Baton Rouge

- 29 -

It was already noon and Hermione was curled up in her bed. After Melody had seen her split lip by an unfortunate coincidence the night before, she had given her a day off. Basically, Hermione should have been happy about that, but she had seen something in Melody's face that just wouldn't let go of her. She had detected a hint of pity in the young woman's kind eyes and for some reason she couldn't bear the thought.

She didn't want any pity from her, although of course it wasn't her own fault that she was stuck in that fucking brothel. But the look Melody had given her before handing her some essence of dittany had once again mercilessly reminded Hermione of how hopeless her situation was. And how little she had to oppose it. Accepting that fact was actually worse than getting punched in the face by a stranger.

Hermione sighed softly and thought about Malfoy. He hadn't stayed long. The situation had been strangely familiar, and yet confusing. She was sure he had wanted to make sure she was fine, even though he had tried to hide it. However, he had been so upset after he had burst into the spectacle that had been taking place in her room that she had been able to tell from the look on his face that his worst imagination had come true.

Now he knew exactly what her life was like. And while Hermione wasn't in a position to change anything about it, she felt ashamed of it now. Not even three weeks ago Malfoy had made fun of her. All she had seen in his eyes last night had been sheer anger - and the same desperation she felt over and over again.

She rolled onto her side, danced her fingertips over the book that laid open on the mattress beside her, and finally closed her eyes. She could only hope he wouldn't make a mistake by going to Cornwall to look for Harry. Because for some reason a strong emotion had gripped her, even more powerful than the shame and confusion she felt mostly when she thought of him:

She wanted him to come back to her.

+.+.+

The water slowly lapped against the surf cliffs of the cove where Draco had appeared a few minutes earlier. Fowey was actually more tranquil than he had imagined. A small coastal town with its own fishing port that Draco might even have liked - if he could have visited it in the summer. Instead, he was now standing in the middle of a drizzle on a stretch of coarse-grained sandy beach, looking at the small village, already lit up with many lights on this gray afternoon.

He had spent the day finding out about the location of the village and its surroundings and packing a bag with a few things that he might need if he had to stay longer. What he still didn't have, however, was the faintest idea how the hell he was supposed to track down Potter. Fowey was not a magical village. And unless he had another brilliant idea, he would have to settle for personally questioning the Muggles who lived here.

But that would also mean that he would always have to reckon with attracting too much attention. And if Potter was really here, he couldn't be sure that at the first sign of pursuit Potter wouldn't immediately Disapparate and become unreachable for him again. Draco just couldn't afford to screw it up. If he lost Potter's trace, if he was here at all, he wouldn't be able to find him again right away. At least not the week the Toad had kindly let him go. So he only had this one chance.

Draco shouldered his bag and strode off the beach. After only a few minutes on the slight rise that led up to the village, the rain made his hair stick to his forehead. It was gross, but he wouldn't complain. After all, now he knew what it meant to really suffer. He thought of Granger and decided that the rain wasn't gross at all, but actually a blessing. At the very least, she probably would have liked to stroll through it instead of doing the other things she was presumably doing right now.

He snorted, blocking out the images forming in his mind. He needed a clear head. And he wouldn't allow her to invade his brain again, at least for a while. After all, she was one of the reasons why he now entered the access road that led to the village and headed towards the small boardinghouse he had chosen.