DISCLAIMER: As much as I would like to believe, I am NOT J K Rowling. I do not own any of her characters, nor settings. I simply fell in love with her world and want to have a go and creating a version of my own. (This is a Dramione canon)
She felt trapped in a room cluttered with boxes. She didn't want to leave any of it behind; The lilac walls. The white bed. The chipped and priceless furniture. How could she not pack up the things she loved and knew the best. How could she leave behind the possessions with memories clinging to them like dust. For only a touch could rouse or disturb the dust and uncover what she had done, seen. Everything she had been… And become. How could the memories she had made in this room be boxed and shipped. The answer was simple. They just couldn't be. That was the ugly truth.
The Polaroid photos hung on string banners seemed to glare back at her. She turned to the wooden and elegantly ornate mirror she had hung behind her lilac chest of drawers, spilling clothes out of its crakes. Looking at her reflection was a thing of self-indulgence that she wouldn't normally have time for. Evaluating the girl in the mirror, she saw a slight, mousy brown haired girl of about 19 years. Staring into her eyes was strangely satisfying. They were smouldering, chestnut gold eyes glittered with flakes like embers. Skin pale from the grey sun sunk low in the milky London sky. Looking down to her clothes, obviously she didn't care much but valued comfort highly. Wearing a pair of skinny-jeans and sweater gradient from the colour of pale sky grey to a dark storm. Hair tied carelessly in a messy bun. Forcing herself, with the prickling sensation of tears, to gaze at her wrists. One in a sterile white cast from the tip of her fingers to just below her elbow, and the other with just one word etched into the very skin she wore. The memory burning like fever in her flesh, tearing into her chest.
Mudblood…
Hermione had been to a therapist. Of course, one from the Wizard's world. The truth would have been too hard to conceal as the tears came, the rasped groans and gasps that racked her body. Recounting the memories she had tried to conceal. Hermione knew, as she traced one finger across her right arm, she would bare those scars for the rest of her life. There was surly a spell or potion to erase them from her body. But what an awful, unforgivable and horrible thing it would be to forget… To forget those who died for us.
Hemione's watch blared. Lifting it up, she read 8:01. After looking one last time in the mirror, Hermione turned away and started towards the door. September 1st, the start of a new school year. The trio was broken up. Harry and Ron had gone to pursue a career as an Auror. Ron and she had started dating, which seemed so inexplicably normal for what they'd been through. Hermione's life seemed in pieces, yet was still holding together with temporary craft glue. The Weasley's were doing okay. Percy was in contact more and Fleur and Bill were expecting a child. Hagrid had regained his position at Hogwarts as head gamekeeper. Professor mcgonagall was resident Headmaster until further notice. Harry was… Harry was stronger.
And her life had began. Away from the threat and the danger, Hermione was growing into her own. Without Harry or Ron. She had began a new.