A/N: See the end of the chapter for content warnings.

CHAPTER 31: OCCLUMENCY

Having passed his eyes across the same line of runic text four times, Draco sighed and rolled the parchment back up into a tight scroll. It was no use trying to be productive, his mind was otherwise occupied. The first day Granger had been gone, he had thrown himself into their research, meticulously translating an entire scroll – from Sanskrit, no less. But it had not taken long for him to become fixated on her absence. Faced with realisation that he had become accustomed to her companionship, he could not ignore the oppressing sense of loneliness he felt now she was gone.

Now it was Christmas Eve and that loneliness of the days past had compounded. The melancholy had grown, seeping through his mental fortifications, until he could not hold his thoughts at bay. The consuming loneliness was a familiar burden, an ever present feature of his childhood. His mind wandered as his Occlumency walls crumbled, and suppressed memories of a Yule long past rose to the surface.

"Mother-"

"Hush now, my dragon," his mother whispered. "We must remain quiet until we are called for."

Draco looked longingly across the room to the large collection of wrapped gifts beneath the immaculately decorated tree.

"But, Mother, I don't understand," he whined softly. "Why does he always make us wait? Why can't I give you my gift now? He won't even know. It can be our secret."

His mother's practiced mask cracked every so slightly as she crouched down by his side. "My sweet boy, we have to wait. You know your father will be displeased if we disobey his wishes. He will arrive when he sees fit, you know his business matters are of the utmost importance."

"More important than us? It's Christmas-"

"Yule, darling, it's Yule. Do not ever let your father hear you adapting that Muggle terminology."

"But the other children, the ones I saw yesterday at Diagon Alley, they said-"

His mother's arms abruptly wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. "My dragon, you must not compare yourself to the other children in such a way. You are a Malfoy."

The distinct click of a metal cane in tandem with the footfalls of dragonhide soles could be heard approaching. His mother tore away from him, hastily righting her posture. However, she was not swift enough. A fierce sneer twisting his father's features as the wizard glared down at his wife and son.

"What in Salazar's name is going on here, Narcissa?" he demanded. "I've told you time and time again to stop codling the boy."

"He's my son, Lucius. I will comfort him as I wish."

Draco flinched as the back of his father's hand struck his mother's face, knocking her from her feet. He stepped forward with the intent to aid her, but his father's cane snapped upward, pressing against his chest and preventing him from doing so.

"You need to stop treating the boy as if he were an infant," said Lucius, his tone low and dangerous. "He is six years old, woman. It is likely these pathetic inclinations of yours that are preventing his magic from manifesting. I will not have him embarrass me any further. Do you understand?"

He watched his mother nod and then immediately wince at the pain the movement caused. She turned her face away from her husband, the light from the Yule ornaments dancing upon the blemish that had bloomed across her high cheekbone. A single tear fell, slipping across his own cheek and Draco bit down on his lower lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape him.

"Now," Lucius began with evident disdain. "Clean yourself up, witch. Our guests shall be arriving any moment and it wouldn't do to have you looking so... Unseemly."

As his father's footsteps faded into the distance, he rushed forward to his mother's side. His knees stung where they had hit the ground, but he didn't care.

"Hush now, my dragon," his mother cooed, her hand lifting to wipe away the tears that now freely fell from his eyes. "You must control yourself, control your emotions. We can't let him see you this way."

Fuck. He had not thought about those memories in years. He couldn't afford to let them surface now. It was in the past, it needed to stay in the past. Deciding that with his recent solitude, he had become far too lax with his Occlumency, he sat and began rebuilding his walls once more.

A loud, insistent knock pulled him from the depths of his mind. He had no idea how long he had been lost to the methodical process, repressing memories he longed to forget deep within the labyrinth of his psyche. He groaned as he pulled himself up from the floor, his limbs stiff and back aching. The knocking did not relent. He had half a mind to hex whoever had decided to bother him at such an hour. If it was Parkinson again, he might even risk his probation to do so.

"Granger?" he asked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Without awaiting an invitation the witch barged into his room. He could practically feel the untamed magic radiate from her body as she passed. Something was wrong.

"Are you going to tell me what's got you in such a state?" he asked, closing his bedroom door and turning to lean back against the timber.

Granger threw herself down atop his mattress with a frustrated huff. "Ronald."

He exhaled a sharp, humourless laugh. He couldn't say he was surprised. Granger appeared to need no further prompting. Exhaling a long, frustrated sigh, she began to rant about the Weasel in earnest.

As he stood and listened to her tale from his place across the room, he couldn't help but take in her appearance. The flush of her skin, the radiant intensity of her eyes. Her anger was captivating. She was beautiful. Fuck. Now was not the time to contemplate his attraction to the witch. He pushed the errant thought back into the recesses of his mind and sealed it behind his Occlumency.

"Don't do that."

"What?" he asked, caught off guard by her statement.

Granger clambered off his bed and took a step in his direction. "Don't shut me out."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Her arms folded across her chest, the small frown line between her brows deepening as she admitted, "I can tell when you're Occluding, Malfoy. I can see it in your eyes. The colour, it changes. The shift is almost unnoticeable, most people would likely never realise what you've done. But I do. I see it. The way your eyes dull, desaturate to those steel grey shields of indifference."

His mouth suddenly felt dry. Surely she couldn't see so easily through his defenses. His aunt would have mentioned such a major flaw during their training, she would have ensured no such weakness existed.

"I don't-"

"No, Malfoy. Do not try to tell me you're not using Occlumency," said Granger. "Do not lie to me."

Her expression softened then as she took a step closer, closing the short distance between them. One of her arms lifted and she moved as if she thought to reach for him, to touch his face. Though, before her skin could touch his, her eyes widened in realisation and her arm fell to her side.

"I- you've started to let your guard down around me," she said quietly, fidgeting with her sleeve. "So it's something I can see now, something I notice. When you shut your emotions off, that is. When you shut me out."

Oh fuck.

That's what he got for spending all his time with a fucking Gryffindor. He'd lost his edge. At that realisation he felt panic rise up within him, swiftly followed by rage.

"You can't keep walling off your emotions," she pressed.

"Why the fuck not?"

"You know this is affecting your magic, Malfoy," she said, her tone exasperated.

He turned from her and began to pace the small expanse of his room. "I thought we dropped this bullshit?"

"No," Granger replied. "You ran off on me like a prat when I tried to talk to you about your dissociation."

A low rumble of a growl escaped his throat. He didn't want to fucking discuss this. He couldn't discuss this.

"Remember what the book said?" she continued unrelentingly. "A hazel wood wand – your wand – works best for those who can understand and manage their emotions, Malfoy. You need to do this. By suppressing your emotions, you are impacting your ability to use magic. Let me help you."

He brought both hands up, combing them through his fine hair in frustration. If he was honest with himself he knew he couldn't go on like this. His magic was failing him. It seemed as if the only times his magic functioned as it should was when he acted on pure impulse. When his instinctual response outweighed his conditioning for absolute control. He had no idea where to begin. How was he supposed to let go? Let himself feel? The things, the horrors, he had locked away... He didn't know how he would react once he had set them free. He couldn't do this on his own. He didn't want to do this on his own.

"Ok," he conceded at last. "Help me. Please."

A week had passed since he had agreed to Granger's assistance with overcoming his magical block. Since that night, they had discussed the extent of his repressed memories at length, but she had yet to press the issue further.

Now, here they sat in their alcove of the Library, the pair working diligently on the restoration workload they had neglected of late. They had decided to take advantage of the majority of the student body's absence – the Hogwarts Express not due to return until the morning – to have a modicum of privacy. There was a palpable tension in the air between them. A decision yet to be voiced. Today would be the day.

From where he sat repairing the spines of damaged tomes, he saw Granger open her mouth only to swiftly close it once more, her brows furrowing. It was obvious that the witch was trying to find the words to best approach the subject. He appreciated what she was trying to do. That she cared enough to try and make this process as comfortable as possible for him. The truth was though, this was going to hurt.

It wasn't going to hurt in the ways he was all too familiar with. It wouldn't throb like the beatings of his youth, nor would it burn like the punishments he had received during the war. It would not ache like his joints, a pain far beyond his years, left in the wake of his once Lord's displeasure. No. This would hurt in an all together unfamiliar way. A pain he had forgotten, suppressed deep within. This would be rage. It would be despair. It would be fear, sadness, and guilt. It would be all the emotions he had not allowed himself to experience fully – not since he was a small boy – bursting forth from within, like a raging torrent.

"I don't know where to begin," he confessed.

Granger sighed, placed the large volume she had been holding down, and turned to face him fully. "I guess we start at the beginning. We need to dismantle your walls."

She made it sound so easy. Like they were a cloak he could simply slip from his shoulders and toss aside. It would not be so simple. His walls, they were a part of him, built upon the foundations of his very being. They had grown with him, ever changing, ever evolving. How was he supposed to unravel the labyrinth he had spent his life creating?

"I've never taken them down before."

Granger's eyes widened in surprise. "Never?"

"Perhaps when I was a child. Before I truly understood what they were, what I was doing. But since Bella-"

Granger flinched and he frowned. The name had not bothered her so much before. He wondered if perhaps the nightmare's were getting worse.

"What did she do?" Granger asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"B- Your Aunt. What did she do?"

"Oh," he said, understanding dawning in him. "She trained me. In Occlumency, amongst other things."

"How," Granger paused, inhaling a deep breath. "How exactly did she train you?"

"Surprisingly, there was quite a bit of theoretical study involved."

At that, Granger looked almost affronted. "There isn't a theoretical framework for Occlumency. If there was, I would have read about it."

"Oh, but there is, Granger," he said, allowing a small smirk to pull at the corner of his lip.

"The Black family has a grimoire, passed down from generation to generation. Theoretical Occlumency is just one of the many lost magics detailed within."

"No, there can't be. I- but, that's not fair," she whined.

"Perhaps I'll show it to you one day, after my probation is complete."

He saw the way her eyes widened, the temptation of new knowledge taking hold. For a fleeting moment, Draco thought perhaps she would let their previous conversation slide. At least for today.

However, he was not to be so fortunate. Granger shook her head, sighed deeply and said, "So, other than this supposed theory. How else were you trained?"

"Again!" Bellatrix screamed. "You pathetic boy, again!"

Draco pulled himself up from the stone floor with a groan, wiping a trickle of blood from his chin with the back of the hand. He sat how she had taught him, legs folded, spine straight and closed his eyes. He built the walls stone by stone – just as she had instructed – fusing the material as he went. Once he was confident in the mental structure's strength, he opened his eyes and nodded once.

"Legilimens!"

His walls held longer than they ever had, but still it was not enough. She sought out a flaw, and attacked it with all her might until the wall he had built crumbled to dust.

"You need further motivation, nephew dear," her twisted voice echoed through his mind.

He felt her moving, her presence like a blade, cutting through the labyrinth of his mind-scape with brutal force. Too late, did he realise that which she sought. A happy memory with his mother – one of so few – that he cherished dearly, was dragged to the forefront of his mind against his will.

"Perhaps this shall provide the encouragement you sorely lack."

"No. Oh, Salazar no. Please… Not that! Anything but that!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears. A moment later, he heard her manic cackle inside his mind as she tore into the precious memory. Distantly, he could hear his own scream. The sharp pain that ripped through his psyche was all consuming. He tried desperately to grasp the threads of tattered thought as they faded from his grasp, forever lost.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was on the floor, yet again. As he stared up at his deranged aunt, he couldn't help but feel as if he had lost something. Something he had treasured dearly. Though, despite his best efforts, he could not recall what it had been.

Draco exhaled a shuddered breath as he met Granger's concerned gaze. "She trained me with pain. Pain and repetition."

They had been at this for what felt like hours. He had lost count of the number of times he had sat down and tried to disassemble his mental fortifications. He would systematically dismantle a mere portion of his mental walls, weakening the structure until the rest would crumble under the onslaught of varied emotions that were released. Once his defenses had fallen, he would attempt to cast a simple charm as Granger directed. Each time he tried, and each time he failed.

Once again, he felt the rage, the despair, that festered deep within him as it rose to the surface, yet still the magic did not yield to his will. With each wave of unleashed emotion, came haunted recollections of his past, his father's spectral voice taunting him.

"Pathetic," the voice drawled. "Nothing but a disappointment."

"Shut up," he muttered under his breath.

He combed his fingers through his hair, his movements growing more agitated by the moment. His grip in his hair tightened, the sharp prickle of pain radiating across his scalp. Despite his best efforts to distract his mind, the auditory hallucinations did not relent.

"Shut up!"

Unable to suppress his restless energy any longer, Draco began to pace the back and forth across their small alcove. His doubts and fears only grew stronger, compounded, as the plethora of insults swirled in his mind. These emotions, he needed to rein them in. They were too intense. This wasn't right. Couldn't be right. Why was he doing this to himself? Surely he would never control his magic if he continued to let these feelings run rampant.

"Malfoy..."

Her voice cut through his thoughts with the precision of a well honed knife, his head snapping to where she stood perched against the bookshelf. For a fleeting moment, fear had flashed across her features. Instantly he felt regret flood his veins. He knew all too well the look that must have been upon his face, one or pure, contorted rage. He took a few small steps towards her, closing the short distance that had separated them.

"You can't continue to suppress your emotions like this, Malfoy. We've talked about this, you know it's hindering your magic." Granger said softly, cautiously.

Her tender voice soothed him and infuriated him all at once. "I can't do this."

"You can. I know you can, Malfoy."

He ran his hands through his hair again, grasping two fists full of his silken blond strands in a desperate attempt to have the pain ground him to the present moment. Ground him to reality. Shutting his eyes tight, he sucked in rapid breaths through clenched teeth.

A distorted ghost of his father's voice rattled around his skull, "You are pathetic, boy! You are nothing but a filthy stain upon our lineage!"

"Malfoy!"

"What?" he roared, before slowly forcing his heavy eyelids open.

She was close. So much closer than he had expected her to be. Once more he was confronted by the traces of fear present on her delicate features. Belatedly, he realised that his hands were no longer balled in his hair, tearing at his scalp. Instead, he gripped the bookshelf to either side of the witch's head. Although he had no recollection of doing so, it was obvious that – in the midst of his fury – he must have slammed his palms down upon the solid timber shelf.

He felt his anger melt away as he looked into Granger's eyes, the fierce emotion slowly giving way to a sense of regret. He had never meant to frighten her.

"I- Fuck. I'm so sorry, Granger. I don't know what overcame me. I swear, I would never hurt you – could never hurt you," he confessed softly, his eyes downcast, unable to meet her gaze.

"I know that," she responded, no trace of fear in her steady voice.

Her words called to him, encouraged him to look up. His gaze fell upon her full lips, noting the way the corners of her mouth were ever so slightly turned upward. This witch and her capacity for kindness, constantly left him astounded. Suddenly his mouth felt parched. He couldn't pull his eyes – or his thoughts, no less – away from her soft, plump lips. He longed to touch them, to feel them upon his own.

No. Those thoughts were dangerous, he needed to stop.

The warmth of her fingertips came to rest delicately beneath his chin. Her touch caused his breath to hitch, his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage as she tenderly tilted his head up until his eyes met hers. He was close, so close. He couldn't bring himself to move, to look away.

Her eyes, he realised, were not merely the deep, warm brown hue he had become accustomed to. In fact, they were adorned with the tiniest flecks of gold. His eyes flicked between hers and he felt himself lean forward, his weight braced against the bookcase.

The slight shift brought his face down, almost level with hers. All it would take would be the smallest of movements, the slightest lift of his chin, and his nose would brush the tip of hers. He knew he should pull away, reclaim some modicum of distance between them. Yet his body remained frozen, as his pulse continued to pound like a drum in his ears.

"Draco..."

A single word. Two breathy syllables falling from her perfect lips, and his resolve snapped.

His right hand left the bookshelf as if of its own accord. Slowly, he caressed a path down the warm flesh of her flushed cheek, before his thumb moved to trace the edge of her jawline.

"Oh, fuck it!"

His hand slipped lower still, his fingertips ghosting across the column of her neck. As his fingers twisted through the loose curls at the nape of her neck, he pulled her forward, his lips crashing down upon hers.

A/N: Content warning - Domestic violence, child abuse, mentions of torture.