Crimson. Carmine. Cornell.

That wasn't it.

Madder. Maroon.

Closer.

Exhaustion had set in. The landscape was covered in red. Not the Gryffindor red that she associated with happiness and winning and the boys that she had grown up with. Red that was blood and carnage and destruction. Those same boys, men now, had left her with her thoughts and returned to begin the healing process.

The battle had torn at her, physically and emotionally. Seeing her best friend seemingly dead, what would that do to her delicate psyche, already pushed to the edge. She can't bring herself to imagine a future without him.

No, find something beautiful. She had to push those thoughts aside. Something calming. The deep blue of the night sky. The green of the cool grass beneath her legs. The soft browns of the forest, trees splintered from the impact of spells cast and missing their targets, stumps and shards all that remained.

No. Not that. She can't.

Her part is done, she realizes. These maddening years have been enough. She needs to move forward, away from the chaos. What does that mean, though? Where does that leave her? Where does it take her? And who does it take her away from?

The fiery red hair of the boy she should want, that all signs pointed towards. The brilliant green eyes of the boy she shouldn't want, and yet...

Forward, always forward. It's what's best for everyone, she convinces herself. Get out of her head. Center and clarify. Find home again.

But what if home is here? What if home is rebuilding, following the path that has been lain since she got her letter and boarded that train, the route that led her to this patch of grass outside a magnificent castle, bruised and bloody, removed from her family, and on the verge of breaking.

This grass. Not unlike Wyeth's Christina's World. A favorite from her youth. She found similarities between herself and the faceless Christina. Two young women looking towards a home, uncertain where the future lies.

She recalls seeing the painting at the Tate Modern in her youth, on loan and the center of an exhibition. What she wouldn't give to see and experience art again. Visiting museums with her parents was her favorite activity when she was younger. Art captured her mind and entranced her soul. When she took the rare break from her studies, the paintings that hung throughout the halls of Hogwarts enchanted her and seemed like her own personal gallery. She marveled at the works. The paintings were astonishing even without the magical elements that lie within them. At her loneliest times, she could count some of those figures in the paintings as her only friends.

She can't help but wonder how many were destroyed during the battle.

Her mind clears, mirroring the sky above her. Suddenly, all is clear. She stands, brushing the residual grass and dirt from her pants. She turns, for one last look at the gray walls of her home for the past seven years. She knows what she is leaving but it's for the best. She's convinced.

Forward.

Always.

With one last glance, she turns into the ink black night and, like that, Hermione is gone.