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—"

"Terrifying for anyone, let alone a mother who can't protect her children," Hermione finishes, mouth turned downward in understanding.

"Exactly. All of it, all of their safety and lives—it's completely out of her control. So she's trying to command me entirely for some semblance of control. As if I'm home, tucked away being the wards, even if everything else goes wrong, even if everyone else gets hurt or killed, she'll know I'm safe and have that one bit of peace." Ginny tugs at the scrunchy to release her hair from the tight athletic ponytail, sighing as it spills down onto her shoulders. "And I understand it, of course. I mean, we both know I have my own issues with control." A laugh of dark humor escapes her. "So I can't blame her—if I had a way of ensuring Blaise's safety, or yours, Luna's, any of my brothers…it would make this all much more bearable. But—that's not how wars work. And I'm not a doll to be protected, I'm a soldier. I fought at the Ministry, I'm leading ASA—I'm the one who's had Him live inside my head."

Her voice grows raspy on the last word, years of anguish at the way everyone seems to forget. How nice it must be, not to remember that time a piece of Riddle's soul ran rampant in Hogwarts.

(Merlin, does she wish she could forget.)

"I'm not going to back down from the fight against the person who ravaged my mind when I was eleven—the reason I would come to covered in blood, not sure where I was, missing memories but so far past tired I knew I couldn't have been sleeping. The reason I've been scared to close my eyes in the castle all the years since, the reason every minute we're in the chamber for ASA I spend thinking of what would've happened if you hadn't had a mirror, or Justin hadn't been with Nick. The reason I feel like I'm not anything most days—the reason I know everything about the Dark Lord, know him better than myself. This is my fight as much as anyone's—maybe more."

"You're absolutely right," Hermione affirms, gently squeezing the other girl's hands with her own. "I'm sorry that everyone finds what you went through so easy to look past. I know I'm guilty of it, too." She waves away the other girl's shrug. "But Gin—why are you here now? Won't they be looking for you at Hogwarts?"

"Er…no, actually." Ginny has the good sense to look a bit shamed even as her mischief shines through. "So…we've been mounting resistance all year, of course. Neville and I have been heading ASA, and we've been trying to do what we can at the castle, at least. But we've also had limits, you know? We've been smart about it all, not getting caught doing the things we know would convince them to kill us once and for all. But…"

She pauses, giving Hermione an apologetic look before continuing. "When Draco didn't come back after Easter we were really worried. And those who had gone home for the break could tell there was a change in the air. So Neville and I figured the end was coming; figured the best thing we could do was escalate, draw more of their attention to Hogwarts and away from you lot and the Order's efforts. And it worked—maybe a little bit two well, because then the Carrows and Snape decided we were too much of a liability. They ordered the reformed Inquisitorial Squad to catch us, told them we'd be killed the second we were caught, so Pansy shoved us in her Head Girl rooms to hide."

Hermione splutters. "But—you're saying you've both just been hiding out in her rooms for weeks? How are you eating—how are you surviving?"

"We didn't stay there permanently—just until the next morning. Long term we've been staying in the room of requirement; we repurposed it and heightened security, and it provides anything else we need. Good thing, too, because more and more people have been coming each week—the Carrows have completely lost it." She shivers, thinking of the horror stories each new student refugee has brought as they claimed a newly manifested hammock. "As for food…well, our friendship with the Hogwarts house elves has been critical, of course. But on top of that…Hermione, the room is even more incredible than we imagined. It created a passage that opens up at the Hog's Head, right into Aberforth's flat above the pub."

The older girl opens and closes her mouth, incapable of forming words. "Aberforth has been helping ASA?"

"He's been a godsend, honestly. Pain in the ass, of course—he's not exactly nice, is he? But he's been willing to do a lot for us, and has been in touch with McGonagall so she doesn't panic, or anything, and so the both of them can figure out a way to get us all out safely either if the battle comes to Hogwarts or if this isn't over by the end of term."

"Would've been nice of him to mention this at the Order meeting a few weeks ago," Hermione grumbles. "But okay. I'm so relieved to hear you're all okay."

"Us? Are you kidding? The three of you have been on your own for a year—I'm so glad you're alive." Ginny pulls her into a tight hug, then leans back, gaze clouding over. "Have you heard from Draco?"

"Yes, he's here, actually. It's…a long story." The brunette grimaces, ignoring the urge to glance at the still healing wound beneath her sweater. "Suffice to say I was taken captive and brought to Malfoy Manor; Dobby managed to get us out, as well as the other prisoners and Draco's mother. Dean was one of them—he's here still, you can see him if you'd like."

"Dean's alright too?" Ginny's entire person lights up with joy, the relief evident. "And Draco and his mother…thank merlin."

"Thank Merlin for me?" Draco drawls, his voice entering the room seconds before him. "I knew you loved me all along, weaslette."

Ginny doesn't even retort back, just speeds across the room to punch him in the arm before throwing her arms around his shoulders tightly. "We thought you were dead, you bastard!"

"I understand that Weasleys feel the need to express affection through violence, Ginevra, but please mind the infant in my other arm, will you?" He laughs at the way her eyes go wide. "And I'm sorry you worried. I missed you too."

He moves toward Hermione, pressing a kiss to her temple before gently passing over a sniffling Lyra. "Sorry, love. I wanted to give you a bit more time but someone's hungry, so Dad just won't do."

Ginny's still frozen, staring at the exchange, astounded.

Her focus flickers between them both, down to Lyra, quiet now that she's being fed.

"So much for not telling anyone else," Draco murmurs quietly. "Though she does know everything else already."

Hermione snorts before meeting her friend's eyes. "While we were on our mission, I found out I was pregnant—part of Riddle's plans. I went into labor almost three months ago, now; her name is Lyra."

Ginny blinks, a small sound escaping her. "Merlin. You couldn't have led with that?"

/

"I spoke with Griphook," Remus says after finishing his coffee. "I thought he might be more willing to help me, given…well, our similar treatment and status in the wizarding world. Obviously the situations are very different, and as a wizard there are many privileges I have that he doesn't, but nonetheless, I thought he might be less…reluctant, shall we say, to assume I hold the same prejudices as many other wizards. Which—perhaps he was. But nonetheless…he had some conditions."

Hermione's sat around the kitchen table with Harry, Ron, Bill, Sirius, and Remus. Narcissa and Andromeda look on, chiming in whenever they have helpful ideas but mostly conversing with each other. Ginny'd left just a few hours after her arrival, once she'd had a chance to check in on both brothers at Shell Cottage and Dean, not wanting to leave Neville on his own with the rest of ASA for too long and having received the information she came for.

(It feels useless, Hermione thinks, being able to see each other for such small wisps of time, having to watch her friend go right back to the hellscape.)

(But at the same time…it's everything, being able to have just a few moments together. Being able to see each other alive, and okay, and feel as though there's hope. It makes it feel like they're actually approaching the end of it all.)

"What did he want?" Bill asks with narrowed eyes. "Remus, with all due respect, I've worked in this field for many years, and you can't trust a—"

"Werewolf?" Remus finishes for him, eyebrows raised.

"No, that's not—it's completely different, I—"

"Is it?" Remus asks him, voice steel without ever raising his volume. "It's a sentence I've heard plenty of times before. Have you not noticed, since your attack, the way people look at you differently? The way even those who've known you for years suspect you capable of horrible things?"

Bill swallows heavily. "I have."

The older man grimaces. "Exactly. And you're not actually a werewolf—you're not capable of that kind of harm, and even still, are met with such a negative response. And we're wizards; we have wands, and some of our rights, and are members of the group in power. So can you imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to experience that same disdain and distrust amplified, and without any of those benefits?" He meets Bill's eyes without judgement. "I believe your experiences are genuine—I have no doubt you've had negative, harmful interactions with goblins in your line of work.

"But those interactions did not occur in a vacuum; from their perspective, you're not a coworker—you're a member of the group that has subjugated them for centuries, you're someone who's never cared that they don't have the same rights and protections, you're a member of the group in power that sees them as subhuman. Our people have spent the last thousand years colonizing, of usurping resources and treasures and lives. I'm sure plenty of times goblins weren't kind to you—wizards have been awful to them, why would they be? All of your negative experiences have come after a lifetime of suffering at the hands of wizards for generations and generations of goblins. We are unquestionably the villain in this story. You're saying we can't trust them—but how could they ever trust us?"

Bill looks stunned as he takes it all in, the guilt clearly uncomfortable as it washes over him. Ron and Sirius, too, look conflicted; a lifetime of pureblood upbringing, being used to the way the society is.

(Of thinking they're on the right side—thinking that surely, they recognize and care about blood supremacy at play, so they must not be guilty of other forms of bigotry.)

(They're the good guys, after all.)

It's the same trope played out over and over—humanity never learns.

"Think about it," Hermione adds, wanting to make sure they all see—needing them to understand. "How many times have you heard that goblins are greedy? And yet why are we led to believe it? Because they want and take treasures from wizards—treasures that are goblin made, that wizards stole in the first place. They have a history of doing whatever they can by whatever means necessary to obtain the things their people worked, sweat, and bled to create after they've been pilfered and commandeered by wizards, passed down as though they're ours rather than stolen goods taken through bloodshed and colonialism. We subjugate them, thieve their most precious relics—and then manage to paint them to be the bad guy for wanting back what was rightfully theirs all along. We point so many fingers at others, hoping to distract everyone enough to never realize that we're the greatest monsters of all."

There's a beat of silence as they digest this. Eventually, Bill clears his throat. "You're right. You're completely right. I—I've been in the wrong the entire time. I was blind to all of it. I—merlin, I've been in this field of work for years and I never even considered…that's fucking terrifying." He goes entirely pale as the weight of it all settles on him. "How can I be capable of that kind of racism without even knowing? I never meant to do anything like this. What else have I done…merlin. Fuck. I think I'm going to be sick."

"I'm not going to comfort you," Remus tells him honestly, "Because we don't deserve comfort for the wrongs we do—we deserve accountability. Guilt like this is heavy to carry, but that's the point—it ensures that you never forget, never repeat the action. No matter the intent, damage done is damage the parties that have been wronged have to face regardless. We aren't the ones who deserve consolation for the harm we've perpetrated. But I will say, the fact that you're receiving the information and changing your opinion, the fact that you're learning from being called out—that is important. That means you will prevent yourself from doing it in the future, and the people around you. That is how we end the cycle."

It's clear that it's sunk in, then; they need time to come to terms with the revelation, and besides that, the sooner they finalize their plans for getting into Bellatrix's vault the sooner they can end this war and actually DO something about the systemic problems they're talking about.

"So," Hermione says, firmly moving forward with their planning. "What, exactly, did Griphook say? What did you have to do to convince him?"

Remus brushes a lock of hair back and out of his face. "Nothing, actually. He—he doesn't like us or trust us, but in his words, 'The Dark Lord is committing genocide of other witches and wizards over something as arbitrary as birth; I am not so naïve as to believe he has something pleasant planned for members of another species.' He doesn't think we'll do right by goblins, either, but—we're the lesser of two evils in his book."

"So he'll help us?" Harry brightens, relief coloring his features.

"To some extent. He won't come with us, but he has been to Bellatrix's vault before—he disclosed which specific security measures are in place, what we would need to prepare for."

"And in return?"

"He doesn't truly believe we'll hold up our end of the deal; that's why he won't come along to help," Remus explains. "But he said if, somehow, we're genuine in wanting to repay him for his help, he wants a goblin-made relic in the Black family's possession; Sirius and I got rid of all the ones in Grimmauld Place years ago, but to be honest we just haven't gotten around to going through the vault because it's just so vast."

"Well that we can definitely make happen," Sirius says confidently. "And anything else he needs."

Remus smiles at his husband, before opening up a notepad. "Right, then. Other than what Bill was already aware of, this is what we're up against."

"We have Bellaltrix's hair from my robes—we can use that to Polyjuice. Dobby managed to bring her wand as well after he disarmed her, so it will be completely convincing," Hermione jots down.

"The largest and oldest vaults are the deepest underground, and have the best security. So the Polyjuice will come off at the Thief's Downfall," Bill reminds her.

Harry makes a face. "We'll have to be prepared to get whoever our escort is to still open the vault after that, then. And we'll need to have a different way out."

Scowling, Sirius says, "Whoever polyjuices into her…their acting will have to be perfect. Whatever it takes. Even the smallest out of character action will mean that the jig is up."

A few feet away, Narcissa looks on with derision.

"Do they always make things so difficult for themselves?" she asks her sister, brows drawn together in confusion.

"And worse," Andromeda mutters disdainfully. "Bloody Gryffindors. They assume the hardest way is the only way. It's pure insanity."

"And yet both of our children are bound to one," Narcissa reminds her with a playful roll of her eyes.

"We'll have to imperius him after the thief's downfall," Bill continues with a grimace. "I don't like it at all, but it's the only way. Not to mention, as soon as the thief's downfall finds any enchantment or concealment, it will set off an alarm and derail the cart. So we'll only have a few minutes to get in and out of the vault before security gets to us."

Narcissa sighs, unable to hear their plotting any longer. "I can't, you all are absurd. This is painful to witness. If I may, I have a few suggestions."

All of the Gryffindors crowded around the strategy blueprint on the table look up at her with surprise.

"Go on, then, cousin," Sirius says cheerfully.

"You're expecting this to be difficult," she begins, holding up a hand to stifle Ron and Sirius's protests immediately afterward. "Of course it will be, but what I mean is, you're so convinced it will be hard to do that you're assuming you must use the most nefarious, intricate, delicate means of doing everything. You assume the most difficult way of doing your task is the only way to successfully complete it. And in doing so you are only complicating things further."

She points to their haphazardly sketched map of the Gringotts interior. "Right now, you've listed off a number of complications with getting here, because her vault is so deep within the bank. Your plans at this point rely on them not knowing her wand was stolen or suspecting any potential subterfuge regarding her vault. But consider a muggle whose credit card has been stolen?"

Hermione's eyes close and she lets out a groan as understanding escapes her. "Call the bank and have them freeze the account, so they know any forthcoming charges or attempts to withdraw are fraudulent."

"Precisely. Knowing what I do of both my sister and Riddle, I would be willing to bet my life that they contacted Gringotts immediately after your escape—especially knowing Draco and I were with you, and we're aware of Bellatrix's obsession with her vault's security." Narcissa's face remains expressionless, though they all know she's preening a bit as they realize she's right.

"So we're screwed, basically," Ron says, nose scrunched in frustration.

"No. Like I said—you assumed the most difficult means was the way you needed to use. You expected it to be a difficult venture, and so you assumed you would need to use Polyjuice Potion in order to get inside."

"So how would a Slytherin approach the situation?" Remus asks earnestly.

The corners of Narcissa's lips turn upward. "Well, why not walk right through the front door?

/

After they finish up their plans, deciding to spend a week preparing and getting things in order before launching the mission, Hermione makes her way to the living room, settling into the plush armchair with a sugar quill as she begins to unwind from the weight of the day.

She'd tried to go bother Draco and Lyra, but her soul mate had taken one look at her expression and all but ordered her away to take a few minutes of alone time to decompress and relax before pouring herself into the two of them.

Lost in thought, she's absentmindedly chewing on the end of the sugar quill when Ron approaches her

"I get it now," Ron says softly. "I—I' sorry, Mione."

Hermione raises her eyebrows, entirely lost. "What are you talking about?"

"I…during fourth and fifth year. I mean, I've always been a prat about these things, but especially when you were vocal about house elves rights and mistreatment, and whenever we other creatures would come up, I gave you so much shit about it. I didn't…I didn't understand, then, how important it all was—how horrible I was really being. I never even considered that what I had been led to believe might've been all wrong—that you might just be able to see it all more clearly because you were seeing it all for the first time. You didn't deserve it, and I…I'm sorry." His expression is pained, so genuinely sorrowful as he meets her gaze.

"Thank you, Ron." She reaches to hug him for the first time in a while. "I…I'm really proud of you for growing so much. It means a lot that you remembered."

"Still, though. I wish I had gotten it then."

Hermione sighs, repositioning herself in the chair. "I do too. But life is never that easy. And none of us are perfect—I'm plenty flawed myself, I've done more things wrong than I could count, especially where such important and difficult topics are concerned."

She cocks her head at him. "What's done is done. But we can make sure it doesn't continue happening. We can educate the people around us. We can make sure our children and everyone who comes after us knows better. That's what this all comes back to, isn't it? Everything we've done—the whole purpose is to create a better world. This is just one more part of that—a huge, significant part, don't get me wrong, but aiming for the same end goal nonetheless."

Ron nods in agreement with her words, determination burning bright in his eyes.

(And she can see it—that he's not just babbling these things, and going along with what she's saying. He means them; is never going to forget this.)

"Do you think this Gringotts plan is going to work?" he asks, nerves and curiosity in his voice.

"I…I like to think so," she says slowly. "It's definitely better than many of our previous plans; more cohesive, more likely to work, the easiest to enact. But…I don't know."

"It almost feels too easy," Ron says, as though he's read her thoughts off a teleprompter. "And there's no room for anything to go wrong."

"Exactly. Which in theory is fine, because again, it's our best plan yet. But historically…well, we've been pretty horrible at sticking to plans, and we only survive because our talents lie in improvising solutions in the thick of it all. I'm not sure we'll be able to do that, this time."

"This will just have to be the one time we stay on-script," Ron says decidedly. "Then he'll start keeping the snake with him, and from there…"

"We can finally put an end to this thing."

It's not happiness they feel, not really—there's too much pressure and fear for that.

But the anticipation, the sense that one way or another it will all finally be resolved, soon…

(Hermione can see the relief in his face, too.)

A/N: chapter title from hurricane by bridgit mendler