So this is written in the midst of a depression induced attempt at staying sane. It is dark. It is triggering. I needed to write something down otherwise I was going to explode. I know it's shit but it feels a little better to get it out.

The thin red line only served to piss her off even more. It wasn't enough. So she picked the blade up again and slashed even harder across her thigh. The resulting sting and dripping sound was relief.

Hermione picked up the half-drank bottle of Firewhiskey, gulping down another swig, like her life depended on it. But it wasn't working. Years of alcoholism had built up an intolerance and Hermione hated it with a passion. Having her childhood ripped from her, being looked down upon despite being a goddamn war heroine, her friends finding happiness and leaving her behind, it was too much on the days where Firewhiskey couldn't drown it out. PTSD at 24? Hiding her almost constant drinking from everyone in her life. Cutting just to fucking physically feel something. Depression, anger, hatred, despair, it all swirled in her like a never ceasing tornado.

She wished she still had her timeturner. She'd honestly go back in time and shove Tom off that goddamn cliff with a smile on her face. Then she'd beat Dumbledore half to death for using children as his warriors. Shacklebolt would be next. He didn't try to change a thing. He left children to deal with the fallout of the war on their own. Hermione hated the lot of them.

She was jealous and angry at her friends too. She tried the relationship with Ron. It lasted a month before they realized they couldn't handle each other's demons anymore. They stayed "friends" just as she stayed "friends" with Harry. Basically they saw each other in passing except for "special" occasions that Molly demanded Hermione attend. Harry and Ginny helped each other heal. They had three kids. She couldn't look at those kids and not feel jealousy. They would have a childhood whereas her's had been stolen from her. Ron had married Lavender. They had two kids, and Lavender was pregnant with their third...and fourth. Hermione hated seeing it. It reminded her that nobody could handle her brokenness.

Gulping down the last 1/3 of the Firewhiskey, Hermione stumbled to the front door, feeling the blood starting to congeal on her legs from the various slashes and cuts. Grabbing her cloak, she shakily pulled open her door. She turned and looked at her flat one last time. She knew she wouldn't return. It was too much to. Donning the cloak and pulling the hood over her head, Hermione stepped out into the pouring rain. Turning her head up to the falling waters, Hermione felt peace finally wash over her. Rather than apperate to her destination, she started walking.

With each step, she felt weights lifting off her shoulders. The closer she got to her destination, the more resolved she was to completely her final task. She reached the bridge and a smile graced her face. It felt odd to smile by choice again. It'd been so long.

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It was a month before everyone realized Hermione hadn't been seen or heard from. Ron and Harry volunteered to go drag her from her flat again, used to her bouts of reclusion. When they entered her living room, the first thing they noticed was the fine layer of dust everywhere. Like nobody had been there for a while. It was Harry that spotted the empty Firewhiskey bottle, holding down a note. Picking it up, Harry's hand shook.

I love you all.

The muggle papers displayed the picture of a young girl's face, with the relaxed look of death. Nobody knew who she was, or where she came from. Not until Dean Thomas picked up the paper. Her body had been found almost a month previous.

Hermione had been found.

Harry and Ron buried her between the late Potters and the late Fred Weasley.