EXIT

32. SILVER GREY

32. SILVER GREY

It fucking hurts.

That's my only thought as I sink to my knees in front of the freshly heaped up mound of earth. As soon as we left the training room, I asked Granger to bring me here. It's a long overdue visit.

We're in a plain meadow near the grove where we use to hide our Return Portkeys. It's not really a suitable place for a grave, but the surroundings, or at least what I can still see of them in the twilight, are pleasantly quiet and green.

It's drizzling lightly. My cargo trousers are already soaked at the knees, but I hardly feel it. There's something else that makes up for this inconvenience. A delicate hand on the back of my neck, just below my hairline. The hand is steady and warm, its thumb rubbing comforting circles into my skin.

I think a tear escapes my eye, but thanks to the weather it's hard to tell. Either way, I don't feel the need to wipe it away. Creevey deserves it. He was a good lad.

After a few minutes, I stand up with a sigh. I raise my wand and make a few lilies of the valley break through the loosened earth. It's still far too cold for spring flowers, and most likely they'll freeze to death in the next few nights, but that doesn't really matter. I can come back here and conjure them up whenever I feel like it.

"Let's go," I say quietly to Granger.

"Are you okay?" she whispers.

She steps to my side and looks up at me, concern clearly visible on her face.

"I'm fine," I reply, nodding.

"All right, then."

Her hand grabs mine. It's an unfamiliar feeling. An alarmingly good feeling. I gently interlace our fingers and pull her close before she activates our Portkey.

***

The way from the roof to Granger's sleeping quarters is a whirl of color and sound. The rebels who cross our path in the underground corridors all give us strange looks, which could be because we're still in our combat gear and completely drenched, or because Granger hasn't let go of my hand once since we left the meadow. Not on the roof, not in the lift, not in the empty command centre, not in the atrium, not in the tunnels.

She only breaks away from me when we reach her room, and even then only to close the door behind us and cast a locking spell. When that's done, she carefully places her wand on the desk and slowly turns to face me.

Out of habit, I shove my hands into my trouser pockets as she stands on tiptoe to kiss me, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing herself against me. Her lips are so bloody soft. I have no idea how I survived for two full weeks without kissing her.

When she pulls away after a few seconds, I growl in frustration, but she puts a finger on my lips, stopping me from protesting.

"I want you to touch me," she murmurs, almost seeming... shy?

"Granger, you don't have to—"

"I know," she replies firmly. "But I want it."

I search her face for signs of the panic I saw when she first grabbed my hand in the training room, but there's none left. Just brown, trusting eyes. A warm feeling spreads through my chest at this realization.

I slowly pull my hands out of my pockets. Then, hesitantly, I lift them to cup Granger's jaw before leaning down to kiss her again.

It's a tender kiss. The slowest, gentlest and most savouring one we've ever exchanged. I caress the soft skin of her cheeks and feel her shiver under my fingers in response. When I look at her to make sure everything is all right, she returns my gaze with hooded eyes.