"No it’s not," she sobbed. "Nothing’s okay." The war, the scars that traced Hermione’s skin, Harry’s tired eyes, Ron’s hard ruthlessness – Draco’s hand. None of that was okay. It was all horrible and wrong and Hermione just wanted it to be over. But it never would be, because every single fucking day of the rest of her life, she would wake up and see mudblood carved into her flesh.