The Man From H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S. (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter six

   "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 downon one knee, ring box in hand. "Dreadfullysorry!" Harry cried as the girl in front of the man shrieked and covered hermouth with her hands. Harry didn't stoprunning though. He continued followingMalfoy, despite his mounting reservations, deeper and deeper into the darkenedstreets of West Berlin to who knew where.