Chapter 4:

"There's really no reason for me to even go home at the end of every day. I have nothing to go home to," Luna told the room collectively, a melancholy taking over her normally airy demeanor.

Hermione felt for Luna, knowing that her father was staying in a bed at St. Mungo's, right alongside Neville's. Guilt gnawed at her stomach with the knowledge that he had been captured by Death Eaters when she, Ron and Harry had fled his home. Unimaginable acts had been committed against him, turning his mind to gibberish, and it was their fault for ever dragging him into their task to begin with. Yet, Luna held no ill will toward her, showing a kindness that Hermione did nothing to deserve.

"McGonagall said we could stay, should we choose to," Seamus reminded her. "I don't see much point to the back and forth either."

"We could still visit your dad every day, if you'd like," Neville told her quietly, taking her hand as she gave him a sad smile.

Malfoy and Theo looked at one another and shrugged. "You can't stand your mother's emotional suffocation and there's no fucking way we're ever setting foot into Nott Manor with all of the bad memories that surface around every corner," Theo mentioned in a voice so low, Hermione thought she may have misheard.

While everyone else seemed to agree that moving into the castle early was the best course of action, Hermione was hesitant. There were only six short weeks left to spend with Ron before he would be isolated for a year. When a few others looked at her expectantly, she sighed. "Ron and Harry are getting ready to start Auror training and I won't be able to see or speak to them for an entire year," she told them, wringing her hands as she thought over her options. "But unifying is important if we are to be role models for the younger students."

Malfoy's head shot up at that and he scowled at the news, and Hermione smiled smugly at his discomfort. He had a lot of gall to look so unhappy considering Harry's testimony was the only reason he wasn't rotting in Azkaban next to his father.

"A compromise, then," Blaise suggested, flipping through an Italian magazine lazily. "You stay here Sunday night through Thursday night and go spend time with the Weasels on the weekend."

Hermione glared at his nickname, which only made the sly grin on his face widen significantly. "That's…not a bad idea actually. Ron won't be too happy, though," she muttered.

"Ron loves you," Luna pointed out and Hermione felt the vice clench around her heart at those words.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and stood from his place at the desk. "If we are quite through discussing living arrangements, I believe we have a library that won't restore itself," he said moodily, turning on his heel and not waiting for Hermione to follow.

She rolled her eyes at his retreating back and groaned—he was such a prick. Neville tapped her shoulder comfortingly. "Good luck. You're going to need it," he whispered, for which Theo and Blaise both shot a glare in his direction, causing Neville to bristle under their gazes.

Hermione followed Malfoy at a safe distance down to the library, watching the light catch his swath of blond locks through the broken windows that lined the corridors. He stopped abruptly in the entryway to the library, raising his wand to light a few sconces along the walls. The devastation was extensive in this particular room and even Malfoy seemed to feel a twinge of sadness at the state of the books surrounding them. "We need to repair the shelves first. Then we need to pick through and salvage the books that aren't too badly damaged—the students need some kind of reference texts. Once that is complete, we can begin the arduous task of piecing together the completely obliterated ones," he said, looking around grimly.

Hermione nodded, unable to argue with that logic. She'd been here a few days prior but hadn't been able to bring herself to touch a thing in the hallowed room.

She was dressed in a pair of Muggle jeans and a thin long-sleeved shirt, prepared to get dirty, but she let out a snort of a laugh when Malfoy removed his robes to reveal a similar get-up. He looked at her, his brows furrowed. "Is something amusing?"

"I just never thought I would see Draco Malfoy in Muggle clothing," she said, turning to the nearest aisle and eyeing the ancient potions texts.

"Granger, I bought these clothes in Diagon Alley. And it wouldn't be very practical to wear a suit or robes while cleaning up this dusty old place," he rolled his eyes as he raised his wand and pointed it at the closest chandelier, muttering a few incantations to repair the cracks and broken glass.

Hermione knelt down on the floor and started to stack random pages, running her fingers sadly over the broken bindings of the books she had spent so many hours memorizing. She began making piles on the nearest table as Malfoy recited the incantations to repair the shelves. He was careful to say extra charms to bind the wood of the shelves, and she wondered if he expected this to happen again in the future.

They worked for the better part of the day, neither speaking to the other, both lost in their own thoughts. After a full day's work, they stood in the doorway and surveyed the fruit of their labors—Hermione was disheartened to realize they had barely made a dent in the restoration process. She sighed heavily, placing her hands on her hips. Malfoy seemed to share her sentiment. "This is definitely going to take longer than six weeks," he muttered, turning to leave.

They made their way up to the common room, silence falling between them once more. Hermione was thinking of Malfoy's bond with Theo, how neither wanted to face their prior lives and return home. Though she wished desperately to ask him about it, to understand what those from the opposition were feeling, she decided against it. She and Malfoy had never actually had a decent conversation that didn't end with him hexing her teeth to grow uncontrollably or her punching him in the face. She smirked at the thought of Malfoy's face after she'd hit him and he looked over at her, his face wrinkling in obvious irritation. "Care to share, Granger?"

"Not really, you foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach," she replied, altogether too chipper.

His face fell as he recalled the incident and he worked his jaw as they reached the common room. Inside, the others were making plans to retrieve all of their items from their homes for the new school year. Malfoy groaned next to Hermione once the conversation registered with him and Theo walked up to him and clapped him on the back. "We need to do it, mate. We should probably get Eugene away from your mother before she overfeeds him."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Eugene? Malfoy didn't seem like the kind of person who would own an animal—more like the kind of person who would mindlessly kill them instead.

Following Luna and Neville, she stepped through the Floo to head to the Burrow and felt her heart beating rapidly at the prospect of having to break the news to Ron and Harry that she would only be spending time with them on weekends. Stepping into the warmth of the Burrow, the smell of Mrs. Weasley's cooking made her stomach rumble immediately as she headed out to the garden. Ron and Harry were outside with Ginny, racing around on the broomsticks—new Firebolt 5000s—that had been sent to them as 'thank yous' for their part in the War. Once she stepped into the hot July air, Ron immediately touched down right in front of her and brought his lips to her temple. "How was Hogwarts today? Did you cry incessantly at the sight of all of the broken books?"

She glared at his insensitivity, and he winked and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm just kidding, 'Mione. How was your day, really?"

Hermione drew her lip between her teeth and his face shifted into a frown. "What is it?"

"Everyone is moving into the new dorms to better build unity between us and to have more time to work on the restoration of the castle. It's in complete shambles right now," her voice rushed out in one breath.

Unsurprisingly, Ron grew visibly agitated at the news, retracting his arm from her and crossing them in front of him. "I thought we were going to spend all of our time together? We haven't been apart more than a couple of months since we met!" he reminded her, though his ears grew scarlet at the reminder of his abandonment during the Horcrux hunt.

"This really is for the better. There is so much work to be done and it seems to double every day," Hermione tried to reason.

"Maybe I shouldn't go," Ron commented, his frown deepening.

Hermione smacked his arm, gritting her teeth. "Should I get Ginny to hex your bollocks off? That's ludicrous, Ronald!"

"How are we going to make it through an entire year, 'Mione? Even when…when I left the search for the Horcruxes. I couldn't stay away from you, I missed you too much."

Hermione felt her heart swell in equal parts appreciation for him and sadness at the thought of his leaving. "You need to go to training, you can't pass this opportunity up. Once you get back we'll have our entire lives ahead of us together."

Still not completely agreeable to the idea, this sentiment seemed to pacify him some. He grinned and placed a shy kiss on her lips. He was still awkward when it came to physical affection, and Hermione would have found it endearing if it weren't for the way her stomach twisted at every touch. He put an arm around her and led her into the house. "Well, we should probably get to packing your things then," he said in a tone that suggested he had no desire to pack anything and had other activities on his mind.

The love will come with time, she reminded herself as she laced her fingers with his.

o-o-o

Hermione stepped through the Floo with her trunk and Crookshanks' crate in tow. Neville stepped away from Luna and swatted her hand away from the heavy trunk. "I'll take this to your room for you," he offered, and Hermione smiled at the simple gesture.

He followed her down the hall leading into the Head commons and into her designated room. "I don't know how you're going to share this area with Malfoy," Neville commented, shivering at the thought. He set her trunk along the wall and frowned lightly. "I never thought he'd come back here."

Hermione shrugged and released a grumpy Crookshanks from his cage. As long as Malfoy kept to himself and didn't speak to her, she was sure she could make it through one year of sharing what amounted to nothing more than a room in which to study and a bathroom. "I'm hoping to ignore him and that he'll extend me the same courtesy."

"He's never been the courteous type," Neville pointed out.

"True," Hermione conceded, unlocking her trunk to begin making her room feel more like home.

She was thankful when Neville stepped out to return to Luna. As she was closing her door, she heard Malfoy open his and call to Neville before he could sneak out of the Head area. "Oi, Longbottom. I need a steady supply of glowworms. Do you think you can manage to get them for me from the greenhouses?"

Hermione heard Neville mutter an "I think so" before retreating, and she wondered why Malfoy needed glowworms. Must be for Eugene, whoever that was. With a sigh, she surveyed the entirety of her room. Everything was so dark—the wood, the furniture, the deep purple of the bedding. She raised her wand and pointed it directly at the bed. Fighting the urge to turn it Gryffindor red, she instead transfigured the bedding from a deep, royal purple into a dainty patchwork quilt in varying patterns and shades of lilac and violet.

She levitated her extensive collection of books—both Muggle and magical—onto the bookshelves that lined the walls. There was a paperclip on the desk and she transfigured it into a bed for Crookshanks. He meowed his gratitude as he settled into it and she scratched behind his ears. While neatly stowing her clothing in the wardrobe, she absently thought about how she still needed to head to Madam Malkin's to retrieve her new robes.

Hermione wondered if she should ask Luna to accompany her. Of everyone's changed personas, Luna's worried her the most. She understood the change completely, but to see someone who once hunted Nargles and made jewelry from butterbeer corks turn disillusioned and practical was heart-wrenching. Hermione knew her father's mental health was weighing on her eccentric friend heavily. Reaction number seven: depression and grief.

o-o-o

It was raining heavily and so the eighth years and Luna were crowded around a round table in the Great Hall. With a loud echo, the door opened and McGonagall strode in with someone following closely behind. "Students, if I could have your attention," she asked quietly, and Draco noted that her voice held a softness he didn't recognize. "We have one more returning seventh year who has decided to join us for the summer."

She stepped aside and motioned for the other individual to step forward. At first, Draco hardly recognized the girl, but once her identity became evident, his brows raised toward his hairline. It was the Brown girl—Rose or Lily or something. He recalled that she had once been attractive—in an artificial, bottled sort of way. Now, she had a ghastly scar running down the length of her face from her hairline to her collarbone, a few vertical alongside. Her arms were covered with long sleeves, but he was certain, if the way she tugged at them self-consciously was any indicator, that they were covered with scars as well.

Granger gasped from across the table and her hand rose to cover her mouth. It registered, somewhere at the back of Draco's mind, that this witch had once ensnared Weasley. He could picture the spectacle they had created once upon a time, snogging at the back of the classroom while the teachers were out. At the time, Draco had been so consumed with trying to stay alive and devising an assassination plot that he had not had time to register Granger's reactions to Weasley's grotesque displays of affection. A look in her direction now and he could sense tension as Brown sat next to her.

His eyes darted from the young witch to a corner of the room where the spirit of the fucking hell hound of the Dark Lord's was smiling salaciously in her direction, pawing at the front of his trousers. Bellatrix cackled, her laugh filling the air around the students, though no one else knew. Draco carefully averted his attention before he drew the ghosts' attention his way. How the fuck will I make it an entire year with them close by? His heart, already bursting at the seams with despair and self-loathing, sunk a few stones deeper as the sound of their voices carried him back to the Manor. To her. Twisting and contorting beneath his crazed aunt. No!

Fighting the Darkness, he took a deep breath, his eyes clenched tight as he tried to calm his thoughts. Not here. Please. Not now. It was several moments before he could clear his head of the cacophony of horrid screams, cackles, and leering stares. When Draco reopened his eyes, everyone was looking around vacantly, no one seeming to know what to say. Healer Little swept into the room, wiping rainwater from her forehead. "Ah, Miss Brown. I was hoping to see you after our talk!"

Brown continued to stare at the table top as she gave a short nod. Blaise, who was far too extroverted and kind for his Slytherin status, leaned into her. "I came across a rather curious item at the Inner Eye Divination Supply the other day. I'd like for you to take a look and tell me what you think it might be," he mentioned casually, sitting back into his chair and giving her a wink when she looked up at him incredulously.

"You're just in time, Lavender. Today, we are going to discuss triggers and delve deeper into what can potentially cause you to re-experience the trauma," Healer Little announced gently.

Draco knew this was going to be the most difficult session he'd have to sit through. He relived the trauma every time he closed his eyes and he didn't fancy discussing this weakness with the others. He had barely contained the thoughts just a few moments before. The idea flickered through his head to get up and walk out. He glanced at McGonagall, who sat in a far corner of the Hall, observing the Healer's interactions with the students. If he got up and left, he would no longer be allowed to return to school, and his probation would be revoked. This is better than Azkaban, he reminded himself.

"A trigger can be anything, really—an event, object, smell. Anything that can immediately take you back to where you were when the trauma occurred. I would imagine that all of you are currently thinking of a time when you were transported back a few months, just by hearing a certain noise or smelling a certain scent," the elderly witch commented, knowing full well everyone was recounting their own triggers.

"What I'd like to do today is go around and each of us namelist a specific trigger that we have. I understand if you are not comfortable talking about these things in front of others, but I do encourage you to share. You might find that you feel the weight being lifted off of your shoulders as you listen to others share similar experiences. Let's just go right around the circle—list a trigger and describe the scene it brings you into."

Draco ignored the voices of the spirits around them. The others couldn't see them, hear them, or feel their presence. If he mentioned that they long deceased individuals' voices triggered something within him to snap, almost daily since he arrived back at school, they would believe he had gone mental. He bit the inside of his cheek twice, contemplating the next closest thing to trigger he experienced, weighing whether it was more or less embarrassing than looking like a crackpot in front of the others. The Healer gestured to Longbottom. "Mr. Longbottom, why don't you share first?"

He shook his head and the therapist placed a kind hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Neville. No one here is going to judge you or use this information against you later."

Draco didn't miss the quick glance in his direction from Neville. He rolled his eyes—he had so many demons of his own, he had no desire or will to tease Longbottom for his. He leaned back and crossed his arms in an uninterested way, hoping to convince Longbottom that he wasn't going to use this against him later. He seemed to grow nervous but opened his mouth to speak. "The trigger is a sudden sharp pain—if I hit my knee hard enough I could easily go back…"

"Go back where, Neville?" Luna asked softly, placing her hand over where he was wringing his.

"To this room. When the Carrows had us performing the Cruciatus Curse on other students," his voice faltered.

Draco shivered in his seat, despite the Hall's warm temperature. He had been at the Manor, sitting alongside Voldemort for the better part of the school year, and had luckily missed the Carrow's Dark Arts lessons. He couldn't imagine torturing anyone sitting around him at this table. "The Carrows are never coming back here, Longbottom. There is nothing to worry about anymore," Seamus assured him.

The Healer witch nodded. "Ms. Granger, how about you?"

Granger was biting her lower lip and Draco suddenly had the urge to reach out and run his thumb over the swollen flesh. He shook his head lightly and leaned forward to listen. What would make the brains of the Golden Trio recoil in fear of past events? Granger's voice was small when she spoke.

"Thunderstorms. The sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning…"

Thunderstorms? Well, that was certainly absurd. Who could possibly be afraid of mother nature? Draco wrinkled his nose. She continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lucky for me, it's only raining right now…"

"And where does the sound and sights of a summer storm bring you, Ms. Granger?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, his arms still crossed, his expression stony. She sat back in her chair. "To this room…to the Final Battle. It was so chaotic…there were spells flying everywhere and the sounds of the castle crumbling and bodies hitting the floor…"

She stopped, and Seamus put an arm around her. "It's okay, Hermione. We get it. We were all there, you don't need to continue."

It was true, everyone sitting around this table had been present the night of the Final Battle. Everyone here had watched as fellow students, people they'd spent seven years living among, were killed in the blink of an eye. No matter what side, it was difficult to watch children being murdered.

Seamus spoke next in a very matter-of-fact tone that Draco could appreciate. "I can't stand the smell of blood. I haven't been able to stomach the smell of raw meat in months. I think about the bodies that were crushed under the fallen castle walls."

Pansy Parkinson had been one of those bodies, Draco remembered. The only female he had ever had true feelings for had been one of those to perish under the crushing stones that crumbled around them as the castle shook at every blast of a misfired spell. Merlin, what he wouldn't do for one more day with her. Alive. He knew he couldn't live through visiting her now—his heart wouldn't survive it.

The Healer looked at Justin who had reluctantly rejoined their group sessions. "The sight of the Dark Mark," he looked pointedly at Draco's covered forearm. "It brings me to the night Dumbledore died, when we entombed him. I knew then that people were going to start dying, I just didn't know how many. I can still feel the despair that we all felt as we raised our wands in remembrance."

Draco looked at the table before him as he squeezed Theo's knee, warning him not to say anything. He deserved that, he knew. It was, after all, his fault that Dumbledore was dead, his fault that the War had begun the way it did. The Healer cleared her throat. "Mr. Nott, what about you?"

Theo averted his bright blue eyes and cleared his throat. Draco wondered silently what horrifying memory Nott would share. He had an entire lifetime of horrible memories to choose from, each one more horrifying than the last. "Honestly…I don't know if your own reflection can be a trigger, but every time I look at myself, I see my father. I cannot separate myself from him…from the atrocities I witnessed. I remember my childhood…he blamed me for my mother's death, and I see his body lying in the dungeon hallway here in the school and I feel…relief?"

The Healer nodded and Draco clenched his jaw. He knew Theo had never told anyone about the abuse he'd suffered at the hands of his father and he knew he was placing a lot of trust into the other eight students sitting at this table by mentioning it—however briefly. He clapped his friend on the back, proud of him for finally saying something aloud.

Blaise spoke next. "Screaming. It doesn't even matter if it's joyful or fearful screams. I went to a Quidditch game a week ago and when everyone started screaming as a player fell from his broom, I had an episode and had to go to the bathroom and splash water on my face. I just kept hearing the screams of all of the girls when Voldemort started speaking to the school, trying to urge us to hand Potter over to him."

Draco remembered that incident perfectly. He was already on his way to retrieve Crabbe and Goyle and make his way to the Room of Hidden Things when he heard the Dark Lord's rasp come over the castle. He'd wanted to retch then and run as far away from the castle as he could manage.

Lovegood spoke her turn. "I can't stand the sight or smell of dirigible plums. We had them growing outside of our house my entire childhood. But…then the Death Eaters came, and I was kidnapped… and I remember looking at the dirigible plums as the men pulled me past our wards to Apparate us to…" she looked up at Draco and he averted his eyes. She'd been Apparated to his home to be held as a hostage.

When he looked up, Lovegood gave him a small smile and mouthed, "It's okay." He nodded once at her and his heart grew heavy. He didn't deserve Luna's forgiveness—he couldn't even forgive himself.

"That's a crying shame, that is. Dirigible plum pie is one of my favorites," Seamus commented lightheartedly, making Luna laugh lightly.

"Lav…what about you?" Neville questioned, pouring her a glass of pumpkin juice and setting in front of her.

Brown, who hadn't glanced up for more than a few moments at a time, finally raised her eyes and looked at the wall over Draco's shoulder. "I'm not sure what it would be. I have nightmares every night and I have no way of knowing what brings them on. I thought being back here in the castle would be harder than it is, but…"

Lovegood put an arm around the girl and she burst into tears. "What is wrong with me? Why aren't I feeling all of the grief and apprehension?"

Healer Little knelt next to her and took her hand between hers. "Lavender, everyone grieves in different ways. The War links all of you inexplicably, but the experiences you all had are unique. Never feel that the way you grieve is any less significant than the way Hermione or Draco may."

Brown's eyes turned toward him, as though she only just realized he was in attendance and she looked toward his forearm. He promptly tucked it beneath the table and her lids fluttered shut. He had not attacked her, but a surge of guilt wracked his entire body as the bitter taste of regret tainted his mouth. Had he killed Greyback when he had the chance, the Brown girl—and countless others—would not have been maimed or killed.

Healer Little gave her a handkerchief and a pat on the shoulder. "Mr. Malfoy, why don't you speak? Do you have something that triggers your flashbacks more often than not?"

Draco was the only one who hadn't spoken yet and he swallowed hard. What was he going to say to his peers? They were looking at him expectantly. Theo had bared his soul, as everyone else had. He knew he needed to tell the truth, but he knew that no one other than Theo could sympathize with him.

"I've made a lot of bad decisions in my life…" he began.

The Healer cut him off. "You don't need to take the blame for anything, Mr. Malfoy. Reaction number six is guilt and shame. We will discuss that another day. Just state one trigger and what it reminds you of."

Draco swallowed hard once more, choosing the easier of the triggering events. "It's…the smell of vanilla and parchment and rain…I-It brings me back to a specific incident that happened in my childhood home, the feeling of helplessness, the sound of horrifying screams…"

He shook his head and avoided the confused look Granger was giving him as she tried to solve the riddle he just spun. Everyone else, save Finch-Fletchley, was giving him a pitying look. Theo nodded thoughtfully. He knew precisely the incident that Draco was discussing—they had talked about it only once before and Draco had been so full of raw emotion and remorse that Theo would never forget that conversation.

The Healer nodded and began pacing around their circular table once more. "Each of you has gone over one trigger that bothers you, seemingly more so than others. Each of you has gone through different battles from two opposing sides of the same war. But all of you have one thing in common—the need for relief from the negativity that plagues you."

"But how to cope with the triggers?" she asked thoughtfully. "Avoid them? No, no…that's reaction number four. So, what then? How do you think we're going to attempt to combat our triggers?"

Lovegood spoke. "Some kind of meditation?" she offered.

The Healer nodded. "Precisely. There was a reason we started the last session with ten minutes of breathing. Meditation and breathing exercises are the most effective methods of reducing stress."

Draco rolled his eyes. What kind of shit was this Healer trying to feed them? "Problem, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked in a clipped tone.

"You want us to breathe our problems away? I was hoping you would teach us how to hex our own minds into shutting off," he replied incredulously.

"We're not going to just breathe as you do to sustain life, Mr. Malfoy. We're going to implement breathing techniques to help reduce stress when it presents itself in the form of a trigger."

He shook his head but said no more. There was no use arguing—he needed these sessions to stay out of prison. The Healer seemed satisfied with his silence. "Now, the secret is not in taking deep breaths, but in taking long breaths. Let us all join hands and close our eyes," she said.

Draco closed his eyes and took Lovegood's and Nott's hands. They were sitting around holding hands like some damn culty family, sharing their feelings like bloody Hufflepuffs. If his father knew what Draco was getting up to, he would be at the school raising hell. With a tightening in his chest, he remembered that his father was never going to raise hell on his behalf again.

"I want you all to take a normal breath in through your nose. Okay, good. Now, as you exhale through your mouth, release the air slowly, saying a word to yourself to slow your pace. For example, you can say the word 'calm'—caaallllllmmmm."

Draco released the air, using the word 'ridiculous' as he exhaled. The Healer encouraged them to breathe at their own pace, always in through the nose and out through the mouth. "Try to clear your minds. Try to bring a pleasant thought to the surface and snuff out the negativity."

He thought back to the first time he had ridden a broom, with the feel of the air across his chubby six-year-old face, the nervous squeal of his mother, and the barking laugh of his father below him as he soared upward. He could clearly see the land beyond the Manor and, despite himself, these pleasant thoughts were beginning to drown out the horrifying screams that normally rang through his brain.

"Miss Lovegood, why don't you share with everyone what your therapeutic activity is," the Healer instructed.

Draco opened his eyes to find Lovegood smiling. "I'm going to be exploring eastern medicine and meditative yoga with Madam Pomfrey."

"Each one of you has a different activity that was tailor-made to each of you according to your existing strengths. However, I feel that it would be beneficial to explore each activity with your peers. Meditation and yoga are excellent ways to learn how to control breathing and clear your minds. I'm sure Miss Lovegood would be happy to guide each of you. Just as I'm sure Blaise would love to show each of you precisely how to craft the perfect tiramisu and Theo could properly explain the best lighting for painting a landscape."

Draco looked to Theo, who had been tasked with painting the portrait of Severus Snape to hang in the Headmaster's office. He then looked to the others at the table and wondered if Granger or Brown would ever approach him to teach them how to properly handle a broom. He scoffed. Doubtful.

"Now, the other coping mechanism for dealing with triggers is to repeatedly expose yourself to the trigger. We will discuss this next session when we discuss avoidance. I would urge all of you to implement the breathing techniques you learned today even in your own time. Perhaps twice a day, trigger or none, spend ten minutes breathing. You will find that your stress will begin to wane over time," the Healer said, and she waved her hand as a dismissal. "Until next time."

Draco groaned inwardly. He knew exactly what his trigger was—or who rather, but he had no desire to expose himself to her repeatedly. He wanted nothing more than to avoid her at every cost.

McGonagall was waiting in the common room to show Brown to her room and the others sprawled out on the couches and chairs, only Justin going into his room to sulk privately. That suited Draco just fine—he was growing weary of Finch-Fletchley's attitude and hated the guilt and shame he felt at how much he truly deserved the negative treatment Justin was sending his way.

o-o-o

A/N: A shout out to tectonictigress for beta-ing this for me! You rock!

Thank you for the reviews and attention you've all shown this. I'm glad the subtle changes are suitable to you all...for now. *cue the maniacal, evil laughter*

And yes, I am still writing on my other stories, but I am slow moving and writing behind the scenes on them for a little bit. Thank you for understanding. I will shower you all with chapters on everything soon enough.