It had been over five years since the final battle at Hogwarts, but the grief and anguish of unanswered questions had caused Hermione to walk a line. It was a fine line between redemption and utter physical and mental brokenness. She would never admit it aloud, as both Harry and Ron battled their own demons in either drink, or through their romantic relationships, but for Hermione it was different. Although the Golden Trio remained close, it was hard for the lone female member to voice her thoughts without feeling like she was failing. This resounding pit in her stomach refused to relent in its constant aching. The flailing maelstrom inside her kept her on her toes, clinging to whatever flotsam she could get her hands on in pretending for the boys she was getting along just fine. In public, she was guarded and exuded confidence as she helped to rebuild the fallen Ministry. However, in private, Hermione couldn't kick the feeling that what she had seen, especially the night before the war ended, was quite possibly eating her alive, organ by organ, cell by cell. Each night she came home, slipping off her shoes to sit quietly in the light of the dusk feeling as if she was about to collapse in on herself like a dying star. "Survivor's Guilt", her Ministry appointed therapist posited. And guilt it must have been, as it ate away at her conscience night after night. If only Draco sodding Malfoy hadn't sacrificed his life for her, if only she had known he had secretly been working for the Order, if only she could have done more to save him. Save any of the others that periled those last few hellish months. If only, if only, if only.

And it was with the notion of that constant torment that her therapist decided that Hermione needed to take a break.

"You need to experience life the same way others your age normally do, Hermione. You've experienced a lifetime of sorrow in a short amount of years- and I think you owe it to yourself to start chipping away at your sadness. It'll always be with you, of course. That's how the human race ensures that it continues to learn from history, whether or not it's done for good or bad. But it's time you break this mold you've created, and I think that requires time to yourself away from everything that's pulling you in so many directions," he said, putting his clipboard to the side.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how she should go about doing what he was asking of her.

He sighed deeply, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"My girl, you need a vacation. Time to really and truly go through these memories, learn as best you can from them, and then let. go."

"I can't just leave. We're just starting to rebuild. They'll need me," she almost balked.

"Honestly, Hermione, if you keep what you're doing up, they're going to bury you sooner than they'll require your help," the graying doctor noted. "You've done nothing to help yourself these past few months, you've not eaten well, you've barely slept. You look like shite. Glamours will only do so much in helping fool the untrained eye, but I've got you beat. Did a thesis on how to uncover unhealthy behaviors beneath glamours for my doctorate I did," Dr. Pence said pointedly.

Hermione did nothing to deny his more than astute observations, as she leaned back crossing a leg over the other and sliding her arms in front of her.

"Let's say that you're right. Where the hell would I go on holiday without being noticed or accosted. What would I tell Harry and Ron?" she asked, wrinkles inching themselves across her forehead.

"Where have you always wanted to go?" Dr. Pence gestured to the quartered world map that hung just behind his desk.

Hermione remained still and quiet, as her mind raced. It was like watching a grand chess master weigh all of his options, or a scientist examining microbes underneath a glass slide. Dr. Pence sat in silence as Hermione stared at nothing in particular, waiting for her to make the first move. Another ten minutes passed by while Hermione worked out the problem in her head, only every so often hearing the rhythm of her heart beat, or a rustle of Dr. Pence getting comfortable in his chair.

"Perhaps, Maine..." Hermione quietly announced, breaking the silence that had only moments before taken over the room.

"In the US? Hmm, very interesting, and why is that?" The therapist questioned, noting the location on his parchment.

"I...I'm not sure. It just seems to be the only place that I could really picture. I think, I think I need to be by the ocean. Where the rocks turn into craggy cliffs, and just be alone for a while. Not have to...help fix anything that's just as broken...as broken as I am." She murmured, her chin resting on her hand. Dr. Pence jotted down her answer, just as she spoke it, and included how she sat staring, utterly dejected, watching the rain pat against the double paned window.

"Think on it, Hermione. And if you think it'll help to be alone, as I believe it will be, then I suggest you seriously put some thought into picking yourself back up. No amount of nattering from me, or even your friends is going to actually fix the problem. If you're really feeling that much guilt and confusion, then maybe it's time you took yourself out of this Ministry bit and take some time to yourself. Sort your shite out now before it's too late."

Hermione blinked at the doctor, not expecting the hard love he was giving her.

"You're also going to want to bring those memories Draco gave you. Examine them one more time and then be done with it. Set them, and yourself, free from what hold they have on you." Dr. Pence waited a beat as he watched Hermione grimacing while turning her head to rest on one side of his couch.

"And, Hermione..." waiting for the witch to look at him, "please owl me if you need me. I really don't mind calls outside of our regular allotted appointments, as much as you refuse to take advantage of these services both the ministry and I provide," urged Dr. Pence.

Hermione gave him a wain smile before lifting herself up off his couch and walking light-footed to the door.

"I know, I will." There was a pregnant pause as she internally battled with 1. Actually taking time to vacate wizarding London to get her life back together, and 2. Not actually wanting to take the memories that continually haunted her on this extremely inconvenient holiday the doctor was all but forcing her to really consider. "Thank you, Dr. Pence," she sighed, and then apparated with a pop back to her mid-town flat in muggle London.