EXIT

10. LIVID BLACK

10. LIVID BLACK

The unexpected four-on-one was definitely not a 'waltz' for Granger, as I can see for myself the very next morning.

On my way to breakfast, I stop by the command centre to ask Potter about the Exit Lovegood should have performed by now, desperate to know if she was successful. But Potter isn't there (if he's even back at headquarters yet), so I head for the dining hall instead. And there the harrowing sight awaits me.

I sink into a seat at one of the long dining tables and sip my black coffee, blinking discreetly through my eyelashes at Granger from time to time. She's sitting at the table furthest from mine, absentmindedly picking at a sandwich, while a Weasley (George this time, if I'm not mistaken) talks to her insistently.

The fact that she's distracted gives me enough time to take in her battered face, the current state of which suggests that the Death Eaters were indeed not entirely unprepared when Granger and Thomas attempted to infiltrate their hideout. A brightly colored bruise adorns her sharp features and her lower lip is split open and caked with blood.

There are several possible explanations as to why these visible injuries are still there. Either Lovegood hasn't returned to headquarters yet, or Granger made the conscious decision not to go to the trauma room. I could even understand the latter, since in recent years I, too, have often forced myself to let my non-fatal wounds heal naturally — as a reminder of how much I deserve to suffer. Well, maybe we don't differ that much from each other when it comes to our masochism.

Today Granger is scheduled for the same workout as me (mid-morning this time) and I can't help but wonder if she'll even show up in this poor condition. I have no idea if she sustained any other injuries, but the haematoma alone looks pretty bad. It covers most of her left cheek from the bridge of her nose to her jawbone, giving the impression that something heavy has hit her in the face. I catch myself thinking that she should be checked for a concussion as soon as possible.

Aside from the injuries, I take notice of something else: Granger looks bloody tired. She barely manages to hide it, even though she knows I'm here because she definitely saw me entering the dining hall. In my opinion, she needs a fucking break.

Suddenly aware of my disturbingly maudlin concern, I shake my head and look away. Why do I feel so responsible when it's none of my business? Plus, it's fucking Granger. She would probably laugh at me if she knew I was worried about her health, after all she hates me from the bottom of her heart and the feeling is mutual. Basically.

Distraction comes in the form of Ginny Weasley.

She flops down in the vacant seat next (!) to me, but shakes her head in the negative when I ask her if she knows anything about the captured Death Eater or the Exit.

I'd really like to know who it is they've caught, but once again the rebels are trying my patience. I should probably get used to it.

"She looks awful," Ginny murmurs, glancing at Granger.

"Tsk, someone called it a waltz," I reply, much more accusingly than I intended.

I immediately feel Ginny's curious gaze on me, but purposely don't return it. Fuck, I sounded way too upset. I really need to hold my fire.

"She'll be fine," she says matter-of-factly.

In response, I just nod tensely, which ends our conversation.

Ginny eats her scrambled eggs in silence while I sip my coffee, just as taciturn. Blaise doesn't show up, but we still maintain our comfy togetherness, although (probably thanks to me) no one else sits down at our table.