A/N: I realised that I've never said how long this fic will be. Well, heads up (to manage expectations!) - there's about 20 - 25k words left, which will be spread over 3 to 4 chapters and an epilogue. 😊

Warning: mention/discussion of sexual assault in this chapter.

Words like violence / Break the silence / Come crashing in / Into my little world / Painful to me / Pierce right through me / Can't you understand? / Oh my little girl / All I ever wanted / All I ever needed / Is here in my arms / Words are very unnecessary / They can only do harm.

- Enjoy the Silence, Depeche Mode

Hermione stayed sitting by the fire and listened as Seamus told her, from his perspective, of what had happened when Alecto Carrow severed his finger off...then she continued to listen as Neville told her of how he'd been locked in the dungeons with his Boggart for over twenty-four hours as punishment for a D.A. 'graffiti mission' that had gone wrong.

"I had a bit of a reprieve when Nott was on duty though," Neville commented.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"The I.S. were made to be on duty down in the dungeons during the night. They had wands. We didn't, of course. When Nott was on his shift, he Riddikulus'ed the Boggart away for a few hours…think it saved my sanity...he made me swear not to tell anyone though..."

"Oh…" was all Hermione could say, because her mind was turning and churning and trying to synthesise this information about Nott with the other new information she'd gleaned about him over the last few months.

"And – and what happened with Zabini? Why are there rumours about him?"

Seamus looked pained as he began to talk. "In January last year, Hagrid insisted on throwing a 'Support Harry Potter Party' in the Forbidden Forest. It was all going well for a few hours, but then we were found by the Carrows and the I.S.. We all dispersed – into the forest. I was with Lavender but – but," Seamus hesitated, his expression twisting as if he were wincing at the memory. "We got separated. Lavender was running on her own for a while, when Marcus Flint and Goyle caught up with her. They – they –"

Seamus halted and looked at Ginny helplessly.

"They disarmed her and incarcerated her to a tree trunk," Ginny took over, her voice gentle but matter-of-fact. "And they assaulted her – sexually assaulted her – or at least began too – and then Blaise happened upon them, at the same time as Hannah, Padma and I did. Blaise had his wand drawn towards them, but in that instant, he looked like he was part of it – he looked like one of the perpetrators – and I just cast a huge Bat Bogey hex at all of them." Ginny looked at Seamus guardedly. "Lavender was never able to talk about what happened, so we never really heard her story. Because Blaise was at the scene, so to speak, and because last year we didn't know what he was truly like – he seemed like a loyal I.S. member back then, you see – rumours spread amongst us that he was one of the people that assaulted Lavender.

"But Blaise's memories from his trial showed nothing incriminating – I looked it up. And from getting to know him over the last few months, I believe him when he says his intention was to help Lavender. Flint and Goyle were shits, but Blaise wasn't like them – Parvati will tell you too..." Ginny shook her head, looking uncharacteristically grave. "He did take the Mark under duress, you know...any of us would have done it if we'd been in the same position as he'd been."

Seamus looked at his feet sheepishly. "I probably shouldn't have called him a rapist, back at the beginning of term. It's just...Lavender – she went through so fucking much last year, did so much for this school, all to get slaughtered by that scum of a werewolf. And I was angry...so angry I didn't know what to do with it all."

Hermione remembered ranting at Malfoy at the Reconciliation Ball whilst hot tears of fury spilled down her cheeks. "Yes. I know what you mean," she said quietly.

"I think he accepts your apology, though," Ginny said to Seamus.

Seamus gave a wry smile. "Yeah."

Hermione frowned, trying to understand. "You apologised to Zabini?"

Seamus shrugged. "Yeah. Just the other day."

Ginny smiled. "I mediated," she said with a hint of pride.

Hermione took a moment to take this in. She was realising that so much had been going on without her noticing – subtle, shifting dynamics amongst her classmates, like pieces on a chessboard being moved around her.

But before she dwelt on that further, she continued to listen as her housemates told her of the 'Purification' of Hogwarts – of the Book Burning Ceremony, of being branded with their own mark when the Carrows had cut the words 'Blood traitor' into their skin, of the hope that reforming the D. given them.

She listened to them well into the night, whilst they took it in turns to stoke the fire as the moonlight shone into the Common Room. She did not shy away from any of it – on the contrary, she prodded with questions, ensuring she had clarity on events, and the reasons behind them. They talked until all their eyelids grew heavy and they all finally retired to their beds.

The next morning, a Saturday, Hermione awoke with a thirst she hadn't felt in a long time. A thirst for knowledge and understanding. The conversation with her housemates the night before had made her realise how much she didn't know – about her schoolmates and their part in the war, and what that had left them with. With the thinning of her mental glass wall, she was starting to be able to see through it with a clarity and starkness, and a dawning realisation of how important it was to understand what had happened to them. Because they had all shared these classes and hallways and hills for six years together – their story was part of her story too. And without understanding their shared past, there was no way she was going to understand their present. To understand herself.

So, as she pulled back the covers of her bed and stood under a steaming shower, she made it her mission that day to find out as much as she could. To get answers to questions her mind had asked all year, but which she had been too afraid to seek the answers to.

First, she went to find Parvati after breakfast. She was at the owlery, having just sent off some letters.

"Hi. I, erm, I just wondered if we could talk," Hermione began awkwardly, as they walked back towards the castle. "Again, I'm sorry about what I called you at the Lake Party. And now – I – I want to understand."

"Understand?" Parvati queried.

"Yes. Understand what happened with you and Zabini last year… I mean, it's probably none of my business but..." Hermione trailed off.

Parvati frowned, but it was an expression of curiosity rather than hostility. "Why?"

It was a simple question, but it didn't have a simple answer.

"I...well...I think it's important to understand, so I - I don't make assumptions and judgements...like I might have done before," Hermione tried to explain. "Like Ingleton said, it's the intentions with which we make choices that matter, and I think it's important to at least try to understand people's intentions."

They had come to an old stone bench that perched rather precariously on the brow of a hill, looking down on the valley where the Black Lake nestled, with Hagrid's hut just beyond it.

Parvati looked at Hermione thoughtfully. "Okay," she stated simply, before going to sit down on the bench. After an unsure moment, Hermione followed her.

Parvati was looking off into the distance, towards the smoke that was drifting out of Hagrid's chimney, but it didn't seem as if she was seeing it. There was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were watching memories rather than the valley in front of them.

Then she smiled, with a hint of something like nostalgia, and started speaking. "Right back at the beginning of our seventh year, Amycus Carrow gave me a detention. It was before they'd come up with the more creative options for their punishment, and so that one was quite mild – preparing potion ingredients with Slughorn. Blaise was in detention with me, and Slughorn went off pretty early on, leaving us on our own. We think he wanted to listen to Celestina Warbeck who was live on the wireless that evening.

"But anyway, Blaise and I got accidentally locked in one of the store cupboards for a couple of hours – which was my fault, really. I messed up with the anti-locking charms on one. We ended up playing truth or dare with veritaserum. As you do. And – I feel like we really got to know each other then – as people, with the stereotypes of our houses stripped away for once. And then things got…" Parvati gave a sheepish smile. "Intimate. We ended up having quite a passionate kiss. Then, a couple of weeks later, we – the D.A. – needed to know the password for Snape's office. I knew Blaise would know it because he was one of Snape's trusted few. So I asked to meet him late one night, which he did...he said he'd tell me the password in exchange for another kiss...and I wanted to kiss him – I really did – I mean, you've seen him right? I swear he has some Veela in him!"

Hermione made a non-committal sound of agreement.

"And that's kind of how it all started… I know Blaise wanted to help us, genuinely, but his family was so wrapped up in V-Voldemort, there was always a risk his memories could be searched. So he couldn't be seen to be helping a Blood Traitor – not outright – but it might have been forgivable for him to be seen to be using a Blood Traitor, or humiliating them in some way. We came to an unspoken understanding – we'd do stuff, physical stuff, and he'd pass on valuable Death Eater information. Or even just information from the outside world we weren't privy too. Before we found out about Potterwatch, we were really isolated.

"I didn't tell anyone about our meetings except Lavender, just said I had a secret source. I was worried that the more people that knew, the more risky it was for Blaise.

"It was all very complicated – messed up – but I knew he would never have really taken advantage – never have done anything unless he thought I'd wanted to." Parvati shook her head, as if attempting to clear it. "And now...we're friends, and I think that suits both of us. Not sure anything romantic could have come from it – it was all a little too fucked up. But then things were fucked up back then..."

There was a silence as Hermione took Parvati's story in, letting it settle in her mind. They'd reached the steps up to the main entrance and both came to a stop.

"Thank you for telling me all that," Hermione said gently. "I think I understand now." And really, she did. Parvati - and Zabini's actions - were understandable. They were messy and complicated, as Parvati had said, but they were also completely understandable.

Parvati gave her a warm smile, a smile Hermione hadn't seen from her in months – possibly not since sixth year.

"I'm glad you get it. So do the other Gryffindor boys now. It's taken a while, and the rumours about Blaise didn't help, but I'm glad people are finally able to understand… You coming in?"

Hermione shook her head. "I need to find Luna. I think she normally feeds the thestrals at about this time, so I'm heading to the forest."

Parvati nodded. "Okay. Well, see you around."

And with that, Parvati bounded up the steps and into the castle.

Hermione had been right – she found Luna in the thestral clearing in the forest, sitting on a fallen tree trunk next to Nott, who had a now-familiar guitar on his knee.

Luna beamed at her as she saw her and bounced to her feet. "Oh. Hello, Hermione."

Nott paused in his playing and looked up at her, giving her a cautious nod in acknowledgement.

"Hi," Hermione said awkwardly. "Erm...I wondered if we could talk?"

"Of course!" Luna said. "Would you like a seat?" She gestured towards the tree trunk.

"Oh, erm, no thanks. I wondered if just the two of us could talk? In private?"

"Oh! Yes! Let's go for a walk." Luna stood up and looked down at Nott. "I'll be back in a little while, Theo. Is that okay?"

Theo gave Luna a smile and a quick nod. Hermione could not deny the warmth of his expression when he looked at Luna. "Of course," he said.

Luna started to guide the way towards the trees and Hermione followed. Behind them, she heard Nott start to play again, a familiar tune she couldn't quite place.

Once they were out of Nott's hearing, Hermione realised she wasn't sure how to begin. "I was wondering – well, I suppose – how are you?"

"I'm good, thank you. How are you?"

"I'm okay. Yeah, fine…" Maybe she should just cut to the chase? This was Luna, after all, and Luna always seemed to cut to the chase, so... "I've just been thinking lately, about how last year was for other people. I feel like I've been really wrapped up in myself, and feel like – like it's important to understand. So...I wanted to ask, but you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to – how was it for you, last year? When you got kidnapped and kept prisoner in the Malfoy cellar? I've realised we've never really spoken about it, and it must be such a big thing that's happened to you, so ..."

"Oh. No, I don't mind you asking me," Luna's words were light and lilting, but when she spoke again a hint of sadness wove through them. "Well...it was all rather horrible. The damp and the cold were some of the worst things – it was the midst of winter, after all. And of course, it was frightening, not knowing how long I'd be there for, and what they might do to me. But they mostly left me alone, and I had Ollivander for company, and Draco brought me a blanket once –"

"What?" Hermione snapped.

"Draco brought me a blanket. I'm sure he wasn't meant to. He'd charmed it so it stayed warm, which was really very lovely. He also brought me some nice food every now and again...mostly I got nothing but this awful tasteless stew thing, but Draco even brought me pudding once – sticky-toffee pudding, my favourite! And he'd occasionally come down and tell me my father was okay. That he was being left alone. Which was really the best comfort I could have had."

"Oh. Right."

Hermione was silent for several moments, thinking of this Draco Malfoy who'd smuggled objects and words of comfort down to Luna whilst she'd been held captive in his cellar. And at what price to him? Because, as Ingleton had said, they were all victims, even those boys who had been made to be perpetrators. And Malfoy had practically been a boy when he'd taken the Mark, hadn't he? Sixteen...barely a man, at least.

"I had wanted to thank him," Luna continued. "But he always avoided me, up until the Ball last term, when Theo made him speak to me. He still doesn't really like being around me, but I think it's getting better... I think maybe the shame is still too much. Which is sad, really. He has nothing to be ashamed of."

Hermione wanted to ask more about this version of Malfoy, but she needed this new information to settle first. She and Luna walked on in silence for a few moments; Hermione realised she didn't mind silences with Luna – they were some of the most comfortable she'd experienced.

As they started to walk back towards Nott, Luna spoke again. "I'm glad you're coming back, Hermione."

"Huh?"

Luna smiled calmly. "Your mind. I'm glad it's coming back to us."

But before Hermione could respond, she became distracted by the words of a song that drifted across the clearing towards them.

"When you were here before…couldn't look you in the eye…you're just like an angel…your skin makes me cry…"

As the two girls approached Nott, he stopped singing and looked up at Hermione, his eyes glinting shrewdly.

'How're you getting on with putting that fire out, Granger?" he asked, and she remembered the conversation they'd had the last time they'd both been in this same clearing.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but realised she had no words of retort, so closed it again. Nott merely gave a small, knowing smile before starting to sing again.

"You float like a feather…in a beautiful world…and I wish I was special…so fuckin' special…"

There was another person that Hermione wanted to speak to. She wasn't hard to find because, over the last couple of months, Hermione had spent enough time with her to learn nearly all of her routine.

"Hi, Pansy," Hermione said as she joined the girl on a small stone bench behind the greenhouses – a regular students' smoking spot.

Pansy flicked the ash from her cigarette to the ground and said chirpily, "Hey you! How're you?"

"I'm good. I think…" Hermione replied.

Pansy gave a slow nod before taking a leisurely drag on her cigarette. "What brings you here? You normally hate being around me when I'm smoking."

Hermione smiled wryly. "I suppose I've been wondering… I – I just wanted to ask you a few things…"

Pansy turned her head towards her, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "I don't like the sound of that. Ask me what?"

"Well...I suppose I've been wondering what it was like at Hogwarts last year? What it was like for you, specifically?"

Pansy lip curled up, as if in disgust. "Why on earth would you want to know that?"

Hermione was used to Pansy's constant acerbic disdain and had stopped taking it personally long ago.

"Well, Ingleton's lesson yesterday just made me think about what it must have been like for you – and everyone else – being here last year. I've been a bit...self-absorbed since I've come back this year, a bit in-my-own-head and I suppose I'm starting to...get out of my head a bit."

Pansy's expression softened slightly, although she still looked like she'd just eaten something particularly sour. "Urgh. Is this when we're meant to have some kind of heart to heart conversation? Cos I don't really do those. They make me feel ill."

Hermione couldn't help but grin in amusement. She shrugged. "It doesn't have to be deep and meaningful. I just wondered how it might have felt, being here then…"

"How it might have felt?" Pansy echoed.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed.

Pansy slowly blew smoke out of her mouth, looking straight ahead of her at the grimy windows of a greenhouse. "It felt fucking terrifying," she stated matter-of-factly. Then her head snapped towards Hermione, as if assessing her reaction. It hadn't been what Hermione was expecting but she tried to imitate Alethea – to look just the right mix of accepting and compassionate – and hoped Pansy would continue.

"Fucking terrifying," Pansy repeated, looking back towards the dirt-streaked glass. "Even before the start of seventh year, I'd heard – and seen – a lot of shit that crazy fucking wizard had been responsible for. I'd seen my boyfriend fall apart. He never told me about what he'd been tasked to do, but you hear things...my family was very much wrapped up in that Death Eater circle, even though neither of them took the Mark. I'd had family members, family friends go missing… but I'd learnt not to ask too many questions. I was scared – really scared for my friends. They're all I've ever had. And that time in the Great Hall, before the Battle, I was terrified. The words rushed out before I could stop them - to grab Potter and hand him over. I didn't want Potter to die, of course I didn't, but I didn't want so many others to die either. It was instinctive. Stupid. Selfish probably, too."

Oddly, maybe because she'd so recently been talking to Luna, an image came into Hermione's mind – of Xenophilius Lovegood, his face contorted in fear as he told her of how Death Eater's had taken his daughter away. She thought of how Xenophilius had sacrificed three people for his daughter, and no one kept condemning him for that. But there had been hundreds of people in the Great Hall the night that Pansy tried to hand Harry over, tried to hand over one person in an effort to save hundreds.

"That's not selfish. Not really. You wanted the people you cared about to be okay. That's about love, isn't it?"

Pansy looked at her warily. "Are you trying to Hufflepuff-erise me or something?"

Hermione chuckled. "I don't quite know what that means, Pansy, so I don't think so."

"Humph." Pansy turned back towards the greenhouse, lifting her cigarette to her mouth once more.

"And well – well, I was wondering about me?" Hermione asked.

Pansy raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "You?"

"Yeah – I've been wondering why you've been so friendly with me this year? I'm not stupid, Pansy. You treated me with disdain for six years and then, since the beginning of our eighth year, you've wanted to be best buddies…"

Pansy took another slow exhale of smoke, before flicking the cigarette end to the floor, and treading it into the ground. Her features twisted, as if she were thinking. "Thought you said this wasn't going to turn into a nauseating heart-to-heart?"

"Well. It doesn't have to," Hermione shrugged, and continued gently. "I just asked a question, and you can choose to answer it or not."

Pansy looked at her, her expression resigned. "Okay. If I'm totally honest, I don't even quite know myself why I went out my way to befriend you. There's a part of me – a cynical part – that was probably doing what my parents had asked of me – to befriend the people that had risen to the top of the social hierarchy after the war. My parents are notorious social networkers. Leeches. Sycophants…and they've been training me to be something similar." Pansy shuddered. "But then I also felt for you – when I saw your arm bleeding at the Lake Party, and saw what a state you were in then. I've been there myself, you see. Lost and hurting. The world needs strong, good, brave women, and I thought – think – you're one of those women, Hermione.

"So I really didn't want you losing your shit because, after everything that's happened, that would suck. And then...we started hanging out, and to my surprise I've actually started to like you," Pansy shrugged. "I don't expect you to believe it but...I don't think I ever really disliked you. My bitchiness was probably due to the fact my ex-boyfriend couldn't seem to shut up about you."

"What? Your ex-boyfriend – what?"

Pansy turned to her and smiled knowingly. "Draco," she stated. "He was always moaning about you in some way or another – the way you'd answered a question in class, cast a particular spell, even your hair, for fuck's sake."

"He did? Moan about me so much?"

"Yep."

"Well...he made no secret of his dislike for me."

But then Hermione thought of what Nott had said: of the difference between love and hate, and love and indifference, of the burning fires…

"Hmm..." Pansy let the sound linger in the air for a minute. Then she broke the contemplative mood by turning to her and exclaiming in a bright tone, "But! You both seemed to have got over that now, don't you? Thank god...wish you'd both get over yourselves a bit though. The secret, tense pining that exudes from Draco is starting to do all of our heads in."

"What?" Hermione's heart stuttered.

"Give up the pretense, Hermione. Theo, Blaise and I have known Draco since we were six. We can tell if he's fucking someone, especially if it's over periods of weeks and in the confines of this castle."

"Oh, well – I don't – I think –"

"Don't worry, Hermione. We'll keep your secret. Just – be careful, yeah?"

"What d'you mean?"

Pansy looked at her, eyes sharp and shrewd. "Theo told me he talked to you about how intense Draco can feel for someone. Well, it's not a lie. I've been on the receiving end of it myself."

"But...but I don't think that applies to me…"

"Oh dear..." Pansy's tone was somewhat pitying. "You have a lot to learn, my friend. Just don't fucking hurt him. That's all we ask." She stubbed out her cigarette on the stone bench, the gesture hard and resolute. "Wanna go and try and do that Charms homework together? There's only so much deep and meaningful I can take and I've reached my quota today."

"I – erm – okay," Hermione agreed, relieved that Pansy had changed the subject.

But she didn't know if she would be able to focus on her Charms homework – all that she had learnt in the last few hours was whirling chaotically and confusingly around her mind.

A week or so later, Hermione was lying in bed with Nox curled at her feet, when her Binding Book heated up once more. She opened it and read the new script that had appeared in it:

Your Fourth Task

As you should be aware, this will be your penultimate task as the Therapeutic Matching Project is due to come to an end by the end of the spring term.

Your fourth task is to make something together. This can be any material thing that you can reasonably make within the time frame for the task, which is three weeks.

Have fun!

Hermione waited, expecting more detailed instructions, but after a minute or so nothing had appeared. The Book was being unusually brief.

HG: Can you please clarify? she wrote. Can we make anything? A dress? A potion?

DM: Babies? Malfoy's scrawl interrupted her own.

Urgh, he was in one of his not-taking-anything-seriously moods, Hermione thought, tugging agitatedly on her plait.

DM: JOKE. That was a joke, Granger, before you start pulling your disastrous hair out.

She immediately lowered her hand from her plait. Did the book have visibility charms too? No, she was just being paranoid.

Make something material that you will be able to complete in your allotted time together – the Book's typeface appeared – So a bag and a potion are both possibilities, yes. It will take a minimum of nine months to make a human baby, although that is somewhat debatable depending on how one defines 'baby'. But I digress. Either way, 'making babies' is outside the remit of this exercise.

There was a moment or so when the page remained blank, until Malfoy's scrawl appeared again:

DM: Seems like you're not the only one who can't take a joke Granger.

Hermione smiled to herself, and contemplated whether and how to respond to Malfoy, but she realised that her eyelids felt particularly heavy and found herself letting out a huge yawn. She put the book away in her drawer and reached habitually for her sleeping draught, but then paused as her hand hovered over the vial. She felt a sense of restfulness she hadn't felt in a long time, and wondered if maybe she didn't need the sleeping potion that night.

So instead, she gently shut her bedside drawer, rolled over and snuggled into her covers. As she felt Nox readjust himself at her feet, his body warm and heavy as he draped himself over her ankles, she found herself drifting into a deep and steady sleep.

The panic attack took Hermione by surprise. It happened towards the end of February, and in a Potions class, of all places.

She'd always thought, if she were to have one at school, it would be in DADA. Or maybe Duelling Club. She'd had a few at the beginning of last summer, and had been expecting to have more when she'd returned to school. But Alethea said that it was less likely she would have them if her mind was 'shut down' and avoidant of all emotion. She had warned her recently though, that now Hermione was opening herself up to more painful memories, there was a risk her anxiety might increase in the short term, and with that could come a higher risk of panic attacks.

During Potions class, Harry must have added something incorrect to his cauldron because a jet of green light and smoke burst from it – so much like the green of the Killing Curse. At the same time Padma, who was working next to her, cut her finger whilst chopping ingredients. The wound was deep and blood gushed heavily from it. The metallic smell of it hit Hermione's nose just as the green light flew past her peripheral vision and –

– and there's so much blood, so much blood seeping from the wound in Fred's skull, and as they lift the rubble off his legs, she nearly vomits as she sees his left leg is no longer attached to his body. Ginny is making incoherent noises of protest behind her, mumbling something Hermione doesn't understand about how it's her 'Mum's Boggart', and there's a flash of green light that just skims her ear and cries and yells and Hermione is running, running through the halls of Hogwarts, jumping over fallen masonry, and she hears someone calling her name behind her –

"Granger!"

Only enemies call her by her surname. She rounds a corner, hurries into a storeroom and collapses to the floor. Collapses on the hard wooden floorboards as the red light of a Crucio blinds her –

"Granger, come back to me, come back to me!" someone's calling –

But the curse is making her bones feel on fire and her blood feel like boiling acid in her veins, and her whole body's shaking from it –

Someone's shaking her by the shoulders. "Granger, it's February 1999. You're safe. The war's over. Tom Riddle's dead," a distant voice is saying which doesn't make sense because it feels like her skin is being peeled off with a red-hot knife and she's crying out with the pain of it –

And then there's suddenly lips on hers, gentle and tender –

And she's sitting on the floor of a dusty storeroom in Hogwarts and she immediately knows that the war ended ten months ago.

And Draco Malfoy was crouched in front of her, kissing her.

Instinctively, she forcefully shoved him off. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

He hastily moved away from her, scrambled backwards across the floor and sat back against the shelves, his legs stretched out in front of him. There was concern on his face but his eyes were guarded.

"Helping you forget," he said quietly. Simply.

The images from her flashbacks were still skittering around the edges of her mind. But she wanted them completely gone and she knew he was right – she'd said it herself, more than once – he did help her forget.

Which was why she practically lunged towards him, straddling him and pushing her lips onto his. He groaned quietly, his lips parting slightly, but she could tell that he was purposely making this kiss tender and slow, not the hurried passion she wanted. She ran a hand down his chest, but when she reached between his legs, he pulled away.

"Granger – Granger, no – you've just had a terror-turn. This is fucked up –"

Hermione stopped his words by pressing her lips to his again. She could feel how much he wanted it too, could feel him hard beneath her, and an almost aching need had grown in her and she was desperate for those memories to be well and truly gone. But then he moved back from her again, holding her still by the waist.

"No, no, not like this Herm – Granger," he objected, sounding tormented. She stilled and their eyes locked. He looked at her steadfastly.

Doubt niggled at her mind. He'd never been like this before, so hesitant. Shame washed over her in a wave. She scrambled to her feet. "You – you don't want to?"

"What? Don't be stupid," his voice was characteristically scathing, and he rose to his feet to. "I want you. I always want you. But not like this. You've just had a terror-turn."

But didn't he understand that that was exactly why she wanted him? "I'm fine now," she said instead, leaning forward to kiss him again.

He jerked his head backwards. "No. This – this is just," he shook his head, his words clearly failing him. Then he asked sadly, his face grave, "How long do you think you can keep doing this?"

"Doing what?" she asked, her stomach turning nauseatingly in anticipation of the answer.

He shook his head regretfully. "How long do you think you can keep fucking the pain away, Granger?" he said sorrowfully, before turning and leaving her alone in the dust of the cupboard.

Malfoy's words echoed in her mind for the next two weeks. Previously, they hadn't gone more than two days without seeing each other, but now he wasn't even messaging her in their Books, except to arrange a date for the fourth task, only a few days before the deadline. And even then, there was no discussion of what they would do for their task, just a date. She tried to meet with him, tried to speak to him, but he didn't reply to her messages, and seemed to avoid her when she saw him about the school.

Harry and Ginny badgered her about what had happened in her Potions class – all Harry had seen was her bolting from the room and then Malfoy quickly following after her. Harry had followed too, but had obviously gone the wrong way as he hadn't found either of them. Hermione just dismissed her friends' concern though, she didn't want anyone making a fuss. And anyway, she was fine now.

Fine. Except she couldn't stop thinking about what Malfoy had said...How long do you think you can keep fucking the pain away, Granger?... She wondered whether he thought she was just using him as a distraction from her own mental suffering...and was she? Maybe she had been in the beginning, but now...she wasn't sure...

It all made her try extra hard in her sessions with Alethea. Because Malfoy was right, she conceded, she couldn't keeping 'fucking the pain away'. She needed to be able to manage it – to face it. So slowly, delicately, Alethea and her went through what she could remember of Malfoy Manor. She reached the edge of panic on some occasions during their sessions, but managed to calm herself before it tipped over into an attack.

Finally, she was able to tell the story of what had happened out loud – about how they'd been caught by snatchers, about the fracas with the Sword and how the boys had got hauled off to the Malfoy cellar. She was able to remember the horror, the overwhelming fear, and how she crumpled to her knees with the first of Bellatrix's Crucios. But after that, all she could remember were fragments: a burning pain, warm blood dripping down her arm, a malicious laugh, the inexplicable taste of bile, the smell of ammonia, the gleam of light bouncing off glass...

"And then, the next thing I remember clearly is waking up on something soft," Hermione said, finishing the story aloud for about the third time. Alethea always wanted her to finish at the time when she'd started to feel safe again. "I open my eyes, and I'm in a sitting room, lying on a sofa, somewhere we've not been before, and Ron is suddenly by my side, explaining that we're in Shell Cottage and that I'm safe, that Harry's safe...it takes me some days to recover...I sleep a lot...but after a few days, I'm feeling physically better, and am feeling safe again."

Alethea was nodding and smiling encouragingly. "Great. Well done. How did it feel, telling it that time?"

"Okay. I was still feeling a bit anxious, but definitely able to contain it."

"That's great. That's great, Hermione. Think about how things were when we first met – you couldn't even think about it."

Hermione gave a strained smile. "I know, it is good. But the gaps in my memory still make me nervous. Like, what if something else triggers a panic? Something I'm not aware of – because – because I can't remember it, and so don't realise it's a trigger?"

"That is a possibility...but you're much more likely to be able to manage that now."

Hermione stared at the rug between their chairs. It was Persian, after all – she'd asked Alethea about it once. "Yes. I suppose. It just bothers me. That there are so many gaps of that evening, so much I don't know about what happened to me."

"As we've talked about before, memory gaps are really common with trauma memories and one does not need to remember everything in order to get over the trauma and move on. Just acknowledging that there are gaps and being okay with that is fine."

"But I don't know if I can be okay with that. It's a bit like with everything else, I suppose – I need to know. It's like the broken pieces of a vase. Or the pieces of a picture. Even if I could fit them together, it doesn't matter because there's still pieces missing, so I still don't know what the picture would be, or wouldn't be able to use the vase. And I want to know what that picture is, even if it's terrifying or ugly –" Hermione broke off.

There was a pause as Alethea looked at her thoughtfully.

"Well, if it's something that's so important to you, there are ways that you can know. Ways that we can find out the details, and add them to your narrative."

Hermione raised her eyes to look at Alethea, frowning. "How? How can we know?"

"Well, there were several people in the drawing room that evening, weren't there? One of whom is still alive, who witnessed it all, and is a student at this very school. Maybe he can join us for a session of therapy, to help us know what happened that day?"

"Who?" Hermione asked, although, with a creeping sense of foreboding, she was sure she already knew the answer.

"Draco?" Alethea continued. "Draco Malfoy? Maybe he can help us fill in the gaps? Maybe he can help you fit the broken pieces back together, Hermione?"

A/N: Huge thanks to Frumpologist and scullymurphy for being amazingly encouraging alphabetas.

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