Gentle riplets of wind caressed her hair, sending strands of the unruly mass against her face and eyelids, which were suddenly raised. "I can't do this."
He looked down at her flowing form, pulled into a controlled, seated position. "Control." He whipped his long, black robes around, sending more waves of air towards her. Her glare, as she noticed his attentions, went entirely unnoticed--or at least without remark.
"Close your eyes, and this time, keep them closed. You told me that you were ready for this; prove it." It never takes much to provoke a Gryffindor and the words 'prove it' from the mouth of a Slytherin are guaranteed to do so.
She shook her head, a defiant, controlled gesture, and shut her eyes.
Breathe. Breathe in, slowly, filling every inch of lung, full of sweet air, oxygen. Out now, out, still slowly--though it should take the same amount of time to release the breath as it did to take it in. Spine straight, tall, strong. In again. Breathe.
Now. Now you can look into your mind. Let there be nothing there, nothing but blankness, nothing... Can you see it?
"See what?"
He opened one eye. "Control."
The eye snapped shut, and she gulped, realizing that to disturb him was to recognize the consequences.
You silly girl. Don't try to concentrate, you'll never get there. It's--the opposite of concentration. Just let your mind be, don't talk to yourself. Don't do anything. Let it be, and then--let it be there.
See?
The house, your house is there... with the yard, and grass, and tree.
And the wall.
Do you see the wall?
Just let it be there, nothing and yet everything.
Let there be the wall.
Put one hand out--just one. Balance. Feel the cold smoothness of the stone, the particular pleasure only the touch of cool stone can give. It slides underneath your fingers, little inconsistencies catching your fingertips, but they continue to move gently.
Feel the mortar binding these stones together.
Do you remember the binding? The building? In that first moment of consciousness, when your mind realized how wide a world it is, and how quickly one can be stranded without some boundaries.
But there are no boundaries to a mind, in the initial second of wakefulness. There is only space, and experiences to be had.
So you built yourself a wall, one of dark, solid stone. It is your wall.
You built it.
And you can take it down.
Severus Snape looked at his pupil. She sat, entranced with her own un-commissioned creation, just as he had once done.
There is a certain fascination we hold of those who we shape, nurture, and help to create.
A certain magicality, if you'll pardon the pun.
A certain magicality that one such as Severus Snape never excepted to feel.
And certainly will never acknowledge.