When Dumbledore extinguished the runaway Fiendfyre, Harry could still feel the searing, wild sensation of the flames lingering at his fingertips.
He could vividly sense the deep crimson fire dancing at the tip of his wand, his magic pushed to its absolute limit, trembling with the strain. It was the feeling of his magic being forced out, yet struggling to control the spell.
Thankfully, halfway through his practice, the Horcrux in Harry's mind kicked in again. It offered him Voldemort's insights into wielding Fiendfyre.
After Dumbledore helped Harry dispel the lion-shaped Fiendfyre, he noticed Harry standing still, lost in thought. Curious, he asked, "Harry, what's on your mind?"
"Professor, I'm really sorry about burning the carpet in your office," Harry said, snapping back to reality and offering an apology.
Dumbledore waved it off, signaling it wasn't a big deal.
"I don't want to rely on the memories in my head to learn magic anymore," Harry said, pausing as he met Dumbledore's blue eyes behind his spectacles. "Voldemort's experience with Fiendfyre… it makes me feel like I should let the fire burn freely, wildly. I don't like that."
Dumbledore smiled warmly, a hint of pride in his expression. "Harry, I'm glad you feel that way. To be honest, when I learned you had Tom's memories of spells in your mind, I was worried that those dark magics might subtly influence you."
"It seems I was overly concerned," he continued, gesturing for Harry to follow him to a bookshelf. "Everyone understands Fiendfyre differently, but Tom's approach is far from healthy. Here, take this book. It contains some of my own—and Gellert's—thoughts on Fiendfyre."
Harry took the notebook from Dumbledore but was stopped before he could open it.
"Harry, I'd like you to wait until you can consistently cast the Fiendfyre Curse before reading this," Dumbledore said, noticing Harry's puzzled look. "I don't want you to follow my path blindly. As I said, everyone's understanding of Fiendfyre is unique. If you want to go further, you need to develop your own perspective."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
After hours of practice, Harry could sustain the flames for ten seconds and even guide them into simple arcs, though it drained every ounce of his magical energy.
(In the original seventh book, Crabbe cast Fiendfyre and was so exhausted he couldn't even escape, so I think the spell demands a ton of magical power—otherwise, any wizard could cast it.)
"Harry, you're remarkably talented," Dumbledore said, clearly impressed.
"Thanks, Professor," Harry replied, still a bit stunned that he'd actually pulled it off.
Dumbledore seemed to sense Harry's inner doubts and smiled gently. "Harry, don't underestimate yourself. I know you've been questioning whether your magical talent comes from Tom's memories, but your performance just now proves you've got plenty of talent on your own."
"And who's to say Tom's memories aren't a kind of magical talent in themselves?" he added.
"Thanks, Professor," Harry said again.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Harry, you're saying 'thanks' an awful lot today. I'm not used to it." He pulled out a tin of Cockroach Clusters. "Let's call it a day for magic practice. If you keep going, I'm worried you'll risk magical exhaustion."
Harry felt a shift in perspective. Voldemort's memories were just a part of his talent, and with that realization, he relaxed into his usual self.
Grabbing the tin of Cockroach Clusters without hesitation, Harry left Dumbledore to pull out a new one for himself.
Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, had already flown out of the office the moment the Cockroach Clusters appeared.
"Professor, since I've got the basics of this spell down," Harry said, swallowing a cluster, "can I take a look at what's in the notebook now?"
"You can," Dumbledore replied, munching on his own cluster. "But don't let Hermione see it. Fiendfyre requires a lot of magical energy, and at her current level, it'd do her more harm than good."
"Got it," Harry said, nodding as he took a sip of the tea Dumbledore handed him. "Professor, can you tell me about Protego Diabolica?"
Dumbledore's face grew serious, and he set down his tin of clusters, shaking his head. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Harry."
"Fiendfyre is about destruction," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Protego Diabolica requires compressing flames into a tangible pathway. One mistake, and you'd be reduced to ash. Let's talk about it when you've truly tamed Fiendfyre's wild nature."
Harry wasn't thrilled, but he understood the danger. Besides, that wasn't his real goal—Dumbledore's refusal was expected.
"Professor, you've got to give me something advanced to work with," Harry pressed, revealing his true intent. "Hermione's been bugging me forever to learn Legilimency."
Well played, Dumbledore thought, half-amused, half-exasperated.
Worried Dumbledore might refuse, Harry quickly added, "Professor, you promised that if I could cast Legilimency silently, you'd teach me its advanced uses."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, surprised. "It's only been a few months, Harry, and you've already mastered silent Legilimency?"
"I paid a few Galleons, and some students were willing to be test subjects," Harry admitted, then hurriedly clarified when he saw Dumbledore's expression shift. "I practiced on monkey brains first, Professor, and only moved to people once I had it down. I swear, no one got hurt."
Seeing Dumbledore's skepticism, Harry added, "Besides, Professor, you know Voldemort was a master at Legilimency. If I wasn't worried about his methods being flawed, I'd have mastered the silent version ages ago."
Dumbledore was taken aback. When Harry had trained with Snape, it didn't seem like he was relying on Tom's memories at all.
"Harry, when you were practicing with Severus, why didn't you use those memories?" Dumbledore asked, curious.
Harry scratched his head, unsure. "You said the memories in my scar are incomplete, Professor. Maybe they only surfaced after I got close to Voldemort's diary…"
Dumbledore decided then and there to remove Tom's diary from the headmaster's office—at least for now, Harry couldn't be exposed to more of Tom's magical philosophy.
"Professor?" Harry said, noticing Dumbledore lost in thought. He stood, about to nudge his shoulder.
Dumbledore, though aged, was still sharp. He snapped back to attention before Harry could touch him. "Harry, I didn't realize you liked Cockroach Clusters that much," he said smoothly, passing the tin over.
Harry grabbed it without a hint of embarrassment—after all, he had no idea about Dumbledore's personal life.
"Professor, don't change the subject. Come on, spill," Harry urged.
Dumbledore hesitated, then relented. "I'll give you the basics of Legilimency, but the advanced techniques… I'll need to organize them. You'll get them next term."
Before Harry could protest, Dumbledore continued, "And to ensure your practice stays safe, I'm assigning a professor to supervise you and Hermione."
Harry's curiosity piqued. "Which professor? McGonagall? Flitwick?"
"Severus," Dumbledore said with a smile.
Harry's face fell at the mention of Snape, his brows knotting, but Dumbledore's tone left no room for argument. Reluctantly, he agreed.
When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, clutching the Legilimency guide, the room was nearly empty. The fire crackled in the hearth, and Hermione, as usual, was waiting by it.
"How'd it go today? More basic spells?" she asked, looking up at the sound of his arrival.
"Dumbledore said I passed his test and officially taught me how to use the Fiendfyre Curse," Harry said casually.
"Oh, congrats, Harry! You finally—" Hermione stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening. "Fiendfyre?!" she shrieked. She'd read about it—a bona fide dark spell.
What followed was a half-hour lecture from Hermione.
Taking advantage of a pause as she sipped pumpkin juice, Harry quickly pulled out Dumbledore's Introduction to Legilimency.
Hermione's eyes lit up, her attention instantly diverted. She reached for it, but Harry held it back.
"Hermione, you can't have it yet. Dumbledore said you can only practice with a professor present," Harry said seriously.
Hermione looked disappointed but nodded, knowing Dumbledore was right.
"What about tomorrow? We could ask Professor McGonagall. We don't have morning classes…" she suggested, glancing at her schedule.
Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore said we have to go to Snape."
The next morning, Harry and Hermione headed to the Hogwarts dungeons. Hermione was buzzing with excitement at the chance to learn advanced magic, but Harry had a bad feeling.
Sure enough, when he knocked on the Potions office door, there was no response. After what felt like forever—and Harry nearly turning the door into a drum set—Snape finally opened it. His black robes were speckled with purple stains, and his lip curled into a mocking sneer when he saw them.
"Well, well, the Chosen One and his little sidekick, gracing me with their presence," Snape drawled, his voice like poisoned ice. "Here to learn how to make a cauldron explode more spectacularly, or perhaps to sneak a curse for your enemies?"
Harry clenched his fists, ready to snap back, but Hermione tugged his sleeve. Snape's last remark, it turned out, was directed at Gemma Farley, who'd been in the office (see Chapter 81 for why).
Once Farley left, Snape didn't give them a chance to speak. He stepped aside to let them in, adjusting his cuffs. "I have a class to teach. Stay here," he said, pointing to a rickety old desk in the corner. "And don't touch anything—especially you, Miss Granger. Read this book cover to cover before you even think about waving your wand like some reckless fool."
With that, Snape slammed the door, leaving behind the bitter smell of potions and an awkward silence.
Over the next few days, Hermione declined Harry's invitations to visit Snape's office together. "Harry, you and Snape are like oil and water," she said, exasperated. "I can't focus when you're both ready to explode. I'll go on my own—I can at least read in peace."
Harry knew she was right, but Snape's attitude still grated on him.
A month later, Hermione, with her incredible patience and intellect, had begun to grasp Legilimency. She claimed she could vaguely sense the emotions of those around her.
At least, that's what she told Harry.
Harry didn't doubt her—he figured mastering this spell would be a breeze for Hermione.
"We need someone to practice on," Harry suggested. "Maybe… we could pay a few students to help out? Call it a little experiment? I know some kids who need the cash."
Hermione shook her head, her expression firm. "No, Harry. Legilimency invades someone's mind. Practicing without permission is no different from snooping through their private thoughts. We can't do that."
She paused, then added, "I should stick to practicing on monkey brains for now. Humans are too advanced for me."
Harry saw how serious she was and dropped the idea.
What Hermione didn't tell Harry was what Snape had said to her in the office that day—a conversation Harry hadn't overheard.
Snape, expressionless, had cleared away yet another ruined monkey brain—the fifth that month. "Miss Granger, I thought you were different from those trolls, but I stand corrected," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. When she tried to continue practicing, he stopped her. "Come back when you can invade a mind without hesitation. I don't have time for your nonsense."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue but left the dungeon instead.
She knew Snape was right. Dumbledore's Introduction to Legilimency clearly stated that hesitation or sympathy had no place when invading a mind. But every time Hermione entered a monkey's brain, she couldn't help wondering if it was in pain or if what she was doing was wrong. Every practice session ended in failure.
Yet, when talking to Harry, she lied and said she'd made progress. She didn't want to be a burden to him.
Hermione resolved to practice in secret.