His existence was reduced to a solitary flame burning amidst nothing. There existed nothing but the flame. All of his anxieties, all of his hatred, all of his love, all of his emotions, everything was fed to the purifying flame.

You must learn to clear your mind, Harry.

Harry had thought of little else since Dumbledore had made him aware of the art of Legilimency and what it entails during their conversation in the Hospital Wing.

~0~0~0~0~

"Sir," Harry began, "when I was in the Chamber of Secrets talking to Tom Riddle, he somehow knew what I was going to say before I said it. It got to the point where he never let me finish a phrase – he finished them for me."

"Were you, by chance, looking him in the eyes?"

"I think so, sir."

"This explains a great many things, Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "It is also very troubling."

"Sir?"

"I had known that Tom had become very adept at Legilimency during his travels, but I was unaware he had progressed so far in the art while he traveled these halls. I suppose I should not be surprised."

"Legilimency, sir?" Harry asked, a little worried.

"Legilimency, Harry, is the art of invading another individual's mind through eye-contact. Depending on the skill of the user, and I assure you that Tom is incredibly skilled, anything from banal surface thoughts to one's deepest secrets can be leeched into their sight.

"You mean Voldemort read my mind? Just by looking me in the eye!" asked a distraught Harry.

"No, Harry. The mind is not so simple that you can read it as if it were a tome. The mind is a many layered complexity that is, for all of our magic, beyond our full comprehension." He chuckled. "In fact, were I to wager a guess, I would say that our Muggle counterparts know more about the human brain than we do. Legilimency relies on emotions. If a Legilimens was focusing on fear when he invaded another person's mind, for instance, he would be able to find memories the victim associated with fear."

"But Professor," cried Harry, "he was finishing my sentences! He knew exactly what I was going to say! How is that not reading my - ."

"Harry!" interjected Dumbledore soothingly, "You must calm down. Your injuries, though healed, severely taxed your body and whatever occurred in the Chamber rendered you magically exhausted. You must stay calm else Madam Pomfrey sees fit to remove me before you get the answers you deserve."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said, eyes downcast, "it's just that I don't understand how it's not mind reading if he is finishing my thoughts for me."

"Harry, remember back to what I said earlier when I first introduced you to the art." Dumbledore instructed. "A Legilimens is easily able to pick up on the surface thoughts of an unprotected mind. Whilst you were conversing with Tom, were you, perchance, thinking more about what you wanted to say than you usually do? Attempted to pick your words more carefully?"

"Yes sir," Harry started, "I wanted to keep Voldemort talking while I tried to think of a plan to escape with Ginny. Instead of just speaking naturally, I carefully considered..." Harry stopped. "Oh."

"Exactly, Harry!" Dumbledore praised. "The words you were going to say flashed across your consciousness as you prepared to say them. Using Legilimency in this manner is similar to using flashy fireworks and novice rank dueling spells during a serious conflict. While flashy, it is ultimately useless outside of being a distraction. In fact," Dumbledore mused, "it can even be considered a deterrent to the Legilimens. Even the most skilled user cannot split their focus to two different parts of the human mind. It is simply too complex."

Harry pondered this for a moment, then frowned. "He was able to find out about the Philosopher's Stone from my mind," Harry said, a trifle upset.

"And how did young Tom respond to the knowledge that you thwarted his older self from attaining the stone?"

"He was angry, sir," Harry said, "but not because he failed to get it. Well not only because he failed to get it. He was furious that his future self had to rely on "Nicholas Flamel's Novelty Rock," as he put it."

"Oh?"

"Riddle went on to say that he had discovered more "alluring" ways of attaining immortality than being forever beholden to the Elixir of Life," Harry went on.

"That is most troubling," Dumbledore frowned. "I suppose that's what he meant when he told me he had delved deeper into magic than any before him." Dumbledore sighed. "Troubling indeed."

"Professor?"

"Ah, my boy, I do not want to burden you with the speculations of my over-taxed mind."

Harry frowned, a little put out that Dumbledore was not being very free with his information.

"Harry, you must understand and forgive me. You do not have a firm enough grasp in magic to comprehend the magic Tom was speaking of, nor should you," Dumbledore cautioned. "You also must understand that what I believe now is merely alarming supposition. It would be cruel of me to worry you with such thoughts when it may turn out to be nothing but the bravado of a brilliant seventeen year old student."

Harry understood. He had no reason to mistrust Albus Dumbledore and he had every reason in the world to trust him. But he didn't have like it.

"Sir," Harry spoke into the silence, "other than breaking eye-contact, is there a counter to Legilimency?"

Dumbledore stared pensively at Harry, looking as though he was having an internal argument. The silence became rather tense.

"I had an interesting conversation with Professor McGonagall while you were unconscious," Dumbledore broke the silence. "I was most interested in finding out that you chose to change your choice of electives for next year. Ancient Runes, Harry, is a remarkably difficult course. Your decision to drop a rather easy class in Divination in lieu of Ancient Runes is rather out of character."

"I'd like to think that I'm smart enough to take a hard class, sir." Harry responded stiffly.

"Of that I have no doubt, my boy," Dumbledore began, "I am merely worried how you would respond if the material does not prove to be easy to you. I worry that you would treat the class like you treat Charms."

"Unless Ancient Runes prove to be as useless as Charms, I don't think that will be a problem."

"Why do you think that Charms is a useless class, Harry?"

"How is it not?" Harry asked petulantly. "What is the point in making a pineapple tap dance? How is that remotely useful. What is the benefit of making of making a tea cup do cartwheels? Why should I care about making a feather do acrobatics?"

"That's your reason, Harry? You cherry pick three specific spells and use them to paint an entire branch of magic as useless? What of the protego shield charm, Harry? Or the Patronus charm, the only known way to repel a handful of dark creatures?

Harry said nothing.

"Are you sure your disdain towards Charms is not rooted in another cause? Maybe the fact that it does not come as naturally to you as Transfiguration? Or Defense Against the Dark Arts? Could that be the real reason for your startling lack of effort within Professor Flitwick's classroom? The fact that you have to actually try?" Dumbledore questioned.

"I try plenty hard in Charms." Harry said, scowling.

"Do you," asked Dumbledore skeptically, "and if I were to ask for Professor Flitwick's opinion on the subject?"

"I think that Flitwick would greatly enjoy telling you all about my academic failings," said Harry defensively.

"I do not imagine that Professor Flitwick would derive any enjoyment from that at all Harry. He is, above all, an instructor, and no instructor wants any of their students to do poorly. I expect that he would express disappointment in your complete lack of desire to improve yourself in his class, but nothing else."

Harry sagged in his bed, dropping the frown from his face. "I'm sorry sir," Harry began, contritely, "it's just frustrating. I have read all about how my mum was some sort of charms prodigy in school, and I just feel like I'm disappointing her. And then I have to see Malfoy sneer at me and say how I'm not much of a wizard after getting a charm on the first try, again, while I have to practice for hours outside of class just to make my bloody teacup wiggle!"

"Harry," said Dumbledore softly, "do not think for a moment that your mother would be disappointed in your struggling in Charms. The fact that you routinely give up after failing to cast a charm might have irked her, but not that you lack talent in the area."

The pair lapsed into silence.

"Professor, what did that have to do with countering Legilimency?"

"Harry, I must admit that I am in a difficult position. Occlumency, the art of defending your mind, is not typically taught to children as young as you since, for the most part, the younger you are, the less apt you are at the meditation required. In addition, it is very unlike Transfiguration or Defense Against the Dark Arts. Those two subjects are very strict disciplines with a plethora of accepted rules. As an example, I cite the First Fundamental Law of Transfiguration: A conjured object has a finite lifetime. No matter how much power you put into your magic, no matter how focused your intent is, the object will eventually disappear."

Conversely, Occlumency is very abstract. It is not as simple as saying an incantation or silently casting and having your mind protected. One must be in total control of their mind, be so in control that they can instantly empty their mind of all emotion, rendering a Legilimency attack useless." Dumbledore ended his lecture.

"So you won't teach me?" asked Harry, getting angry again.

"I said nothing of the sort. I am merely concerned that, by introducing you to the art before you may be ready, you will struggle with it and deem it 'useless'," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Professor Dumbledore, I promise I won't treat this like I treated Charms," said Harry honestly, "I have all the motivation in the world to learn this."

"Treated Charms, Harry?"

"I have decided that it might be in my best interests to treat Professor Flitwick's class more seriously, sir." said Harry sullenly.

"How very wise of you, Harry." responded a satisfied Dumbledore.

Once again, silence blanketed the Hospital Wing.

"Has Madam Pomfrey told you how long you were to remain within her domain?"

Scowling, Harry replied, "two more days, Professor."

"Ah," Dumbledore smiled. "That should easily be enough time to teach you."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, confused. "I thought you said that Occlumency was a hard branch of magic to learn."

"It is a hard discipline to master, Harry. Simply attaining the void is the easy part. Maintaining the void while under duress is the challenge. I am going to teach you a method of meditation that worked for me in the hopes that it works for you. That is it. It will be up to you to frequently practice clearing your mind during the day and before you sleep.

"Now, I want you to close your eyes and imagine a flame. A single flame. There is nothing but the flame. All of your insecurities, all of your fears, all of your anger, all of your joy: feed them to the flame. There is nothing but the flame. Clear your mind."

~0~0~0~0~

Harry had been back at the Dursley residence for a month and he pursued perfection of Occlumency to an almost fanatical degree. He sought the void every night before he succumbed to sleep and practiced his meditations whenever he could find time to himself. Initially, practicing Occlumency while at the Dursleys was very challenging. It was hard burying the animosity he felt towards the family and their treatment of him. Now, however, he was concluding that practicing here was perfect. Loathing is a much more powerful emotion than contentment, and if he could feed abhorrence to the fire, he could do anything.

Harry was roused from his meditation by a tap-tap-tap at his window. It was, undoubtedly, another of his friends wishing him a happy birthday.

The void undulated and Harry quickly stamped out the happiness. This was merely the most recent in a series of reminders that he needs to control more than just his anger. Maintaining his hold on his emotions, Harry moved to the window and let the poor creature in. Not even stopping for water, the owl dropped off its letter and package and shot back out the window.

Harry smiled as he read the letter from Hagrid. He sat the letter in the growling pile on his nightstand and studied the package. Suspicion fluttered across the void. Hagrid's letter had said that this would be useful during the upcoming school year, but the hulking man's definition of useful was questionable at best. Harry gingerly undid the twine that ensnared the package and opened it up to see what was, to his surprise, a book.

"The Monster Book of Monsters, eh?" Harry said to himself. Does Hagrid have access to the list of electives chosen by the students? Harry wondered how the lovable giant knew he was taking Care of Magical Creatures, but decided not to worry about it.

Two things happened as he removed the book from its confinement: he was promptly attacked by the suddenly tooth-wielding book and his hold on the void shattered.

The book fell to the floor and began moving in circles like a rabid beast. After a few seconds of crazed movement, it fled to the comforting darkness under the bed.

Harry was furious as he wrangled the snarling book out from under his bed. His anger made overpowering and firmly tying the book-beast closed a simple matter. With the tome safely bound and stowed away within a drawer, Harry paced and fumed. The book was an annoyance. An inconvenience at best. Though it had teeth, they were purely cosmetic. It couldn't hurt him. So why had he lost control like that? He glared at Hagrid's letter, annoyed that he thought Harry needed that bloody book. Surely that wasn't the textbook for Care of Magical Creatures? Right? It was just a novelty book that catalogs various magical beasts. And attacks people.

With a sigh, Harry settled himself back on the floor, determined to re-Occlude his mind. He was almost surprised at how easily he was able to let go of his anger, but in his calm, centered state of mind, he was able to recall Dumbledore's words from the Hospital Wing. Maintenance is much more difficult than attainment. His smugness was completely evaporated at this point; the book had successfully pierced his ego. He still had much to learn, and he was enslaved by the idea of perfection.

Thus, it was a perfectly centered Harry that was confronted by Dudley Dursley. The latter slammed open Harry's door and was surprised to see him sitting on the floor.

"What are you doing sitting on the floor, Potter? This is weird, even for you." Dudley said with a sneer.

"I am meditating, Dudley," Harry said with complete calmness. To be truthful, Harry had been expecting this confrontation for a while now. Dudley was deathly afraid of Wizards, it's true, but since being told that Harry risked expulsion by casting while outside of school, he had become much braver.

"You mean like those Chinese people? I didn't know you... people were into that Nancy-boy crap."

"It helps keep me centered and focused, Dudley." Harry, knowing that his back was to the door, allowed a devilish smirk to grace his lips and reached for his wand. "It also makes it easier to cast painful curses on those who interrupt me."

Dudley shrunk backwards in fear, then seemed to remember that Harry could not cast outside of his school. "Don't give me that crap, Potter. I know you can't do anything outside of your little school. You'll get in trouble!"

"Probably," Harry agreed, "but that wouldn't help you."

"Huh," asked Dudley, confusion descending upon him.

"I will most likely get in trouble, yes, but that won't help you." Harry turned around and looked at Dudley for the first time. "I can cast anything I want on you, Dudley. I would face the consequences back at Hogwarts, but that doesn't make any curses I hit you with less real. Less painful. Think about that next time you barge in on my room unannounced."

Dudley bid an ignominious retreat.

Harry checked his clock and grimaced. He had, at most, half an hour until Uncle Vernon came home and Dudley invariably told him of Harry's threats. Hoping to make the most of that time, Harry set out to write a potentially awkward letter he had been putting off. Ron's letter from Egypt mentioned that his brother worked with Gringotts' Goblins as a curse breaker and that he broke into the ancient pyramids. Harry was hoping that maybe this Bill could tell him about the carving that saved him from the Basilisk. He still didn't know what madness came over him about not telling Dumbledore. Every time he tried, his mind was able to rationalize reasons against it. Shaking his head, Harry set out writing.

Dear Bill,

I know this may seem weird, what with a random third year writing you and all, but in a recent letter, your brother Ron mentioned that you were a curse breaker in Egypt and I was curious.

I was raised with Muggles, so some of these magical careers are confusing to me. What exactly does a curse breaker do? I'm not completely ignorant about ancient Egypt, I've read about it quite frequently, but I don't know what a curse breaker does. Do you guys infiltrate the pyramids and mastabas and take the treasure out? Haven't the Muggle tomb raiders already cleaned out most of the tombs? Are some of the more important treasures protected magically so the Muggles can't get past them? Like magically fake walls or something?

If I were to want to be a curse breaker, what classes do I need to sign up for? I chose Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures as my electives. Would those be the right ones? I wouldn't need to be well versed in Charms, would I?

Another thing: are some of the curses and "booby-traps" the Muggles write of actual curses, like the "Curse of the Pharaohs?" I had read that the first Egyptologists who discovered King Tut's tomb died of mysterious causes not too soon after ransacking the treasure. Was that an actual curse placed by an ancient Egyptian wizard? It is really neat that some of their curses apparently lied dormant for thousands of years, but I guess it makes your job more interesting.

One last thing, have you ever encountered a strange carving in any of the tombs? I have read about an intricate carving of a man with a staff and a falcon's head. It was apparently able to mentally communicate with a man who looked it in the eyes and showed him visions. Have you seen any etchings that behave like this, or was the myth just a myth?

Thanks,

Harry Potter

After reading through the letter and deeming it acceptable, Harry send Hedwig on her way, apologizing profusely that he was making her fly into a desert.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Harry's face fell. The rhythmic beats could mean one of two things, and he was pretty sure dinosaurs were extinct. He was about to face the consequences for putting the fear of God into Dudley it seems. He frantically sought the void. He would surely be in trouble enough for threatening Dudley, compounding things with his smart mouth just would not do.

Harry's door burst open, the light from the hallway was eclipsed by the unfathomable girth wedged in the door frame. From the heart of the umbra, a voice thundered, "What's this I hear about you threatening Dudley, boy?"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon. I was sitting in here meditating when Dudley slammed open my door and startled me. My, um, stick, was laying on the floor beside me at the time. Reaching out for it was a natural reflex, but that's all that happened," Harry lied.

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry through narrowed eyes. "Why should I trust you over Dudley?"

"Well, sir, Dudley has always been a little unnerved by, uh, my people ever since that night in the seaside cottage. He probably thought I meant to attack him when I reached for my wan-, my stick. I was just startled, sir."

Loathe as he was to admit it, Vernon conceded the point to Harry. He still was not pleased that Harry had his blasted stick in plain sight. "I told you at the beginning of the summer, boy, that I didn't want to regret allowing you to have your freakish books and your stick," Vernon snarled. "You may be to big for your cupboard now, but we can still withhold meals. You had best make sure that Dudley doesn't startle you again, do you understand me?"

Anger rippled across the void, but Harry held on. "Yes sir, I understand you perfectly."

"Good. Now, I am about to go pick up Aunt Marge from the train station. You mark me well, boy-"

The void fractured and dissolved.

"Aunt Marge?" Harry blurted out. "She's not coming here is she?"

"Do not interrupt me! Yes, Marge is coming here and she will be here for a week! As I was saying before, there will be no funny business while she is here. Understand? No. Funny. Business. She knows nothing about your abnormality, and she will remain in the dark or there will be consequences.

"Now, ground rules. Number 1: You will maintain a civil tongue when you're talking to Aunt Marge. Out of the goodness of our hearts, Petunia and I allow you some freedom with your wicked vocabulary. You will not mouth off to Marge, understand?"

"Yes sir," said a seething Harry. "As long as she doesn't spend the entire vacation insulting me."

"Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Harry's reply, "we've told Marge that you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."

"You WHAT?" Harry snarled. "How dare you slander me like that? I won't go along with the story. I - " He was cutoff by the backhand of Vernon.

"Don't you speak to me like that, boy! You will stick to the story, or there will be trouble."

"And what happens if I forget, Uncle?"

"You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, that's what will happen!" roared an increasingly irate Uncle Vernon.

"Well, knocking the stuffing out of me won't make Aunt Marge forget anything that might... slip out, will it?"

Vernon paled at that. He hated when the boy was right.

"I'll make you a deal Uncle. If you sign a permission slip for Hog-, my school right now, I'll follow your rules to the T. If you don't, I'll reveal my world to Marge in a very big way. I know I'll be punished, by both you and my world, but that won't keep Marge from knowing that you're related to a freak!"

For all of his flaws, Vernon Dursley was the consummate business man. He knew how to play the corporate game and he knew when he was beat. This was one of those times. He pulled a pen from his pocket.

"Fine. Give me the form."

Harry smirked as he retrieved the Hogsmeade permission slip from his trunk and had Vernon sign it. As he settled back on the floor for more practice, he congratulated himself on outsmarting his uncle. He was beginning to enjoy victory through deceit.

Maybe the Sorting Hat was right. Maybe he would have fit better in the dungeons of Slytherin.

Harry immediately shook those thoughts from his head; they served no purpose. He was sorted into Gryffindor. He was a Gryffindor. He had drawn the sword from the hat, after all.

Harry pondered Marge's upcoming visit. Initially, he saw it as a bizarre form of punishment and was angry. He hated having that woman forced upon him. But now... but now he saw it as a test of his Occlumency abilities. He reached for the void only to have a memory of Marge and her beastly dog, Ripper, shatter it before he could begin.

Harry grimaced.

Yes, this would indeed be a test. He hoped he was up to the challenge.

~0~0~0~0~

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and the concept behind the flame and the void belongs to the great Robert Jordan. I am merely applying it to this universe.