EXIT

20. EBONY BLACK

20. EBONY BLACK

"Merlin, you're all right!"

Pansy literally flies into my arms as I step into her sleeping quarters. I return her embrace, hugging her tightly and burying my face in her ebony black hair to deeply inhale her familiar scent. She's warm, apparently unharmed, and fucking alive. Gods, I still can't believe that luck seems to be on our side for once.

A few seconds pass in which we just cling to each other, both shaking, until I wriggle out of her tight grip and gently push her back. I reach for her left forearm to inspect the stain that now adorns it. Her very own beautiful stain.

"I knew it," I whisper. "I was so sure you'd make it, Pans."

When I raise my head to look at her, her slightly teary eyes flicker with a mixture of relief and joy of reunion. I let go of her arm, reach up and affectionately brush a strand of hair from her forehead. Less than a second later, she gives me a resounding slap in the face.

Well, that was unexpected.

"You are such a monumental arse, Draco Malfoy," she gasps out reproachfully. "I thought you were dead, you git. We all thought so! I cried and mourned you for weeks. And then suddenly you are spotted at the gates of the Manor."

Her hand lands on my cheek again, this time to caress the burning skin apologetically. Despite the undeniably serious situation we are in, this uncontrolled storm of emotions makes me grin.

I put my hand on hers and squeeze it.

"I'm so bloody sorry," I murmur, leaning in to hug Pansy once more. "I couldn't have told you what I was up to, you know that. The risk was too great, Pans, especially since I wasn't sure if the Exit would even work."

She nods against my chest, takes a deep breath and pulls away from me.

"Exit, you say?" she mutters, brushing a lonely tear from her cheek.

"In the absence of a short and snappy rune translation," I reply, shrugging.

"A bit macabre, don't you think?"

She smiles weakly.

"Quite the contrary. A way out of hell? An emergency exit? I find my creation pretty creative, thank you very much," I sniff, pretending to be offended.

Pansy giggles, then her eyes fill with tears again.

"You were incredibly brave, Draco," she sobs, placing a hand on my chest at heart level. "I'm so proud of you."

A lump forms in my throat because I know that she really means it.

Lovegood said something similar to me in one of our first sessions together, but this is Pansy. My friend. My confidant. And not a particularly sentimental witch, by the by. Hearing something like this from her, of all people, touches me so much that I suddenly have a hard time swallowing.

A little embarrassed, I blink down at our intertwined fingers and clear my throat. Then I change the subject to distract myself from the unfamiliar (and unwanted) feeling.

"How have your interrogations gone so far?" I ask.

"I can't complain," Pansy says honestly, letting go of me to sink onto the edge of her bed with a sigh. "However, I don't have much information that could help your lot, I'm afraid."

Your lot.

My mouth promptly goes dry as I realize what those two little words mean in this context.