So obviously I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters. I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think. Thanks!

Failing. Just a constant feeling of failure was all but drowning Hermione. And who would have thought that just an emotion could stopper up your lungs, and take such a tight hold of your chest that it was almost impossible to breathe. Failing wasn't something the brightest witch of their age was accustomed to, excelling in all of her schooling (whether it be muggle or magical), and being one of the key players in taking down Voldemort himself. She sighed into her hands, as they covered her face. Perhaps what Dr. Pence suggested might help, and if Hermione wanted to stop the continual failing that she felt had become her norm, then maybe it was time to step outside of the proverbial box.

Before she flooed to her office in the ministry's Wizengamot wing, she made a detour to the port key authority office. She slipped through the heavy Spanish monastery doors after casting a Notice-Me-Not charm on herself. If one thing was certain, it was that she didn't want the whole of the wizarding community (including her best mates) to know of her last-ditch-effort-in-getting-back-to-normal escape to the States. As far as anyone was aware, Hermione was a regular functioning 23 year old young professional who had a good, sane head on her shoulders. Little did they know that for the past five years, Hermione unraveled herself into a puddle of tears at least once a week, if not more. The post traumatic stress that came with what she, Harry and Ron had been through had put all three through the ringer. And what was worse, was that the boys had no idea about the slew of memories Draco had taken from himself in his last few moments of life and gifted to Hermione. They had all learned that Draco, from the beginning, had been destined himself to play a role in the war for the light side- and that he did so and played it to the tee from the beginning, from the absolute first moment they had initially met at Hogwarts until the last final few breaths he took before death. She had kept those memories to herself, sparing Draco any embarrassment as she knew they were a sort of gift, if not a peace offering. All along, through their years of schooling at Hogwarts, the hatred only welled itself on her side of their warring relationship. Draco had never once thought of her as dirty blooded, but played the game to help end the war and, through memories that told a heart breaking story, to keep her safe and alive. And he had done his part to the best of his ability- the war had ended, and Hermione had come out the other side unscathed...but she could never forgive herself for all of the terrible things that she had said, did and thought of when it came to Draco Lucius Malfoy. It was that problem right there that was going to pack her up and ship her over to one of the 50 states in America to sort her shite and maybe, just possibly, come back as Hermione. The real Hermione, and not the shell she had become.

"Dean? What are you doing here in Port Key Authority?" Questioned a rather shocked Hermione. It was usually Old Clara Bell Mayhew who staffed the window for international travel. Hermione knew that she could've counted on the older woman's tight lips and warm, knowing smile. Dean, on the other hand, was a loud mouth at the best of times, working as an announcer over at the Harpy Quidditch arena. You couldn't stand ten miles away and not hear his booming expressive voice reverberating from the pitch.

"Hermione? Well, I'll be damned. How long's it been, eh? Clara's me mum's aunt. I'm filling in for her today. Came down with a cold, the poor girl." He moved around the partition to take her into his arms. "You been hiding from me again, girly?" The warmth from his tone emanated into his smile.

It was true. It had been a while since she had gone out to the pub with her school mates. She blamed it on the restructuring occurring within the ministry, but deep down she knew it was because of the constant flashbacks she'd continued to have since the battle at Hogwarts. Even now she could easily recollect the blood inching down Dean's temples as he held a mortally wounded Hannah Abbott in his arms. She could hear the gutteral groan that escaped his lips as he tried so hard not to cry, pumping Hannah's chest up and down trying to restart her heart.

Hermione shook herself back to the present. "Oh, no, I'm sorry to hear about Clara. How've you been? How's your Mum?"

"Oh, she's doing well enough, alright. It's you who I'm more curious about. How've you been getting on with all of this..." he gestured with his hands, pointing outside the doors.

"Oh, well...lots to do, I'm afraid. Never enough hours in the day. We've just started bridging the gap between wizards and werewolves, so I'm very hopeful that those who've been infected with licanthropy will be welcomed back into the wizarding comm..."

"Not what I meant, beautiful." He angled his head to the side before crossing his muscular arms in front of himself. "How're you dealing with, you know...I mean, we rarely see you around anymore. And when we do, it's always here at the ministry. What's going on inside that brilliant head of yours?" He asked, ruffling her hair like a big brother would do to a little sister.

"Oh, Dean, I'm sorry. It's just, you know me, nose always stuck in a book, and all," Hermione lied through her teeth. "We'll all definitely have to grab a pint at some point. Maybe when I come back, yeah?"

If this had been a mobile phone call, she would've palmed her face. She hadn't meant to actually spill the beans about her trip.

"And where are you off to?" Dean narrowed his eyes at her.

"Intercontinental Licanthropy Awareness Conference. All very interesting. I'm hoping it'll cover reintegration into wizarding societies for those effected by the bite. I'm so hopeful to-"

"Good Gods, woman. Do you ever sleep? Well, if you're sure you're all right..."

"And I am," she answered, giving the dusky wizard a cheeky grin.

"Well, then, I suppose we should get you all settled to travel. Whereabouts is the conference then," Dean innocently questioned as he pulled out a stack of papers for Hermione to sign and date.

"Maine. In the States."

And not five minutes later, Hermione was sliding through the heavy wooden doors again with her international port key tucked safely away in her briefcase. Although Dean had been a slight hiccup, it was going to be even trickier convincing her friends, as well as her colleagues of the time off she was going to need to use. Especially since she was now tied to this Licanthropy lie.

Hermione rifled through her briefcase to pull out a file of notes she had been taking after studying some of the case files from the influx of vampire refugees. It wasn't part of what her division was covering, but she handed them to her assistant to bring over to one of the other division heads. People sought Hermione out on the regular to discuss the aspects of different cases, seeking her thoughts and educative guesses. Leaving for a non-disclosed amount of time was definitely going to cause quite the backlog of work, which made Hermione squirm.

Before she lost her resolve, she silently marched towards her Department head's door, knocking thrice before entering.

"You need something, Ms. Granger?" drawled the pointy nosed man. He resembled what she thought was a forty-something bloke from the flapper period. Greased over hair, thin mustache, impeccable three piece suit with shiny dress shoes to match. Funnily enough, his temperament and personality were anything but free-spirited and vivacious.

"Yes, sir. I was hoping to request some time off. I believe I have enough annual leave to cover the amount of time I'd like." she disclosed softly.

"Don't you think this is an inconvenient time to take a holiday? We've only just begun sorting this Licanthropy debacle out, and Merlin knows we're going to get roped in to the vampire refugee crisis," he spouted, working himself up into a tail spin.

"Yes, sir. Which is why I thought I could possibly take the time I'm away and attend the Licanthropy Conference in the States." Discretion and ambiguity was key. No details, no information given than was absolutely needed. Hermione had hoped that Justice Walter would work himself into such a lather that he wouldn't require the details if at least a solution was given to him.

Walter waved his hands as if shooing her out the door, "Fine, fine, fine. Just make sure you use this time wisely, as I'm sure you understand what's at stake here in this department," he muttered, dramatically massaging both temples as she turned on her heel and exited his office.

Feeling a slight bit of accomplishment, she started for her own office. Now all she had to do was create an out for herself where the boys were concerned. They would probably believe the Conference bit she had going on, but they would never accept vague details. They'd surely want the who, what, where, when, and why. She thought back to her younger, pre-magical, self cursing the Gods for not giving her siblings to play with and protect her. Well, by God she had them now, and sometimes she just wanted them to stay out of her hair long enough for her to catch her breath.

Hermione picked up another file she had left on her desk the night before. This was a Magical Law Enforcement case regarding some of the unrest between some magical folk and a few werewolves looking to purchase wolfsbane potion. She figured now was as good a time as any to approach her departure with her two counterparts. Tucking the file underneath her arm, she grabbed the strong coffee that her assistant had left on her desk, despite Hermione's protests that she wasn't responsible for such demeaning tasks, and headed to the MLE office where both Ron and Harry worked.

After only minutes of polite head nods and superficial conversation with a few of the higher ranking officers, Hermione had made her way through the bull pen to find Harry and Ron hunched over their conjoined desks examining a witness statement.

"Doesn't make a lick of sense, does it?" Ron lamented as he leaned back in his Department issued chair.

"Well, to be fair, it is half in Mermish. Though I'm not entirely sure why a French-Veela would be speaking a hybrid of such..." Harry trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

"Boys," huffed the curly dirty-blonde, "Veelas have been known to live in ponds, oceans, large lakes, and the like. Of course they probably bumped into a mermaid or two throughout their lives. Especially if they co-habitated, which would be largely unheard of but technically not impossible. Which begs the question, WHY they were co-habitating...perhaps a stealthy inter-sentient species smuggling ring," Hermione posited, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Blimey, Hermione. That's as astute as ever! You sure you shouldn't be working down here with us lot?" Harry sheepishly smiled. "Could do with someone who has a lick of sense, compared to the rest of us in our newly refurbished humble abode," he sat forward gesturing to the newly painted dungeon walls, and the half windows which were located just below the ceiling. Nothing said comfy-cozy than thick black bars welded to the frame of the grungy windows, barely allowing any light from the outside to come in.

"One could only wish, Harry...but I think my talents are better suited upstairs...where I can enjoy some natural lighting..." she wasn't far from kidding. The MLE department had to fork over a huge sum from their allotted yearly budget to renovate their office space. After the war, too many aurors, and even fresh-faced recruits, had either been carted to St. Mungos for severe depression, or worse, found hanging from wooden beams up in the attics of the ministry. One of the stipulations to carry on in their work was to do so in an environment that didn't make you go potty in the head.

"Wash dat, Herm-ony," Ron gestured to the folder under arm as he stuffed his face with a pumpkin pasty, celebrating in a good job done...even if it had been Hermione's speculation.

"The file you boys gave me a few days ago- I've included my notes in red ink. I wanted to give it back to you before I left for my Licanthropy Conference in the States." Careful, Hermione, she told herself. Only a little information at a time, don't leave out too little or give too much or they're bound to start sniffing.

"Oy, how come we weren't asked to go?" Ron almost cried. "Our lot are the ones dealing with all of the fallout from these wizarding tossers who can't seem to get along with one another."

Hermione back paddled a bit, "It's only regarding the re-integration and the laws and ethics behind it all. Nothing you two would be interested in."

"Where did you say it would be?" Harry's brow wrinkled. "I don't believe I'd heard of the States offering anything like that as of late."

"Maine- they figured the New England area would be rural enough for an intercontinental conference without the wizarding community being found out. Too right, can't be careful in the denser populations like California or Florida...even though they'd be much nicer places to visit," she tried sounding wistful.

"Maine, hm? Perhaps we could pop on by to visit you while you're there? I believe they call that state "Vacationland". You'd like that, wouldn't you, Ron? To go see Hermione?," ventured Harry.

"Sure, thimg, Herry. 'Em up fmor anythim," Ron garbled as he ate more of his sopping pasty.

Hermione panicked, "I wish I could, Harry, but I'll be fully booked at all the sessions. And you know me, at night I'll be too busy going over my notes to take time off to go out." She was surprised she could say it all with a straight face.

"That's too bad then...but you should know, Hermione, if you need anything, you can just let us know. Floo, owl or even your mobile." Harry didn't look convinced. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, at first light. And don't worry, I'm fine," she lied, touching his shoulder like she had so many times in the past. "It's all going to be so enlightening. I honestly can't wait."

As Hermione packed the essentials that night, she couldn't help but feel that she hadn't thoroughly convinced Harry. It needled her throughout the evening, until she became plagued with absolute dread. She slowly opened her closet doors, moving aside her Ministry work attire, carefully pushing her childhood belongings aside, and reached through to grab a small black velvet box that sat in the very back collecting dust. Her hand trembled as she picked it up, holding her breath as she brought it out into the light. Cautiously, she lifted the cover to expose a handsome family ring. One that she saw on the regular throughout her school days. The same one that had been worn on the finger of someone she had believed to be the most vilest of creatures. Draco's family crested emerald ring rested between the two velvet pillows inside the box. The green bauble glittered, and upon taking a closer look, one could notice that the gem looked as if it were fluid. The inside of it looked as if it perpetually swirled about. In truth, the substance that gave the green stone a liquid-like appearance had been the memories Draco had bequeathed to Hermione before the dark magic which had entered his body overcame him.

She had held his hand, tears spilling down her cheeks and into his hair as she rocked him back and forth. There was only so much she could do without her wand.

"Hermione," he coughed, "you need to go."

"I'm not leaving you," she barely got out, her throat tightening as every second ticked by.

"They're coming," Draco tried to clear his throat, but it did no good as she caught a glimpse of blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. "You've got to get them out of here. You need to get to safety." His words were quieter, as she felt each breath become more labored than the last.

"It's too late," they had both heard the crash in the adjacent room. Footsteps walked with purpose towards the adjoining doors.

Draco took his wand and aimed at his temple, pulling away swirling silvery tendrils. Each string of memory was placed into the bejeweled ring.

"Malfoy," Hermione squeaked as she saw the blood pooling beneath him, drenching her robes, "Oh, God, Malfoy, why did you do it?" She didn't let him answer. "You're going to be okay, I'm not leaving you here, you hear me? Stay with me, keep awake, alright?"

He slipped the ring on to her finger. "It's in there. Everything you'll need to know." He looked into her eyes, his steely gray eyes softening. "You were always worth it, you know." He closed his lids, trying to focus.

"Damnit, Draco, don't you dare go to sleep on me. I swear to Merlin, you will absolutely regret it once I'm done with you!"

His eyes remained closed as the room was beginning to spin, a smile splaying across his lips. "You said my name," he barely croaked out, "sounds nice."

The footsteps continued to close in on them.

"Hermione, this is the last time I'm going to ask you," Draco begged as he pushed her towards the hallway, "you've got to get out of here. All of you. I'll take care of them," he jerked his head towards where the commotion was coming from, "but witch, you need to run!"

A wandless Hermione, rose from her knees, still feeling the ghostly thrum of Draco's pulse on her pointer and middle finger.

"Go!" Draco roared as the double doors blew open, sending wooden shrapnel everywhere.

It was the first, and last, time Hermione had ever done wandless magic, be it from her heightened anxiety or something of the like, but she was able to apparate away to the dungeons to collect the rest of their group. And it nearly shattered her heart as she did so; she had abandoned Draco Malfoy in the darkening teal parlor by himself. And for her cowardice, she was rewarded with the faintest of echo, a gruff voice spelling Draco with the "Avada Kedavra!" curse.

"Hermione," she could hear Draco calling to her.

"Hermione, come back to me."

"Hermione," she could hear the urgency in his voice.

"Oh, Draco, I wish I could," she whispered harshly as tears began to sting her eyes, eventually soaking the box she clutched in her hands.