Baton Rouge

- 32 -

If someone had told him two days ago what he would find out once he left London, Draco would have laughed at that person. But with every adding minute he was confronted with Blaise's serious expression, it became clearer that this wasn't a joke at all.

The subsequent events at the cottage had been unspectacular: after Draco had fired off a volley of questions, none of which had been answered, Blaise had given Draco his wand back without comment. When Blaise had finally helped him off the ground, it had taken tremendous self-control from Draco not to curse the black-haired man in revenge for his still shaking knees.

So far, Draco hadn't been stunned often in his life, and having experienced the curse right at his throat, he would make sure it didn't happen again in the future. He had struggled with himself for a few moments while considering the possibility of at least punching Blaise's overly symmetrical nose, but curiosity had finally won out.

So he had dropped it and followed his still-silent friend out of the cottage instead. Blaise had been calm personified, which was typical of him. Draco, on the other hand, had been angry. He had barely managed to pull himself together until they had reached the boardinghouse, where Blaise had ushered him into the taproom.

That was where they were now - at the same table where Draco had eaten his soup last night. His hands were wrapped tightly around a mug of beer, and (although the brew didn't taste nearly as good as the Butterbeer he was used to) he had already downed a few good gulps to steady his nerves.

"So," Blaise said, leaning back in his chair.

The suspicious and tense look that had crossed Blaise's face so often in the past few weeks was completely gone. The only thing Draco could still see in his expression was a hint of hurt, though he had no idea when and how the hell he might have insulted Blaise. But he would have to be patient to find out, he knew that. So he took another sip of his beer and kept his mouth shut.

"I'll answer your questions now. But before I do that, I want to hear from you again that you really have no intention of handing Potter over to Umbridge or the Dark Lord."

Blaise eyed him intensely and Draco, who had already been on the verge of snorting, stopped at the very last moment.

"Otherwise I probably wouldn't be here, risking my head," he only grumbled quietly.

That seemed to be enough for Blaise, who nodded in satisfaction. He raised his hand and motioned for the girl behind the bar, who had been drooling over him since he had entered the taproom, to refill their glasses.

"Well then," he eventually prompted Draco, casually tousling his hair.

Draco had had plenty of time on the way back from the cottage to the boardinghouse to think about what the Hippogriff he had been missing. Accordingly, he now already had suspicions and was curious if Blaise would confirm them. If he did, Draco thought irritated, it would be an even bigger breach of trust than the one he had committed himself.

"You said you know where Potter is?" That was an easy first question and Blaise nodded. "And you're the only person who knows where he is?" A small grin followed.

„Ah... right, that was probably a bit for the drama," Blaise admitted a little sheepishly, his lips twitching. "Your face was just priceless. But yeah, I'd say I'm one of the very few persons who know exactly where Potter is right now."

Draco wanted to snort again. Unlike Blaise, he didn't find the situation funny at all. Merlin, he would have even paid a lot of money to be able to look inside the black-haired man's head to find out what amused him so much.

"But Umbridge doesn't know?" he continued his questions.

Blaise shook his head. "Nobody from the Ministry - obviously," he said, and for some reason he couldn't quite fathom, Draco was immediately sure that he was telling the truth.