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.