Chapter 84: A Lesson in Occlumency
Try Occlumency?
Elian searched Severus Snape's face, looking for a hint, a flicker of intent behind the cold, opaque eyes. He found nothing. The man was a fortress, his expression as unchanging as the dungeon walls around them. His offer felt less like an invitation and more like a detached statement of fact, another chore in a long line of duties Dumbledore had assigned.
"If you are inclined, you may observe. Take a seat." Snape's tone dismissed any further discussion. He turned sharply on his heel, his black robes swirling, and advanced on Harry Potter. The focus of his attention—and his disdain—snapped back to its usual target.
"Focus, Potter," Snape's voice was a low, relentless hiss. "Recall the sensation from our previous session. Empty your mind. It is not a request, it is a necessity."
Occlumency. The magical art of shielding one's mind from external penetration. Elian knew of it. Its opposite, Legilimency—the invasive art of mind-reading—was a Dark Art, its texts kept in the Restricted Section. That Snape was a master of both was a testament to his dangerous skills and the razor's edge he walked. To deceive the greatest Legilimens of the age, one had to be a consummate Occlumens.
Elian settled into a hard chair at the side of the room, his own thoughts churning. Dumbledore's gift of the Time-Turner was a profound gesture, heavy with unspoken meaning. Now, Snape's oblique suggestion he learn Occlumency? It felt connected. Dumbledore was a strategist who thought ten moves ahead. He rarely explained; he orchestrated. Was this part of preparing Elian for something? To better guard his own secrets—the System, Kama-Taj—from a probing mind like Voldemort's? Or even from Dumbledore's own, keen perception?
Perhaps, Elian mused, observing Harry's struggle, Dumbledore hoped that by experiencing Legilimency firsthand, Elian might gain some insight that could later help Harry. The Headmaster knew of Elian's unique abilities regarding the soul, after the Horcrux revelation. Could understanding the feel of a mental invasion aid in someday separating Voldemort's fragment from Harry's psyche?
It was a dizzying web of possibility. One moment, Dumbledore was facilitating a Death Eater hunt; the next, he seemed to be gently steering Elian towards becoming a better guardian for Harry. The old wizard's plans were like a multi-layered charm, each purpose hidden beneath another.
His musings were interrupted by the scene before him. Snape had raised his wand. "Legilimens!"
Harry gasped as if plunged into icy water. His body went rigid, his knuckles white where he gripped the arms of his chair. Snape stood over him, relentless, a predator silently dismantling its prey's defences. There was no flashy light, no dramatic spell effect—just the terrible, intimate violence of one mind forcing its way into another.
Elian watched, fascinated and appalled. This was magic of a different texture—subtle, psychological, and brutal. He saw the sweat beading on Harry's forehead, the tremors that ran through his frame. Harry's face contorted, flashing with fear, anger, shame—memories being ripped to the surface and examined by cold, clinical eyes.
It didn't last long. Snape broke the connection with a contemptuous flick of his wand. Harry slumped forward, panting, drenched in sweat. He looked utterly drained, his face pale and haunted.
"Pathetic," Snape sneered, meticulously wiping his fingers with a handkerchief as if contaminated. "I instruct you to clear your mind, to master your emotions. You flail like a drowning man. Occlumency is control, Potter. You have none."
"I… I can… do it," Harry rasped, forcing himself to sit upright, his body trembling with exhaustion.
"You cannot," Snape stated, his voice final. "Not in this state. You are a leaking vessel. We will resume after the holidays. Get out."
The dismissal was absolute. Harry staggered to his feet, his legs unsteady. He looked toward Elian, his eyes wide with residual terror and a deep, weary frustration. "Elian… I'll see you tomorrow," he managed. Then, his voice dropped to a urgent whisper, "Be careful. Legilimency… it shows your memories. All of them."
The warning was clear, born of Harry's deep-seated distrust. In his eyes, Snape was and always would be a Death Eater, and Elian's secrets were too dangerous to risk. Harry gave a final, significant look before stumbling out of the office, leaving Elian alone with the Potions Master.
The heavy door clicked shut. The silence in the dungeon office was profound, broken only by the soft pop of a candle wick.
Snape turned his head slowly, his dark eyes fixing on Elian. "Potter's concern is as misplaced as his ability," he remarked, his voice devoid of any warmth. "But the principle is sound. Legilimency is intrusion. Occlumency is defence. Dumbledore believes you have a mind worth shielding. Are you prepared to test it?"
Elian rose from his chair and moved to the spot Harry had vacated. The leather was still warm and damp from sweat. He met Snape's gaze, his own expression calm. The System had granted him mental disciplines—focus, clarity, the separation of self required for astral projection. Were they akin to Occlumency? He didn't know. But he was curious.
"I am interested, Professor," Elian said, his voice steady. "Let's begin."
Snape's lips thinned. He did not raise his wand immediately. "Understand this, Throne. I will not be gentle. I will not probe for trivial schoolboy secrets. I will seek the foundations of your power, the source of your… anomaly. If you have something to hide, you will fail. The pain is not physical, but it is real. Do you consent?"
It was a stark warning, and a challenge. Snape was offering a real, potentially devastating test, under the thin guise of instruction. Was this Dumbledore's true intent? To have Snape assess the strength of Elian's mind, to see if his secrets could be kept from the Dark Lord?
Elian took a slow breath, centering himself. He visualized his mental shields not as walls, but as layers of shifting mist and mirrors, concepts drawn from Kama-Taj meditations. "I consent," he said.
For a long moment, Snape simply studied him. Then, without a word, his wand came up.
"Legilimens."
The world did not dissolve. Instead, Elian felt a sudden, immense pressure, like a giant, invisible hand pressing against the inside of his skull. It was not a narrative of memories being ripped away as he'd seen with Harry. It was a brute-force assault seeking a point of entry.
Elian focused. He didn't try to 'clear' his mind in the way Harry had been instructed. He let it become vast, complex, and structured. He thought of the infinite geometries of mystic shields, the precise equations of telekinetic force, the detached observation of the astral plane. His memories of Carnaby Street, of Dumbledore's visit, of the Hogsmeade fight, of Hermione—he let them exist, but layered them between arcane formulae and abstract magical theory, like pages of a personal diary hidden between the lines of a dense, foreign textbook.
The pressure increased, probing, searching for a crack. He felt it scrape against the edges of his consciousness, a cold, alien intelligence testing his defences. It was profoundly uncomfortable, a violation that made his skin crawl. But it did not break through.
Snape's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or intensified interest—crossing his face. The pressure intensified further, becoming a sharp, focused drill.
Elian's head began to pound. He clenched his teeth, holding his mental ground. He would not let this man see the System's interface, the glowing mission text, the deep well of power that was not of this world. He wrapped those core secrets in the imagery of the Vishanti's symbols, in the swirling sparks of a sling ring portal, making them appear as learned magical concepts rather than personal truths.
Just as the pain threatened to become blinding, the pressure vanished.
Snape lowered his wand. He was breathing slightly faster than before. He stared at Elian, his expression unreadable, but the usual contempt was absent. It was replaced by a cold, analytical assessment.
"Interesting," Snape murmured, the word hanging in the silent room. "A most… unorthodox defence. Not Occlumency as it is taught. But effective. Against a casual probe." He paused, his black eyes glinting. "Do not mistake this for mastery. You have natural barriers. They may not withstand a determined, skilled assault. The mind, like a potion, requires constant vigilance to prevent… corruption."
It was as close to advice as Snape was likely to give. The lesson was over. Elian had passed a test he hadn't known he was taking. He stood, his own heart hammering, a cold sweat on his brow that had nothing to do with the dungeon's chill.
"Thank you for the lesson, Professor," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.
Snape gave a curt nod, already turning away, his attention seeming to return to the jar of dark vapour on the shelf. "Do not thank me. Thank the Headmaster. And remember, Throne: the night is darkest just before an attack. Guard your mind as you would your life."
The final words were another warning, cryptic and dire. Elian left the office, the weight of the Time-Turner against his chest and the echo of Snape's mental assault in his mind. The holiday, it seemed, would demand every defence he possessed.
(End of Chapter)
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