Chapter Five

Harry shifted in his seat. Again.

McGonagall glanced up from her desk, but only for a moment, and did not say anything out loud. He could guess what she might have been thinking, but decided he'd rather not.

He watched her study the microfilm through the magnifying lens for the next several minutes, only squirming when he absolutely had to. Malfoy threw him more than one quelling look, which he did his best to head. But really, he was quite uncomfortable.

"This is excellent work gentlemen," McGonagall announced eventually. She placed the reader down and carefully wound the film back up, securing it back in its case. "No doubt the hostages will have been moved to another location by now, but we have more than enough information to go on here, including the means to prevent any more abductions."

"Is that so?" Harry asked. He eagerly sat forward in his seat. His arm was no longer in a sling, but his injury still smarted when he moved it suddenly. However, he was too keen to know their mission had truly been a success to care all that much. "Is there a list of targets?"

"Not exactly," she said, her eyebrow quirking. "Let's just say we will be detaining and interrogating Mr Pettigrew as soon as possible, and that should solve the issue."

Harry couldn't help the coldness that ran through him. Did she mean Peter Pettigrew? He wasn't particularly close to the man, but he knew he had been an old acquaintance of his father's. He couldn't be a traitor could he? A double agent?

Harry sat back in his seat and chewed his lip sombrely. He supposed he would just have to wait and see.

"We are delighted to be of help," Malfoy told the director. His fingers were laced and his hands resting on his knee, his legs crossed, and back ram-rod straight. He didn't even remotely look tired, whereas Harry was so shattered he was sure he could have fallen asleep right there and then, even with the director looking on. The only thing that had been keeping him awake was discovering what exactly they had retrieved on the microfilm. It appeared they had done a good job.

"You were," McGonagall confirmed. "I trust your journey back wasn't too hard?"

Oh.

It had been hard alright.

It had been hard for the last twenty minutes into Potsdam Griebnitzsee in the train's cramped bathroom. It had been hard in the hotel in Hanover, several times. It had been hard in the backseat of the car they had hired in Apeldoorn, and in the narrow cabin on the ferry across the Markermeer lake, and even in one of the cupboards that held cleaning supplies downstairs in the very building they were currently sat in. One could say, it had been an extremely hard week since Berlin.

Harry gave her a tight smile, subtly moving on his seat again. "It passed without any further incident," he answered, which was truthful as far as Voldemort's people were concerned.

"Well," McGonagall said, and nodded once. "That's that then, I guess. As you gentlemen are aware, the H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S. initiative was only an experiment."

Harry didn't say anything. This was it; the experiment was over, and all he could probably do now was hope that he and Malfoy weren't sent to kill each other any time soon. He supposed it had been a fun week whilst it had lasted.

He was resolved to this. His consolation had been in witnessing for himself how fervently his partner cared for him, and how deep his affections apparently ran. Harry had not declared his feelings out loud, but he had aspired to convey his contentment through his actions. When alone with Malfoy, he hoped he had illustrated the importance he placed on their intimate moments, with every kiss and caress he could.

If this was to be it, he felt confident Malfoy knew he had won his heart, if only for a short while.

"And the results of this experiment?" Malfoy asked. Harry was too busy pondering, and trying to unsuccessfully once again relieve the pressure on his tender arse.

McGonagall raised both eyebrows and leant backwards in her chair. "A resounding success," she said. "I assumed you might have guessed as much. The agency is extremely keen to maintain operations, in fact, there's even talk of expansion."

Harry blinked once, then twice. What had she just said? He carefully cleared his throat, and picked at an imaginary bit of lint on his trouser leg. "So, we are to remain as partners?"

McGonagall fished a single sheet of paper from the multitude littering her desk, and handed it to Malfoy. "If you don't have any strong objections?" she asked him. "Your director has granted permission for you to be relocated indefinitely to the London office. Agent Potter can help you with any adjustments, I'm sure."

Agent Potter's mouth went dry. He and Malfoy were to continue being partners? He was to be based out of London? Would that mean he might want to consider carrying on with their affair, or had part of its appeal been its limited timescale?

Only one way to find out.

He sighed, conveying how great this burden was to him. "If we are to be shackled to one another still," he said heavily. "Then it is probably best if we stick close together. I can accommodate Agent Malfoy until he is settled; we can learn each other's ins and outs much quicker if we continue to co-habit."

McGonagall didn't react, other than to hold Harry's gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable. "You would be amenable to sharing your home?"

Harry shrugged. "It's more like a hotel room, he's not going to find out any secrets from me there, other than perhaps my inside seam measurement, or perhaps which brand of toothpaste I prefer. Although, I dare say he knows all that already. This won't be all that different to the mission – so long as Agent Malfoy has no issues with it?"

He turned his eyes to his partner, both in work and in bed, and gave him a smirk. Malfoy returned the look coolly. "No wife or children waiting at home? Agent Potter, you surprise me."

Harry glared, whilst his heart secretly swelled. He wondered if that had been on Malfoy's mind? If he had maybe assumed the worse and expected to be dropped like yesterday's newspaper once Harry was back in England. The opposite was so painfully true, Harry could have tap danced.

"I'm a surprising man," he drawled. He turned back to McGonagall. "Is that all? We are rather travel-worn is all," he explained. "A hot bath would go a long way at this point."

McGonagall rose to her feet, and the men followed suit. "For now," she confirmed, shaking each of their hands. "You are to report to my office tomorrow at 08:00 for debriefing."

Harry nodded. "Understood." And with that, he led Malfoy out.

They walked down the hallway in cautious silence. Harry's heart was hammering in his chest, but he didn't want to be the first to speak. He desperately wanted to know Malfoy was as happy as he was though with this new, more permanent arrangement, however he didn't want to appear weak by even hinting he was asking.

"You better have a decent bed for me to sleep in, Your Highness," Malfoy said eventually. His chin was held haughtily high, and he slipped his large hands into the pockets of his tan leather jacket. Harry's were hidden away likewise, and he ran his thumb over the smooth surface of the photographs. "You English have strange aversion to proper back support."

Harry scowled back at him. "We can't help that all you Ruskies are barbarians made of stone."

Malfoy tutted as they approached the elevator. "Such insolence," he chided, reaching out across Harry to press the call button. "I think perhaps when we get home, I shall fuck you on your knees. Teach you some manners, no?"

Harry spluttered, frantically looking around to check no one had heard. They were alone, but he was still indignant. He turned back to face Malfoy, fists curled up as he feigned fury. "Have you ever thought that you could do with a good fucking once in a while?" he hissed. He enjoyed playing up his outrage, but the truth was his heartbeat had sped up even faster than before, his veins thrumming with eager anticipation.

Malfoy's lip curled, and his eyes blazed into Harry's as the lift rattled upwards to greet them. "And a gag too, perhaps? You talk too much."

Harry would have carried on arguing, except the elevator doors pinged open, and they stepped inside with another couple of people already riding down. Harry would make a show of fighting back; he would call Malfoy a Godless brute the entire way home.

But once they were there, he knew he would melt under his lover's hands. Because the thing was, he had called it 'home' as well. They were going to share the space together; the bed was going to become their bed.

And he honestly couldn't think of anything else that would make him happier.

xxx

Several years later…

Agent Pansy Parkinson sat on the edge of the padded chair that Director McGonagall had indicated for her to wait in. She causally drummed her crimson nails against the armrests, and ignored the Scottish woman's occasional glares up from the report she was reading. She wondered how long this was going to take. She had things to do.

McGonagall sighed and rubbed her eyes, then rested her chin in her hand. "And you're sure there was no trace of them to be found after the explosion?"

Pansy considered the other woman. She was in her late sixties, but had a steeliness that lurked behind those wire-rim spectacles. She would not easily be fooled, but Draco had always spoken of her with the same respect he reserved for his mother. He and Potter had hoped her obvious affection for the pair would work in their favour.

She realised she was dangerously close to a grin, and quickly dropped her expression. "Yes, yes, very sad. Terrible tragedy." She cleared her throat and nodded. "No trace left of bodies." English was a strange language, so different to her own mother tongue. But it did have a sort of eloquence to it she supposed.

McGonagall glanced down at the file, tracing her finger along several words. "And yet, somehow you were able to escape the building without a scratch, whilst also retrieving the blueprints?" Her tone was light, but Pansy didn't miss the accusation there.

She despised silly games like this, but she reminded herself what was at stake. No more tagging along on missions with two bickering old nannies. No more listening to rampant sex through thin motel walls. No more pretending she had no idea that two grown men were hopelessly in love and practically married, because it was much simpler to just fuck and argue than to care and cherish.

Urgh. Men. Who needed them?

"We got separated," she said, shaking her head ruefully. She dabbed at her eyes to with the back of her hand for good measure. "I would never have escaped if not for them. I do not know how I can live with myself, knowing this. It is too cruel, they were best agents, best of men."

Draco had paid her extra to say that bit.

McGonagall regarded her for a minute, then went back to studying the finer details of the report.

Pansy glanced at her watch. Mauritius was only four hours ahead. She imagined the two of them were probably arguing over the counter in the bar that Potter had spent the past year slowly putting together whenever he could get down to that little shack on the beach. Draco would no doubt be saying very little back, listening as his lover prattled on about the weather and politics and any one of Draco's many annoying domestic habits. Maybe he would be polishing his boat, the one he intended to take tourists fishing on.

As much as she had abhorred their incessant, juvenile company, she couldn't help but picture both idiots smiling when they thought they were alone, when no one else was watching. She had teased Draco mercilessly about the way she'd spied him caressing his lover's cheek, or the way he would yank him bodily from a fire-fight, like he wasn't a fully trained and capable agent. They never had to say they were in love. They showed it every day.

McGonagall sighed, bringing Pansy's attention back to London and the overwhelmingly grey office that she had become accustomed to during her time with H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S. She hadn't decided if she wanted to stay with the operation yet. Maybe she too would fake her death and go travel the world?

"They shall be missed," McGonagall said, closing the file. "They were indeed unparalleled in what they did. Britain, and in fact the world, owe them a great debt. Neither of them had much in the way of family, but I will arrange for them to be informed."

Pansy nodded solemnly, hiding her delight as she pictured the letter that would make its long journey across the Baltic states to Draco's mother Narcissa, a wonderful woman whom Pansy had long adored. That letter would slip through the door of that cold apartment, where it would sit on the mat with all the other correspondence.

That was, until it would be picked up once a week by a discreet neighbour for a good price, and shipped all the way down to another hut on the Mauritian coast. Draco had told her that his mother had relocated to the village along from theirs, and was almost overcome with joy at the glorious heat and bountiful food.

Pansy wished them all well. She truly did.

"Thank you," she said to the director. "From my country to yours, we appreciate this, and share our grief together."

She bid her farewells, and took her leave from M.I.6. It was important she not appear hurried, but she also knew she had a small timeframe with which to work in.

Potter's apartment was in Hammersmith, meaning she would have to cross the river. A cab would get her there in half an hour, depending on traffic, but if she took the tube she would be less at risk from being spotted. She didn't know who might want to know where he and Draco were, now they were retired. Even their own governments couldn't be trusted to leave them alone.

Within the hour, she was letting herself in with the key Potter had entrusted her with, quietly slipping into the West London flat. So, this was where Draco had been living? Her eyes trailed over the carefully neutral décor. There wasn't much sign a couple had been living here; no photos on the walls or souvenirs of holidays spent together. Their life was carefully hidden away.

Pansy had been sent for one item only. Upon their 'deaths' the two men had been indifferent to almost all of their possessions the had left behind in London. Save one. Potter had tried to press the importance of this item upon her without seeming desperate; Draco had told her he would track her down and break her legs if she didn't retrieve it immediately, then hand deliver it herself at the soonest opportunity.

He was endearing when he got protective. Really, it was very sweet.

The book was exactly where Potter had promised it would be. An exceedingly boring volume on bird migration habits, tucked between a biography on Winston Churchill and a review of Parisian architecture. It was the sort of literary collection designed to allow your gaze to sweep over, and not hold your interest for a moment. Ideal if you wanted to hide something.

Pansy eased the avian hardback free, and let it fall open naturally where it had been bookmarked. Except, it wasn't a bookmark at all.

It was a strip of photos.

Potter had always been a hopeless fool it seemed judging by his ludicrous poses, even before he fell in love. But Draco's expression warmed her heart. He still looked at the ridiculous Englishman as if he was the only person alive that truly mattered.

Pansy carefully slipped the photos back into place, mindful not to smudge the images with her fingers. She liked her legs as they were; unbroken. The strip would not see the light of day until she reached that beach, off the east coast of Madagascar, where she would hand the book over to the happy couple.

Perhaps in their new life, they could frame the four simple images, or at least attach them to the fridge with a magnet like normal people. Pansy may feel relief at not having to see the love Draco and Harry shared every day. But she felt it was about time they saw it indisputably for themselves.

The End