EXIT

18. OPAL BLACK

18. OPAL BLACK

I would never have gone to Ginny's birthday party if I had known that everyone else would turn up in their everyday clothes. Basically, it makes sense, but I simply didn't think about it beforehand. (Not to mention the fact that I came here without any luggage and therefore wouldn't have been able to do the same even if I wanted to.) So, in accordance with my role as pariah, intruder, defector, I'm the only one sitting at one of the long tables in the dining hall in my obligatory workout clothes. Gods, I could have at least thought of asking Blaise to lend me something.

I try not to let my outfit spoil my mood because, contrary to expectations, the evening is going pretty well for me so far. Of course, it's not really a party that Ginny is throwing here but rather a cozy, carefree get-together, but I've already spoken to a few people who have been very adept at ignoring me ever since I arrived at Camp Black.

Paradoxically, Hannah Abbott was the first to approach me. Probably no great gain for my acquaintanceships within the Resistance, but I was still pleasantly surprised. Her openness earned me a brief but polite chat with a group of familiar faces. So now I know that Oliver Wood, Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil have accepted me at headquarters and are no longer toying with the idea of jinxing me from behind. Terrific.

After that, I hung out with Lovegood and Longbottom for a while, which the latter accepted grudgingly at first but more and more indifferently with the increasing number of his Butterbeers. Now that I'm alone again, since Blaise and Ginny are still otherwise occupied, I'm already sipping the fourth beer myself.

I can't remember the last time I had a drink (let alone for pure enjoyment), but I have to admit that it feels kind of good. The alcohol calms my nerves, which comes in handy considering all the social interactions I'm more or less willingly engaging in tonight.

As I eagerly take another sip, I accidentally catch a glimpse of Creevey, who is actually standing next to Alicia Spinnet, interviewing her about how she likes the food. I shake my head, smiling to myself. It's not exactly what I meant by my advice, but I decide it's good enough. Creevey says something to her and she laughs. I'm rather happy for the little bugger.

However, it doesn't take long before I'm distracted because suddenly the door swings open. I quickly tear my eyes away from Creevey and Spinnet's hopelessly romantic union.

And ah, there she is.

Granger lingers on the threshold for a few seconds to survey the situation, which I, in turn, use to survey her.

She's wearing white trainers, form-fitting, dark blue jeans, and an opal black, albeit modest, satin blouse with trumpet-shaped sleeves that caress her wrists. The color of the latter suits her incredibly well. It makes her slightly tanned skin glow and her dark eyes sparkle. She's also wearing her hair down tonight. It cascades down her back, just slightly curly and looking soft as hell. I swallow hard.

As I take in this unfamiliar (and exciting) sight, she reaches up and, with a few practiced movements, gathers some strands of her long bangs. She then twirls them into a messy bun at the back of her head, through which she eventually pushes her wand. Once that's done, she slowly feels her way into the room.

Her gaze wanders around and first falls on Thomas and Smith, who are leaning against a wall and return her suddenly frosty look no less belligerently. She immediately turns in the opposite direction to avoid them, but then she spots me, which makes her search for a suitable seat much more difficult. I watch with amusement as she alters her course once more and performs some kind of slalom through a group of rebels until she reaches the buffet.

Finally, I avert my gaze with a sigh.

Absolutely everything about this situation is god-awful, really. And by that I mean neither the 'birthday party' itself nor the chipper Resistance fighters around me. I mean Granger and her bloody allure. It's maddening.