When you gonna make up your mind / When you gonna love you as much as I do / When you gonna make up your mind / 'Cause things are gonna change so fast / All the white horses are still in bed / I tell you that I'll always want you near / You say that things change my dear.

Winter, Tori Amos.

DM: And just what the hell am I meant to 'teach' the girl who knows everything?

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Only just a month ago, she would have interpreted Malfoy's comment as scathing and denigrating. Now, she took it as a bantering jest, maybe even a backhanded compliment. Either way, for some reason, it didn't feel marred by vitriol and bitterness like so many of his previous comments. What had changed, she wasn't sure...well, she hadn't been having sex with him before, that was one thing…

Even though the snow was deep and the air bitterly cold, they decided to meet outside to discuss the next task, amongst a copse of trees on the edge of the Black Lake.

"So, any ideas on what on earth I can teach the girl who swallowed a fucking encyclopedia about Hogwarts before she even set foot here?" Malfoy asked dryly as he leaned against a willow tree, his hands deep in a winter coat.

Hermione couldn't help smiling again, and vaguely wondered how he knew she was so well-versed in Hogwarts: A History.

"Well – there was one thing I thought you could teach me..." she began uncertainly. Malfoy pushed himself up from the tree trunk, clearly curious. "I was wondering...you're pretty good at Occlumency, right? I – I've always thought that would be a good thing to learn."

He raised his eyebrows, not attempting to hide his surprise. "Occlumency?" he repeated.

She nodded.

He scoffed a laugh. "You know that means I'll have to get inside your head? In order for you to practice? That I'll be able to see your memories?"

"Well. I thought, maybe if we had an agreement that you wouldn't go back further than three months…"

Hermione had thought about what it would be like to have Malfoy burrowing in her mind, of course she had. And she was rather dubious about the whole thing. She particularly didn't like the thought of him coming across memories of the war that even she couldn't remember – of Malfoy Manor specifically – those memories that had split off into fragments and got lost somewhere in her mind. She would hate for Malfoy to see them when she herself didn't know what they were. But everything she'd read purported that, if her conscious memory couldn't remember them, then a Legilimens would not be able to see them either.

But that was also why she'd thought of 'the last three months' rule – she had nothing to hide from him from that time. At least, nothing substantial. Of course, there were private memories that she would rather keep to herself, but her desire to learn Occlumency outweighed the possibility that Malfoy would uncover one of those.

"And I thought that – well, if it gets too much, I'll let you know – and you'll stop," she continued.

He frowned at her like she was a new species of blast-ended skrewt he'd happened across. "You'd trust me? To do that?" His voice was disbelieving.

"Yes," she answered.

Because, as odd a concept as it was, there was a part of her that did trust Malfoy to stop if he delved too deep. There was some trust already there, she supposed, as part of the task's rules. But also, Legilimency wasn't the same as mind reading – Malfoy would be able to see her memories, but not 'read' the thoughts or emotions she'd had at the time.

He let out an incredulous huff of a laugh again and shook his head. "Fine. I'll need to talk through the theory with you first. And you need to be prepared for it. You need to be alert and for your mind to be as clear as possible. Not tired – especially not mentally tired. The mornings are usually better for that."

"Okay." She felt strangely relieved he'd agreed; she'd been anticipating that he would be much more stubborn in his objections. "And – erm – what about you? Is there anything you'd like to learn from me?"

He pinched his lips together in the way he did when struggling to admit something. Hermione supposed that admitting you weren't as good at something as you'd like to be could be construed as a weakness, and she knew Malfoy hated admitting to weaknesses.

"I'd like to be able to conjure a Patronus." The words rushed out of his mouth, as if he wanted to voice them as quickly as possible.

Her stomach suddenly sank, heavy and sickening. "Oh, I don't think I'm very well placed to do that – Professor Ingleton is covering them in DADA soon – she'll be a much better teacher than me," she found herself garbling.

Malfoy scowled. "Well, I don't want to wait until she teaches us." He stepped towards her. "I want bespoke lessons," he took another step so he was distractingly close, "From you."

"I just don't think – isn't there something else you'd rather learn?" His scent was invading her space, making it hard to think of the right words – of convincing reasons and excuses.

He reached his hand out and placed it gently on her waist. "No. No, there isn't...do you not like the idea of me being able to do it?" His voice was teasing. "Want to maintain your claim as the ultimate fighter of the Dark Arts – the perfect war heroine?"

"No! Don't be stupid," she protested, "I just, well – I just –"

"Just what?" he insisted.

"I just can't do it anymore!" She abruptly stepped away from him – away from his warmth and his comforting scent – and turned towards the Lake.

"Can't do what?" She heard the genuine confusion in his voice.

"Can't conjure a Patronus!" she blurted out shrilly. And then, to demonstrate her point, she slashed her wand through the air, crying out, "Expecto Patronum!"

She willed herself to think of her happiest memories – of her parents reading to her when she curled up in bed, of laughing with Ron and Harry on the Hogwarts Express, of opening her OWL results. But she remembered them all in monochrome, weirdly devoid of emotion, as if they weren't her memories at all – like an old museum exhibit, faded with time and from another age.

White light emitted from her wand and shimmered precariously in the air for a few moments, before fading away.

She avoided meeting Malfoy's eyes, because it was as if he were witnessing a humiliation, an indignity, and the shame of it was encroaching and threatening.

She waited, anticipating he would berate, jeer or mock her. But instead, he said in a low, grave voice, "Still better than my effort."

She watched as he waved his wand and cried out the incantation. She saw a spluttering of white sparks that died almost as soon as they burst from his wand. He turned to her and gave her a grim smile. "Maybe you can teach me the process, at least? Better to have conjured and lost than never to have conjured at all."

Her lips quirked up. "You're paraphrasing Tennyson?"

"Yep."

"Tennyson's a Muggle."

"Ten points to Gryffindor."

She just rolled her eyes at that. There was a silence, an oddly comfortable silence, before Malfoy spoke again, his voice quiet and contemplative. "Or is this more accurate? Better to have felt happiness once than never to have felt it at all."

She looked away into the glimmering blackness of the Lake again, and said quietly into the twilight. "I'm not sure if that is better at all."

"Are you definitely okay about this?" Malfoy asked for about the fiftieth time. Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen him so unsure.

"Yes. I trust that you'll stop if I ask. And we agreed that you won't go back more than three months."

He looked at her suspiciously, as if trying to work out whether he was being tricked in some way. "I just can't believe you'll trust me to do this."

She'd thought even more about the whole exercise since they'd first spoken, weighing up the possible risks and benefits and had come to the same conclusion she'd originally decided on. "It's fine. I trust you." Those particular words still felt strange to voice, when they were directed at Malfoy. But she meant them wholeheartedly.

"Right. Well. Remember what I said: try and dampen your emotions as much as possible. Compartmentalise your thoughts, just focus on the present moment. Don't let your mind drift." Draco had meticulously gone through the theory with her over the last week, until they'd both felt confident enough for Hermione to actually try Occlumancy. They'd come to their spot by the Lake again; they both admitted that if they met somewhere private inside the castle, they would get distracted with...other pursuits...which they'd been continuing to partake in since the start of term. "The more raw, emotional memories are easily given up to the Legilimens."

"Right," she said, and attempted to prepare her mind so it could defend itself against the incoming onslaught.

Malfoy brought his wand up to her temple and tentatively muttered an incantation.

It didn't hurt as much as she thought it would. She had expected some kind of piercing, shudder-inducing pain, but it just felt like cold fingers rifling through her mind. She wondered if Malfoy was being unnecessarily gentle. And with that thought, came a memory of her reading his letter in bed at night: his words on the parchment, then the rustle of her bedsheets as she moved and adjusted herself, the letter slipping from her hands as she started to let out quiet moans.

She knew that Malfoy could see it too, and refused to feel too embarrassed – she'd already admitted to him that she'd done what he was now witnessing. She felt him rapidly withdraw from her mind.

He looked at her, his lips parted and cheeks flushed. "Fuck, Granger. What are you trying to do to me?"

He crushed his lips to hers and backed her into a tree behind her. After a prolonged kiss, she pulled away. "We're meant to be doing the task," she protested through an amused smile.

"Right. Yeah. Sure." Malfoy stood up straighter and pointed his wand at her temple again.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

They tried again. And again. And often Malfoy would get in – get hold of a memory of something recent, normally involving him. He balked in disconcernation as he happened on images of them having sex from Hermione's point of view, as he pounded into her from above. "Merlin, that was weird. Like I was fucking myself," he commented when he had to stop and withdraw again, causing Hermione to chuckle in amusement.

But he couldn't get any further than that; it was much easier to shut her memories away from him than she'd anticipated.

"Good. That's good. You're good at this," he remarked, after an hour or so of practise. Then, as if to himself. "Not surprising really…"

"Isn't it?"

He gave her a thoughtful look, as if unsure whether to continue. "Well...as you know, people who can shut away their emotions, compartmentalise, people whose emotions are dampened, are generally better at this."

"You think my emotions are dampened? Why would you think that?"

His eyes shifted to somewhere beyond her. "I don't know – never mind."

"No. Tell me what you mean," Hermione persisted.

A look of resignation came over his face. "Your eyes, Granger," he said solemnly. "There's hardly any light behind them. Maybe other people haven't noticed, but I certainly have – it's like someone's nox'ed your soul. I'm not stupid. You know I've been in therapy with Alethea for longer than you have – I know what trauma can do to emotions."

Malfoy looked grim, like he hadn't wanted to admit what he'd just voiced.

She stilled, taking in his words. She thought of the constant sense she had of seeing and feeling the world through a glass wall, of the relentless numbness, of Ron's words about seeming distant, and Alethea's explanations about dissociation. She hadn't realised that Malfoy would have noticed all of that too – she was only just starting to understand it herself.

"Oh," was all she managed.

She suddenly felt very exposed – as if Malfoy had discovered a shameful secret about her. She wanted to get away from him, back to her dorm and snuggle with Nox, who had certainly become more friendly since Christmas. It had felt good, earning the cat's trust and being able to look after him.

But she'd promised she'd stay and attempt to teach Malfoy the Patronus charm. So she changed the subject and started to instruct Malfoy on how to grasp onto his happiest memories, of connecting with the joy of those memories deep in the marrow of his bones, and allowing that to flow through him whilst keeping his focus on nothing but the raw emotion of it.

In a way, she realised the process of conjuring a Patronus was quite the opposite of Occlumency.

Over the next week, he got better – the spluttering of white light turned into a shimmer, then a violent burst which hovered for a second before fading to nothing. It wouldn't have been strong enough to keep away a dementor, but it was progress.

"Well done," Hermione would always encourage and Draco would sneer, dissatisfied and disgruntled with himself.

The deadline for the task came and went. Hermione essentially mastered Occlumency – she was able to build mental walls strong enough to keep Draco from her memories. But neither of them were able to fully conjure a Patronus.

Hermione was left unsettled by how quickly she'd learnt Occlumency; Malfoy's words about 'dampened emotions' would not leave her. Which is probably why she found herself discussing it with Alethea after the deadline for the task had passed.

"And then Malfoy said...he said something about the reason why I learnt Occlumency so well was because my emotions are dulled, as if –" Hermione paused, thinking of Malfoy's phrase 'as if someone's nox'ed your soul'. "As if I'm detached from them."

Alethea nodded. "And from what we've discussed so far in our sessions, what sense do you make of that?"

If Hermione were being honest with herself, she had always known the answer to that question. "I suppose it's a consequence of my dissociation. But – we've worked so hard on that."

They had. They'd gone over many painful memories in an attempt to integrate them into Hermione's internal 'narrative', into the story of who she was and what had happened to her.

"The work we've done and need to continue to do is about association and integration," Alethea had explained more than once during their previous sessions. "Making a horrendous event that overwhelmed you in the past into a memory of something that happened a long time ago. To do that, we need language. Without language and context, your awareness is limited to 'I'm scared'. Without that, you'll stay in a state of numbness, with the occasional burst of fear – which might manifest in aggression – when something triggers a memory and sends you back into the past."*

So, in the months since September, they had worked through the process of integrating her traumatic memories into a verbal narrative; the process had triggered anxiety but to a tolerable degree – using the strategies she'd learnt, she'd been able to manage it. As a result, her mind was not in constant defence and avoidance mode, and she'd noticed a shift over the last few weeks – noticed that the numbness did occasionally lift, that things didn't seem so foggy, that there were moments when the world was full of colour again.

But sometimes that colour felt too saturated, too garish, and she'd been tempted to retreat again.

"Hmm- hmm," Alethea said now. "Yes, as you know, dissociation is our mind's way of protecting us from painful, upsetting memories. But in cutting off from them, we also cut off from our happy, pleasant, soothing memories too, which is probably why you're finding it hard to conjure a Patronus as well. And yes, you're right, you've definitely worked hard on the dissociation, Hermione. You've done really well, and I know how hard it's been for you. But I'm aware there's one event – one event that seems particularly significant – that we still haven't really talked about."

Hermione fiddled with the end of her bandage. She had continued to successfully manage to leave the wound alone, and it was healing up into a scar now – the bright red of the letters drying out to a lightish pink.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose," she mumbled.

"And what event do you think that is?" Alethea persisted. She always did this – gently nudged Hermione out of the avoidance she was partaking in.

Hermione swallowed, the sensation painful due to the dryness of her throat. "Malfoy Manor," she rasped out.

"So...maybe we need to start thinking about that a bit more, Hermione? Do you think?" Alethea's question was gentle; hopeful.

Hermione's wound was burning to be touched again – she wished for the distraction of it – or maybe Malfoy's kisses and touch instead...maybe she could find him after this session...

"Okay," she said, her voice sounding small, but determined nonetheless.

The winter weeks went by. The snow was relentless, covering the grounds in permanent, sparkling white. Only a few hardy snowdrop blossoms interrupted the vast expanse of it, as they stubbornly peaked their heads up towards the sun. The students huddled inside near fireplaces, encased in jumpers and scarfs, away from the corridors' hostile drafts. All except the quidditch fanatics, of course.

Malfoy would often find Hermione after his practices; she'd refuse to let him touch her with such cold hands, so he'd quickly warm them up with a heating charm before delving them under her jumper and shirt.

They knew each other so well by then – well, knew each other's bodies so well – but they still did not talk about what they were doing, about what it meant, and their clandestine meetings were still kept a secret from anyone but them. Hermione was aware that the idea of 'getting it out of their system' was futile now.

January melted into February, and Professor Ingleton announced in their DADA class that they would be covering the Cruciatus Curse for the next few lessons. Hermione's stomach turned at the news and, as she sat in the unerring semicircle of chairs, she felt her legs tense, as if getting ready to run. She immediately began practising relaxation and grounding techniques to stop herself from bolting from the room.

To her surprise, many of her fellow students seemed to have a similar response. The class stilled, before an uncomfortable shuffling and a resentful murmuring rippled through the room. Ingleton raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Do people have some opinions about the fact that we're covering this topic?"

There was an awkward, tense silence, which was a painful reminder of their first ever lesson with this teacher, a teacher that most of them now knew held a constant, comforting glow of compassion under a fiery and sometimes intimidating exterior.

It was Neville who finally spoke, his voice unusually sarcastic. "I don't think we need to go over it, Professor. The Carrows covered it pretty well last year."

Ingleton eyes flickered, taking this in, before her face softened. "Yes. Yes…and you know by now that I am not one to pretend that what happened in this school last year did not happen." She lowered her head and walked slowly around in a small circle, as if thinking to herself.

Finally, she stopped and looked around at the class; she seemed slower and gentler in her movements somehow.

"I am going to ask you all a series of questions and I kindly ask you to be as honest as possible in your responses. I think it will be for everyone's benefit," she began. "Could everyone who, before the start of their seventh year – that is, September 1997 – was a victim of the Cruciatus Curse please raise their hand?"

Ingleton raised her own hand, indicating she was participating in this odd poll too.

There was a pause and Hermione could see out of the corner of her eye Harry slowly raise his arm. She flitted her eyes around, and was surprised to see Nott's hand in the air too. Then Malfoy, who was still sitting opposite her, slowly moved his hand – it was a half-arsed attempt at raising it, was barely in the air, but it was an attempt nonetheless. He was staring steadily at the floor just beyond his desk.

"Right. Thank you for your honesty," Ingleton said. "Now, could everyone who was a victim of the Cruciatus Curse since September 1997 please raise your hand."

Hermione's stomach turned. She knew she needed to raise her arm but was reluctant to do so. However, to her surprise, there was a flurry of movement in the room: nearly everyone was raising their arm, everyone except Dean and another Muggle-born who hadn't been at Hogwarts last year. It made it so much easier for Hermione to raise her hand as well, which she did. She'd known last year at Hogwarts had been awful, but was now realising that she hadn't ever really considered the details of how and in what way her classmates had been made to suffer.

Ingleton also had her hand in the air, as she walked slowly around the middle of the semicircle.

"Thank you. Now, please keep your hand up if the person who was afflicting you with the curse really meant it," Ingleton instructed.

That was an easy one for Hermione – she kept her hand up in the air, along with Harry, Nott and Malfoy – but over half of the class lowered their hands. Malfoy's gaze glided over to her, then quickly darted away.

"Hmm," Ingleton gave an appreciative nod. "It's interesting, isn't it? How we know instinctively whether someone really means it when they cast this particular curse?"

"And now, please raise your hand, or keep it up, if you have cast the curse on someone else?"

There was an uncomfortable stillness, followed by a shuffling, as Hermione lowered her arm with an ease in her heart. But she was surprised, and disconcerted, at how many people kept theirs raised in the air – nearly all those that had been at the school the year before, including Neville, Ginny, Parvati and Seamus.

"Now, please lower your hands if you only cast that curse under duress – because you knew something worse would happen to the victim, and to you, if you did not cast it?"

Nearly everyone lowered their hand. Everyone except Harry. She remembered the Ministry, remembered Harry's uncontrollable, raging grief after Bellatrix had killed Sirius. She looked askance at her friend quickly, and noticed his features were set in defiance. But then she noticed that Nott's hand was in the air too, and wondered what had happened to him to make him feel enough hate for someone to voluntarily inflict the Cruciatus Curse on them.

Inlgeton nodded slowly. "Right." She spoke delicately, as if there was something precarious but invisible she was trying to balance in the air between them. "Now, please keep your hand up if you cast the curse with a calm frame of mind, not in a fit of rage or panic or grief?"

Both Harry and Nott lowered their hands. Hermione looked around and noticed that, now, all the students' hands were lowered.

"So it seems that all of you have quite extensive experience with the Cruciatus Curse," Ingleton surmised. "And now, one final question: who knows the best way to treat and manage the effects of the curse? Or how we can best defend ourselves when being subjected to it?"

Hermione raised her hand, but she was only one of a handful of students to do so, along with Nott, Malfoy and Parvati.

"Right. Thank you class for your honesty during that exercise… What has that all demonstrated, do you think?"

There was a silence. Hermione grappled in her mind for the lesson that Ingleton had tried to demonstrate. The answers seemed just out of reach, and she couldn't quite grasp them. It involved something about her fellow students' experiences though, and Hermione was well aware that that was something she hadn't quite engaged with all year. But now that the glass wall between her and the world was thinning, she wanted to know more – she had a sudden desire to cut a hole in that wall and step through it.

"Well," Ingleton continued. "One thing is that, although, as you put it Neville, the Carrows may have covered the curse fairly comprehensively last year, there was a lot that they clearly overlooked. How to defend ourselves against it and its effects, for one thing. And remember: this is Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"But more importantly: that, although it may feel that the people in this room – that people in general – are split into two groups of 'victims' and 'perpetrators', we are all, in fact, survivors. War is messy – there are rarely neat groups of good and evil, even though it would be very satisfying to divide our fellow humans up in such a way. Sometimes, we have little or no choice in what we have to do. Sometimes our emotions force us into actions that we later regret. And so I go back to the point made in our very first lesson. I know the late Albus Dumbledore used to say it was our 'choices that defined us, not our abilities'. But I would go further and say it is the intention with which we made those choices that matters."

For the rest of the day, questions and curiosity swam about Hermione's mind as she walked through the corridors and sat in lessons. She remembered all those hands in the air during her DADA lesson, she thought of all the Crucios that had been cast, all the pain that had been inflicted within the castle walls. What had happened here last year? She recalled what Malfoy had told her about Seamus' finger, and wondered what else she didn't know. Before, she'd blocked it away, it had all felt like too much anguish to have to process, but now she felt she could bear the pain that her fellow students had had to suffer.

That evening, instead of withdrawing to her normal window seat, or going up in her dorm, she plonked herself down by the fire where Neville, Seamus and Ginny were sitting, with Nox snuggled in her arms. The others looked at her hesitantly – it was unusual for her to join them by the fire.

"Tell me," she requested determinedly. her eyes flitting between the three of them. "Tell me about last year."

There was a silence as they looked at her in surprise, before Neville's mouth broke out into a conspiratorial smile.

"How long have you got?" he asked dryly.

AN: * indicates paraphrasing from the book 'The Body Keeps the Score' by Bessel van der Kolk.

As always, huge, huge thanks to Frumpologist and scullymurphy for being amazing alphabetas.

Your thoughts and reviews are, as ever, loved!