I hope our story has a happier ending

standing in the eye of the hurricane

There's a tapping sound at the window, and the owl hoots impatiently as Hermione makes her way over to open it.

It's an hour before they'd agreed to convene to work on the Gringotts plans; she and Harry had both argued they should start earlier, only to be met with Ron's stubborn refusal, insisting it would be a useless planning session if they hadn't gotten enough sleep—especially after the chaos of the last few weeks.

Hermione'd woken early regardless, though; still exhausted, but her body too anxious and on edge to remain unconscious, even with the added interruptions of Lyra's cries every few hours, waking her just long enough for Draco to tell her to go back to sleep while he tends to her.

The quiet is nice, though. Between Hogwarts and being on the run and being in the middle of a war...well, she's not sure the last time she had a moment of peace like this.

(One where she's able to sit and let herself feel the weight of it all, sip at coffee while lost in thought, knowing the three most important people in her world are safely sleeping just a few walls away.)

The owl hoots peevishly at her lack of urgency.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she sighs as she reaches to unlatch the window. Her brow furrows as the owl flutters inside. "You haven't even got a letter—who sent you?"

Her question is answered when, instead of settling on the perch, the bird lands on the chair besides the one Hermione had been sitting in—and then begins to elongate, morphing into the form of Ginny Weasley.

"Hermione! Thank god you're okay, merlin, we've been so worried. Are Harry and Ron here too?"

Hermione can't get it together enough to answer the other girl's questions, though, is still processing her transformation from poultry to person.

"What the actual fuck." Rather than screaming, Hermione's voice drops to a whisper as she stares at her friend. "Am I dreaming?"

"Nope," Ginny reassures her, proud glint in her eye. "I started the process last year, thinking there must be a way it'd come in handy—didn't want to tell anyone in case it didn't work. Had my first successful transformation just a few months ago. And thank merlin for that, too, because it's the only reason I've been able to keep from being murdered by the Carrows so far. And with things as tense as they are now, I figured we needed to know what was going on, and I remembered Sirius always talking about them roaming the grounds and going too far on accident, because the wards didn't recognize animals, so last night I just—started flying."

"I—you—" Rubbing at her temples, Hermione tries to form a coherent thought. "Wow. Okay then. How are you here now, though? Bill mentioned your mother was livid you hadn't come home for Easter, so how..."

With a scoff, Ginny helps herself to a mug of coffee, looking entirely comfortable in the cottage despite only having been there once before—a skill Hermione's always envied.

"Yeah, I'm sure she was. Ruined all her plans, I'm sure." Ginny rolls her eyes. "The woman forgets that I know her—assumes that because we're on such different pages about so many things I can't figure her out. But I've been doing that since I was a toddler. I could tell from a million miles away if I got on the train at Easter there was no way in hell she'd let me come back to Hogwarts after the holiday—so, I didn't get on."

She shrugs as she said it, like it's no big deal, but Hermione can see the tiredness behind her eyes; the frustration, when it's taking everything in you to fight and even the people on your side try to encourage you to give in.

"She doesn't want me to fight. Because I'm a girl, of course, and that's always been an issue between us. Because I'm the youngest, and she still thinks I'm a child. But mostly, I think, because the rest of them are too far gone—all adults, moved on with their lives, there in the thick of it. And it's hard to worry about them when there's nothing she can do about it—especially Ron, off on you lot's secret mission, with Harry at the center of it all. It's entirely out of her hands, and that's—"