A/N: * indicates dialogue taken directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak knits up the o'er wrought heart and bids it break – William Shakespeare, Macbeth.

xXx

When your day is long / And the night / The night is yours alone / When you're sure you've had enough / Of this life / Well hang on / Don't let yourself go / 'Cause everybody cries / And everybody hurts sometimes – Everybody Hurts, REM

xXx

Hermione sat on a hard, wooden chair outside the door to the mind healer's room. She'd got there unnecessarily early – fifteen minutes before her appointment. She crossed one leg tightly over the other, her left foot jiggling up and down in short, frantic movements, and her right hand absently rubbing at the bandage wrapped around her left forearm. She stared down at the book in front of her, trying for the tenth time to translate the same phrase of ancient runes, but she couldn't focus. The shapes danced in front of her eyes, abstract and foreign.

Several times over the last few days, she'd thought of not attending the session, but then she'd imagined McGonagall's disappointed face if she didn't. She also knew that her hesitancy was born from some kind of cowardice, which Hermione couldn't abide in herself, and hence she'd stubbornly made her way, reluctant but resigned, to the healer's room. Cowardice...which implied there was something to be afraid of by coming here, which was ridiculous, surely –

The sound of muffled but raised voices jolted Hermione out of her reverie. Well, one raised voice, coming from the healer's room – a voice raised in agitation or despair, Hermione couldn't tell. Maybe both. It was interspersed with a lower, steadier one. After several moments the raised voice gradually quietened to a normal murmur, followed by a moment or so of silence, before the door of the room opened. Its creaking sounded startling and abrasive in the quiet corridor, and caused Hermione's heart to pound and her head to snap towards the person stepping out of the door.

"I'll see you at the same time next week, Theo," a warm, pleasant voice said from inside the room.

Theodore Nott, who was now standing in the corridor, in full view of Hermione, nodded in response, before the door closed again.

Hermione knew she shouldn't stare, but Nott's eyes were red and bloodshot, his cheeks puffy. He'd clearly been crying. Hermione was stunned; she had only ever seen Nott cold and composed. She hadn't thought that he'd contain enough emotions to cry in such a way that it would be written all over his face; to lose his composure to such an extent that he'd raise his voice at a school mind healer.

Nott didn't see her at first; he'd stopped to rub his eyes. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and turned to walk down the corridor in the direction Hermione was sitting. Their gazes met and, on seeing her for the first time, Nott's eyes flickered and his lips twitched. Hermione could tell he was processing the fact she'd witnessed a side of him he endeavoured to keep hidden. She felt guilty for some reason – for seeing him so raw; so vulnerable and exposed.

Hermione braced herself for Nott's defence – for a sneer or damning comment that would inevitably come her way. But his expression merely morphed into an unreadable mask before he dipped his chin at her in a short nod of acknowledgement and strode past her down the corridor.

After a few more torturously slow minutes, in which Hermione tried again to focus on the runes in her book, but instead could only see Nott's red and watery face in her mind's eye, the door opened again and a woman peered out.

"Hermione?" she asked gently. "Would you like to come in?"

Hermione followed the woman into the room and they both sat on either side of a low coffee table. Whilst the healer introduced herself and explained something about confidentiality and the 'purpose of the first session', Hermione looked down at the rug at her feet. It was very faded...and possibly looked Persian...maybe handmade...she wondered whether it was the healer's choice of decor or whether it had been decided for her…

"...Hermione?"

Hermione's head snapped up to look at the healer – Alethea, is that what she'd said her name was? – who'd just asked her a question. A question Hermione hadn't heard.

"Pardon?"

"I said, do you have any questions about what I've just explained?"

"Oh – erm - no...no, I don't."

Alethea smiled kindly and nodded. "Okay...well, maybe a good place to start is with what you'd like to get out of our meeting today, or any further sessions we might have together?"

"Oh, I – I don't think I'll need any more sessions. I'm fine, you see."

Alethea's eyes sparkled. She did have rather kind eyes. "You've not been experiencing any emotional difficulties or distress? It's something a lot of people are feeling at the moment, which is understandable considering the kind of things that the wizarding world has gone through in the last year."

"Oh. I'm fine, honestly. I don't feel distressed...I don't feel anything."

Hermione wasn't sure if she'd meant to say that last part.

Alethea's lips turned down – subtly but unmistakably. She scribbled something on the parchment on her lap.

"Is it fine to 'not feel anything'?" Alethea asked gently.

Hermione's right hand automatically twitched with a strong urge to move to her left forearm and rub her shirt, just over her bandage. She balled her right hand into a fist to distract herself, her nails digging painfully into her palm. "No, but….I mean, I've been feeling fine except for when the Freddie Flint thing happened."

Alethea nodded slowly. "The Freddie Flint thing?"

Hermione tried to swallow. Why was her mouth so dry? "Erm...I'm sure Professor McGonagall would have talked to you about it?"

Another smile. "She actually didn't say too much, just that she recommended we meet."

"Okay...well…" Hermione managed to explain what happened with the hexes she'd subjected Freddie Flint to. "So...so I suppose I lost control a bit," she eventually finished.

"And is that normal for you, Hermione? To generally be feeling not much at all and then suddenly lose control a bit?"

Alethea didn't sound judgemental. It was hard to gauge how she sounded – just neutral, Hermione supposed.

Hermione shrugged. She looked down at her hands, twisting and entwining her fingers together. "Erm...well, not really I suppose. I used to be – I mean, I'm normally quite level-headed."

Alethea regarded her thoughtfully. "I wonder if it would help, then, to unpack what happened with Freddie Flint a bit more? Would you like some help to make sense of that?"

Hermione thought again about how she still couldn't understand her own behaviour during the Flint debacle; how she had scared herself by how much she'd lost control of her own actions.

"Yes. Yes, okay," she conceded.

"Okay." Alethea shuffled a bit in her seat, as if getting herself comfortable. "So, you said that you'd just been going for a walk in the grounds before you came across Freddie and the others. How were you feeling at that point?"

"How was I feeling?" Hermione echoed, and hated how stupid she sounded.

"Yes. What sensations were going through your body? What was going through your mind? How were you feeling? Relaxed, excited, happy, scared, worried?"

"Oh well….I was feeling normal at that point...like I...like I normally do at the moment, and I was thinking about my Muggle Studies lesson."

More specifically, she'd been thinking about how Draco Malfoy's molten silver eyes had looked as he'd explained to Mr Battersby what the class had been subjected to the year before. She'd been wondering how much he still believed all the lies that the class had apparently been taught, wondering if he still hated her and her 'kind' with as much vitriol as he had in their earlier years. But all that didn't seem very relevant to explain to Alethea.

"Hm-mm, and then what happened as you heard, or saw, the group of other students?"

"Erm...well, I turned the corner and the first thing I saw was Freddie Flint push someone and then shout out – shout out 'don't touch me you filthy Mudblood' or something – I can't remember what exactly – but he definitely said 'Mudblood' and then – and then," Hermione concentrated hard, because the memory of the event didn't seem entirely cohesive. "That's when I lost control...it was as if my body were acting without my mind – I can't remember what I thought exactly, it was as if I didn't have any thoughts – and before I knew it, I was levitating Freddie and spinning him in the air." Hermione paused, as a wave of burning shame rolled over her. "And I think I shouted some things but can't remember what…."

"Hmm...so it's hard to remember what was going through your mind...can you remember what was happening in your body? What sensations did you feel?"

That seemed much easier. "I – I remember my head feeling hot - as if all the blood had rushed to it and my heart – my heart was pounding – and my muscles were so tense and geared up – as if I was going ready to fight something...although I know now there really wasn't anything to fight...it's not as if I was in danger from anyone..." Hermione finished lamely.

Alethea nodded again. "Okay. So it seemed that hearing the word 'Mudblood' shouted in a vitriolic way, maybe coupled with the fact that you witnessed the person saying it being physically aggressive, might have triggered a particular reaction in your mind and body, Hermione. A reaction that you couldn't control."

"But why? Why couldn't I control it? I can hear and say the word 'Mudblood' now without that kind of reaction." Although it did feel as if she'd eaten something bitter and rotten when she uttered the word.

"Well, that's a good question. Let's think about that for a bit. Let's sit with this word 'Mudblood' for a bit, really focus on it…what do you think of when you hear that word?"

Mudblood.

"Hate," Hermione offered.

"Hm-mm?"

Mudblood.

"Fear."

"Hmm?"

Mudblood.

You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it!... Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!*

Black terror seized Hermione, flooding her veins and freezing her blood...she was descending into the depths of excruciating pain….of wild, dark hair and hard wooden floorboards….a dagger dripping blood and the shattered teardrops of a crystal chandelier –

Someone touched her arm and she yelped. She opened her eyes wide and the warm colours of Alethea's room invaded her vision, along with the woman's face, creased in concern.

"Hermione? Hermione – you're okay – you're in the healer's office at Hogwarts, and it's September 1998," Alethea spoke calmly, her words deliberate and measured.

Hermione's heart felt as if it were trying to crash through her chest. Her breath was coming in heavy gasps.

"Breathe with me, Hermione – slow and deep breaths, and try and make your exhalation a little longer than your inhalation," Alethea said soothingly.

Hermione willed her mind and body to calm, but everything felt speeded up; her thoughts were racing wildly, her mouth was so very dry. What was wrong with her? Why was this happening? She felt she might be sick and balled her clammy hands around the fabric of her skirt, trying desperately to distract herself by focusing on the feeling of the rough cotton stretching in her fists.

"Hermione, there's absolutely nothing to fear here. Your body has just gone into a bit of a panic response. Just keep breathing deeply, maybe place your hands on your stomach and focus on its rise and fall…" Alethea continued in a calm, almost hypnotic voice, placing her own hand on her own stomach, as if in demonstration.

Hermione did her best to do as she suggested, and gradually she felt her heart rate slow and her racing thoughts quieten. She finally felt in control of her body again, although her arms were now trembling slightly, her stomach still curdled nauseatingly, and she felt the beginnings of a headache.

"Hermione, can you explain a bit of what happened there, when we were discussing the word 'Mudblood'? What happened, from your point of view?" Alethea asked when it was clear Hermione had regained some semblance of normality.

Hermione focused on the faded floral border of the rug at her feet.

"I don't know – I couldn't – I can't –" Despite how much she tried to articulate what had just happened, Hermione could not find the words. When her mind's eye returned to polished wooden floorboards and the gleam of crystal, her heart started to ratchet up to a terrifying rate.

Alethea held her hand up slightly, as if placating her. "It's okay, that's okay, don't worry if it's too hard. Maybe I'll explain what happened from my perspective? To me, you see, you went very still for about one to two minutes, and sat with your eyes open, staring at the floor. Although I said your name, it was as if you couldn't hear me."

One to two minutes? Hermione had no idea she'd been….wherever she'd been for that long.

"I've seen this before – it's often what happens when people experience what we call a 'dissociative state'. Have you heard of that, Hermione?"

"Yes – yes, I've read about dissociation, but isn't that what happens when someone's experienced psychological trauma?"

Alethea raised her eyebrows and smiled slightly, as if indicating that what Hermione had asked was telling or ironic in some way. Hermione quickly realised her meaning. She let out a dismissive noise that sounded halfway between a huff and a laugh.

"I – I'm not traumatised. Like I said, I'm fine most of the time," Hermione protested, although she wasn't sure if she was convincing herself or Alethea.

"You also said you 'don't feel anything' most of the time. And emotional numbness can also be a common reaction to trauma, Hermione," she said gently, laying her parchment down on the table and placing her hands in her lap. She looked at Hermione intently. "I don't know everything about your experiences in the last year or so, but I have heard some things from the press, etcetera. And it sounds like you went through some really gruelling experiences."

Hermione remembered the biting cold and piercing hunger of months living in fields and forests. The constant running. Running and the fear of being caught, always watching her back, never going more than a few hours without sleep…she thought of the dizzying, sickening feeling as jets of green light flew past her, inches from her head and Michael Corner dropping dead two feet away from her…the charred body of Remus Lupin…her mother's eyes devoid of any recognition…of snatchers Apparating them to the wrought iron gates of Malfoy Manor –

But she couldn't think of that. Not that in particular.

"I – I suppose so, yes." But it was all experiences she should be able to deal with, surely? Other people had gone through much worse. "Things haven't been as bad for me as they have for others, though. Like – like for Harry."

Alethea's lips turned up into another kind smile. "Well. It's not a competition, and that's quite a false comparison I think."

There was a pause as Hermione thought in detail about all she had thoughts and felt over the last few months and tried to remember what she'd read about psychological trauma. "I – I suppose I did have a bit of a panic attack at the beginning of the summer. Or terror turn," Well, maybe she'd had more than one. "But what happened with Freddie was different."

"Well, panic attacks or terror-turns are not the only consequences of trauma. I'm sure you've heard of the fight, flight or freeze response? After a traumatic event, a person can become what we call 'hyper-vigilant' to threat. The mind or body can perceive a threat, or something harmful, even when objectively there isn't one. If something triggers our threat response, the parts of our brain that interpret what is going on in a 'rational' way are bypassed and the emotional brain is activated on its own, leading to powerful feelings, without much 'thought'. Usually feelings of fear – the flight mode – or anger, the fight mode. And this kicks off many physiological reactions.

"It seems that, when you heard the word 'Mudblood' shouted offensively, whilst at the same time witnessing some aggression from the shouter, your mind – and body – went into fight mode."

Hermione remained quiet whilst she let Alethea's explanation drift around her mind, letting it settle and assimilate with her own memories of what she had said and done that evening with Freddie.

"And like I said," Alethea continued. "The feeling of numbness you described can also be a common reaction to trauma. Trauma memories are not processed like other memories. They're stored primarily in the amygdala, the emotional part of the brain. The numbness is like a survival mechanism, because it's much more manageable to feel – or not feel – the numbness than the unpredictable, powerful emotions the trauma memories can continually conjure up."

The things Alethea had said were sliding and shifting in her mind, as if she were solving a jigsaw puzzle, but one which had some key pieces missing.

"Another consequence of traumatic memories being solely stored in the emotional part of the brain is that the verbal part of the brain – the part that does the thinking – hasn't been able to make sense of the memories. Trauma memories are nonverbal. Often, people cannot put words to them. Rather, they are experienced as fragmented images or feelings that don't fit together into a coherent narrative. We need the verbal part of our mind to form that narrative, you see. And that's something we can do in therapy – form a narrative – when it feels safe enough, and help the trauma memories be stored like normal memories."

Hermione knew the feeling of numbness was not entirely normal for her...but it wasn't as if she was choosing to feel that way. Although, even if she could choose, maybe numbness was a better alternative to the anger and terror she'd felt when she'd flung Freddie Flint into the air.

"So," Hermione tried to swallow, but realised her mouth was parched, "So, how do we form a narrative, so that I can get – get over it all?"

Alethea smiled. "There are certain things we can work through. It won't happen overnight, but if it's something you want to work on, I'm more than happy to help you, Hermione."

When Hermione thought seriously about stepping out of the numbness, for the glass wall to disappear, it was not appealing. She felt safe as she was. Although...she had noticed that the fog in her mind had sometimes made it hard for her to focus on her schoolwork…like how she couldn't translate those ancient runes…and how she'd kept losing herself, zoning out during lessons. But more than anything, how she had lost control with Freddie Flint scared her.

"Okay," she conceded quietly.

Alethea smiled – more widely this time. Hermione wondered if her head was on a kind of timer: smile, neutral expression, nod, repeat.

"Great. Let's book in some more appointments then and maybe start off with some grounding techniques, to help you learn how to calm your body and mind down when you're feeling anxious. But before we do – there was just something else I wanted to ask you."

Alethea shifted in her seat; it was the first time that Hermione saw her looking uncertain.

"Before starting this job at Hogwarts, I spent some time conducting research with a team of other mind healer colleagues. We were studying a new kind of therapeutic intervention. Looking at the research, the factors that consistently reduce psychological distress and increase coping are supportive peer relationships and social connections. In some ways, the best healing can come from others around one – friends, colleagues, family members." Hermione felt a twist in her gut at the mention of family. "And from those that have experienced similar difficulties, but who might have coped with it in different ways."

"Right."

"My colleagues and I have developed a very specific potion and charm." Alethea shuffled awkwardly in her seat again. "When the teardrops of particular people are added to the potion, and the spell is cast, the magic will pair up those that have contributed tears. A person will be paired with someone else who they will most benefit from, psychologically and emotionally. Each of the pair will have something the other needs, you see."

Hermione's curiosity stirred – to have created such a potion and spell seemed incredibly advanced. "Oh? And once you've cast the charm, how do you know who's been matched with who?"

"Before we put a person's tears into the potion, we will charm them to take on a specific colour. The colour is that person's identifier, if you like. Then, once the potion has finished brewing, and the spell work has been completed, the potion will change into a mix of two colours in turn – it usually takes the form of a spiral. Those two colours will indicate two people – a therapeutic pairing."

"Right," Hermione repeated.

Alethea's face broke out into an eager smile. She was clearly excited about this new treatment. "So, I have spoken to Professor McGonagall and she has given me permission to offer this intervention to students. The person who someone is paired with will be referred to as their 'Therapeutic Match'. Those students partaking will be asked for a vial of their tears. The potion is already prepared and I am hoping to do the spell work, and hence have a list of pairings, by this Sunday evening."

"Okay...and what will happen then?"

"Well – we'd encourage the pairs of participants to spend as much time with each other as possible. And to do that we have devised a set of activities – or tasks – that they can do together. We strongly recommend they do these because the research has shown this is how the two will get the most out of their relationship."

"What – what kind of tasks?" Hermione asked, a sense of foreboding rising in her as she thought of the Triwizard Tournament.

"Oh, nothing too difficult – discussing a particular topic together, for example. Or teaching each other a skill. And, to aid the development of the relationship, each person will be given a charmed quill and notebook, called a Binding Book. When they write in this notebook, their Therapeutic Match can see what they've written and write back. It's much more efficient than Owls! But, if someone else were to take the book, they wouldn't be able to see what has been written; the pages will appear blank. Only the relevant pair, Professor McGonagall and I will be able to see what is written in the Binding Books. And we would always ask your consent to read it, and with good reason.

"Also, the Binding Books are charmed to give instructions or clarify things – a bit like a referee, if you like." Alethea laughed, as if particularly pleased with this aspect of the project, before continuing.

"Another important part of this intervention is that, when the pair agrees to participate, they are bound by something akin to a Fidelius Charm. They would not be able to share anything that happens between the pair with anyone else, except myself and Professor McGonagall. This fosters trust between the pair, you see, which is of course crucial if the relationship is going to be helpful for either party."

"Oh. Well, that all sounds...sounds interesting," Hermione remarked doubtfully, anticipating what question was going to come next.

"So – I was wondering if you'd like to participate?"

"Well – I think – I think that might depend on who I was partnered up with?"

"Ah! Yes, well, that makes sense. Well, we don't know that until we've cast the charm, of course. But if you have any concerns about who the potion picks for you, we can always discuss them at the time. You're not obliged to go through with it. Although...if someone were to back out at that stage, that would have implications for others involved, you see. So we do ask for people to think carefully about it and offer their tears only if they're committed, as best as they can be, to going through with it."

"Oh, well…" Hermione felt fairly ambivalent about taking part in the project. The kind of tasks Alethea described seemed relatively harmless, although she didn't really fancy discussing various topics with a random person, with a student she didn't know very well. But it wasn't as if the potion would pair her up with someone she didn't like, surely? That wouldn't be very therapeutic for either of them, would it?... And it would probably look good to McGonagall and Alethea if she participated, as if she were trying, making an effort... "Erm...okay, I'll give it a go..."

"Great!" Alethea rose energetically to her feet and rummaged in a draw of her desk for a few moments before returning to her armchair. "Here – these are for you." She handed Hermione a leather-bound book in deep purple with a symbol of two clasped hands embossed on the front, and a large silver quill. "At some point this Sunday evening, the Book will momentarily glow and heat up. Then, the name of the person you're paired with will be written on the first page!"

"Right. Okay." Hermione took the Book and quill and shoved them into her bag, still feeling a familiar kind of numb ambivalence towards the project.

Because really, what was the worst that could happen?

A/N: Your kudos, comments, thoughts and constructive feedback are cherished and treasured!