Yo yo yo. I have not written fanfiction for like, six years. I was looking back at the two short ones I did, expecting them to be absolutely terrible as I was fifteen. They were cliched and kinda lame, but not as bad as I'd thought they would be ahhaha.
So I have decided to attempt a longer one. I don't know how it will go, as I am a reader but not a huge writer. I will probably lose my mojo at some point and give up. I am at Teacher's College, so will be very busy. Let me know what you think so I can decide if it is worth continuing haha.
For some reason, I like Dramione. I have no idea why.

I don't want this to be all typical like "ooh Draco is suddenly all nice and sweet" like lots of the ones I read; he is still an asshole, but why? Can he change?

This is set pretty much right after the end of the war. Wounds are still fresh. Everyone is lost and full of angst and anxiety. But I also want it to be kinda amusing, and btw I swear a lot.

Here goes.

The few weeks that had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts had been both the longest, and shortest weeks of Hermione Granger's life. So much had happened, and was still happening, for every single witch and wizard – healing injuries, rebuilding and repairing, saying goodbye to loved ones, picking up the remnants of the lives. Now, everything would be changed for the better. Life could now move forward, and wizards could let go of the old tensions and anxieties around blood "purity," and the Dark Lord, hopefully forever. Everybody would be "safe". And yet, the event would continue to cast shadows upon traumatised wizards for decades to come. The grief would always be with those who had lost someone – and basically everyone had. And there would always be fear of a repeat event lurking in the back of the minds of those who had witnessed the atrocities. "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." These words made Hermione feel physically ill. She had a responsibility to talk about her experiences to help the next generation to do better, but she wanted to erase it from her mind forever.

St Mungos was still overcrowded, and not only due to physical injuries; mental breakdowns, anxiety, depression, suicide attempts, and psychosis were running rampant in the frightened population, and Hermione suspected that it would take a long time for life to settle back into the mundane. The Wizarding World was crashing, as people were too afraid to leave their houses, or to go back home; people could not bring themselves to leave the remnants of their families behind to go to work; an entire generation of young witches and wizards had had their education interrupted, and many were too afraid to go back to the place where they had seen the worst. Many had lost everything. Refugee camps had been set up, but these were understaffed, overcrowded, miserable places. It was going to take a long time for their world to recover.

Hermione was lucky, in some ways. Her parents were living it up in the safety of the muggle world of sun, surf, and sand in Australia, oblivious to the fact that their only daughter had been scarred forever; oblivious to the fact that they had a daughter at all. Hermione was not only dealing with her own present needs and problems, but stress and worry over how her parents were getting on, and wrestling with the decision of whether or not to retrieve them. England may not be safe for a long time yet. Hermione could be seen as lucky, as her family still survived, but she was feeling very sorry for herself. This caused her pain, too; how could she be suffering so immensely over this, when many of her closest friends had lost so much more? And in a kind of sick way, the end of the war made her feel empty, like it was the end of an era. Her entire wizarding life had been spent worrying over Voldemort, finding ways to mess with Voldemort, trying to make the world a better place despite Voldemort. Now it was over, what would she do with her life? Her education had not even been completed, and she was in some kind of limbo, as though she had lost some part of who she was. This confusion also racked her with guilt. It was fantastic that Voldemort had been defeated, no shit. But now what was her purpose? She had had to go to a healer to be prescribed a potion to help her get a grip on herself. Would she ever be the same again?

"You've changed, Hermione."
God, was she sick of hearing that. Yes, she had changed. Everyone had fucking changed. Of course they had. Why was Ron constantly picking on her?
She supposed she kind of got it. She was acting weird, because she was feeling weird, and her partner was worried and just trying to help. But she needed time. Duh. You can't just go back to normal after something like that. He was really driving her nuts.

"You should talk to someone."
Shouldn't everyone? Besides, Hermione did not feel like talking. Everyone knew what had happened. Everyone had been through the same thing. Everyone was suffering. Why should she be more special? She would rather be left alone, to try and process all that she had seen. She wanted peace, not more people bugging her about the things she would prefer to forget.

"I love you."
She couldn't even bring herself to say it back anymore.