EXIT

21. DEEP BLACK

21. DEEP BLACK

Four days later, as I stand in the gym waiting for Blaise to start giving instructions, I find myself still angry. It seems to be becoming my chronic condition as well.

Anger. Anger. Anger.

So today's fist fight workout comes in handy. Unfortunately, Creevey is the one who's going to take the brunt of this emotion I'm so bad at handling. He doesn't yet know what's in store for him and happily fidgets at my side.

Why am I so angry? Well, the question should probably be: Who am I angry at? And of course the answer is: Granger.

I'm angry because she wasn't honest with me the last time we spoke. Irate because she's definitely hiding something from me. Livid because I suspect that thanks to my inquiries, she won't request me as a partner for the next mission either, out of sheer stubbornness. Furious because, to make matters worse, she's been pretty successfully avoiding me since our brief conversation in the command centre and is therefore, for the very first time, really and truly staying away from me. But what even outshines all of these reasons is the fact that I meanwhile dream about her every fucking night. So clearly, so graphically, so vividly that it usually takes me several minutes after waking up before I manage to shake off the unwelcome images.

It's so pathetic, I want to vomit.

However, a small voice in my head keeps whispering to me that I'm actually the only person I'm allowed to be angry at. After all, it wasn't Granger who implanted these disturbing images and thoughts into my mind. I'm the only one responsible for their existence. And if I had heeded Blaise's warnings during my first few weeks at Camp Black, I wouldn't have to deal with them now, would I? Or would Granger's metaphorical river have carried me off either way? Am I her driftwood whether I want to or not?

My rumination comes to an abrupt end when the source of my mental chaos enters the room. I knew she would be here today because I checked her schedule. Of course I did. Pathetic, like I said.

And again, I can't help but stare at her.

Granger crosses the workout room with brisk steps. Her gaze darts around, accidentally falls on me, and quickly wanders on as if she hadn't seen me. When she then promptly changes direction and retreats to a far corner of the room for her warm-up, my hands clench into fists. She's obviously running away. From me.

Anger. That's all I feel.

I'm already halfway across the room to ask her what her bloody problem is when the alarm goes off. It's a wailing sound, so loud and piercing that some of the rebels reflexively reach up and cover their ears. I can barely stop myself from following suit, even though my arms are twitching at my sides.

My gaze immediately flits back to Granger, who freezes for the blink of an eye only to switch to her absolute combat mode the next. Her face becomes expressionless, her gaze sharpens. In a split second, her wand is in her hand, and I don't even have time to wonder how she manages to fumble it out of that tiny pocket on her skin-tight running pants so quickly every time. As she walks back to the door she only just entered the room through, she presses the tip of her wand to her throat and mutters a Sonorus. Then she starts spitting out orders.

Most of the rebels, including Blaise and Creevey, don't even hesitate for a second before following her, which is why I finally understand what's going on.

The Resistance is under attack.

"I want all fighters currently on standby fully equipped in the briefing room in five minutes or less," Granger's magically amplified voice echoes through the room. "Each of you will find a partner. No solo actions today. Blaise, I need you as a strategist. Ron is on watch duty. Find out which village it is and then give me an overview of the situation. You have two minutes."