Disclaimer - Characters and universe based on JKR's Harry Potter series. Alas, they are not mine, and I will not make any profit off of them.
Letters
Hermione swiftly gulped down the remains of her long-cold tea, pushed her chair back and stretched. Sighing, she stood up to gaze out the nearest window to her frost-covered herb garden. The previous summer she had attempted to keep herself stocked in some of the more mundane potions ingredients, but swiftly found she did not have a talent for horticultural enterprises. So the contents of her small plot of tilled land lay exposed to the elements instead of any attempt to revive them in her cottage over the winter. Perhaps if Neville was still... but nobody had heard from him in months.
Shaking her head to rid it of her scattered thoughts, Hermione's eyes turned to the letter sitting incongruously on her dining table. She had moved it there from her desk, when her eyes and mind had continuously strayed to it and its contents, instead of her work. The Order had decided it would be safer for her to spend Christmas where she was, in hiding. More to the point, Harry had deemed it unsafe for her to travel anywhere near London, never mind the fact that he traversed the city streets daily, or that she could damn-well look after herself, thank you very much.
It had been last spring that the Order, acting on various tips that Hermione was (aside from Harry) now the central target for the Death Eaters, suggested that she should be taken out of field action. The war had been going on for years by that point. In fits and starts, and at times more publically visible and violent than at others. The Order members had been tired and harried, and to appease them Hermione had acquiesced. She had thought at the time it would be for a month or so, the summer at most, and then she'd be back into the midst of it, so to speak. It was now a month til Christmas and she was lonely. Heaving her second sigh, she thought with optimism that at least Ginny Weasley was able to sneak away at times, to provide Hermione with gossip, a good laugh and some human comfort.
As to the other letter she had received this morning...well, her mind was just as organised as her desk. And if she had put the letter in the bottom right-hand drawer and shut it, it was shut away from her thoughts as well.
A shrill whistle brought Hermione out of her contemplation and she went to retrieve her kettle from the stove and began making another cup of tea. As she swirled the bag around in her mug she decided to stop being maudlin and go out to do some much needed shopping. She glanced wryly at the empty pantry, which further emphasized the need for an excursion. The villagers already thought her a recluse; it wouldn't do to have them worrying over her eating habits.
Setting her mug down, Hermione instead Grabbed her coat, slipped her feet into her galoshes and gave Crookshanks a quick stroke before she set off down the lane towards the village. As she ambled onwards, her mind turned back to back to the letter from Harry. It wasn't that she was being idle while her friends battled evil without her; far from it. She wasn't bashful and knew full well that her suggested strategies were slowly winning them the war. That, and her continued supply of healing potions. But she missed the company of her friends, and had grown accustomed to the stressful and fast-paced environment in Grimmauld Place. At first she had found the peaceful environment of her little out-of-the-way cottage relaxing, but lately she had been itching with unease. Perhaps it was because she had never before gone this long without some sort of action, but some part of her wondered how much longer her life would continue to be this quiet.
And if this slight feeling of unease was in any way related to that letter pushed to the back of the bottom right-hand drawer of her desk, she did not let herself think of it.
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