EXIT

35. STORM GREY

35. STORM GREY

The weather suits today's endeavor perfectly, not only in terms of mood, but also in terms of attack. A freezing wind is howling through the shadowy woods of Wiltshire and the sky is storm grey and draped with clouds. The concomitant downpour, the thick, pattering drops of which are fighting a duel with our impregnation charms, also does its bit. Even if someone were to cast a cursory glance out one of the windows as we approach the Manor, it will be extremely difficult for them to spot us. The conditions are definitely playing into our hands. A blue sky and a clear view would have been disastrous. When the weather is nice, you can overlook the surrounding countryside for miles from the house.

I look at my timepiece for what feels like the umpteenth time and sigh softly.

The curse-breakers are already at their posts, slowly working their way through the thick wards of my childhood home, just as we discussed. Barring anything unforeseen, Oliver Wood's Patronus, the signal that we can send the second wave on its way, should reach us in the next few minutes.

I can't wait to get going. Not only because the tension is so great, but also because the small clearing where we have gathered is bursting at the seams.

Only when the rest of our lot has stormed the Manor and ideally located the Dark Lord will Potter appear. His safety is still the top priority, so he will wait at headquarters until someone tells him it's time. As soon as he arrives in the clearing by Apparation, he will follow the second wave, flanked by Granger, Weasley and myself, in order to reach his actual target as unscathed as possible. At least that's the plan.

"I have to find Blaise," comes Granger's voice. She steps up to me. "Preliminary briefing."

I brush a few soaking wet strands of hair out of my eyes to get a better look at her. There's a concentrated expression on her face, but her hands are steady and casually hooked into her shoulder holster.

A few months ago, such indifference in the face of such a delicate mission would have unsettled me, but today it gives me a good feeling. Granger is in her absolute combat mode and that's a damn good thing. Over the last few days, I've often feared that the pressure might ultimately be too great. The fact that the opposite seems to be the case calms me down tremendously.

"Preliminary briefing?" I repeat, confused. "Are there still any unanswered questions?"

"Nope," she says, the right corner of her mouth giving a telltale twitch. "But we always do that before one or even both of us go on a mission. Blaise is pretty superstitious, I'll have you know. He doesn't like to break tried and trusted habits, no matter how specific the situation. But that's not all. Once, during a night watch, we saw a black cat scurrying under a ladder. After that, he claimed for weeks that it was a bad omen. He was pretty out of it. You'd think he's clever, but he has his quirks."

I stare at her with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement.

"And you simply play along?" I ask. "You of all people? You're the witch who dropped out of Divination. Don't look at me like that. Everyone knows that."

Her cocked eyebrow smoothes and her lips curl into a small smile. Then she shrugs.

"Blaise is my friend, you know. If it makes him feel better, that's reason enough for me to stick to our routines."

And wow, I'm so close to just saying it. So bloody close. But I bite my tongue at the very last moment. Instead I just think it.

Fuck, Granger, I really am head over heels in love with you.

Merlin, please let Blaise's superstitions work their magic today. Thank you. And amen.

Granger, oblivious to my maudlin thoughts, stands on tiptoe and supports herself on my forearm to scan the crowd in search of Blaise. It's a pretty pathetic attempt considering that few other Resistance fighters are shorter than her.