thinks everyone except the Black Family are barbarians."

Relieved of that worry, Steve wanted to linger in Harry's presence. "The Black Family?"

Harry leaned against the doorway and crossed his legs. "This house belonged to my godfather, Sirius Black. When he died, he left the house to me, and Kreacher came with the house." He raked his hand through his hair, leading to more strands slipping free of their confinement.

"The Black Family took great pride in their ability to trace the family back to medieval times." Harry gave Steve a wistful smile. "Sirius was the last of the direct line, so there's no one to carry the name."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, his voice low. "I didn't mean to stir up bad memories."

"They're not bad memories," Harry said with a soft smile as he straightened up. "I'll see you in the garden."

Steve watched Harry until the other man closed his bedroom door.