Hermione Granger woke up with a start, shivering in cold sweat. Welcome to her life. Groaning, she lifted her head a few inches off her wet pillow and turned to look at her alarm clock, all the while avoiding looking into her bedside mirror.. Ten after nine. She sighed, sinking back into the pillows. It had been nearly a year, and yet, the dreams still continued to plague her, as vividly as ever, sometimes obscure details derailing her--obscure details that were best forgotten. Not that it was possible, and not that she hadn't tried.

The seconds hand of the alarm clock ticked insistantly, urging her to get up. Finally, when the bothersome noise was too much to bear, Hermione reluctantly swung her legs over the side of her four-poster bed and headed into the wash room.

She propped herself up with her hands on the ridge of the ceramic sink, cold sinking through her palms despite the warm June weather. Slowly, she raised her head to look at her reflection in the mirror. Her bloodshot eyes were burning from the glaring brightness of the washroom--her bedroom curtains were now routinely closed most of the time. Bags hung underneath her eyes, visual reminders of recent sleepless nights. She turned away from her reflection, the mere image too difficult to look at. Her frizzy hair was stringy and damp from sweat.

Disgusted, Hermione shuffled back into her bedroom. This was no way to live. A tapping noise drew her to the window, and she opened in, letting in a small burrowing owl.

"Hi, Zaphoo," she said without much ethusiasm. "Did you catch any rodents?" Hardly anyone from her old life sent her mail anymore--not that they even knew where she was. Afterall, America was quite a ways away from London.

Zaphoo hooted, and Hermione finally noticed the letter tied to his leg. Her mouth dropped in surprise, as she untied the rolled up piece of weathered looking parchment. She unrolled it, and sank down onto her bed to read it.

Hermione,

I hope you're okay all by yourself. It's been nearly a year; don't you think that's long enough? Don't you think that it's time to come home? You can't keep hiding forever, avoiding living. Scarhead and Weasel (kidding) are getting rather annoying wondering where you've gotten to, and why you won't keep in touch. They miss you, Hermione, and so do I. Remember, life goes on. Keep on living.

Love, Draco.

Hermione sniffed, angry at herself for her patheticness, yet still unwilling to completely give up moping. The world was a scary place, and she just wasn't quite sure that she was really ready to rejoin it yet. And yet... this one short note from Draco and sparked a change in her.

How did he even know where to find her anyway, Hermione wondered breifly, then decided that it didn't matter. She hadn't seen him in nearly a year, and despite her reluctance to admit it, she did miss him.

But... so many deaths... and to think that she had a played a part... after what she'd done in the war...

Slowly, Hermione lifted her head, and found herself looking at her reflection in the dresser mirror. A single tear slid smoothly down her cheek. Suddenly, the look in her eye changed, and was once again filled with determination and purpose. She choked out a mirthless laugh--even after so long, even a few words from him were enough; enough to have a shattering impact on her life. She strode over to the window and tore the curtains open, letting the sunlight spill in. Today was a new day. Draco was right; Life does go on.

There were just a few things that she need to do, though, before she could completely move on. She needed to stop hiding, and confront her memories.