it whistles through the ghosts still left behind

Most of the time, if Hermione Granger was upset, she would throw herself into her work. Ensure that the coat of a Transfigured animal shone to no end, or felt distinct pleasure at adding an extra scroll beyond what was required for an essay. To a certain degree, she was still capable of this on the island, always more paperwork to be done, especially after such a huge change in setting. But that day, right in the middle of another stack of forms, Hermione paused.

Laid her hands on the tall pile of sheets, stared outside.

And decided that she couldn't do it anymore.

It wasn't that she wouldn't be able to find the mental space to begin that work again. No matter what, she had obligations as a teacher, and as a Council member, and Hermione knew that she wouldn't have forgiven herself if she began to fall back on those entirely. But in that moment, she just couldn't, because it all felt quite futile, really. Everything remained in a sort of stasis on the island, in a way that she would have appreciated, had she arrived during a time of peace back home. Unfortunately, not having witnessed the war's end, Hermione felt much like she was holding her breath at the end of the day, waiting to again enter the fray.

Ginny Weasley was gone, and Hermione wasn't quite sad about that. She worried, instead. Until any of them went home, after all, there was no real way to know what happened. So she made her way over to the kitchen, allowing her hands to carry out that worry as she pulled a large bag of cherries out of the icebox and a knife, slitting them down the center and tugging the pit out of each. She had no idea if there was anything that she could manage to make with them, but the regular motion helped ease the tension away from her fingers, even as she longed for the use of her magic.

and we're happy to share our ending vicariously

The stables which newly appeared with the change of scenery reminded Hermione a bit of home. The similarities weren't that great in number; the sky was too arid, the sun too relentless, and surely the garb alone was jarring. If anything, April felt a bit like living in a film, a certain slice of culture that Hermione hadn't expected to acquaint herself with and one that seemed perfectly constructed for the silver screen. Yet, the horse stables felt like home, perhaps because ever since the age of twelve, Hagrid and his animals had been a constant in Hermione's life, and one that she sorely missed.

They were nothing like the monsters Hagrid tended to prefer, admittedly, the horses beautiful and largely tame. There were wilder stallions who ran in the distance, but Hermione had no desire to try and break them in. Instead, she stood by the stables out of curiosity, smiling as she watched them bob down occasionally to the water trough, no doubt just as thirsty as the rest of them.

As for Hermione, she'd come here for a reason. Ginny's disappearance was one that shook her, in its way. Perhaps that wasn't unexpected— Ginny was, after all, the best girl friend Hermione had ever had, and losing her was like losing a part of herself. But neither did it draw panic out of Hermione, who believed that what came after the island wasn't necessarily positive or negative, but instead just another leg of life. Surprises were to be expected. Losses as well.

It was enough to make her restless and draw her out of the offices, but not enough to fall apart, and maybe that was something she'd gotten used to in the past years as well.