EXIT

4. GRAPHITE BLACK

4. GRAPHITE BLACK

I stare stoically at the concrete grey wall of the room Blaise took me to a few minutes ago. It's been a week since I was last interrogated, and I assume my reprieve is over.

So far, my days have consisted solely of attending meals under Blaise's supervision and then being escorted back to my sleeping quarters. It was quite monotonous and I started doing various physical activities in my room to somehow pass the time. Still, I didn't complain once because that would have been more than ungrateful and stupid, especially after what Blaise told me about the Resistance's disgustingly harmonious, democratic decisions. Instead, I just enjoyed our little trips through headquarters, although no one but Blaise and Dennis Creevey ever spoke to me.

As I found out, Creevey is kind of Blaise's shadow. Wherever Blaise goes, Creevey follows, and he downright idolizes him, which Blaise doesn't seem to notice at all. If my memory serves me right, Creevey is only three years younger than us, but he seems more like a teenager to me. Or a puppy. At least when he's in Blaise's orbit. The upside of his devotion to Blaise is that after the first few days he almost completely shed his shyness towards me. By now, he participates in our conversations so animatedly, as if I weren't a Death Eater, intruder, traitor, semi-prisoner.

I have to admit that I like him. He's a good bloke and when I think about how his brother lost his life and that he might face the same fate in the course of this war, it makes me sick.

That's the problem with my absent Occlumency: I fucking feel again. In this case, a strange sort of affection. Disgusting, really.

The door opens and I straighten myself.

Potter enters the room, followed closely by Lovegood and Longbottom, which is a surprise.

Meanwhile, I know that they're a couple because at one of the meals in the dining hall I had the pleasure of witnessing Longbottom patting Lovegood's arse. It was my luck and that of everyone else at the table that I didn't have anything in my mouth at that moment, because I would certainly have spat it out. Apart from this one public display of affection, I haven't learned much about them, let alone what kind of work they do for the Resistance. At least they aren't fighters, I already know that from the reports.

"All right," Potter sighs as the three of them put their chairs in place.

Lovegood produces a graphite black notebook from her pocket, then her other-worldly gaze falls on me and she examines me curiously.

Longbottom, for his part, doesn't come across as nervous or frightened as I remember him from our school days, but maximally disgusted. His facial expression actually rivals Granger's. (At least the one she displayed during that first breakfast in the dining hall, because I haven't seen her since.)

"It's about time we receive some information from you," Potter continues, placing his hands on the table top in a relaxed manner. "And we decided to start with the ones that interest us most and could be useful to us."

Ah, I know immediately what he's referring to.

"Why this unusual combination?" I ask defiantly before he can start his questioning, nodding towards Lovegood and Longbottom.

Lovegood's lips curl into an indulgent smile, which I find both inappropriate and disturbing. Longbottom, on the other hand, snorts.

Wow, maybe he spends too much time with Weasley.

"Luna and Neville run our trauma room," Potter informs me tersely. "With a few other healers, they tend to the sick and injured."

I raise an eyebrow.