I hope our story has a happier ending

everybody's waiting for you to break down

Hermione probably should've expected it, but the days have all been so repetitive and blurred together she hasn't noticed them passing. Hadn't noticed they'd been on the run for a full month, now.

(She didn't realize it was already September 1st.)

So she's woefully unprepared when writing begins appearing along her arm—panics, immediately ceases breathing, fearing that something's gone wrong, until she reads, Made it onto the train—are you okay? What's been happening? Tell me everything.

Her heartrate slows as she registers his message. The date. Time passing.

(Nearly four months since she's seen him last.)

We're all fine, she reassures; grateful, just this once, that they'll have no way but this to communicate till the war ends.

(If he heard her voice, or saw her face—he'd know she's keeping something from him in thirty seconds flat.)

(There is nothing so important as keeping him in the dark, now; nothing in the world matters beyond keeping their child safe.)

You know you have to give me more than that, I've been worried sick! Are you eating, and sleeping, and taking care of yourself?

A moment later, he adds, I don't know why I ask when I already know the answer is no.

Laughter slips through Hermione's lips unintentionally, warmth blooming in her chest at her soul mate's fond exasperation; the familiarity and comfort of it, even when things are the godforsaken mess they feel at the moment.

Of course you haven't spoken to me in months and you start with the roasting—hoow very typical of you, Romeo. She smiles, knowing he's rolling his eyes at her, before continuing. I've been doing better, I promise. Ron's mother hen side is full force with nowhere else to direct his energies. And we're all doing alright, just—not having much luck with our mission. Getting a bit frustrated, of course, because sometimes it feels hopeless, but nobody's pointed a wand at us in a month so at least there's that.

Sounds like a win to me, Draco writes back. Should've gotten Weasley and Pansy linked chess sets so they could play each other while you were away—merlin knows they could both use the distraction. She's doing okay, by the way, since I know that's your next question; it was a rough summer but she's alive and alright, now.

Her heart hurts at the mention of her friend; the missing her, having no clue when they'll be able to speak next...

(It's nothing new, of course, but it sucks nonetheless.)

Have you seen Ginny yet? She asks, seeking the confirmation both for herself and to ease the worries that nearly consume Ron whenever he thinks the others don't notice.

(Whenever they're not looking and his expression grows desolate, the guilt clearly eating away at him for not being there for his family during this of all times.)

They all miss the Weasleys, of course, but for Ron who's always had so much security—the sudden split is especially brutal.

Naturally—she and Blaise disappeared the moment they'd dropped their things in here, so god knows what compartment they're desecrating at the moment. She looked well, briefly as I saw her.

Good for them, honestly—someone should be getting laid right now.

They're talking incessantly for over an hour, just catching up on everything they havent' been able to tell each other over the summer.

(Everything except the biggest of them all, of course, which he can't know; even in just this conversation, it's killing her.)

Harry and Ron ask her to pass along their hellos, when they come back inside; and once Ginny returns to Draco's compartment on the train she commandeers the back of Draco's dominant hand to begin sending messages back and forth with Ron, who does the same on Hermione's end, earning a bemused look.