They returned to a companionable silence, neither wishing to expand upon their feelings. There was always an eerie calm before a major storm. The idleness of the weeks since the Dark Lord was murdered was just a preparation for when the action truly began. Part of Hermione wished to just get it over with, to find out one way or another how it would all end up. Mostly, however, she didn't want to be a part of it at all. Maybe some would call her a coward or tell her that she was weak, but she didn't care. They could go fuck themselves. This was her life, her decision. Hadn't she spent enough of her life fighting a never-ending war? When would she finally be allowed to rest? To recover from the wounds that hadn't ever really healed?