Occlumency, the defence of the mind, was an enigmatic and immensely useful art.
When the Triwizard Tournament had started to invade Adrian's peace of mind, his father had set him upon the subject. Adrian had touched upon it briefly at the time, adopting it in its most rudimentary form in an effort to clear his thoughts, calm his nerves. The summer after Mr Pucey's death, Madam Pucey had continued his endeavour to train Adrian in the skill.
Madam Pucey did not think it was crucial for Tiberius to learn Occlumency, not yet at least. Adrian took it upon himself to pass on the knowledge to Tiberius anyway. He was pushing him, he knew, but the war threatened to push him regardless.
Augustus left their house without really talking to Tiberius. But it was hardly going to be the last they saw of him. And besides, Adrian could not again ask Madam Pucey to shut him out of the house. Not when there was a good chance that his association could keep them, keep him, out of risk.
But if Adrian could not shield Tiberius from his fate, then he would prepare him for it.
They used the backyard to practice Defence Against the Dark Arts. They used the home office to practice Occlumency. They cleared a space in the centre of the room, setting two chairs close to and facing each other. They started late in the afternoon most days, until the light outside grew softer and distant.
"Again," Adrian ordered, readying his wand for another attack.
Tiberius raised an open palm up to him. "Wait. Just, give me a moment," he requested.
Adrian pursed his lips together, lowered his wand.
Tiberius grabbed the jug of water from the low table beside them, refilled his glass. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong," he admitted, sipped softly at the drink.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, rubbed at his forehead. "It's hard for me to pinpoint where you're lacking. Because only you can truly know your mind," he said. "The best I can do is help you try it until things connect for you."
Occlumency was fickle that way. It didn't help that the literature on the subject was sparse, and its practitioners even more so.
"I feel like I should have progressed more," Tiberius grumbled, placed his glass back on the table.
Adrian twirled his wand in his hand. Truthfully, he felt the same way. Was it possible that Tiberius was simply ill-suited to the art? Or did the fault lie in Adrian's teaching? The memory was a terribly simple one: Tiberius "borrowing" Adrian's broom. And Adrian had, by then, seen it too many times. Perhaps the problem was with the memory itself.
"I want to try a different memory," he said, straightening in his seat.
Tiberius inched forward in his seat, frowned lightly. "All right, I suppose we can do that. What are you going to look for?"
Adrian pressed the tip of his wand to Tiberius's temple. "Where did you get the Muggle cigarettes? Legilimens."
Tiberius eyes widened. Perhaps at the abruptness. Perhaps at the memory.
Then Adrian was plunged into his mind.
Tiberius blew smoke out of his mouth. He argued with their mother in their back gardens, she vanished the pack of cigarettes in his hand. He clenched his empty fist.
Adrian felt Tiberius attempting to pull him back, but he pushed further.
The Hogwarts Express whistled as it neared London. Tiberius, arms crossed and lips pressed together, watched… Blaise Zabini light a cigarette, bring it up to his lips.
Tiberius was fighting to kick him out.
Adrian felt a moment's triumph, because Tiberius was finally, seriously in a position to take back control. But he refused to relent.
The night of the Yule Ball, Tiberius danced with Daphne Greengrass; Zabini and Tracy Davis danced beside them. He watched Greengrass and Davis disappear into the Slytherin common room; Zabini then slung an arm over his shoulders, started leading him down the corridor. Zabini held a hand out to Tiberius, helped him past the parapet and up to the fucking roof of the Astronomy tower.
Adrian felt the connection waver, but the desperation with which Tiberius tried to occlude only made him hold on tighter to the memory thread.
Zabini. casually leaned back on the roof, offered Tiberius a smoke. They laid back against the roof, blowing smoke out of their mouths and attempting to give it shape; a bludger and a bat, a cat and a crup, a snake and an almost-badger. Tiberius pointed to the night sky with his wand as he read the stars that dotted it; Zabini watched him closely.
As the scene unfolded, Adrian felt like he did on the night of the Yule Ball, marching down to the Slytherin common room to ascertain that Tiberius's date was well and truly over. Except, except...
Cigarettes and stars forgotten, Zabini hovered over a frozen and wide-eyed Tiberius, plucked the barely half-smoked roll out of Tiberius's mouth, inched his face closer to Tiberius's until he could press his lips to-
Adrian was abruptly thrown out of the memory and onto his chair, the force toppling him and the chair back to the floor. He groaned lightly, squeezing his eyes close against the throbbing in his head. Exhaling deeply then, he slowly pushed himself to sit upright on the floor.
Tiberius was on his knees on the ground, his head in his hands, his chair down on the floor behind him. The table beside them was knocked away too, and the jug and the glasses were on the ground, water pooling by them. The rest of the room was mercifully unaffected.
Adrian rose carefully from the ground. "That bloody poof," he growled. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded at Tiberius.
Tiberius clutched at his hair, did not reply, did not look up at him.
Adrian scowled lightly, moved towards Tiberius, gently grabbed his arm. "Are you all right?"
Tiberius shook off his grip, shakily got up to his feet, did not look at him. "I'm fine," he said in an unsteady voice, moved to straighten the fallen chair.
Adrian narrowed his eyes at him. "Why didn't you tell me, Ty?" he asked in a more even tone. The veins in his neck pulsed as his anger grew at the other's silence. "I told you to be careful. I've told you!" He took a step back abruptly, his grip tightening around his wand. "When I get my wand on the bastard-"
"Don't," Tiberius said suddenly.
Adrian turned to him again. "And let him think he can get away with it? I bloody well think not."
"I wanted it," Tiberius blurted out, looking at him briefly before turning his eyes away. "I wanted it," he said, softer, surer.
Adrian froze, his anger abruptly choking on itself, and a haze of confusion starting to take over. He furrowed his eyes at Tiberius. "What do you mean you wanted it?"
He shrugged. "I – I kissed him back," he confessed.
He narrowed his eyes at him. "Because he forced himself on you. You don't have to try to-"
"Stop it," Tiberius snapped, looking up at him. "I wanted him to kiss me. And I wanted to kiss him back. And it's not – he didn't force me into anything," he said, louder, harsher.
"But," Adrian frowned. "But you're not… why?"
Tiberius crossed his arms to hug himself. "I liked him, all right?" he said, nothing but anger in his tone.
"Why, what do you mean you liked him," he said, blankly. It was not a question. "Why… your date was Davis."
"I liked her too. But it's not like we were together," he spat.
"You're not-" Adrian cut himself off at Tiberius's glare, felt his grip on his wand weakening with his resolve. "Are you?" He couldn't bring himself to say it.
"Yes," Tiberius hissed. "I – yes, I am," he said through gritted teeth.
Adrian pursed his lips together, looked away, carefully put away his wand. He frowned at the water on the floor, rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried to fight the oncoming headache. "Biddan," he summoned, soft.
Biddan appeared noiselessly, bowed low. "Biddan lives to serve Master Pucey," he said, prompt.
Adrian indicated the mess on the ground. "I'm parched."
Biddan instantly straightened the mess, setting the table and the chair in order, and refilling the jug with water. He then filled one of the glasses to the brim, waved it towards Adrian. " Biddan lives to serve Master Pucey," he repeated, bowing again.
Adrian took the glass from the air, seated himself on the chair that was gently bumping against the back of his legs.
Tiberius remained standing.
"Thank you, Biddan," Adrian said, dismissing the House-Elf.
The instant he and Tiberius were alone again, a thick silence engulfed the space between them.
Tiberius shifted on his feet. "You promised me, you promised me before we started, that you would steer clear of… any such private memories," Tiberius reminded him, his tone resentful.
Adrian slowly sipped his water, his eyes on the clear liquid.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Tiberius asked, a bit petulant.
Adrian found himself at a loss for words as he attempted to fit Tiberius's admission into his world-view. Should he have seen this coming? Were there signs that he missed? Salazar, why? Didn't he have enough to worry about-
"This is why I never told you," Tiberius said, his voice smaller. "I'm going to my room."
"Wait," Adrian stopped him. "Sit. Give me a moment," he requested.
Tiberius pressed his lips together, seated himself slowly, rigidly on his chair.
Adrian glanced up at him, then away again.
"Well?" Tiberius prompted.
Adrian placed his glass back on the table, looked at Tiberius. "I'm trying to understand," he said gently.
"I don't see what's so difficult to comprehend," he said.
He threw his hands up in the air. "What do you want me to say then?" he asked.
Tiberius shifted in his chair, looked away. "I – I don't know," he said, started tapping a foot against the ground.
He sighed lightly. "I thought any memories would be of you and Davis," he said. "I was steering clear."
He shook his head. "Like I said, we weren't really together. I just wanted to get into the Ball."
"And are you and Zabini… together now?" he asked carefully, pressed his lips together as he looked back keenly at him. Zabini was a right ponce, and there was no good way to tell Tiberius that.
Tiberius shook his head again, still looking away. "No. I – I saw him a few times that term," he confessed, his eyes darting briefly to Adrian then away. "But he was distant after the summer. And I didn't want to look needy. So now, well now we're not anything," he said, shrugged dismissively, started tapping his foot harder.
Adrian bit the inside of his cheek to keep from sighing in relief.
Tiberius scowled fiercely at him for a moment, as though he caught his reaction. He looked away then, blinking rapidly. "If you're going to call me a poof, I'm not going to sit here and listen to it," he said tightly, starting to get up from his seat.
"I'm not – Can you stop that?" Adrian said, exasperated, glaring at Tiberius's foot that was sounding out a beat in time to his pounding headache.
His foot halted immediately, and he faltered back onto his seat, crossed his arms across his chest.
Adrian rubbed his forehead. "I'm not going to call you a… anything," he said, gentler.
Tiberius pressed his lips together, turned his eyes down to the floor.
He exhaled harshly. "You know I don't – Merlin! I'm only looking out for you," he said. "I thought he was – I didn't know you liked him, did I? Because you never told me … well, anything really. And if he pushed you into it, and you kept it from me, what am I meant to think? How did he coerce your silence? What else did he push you into?"
Tiberius nodded lightly, did not look up. "I didn't know how to bring it up," he said thickly, ran his hand through his hair, blinked rapidly.
Adrian leaned forward towards him. "I know now, so it doesn't matter any more," he said, gentler.
He nodded again, clenched his fists.
"If you're going to pine for Zabini of all people, however, I might have to cast some sense into you," he said, lighter.
Tiberius scoffed, roughly wiped at his face.
Adrian filled the other glass with water, held it out for Tiberius. Picking up his own then, he sipped at it slowly as he turned his eyes to the window looking out to the garden.
"I'm sorry," Tiberius said softly, after a while, his eyes rimmed a light red.
Adrian was reminded suddenly of Tiberius avoiding him for days together when he had first started at Hogwarts because he had been worried about Adrian's reaction to him not having been sorted into Slytherin. "What for?" Adrian asked, placing his glass back on the table.
Tiberius shrugged, ran a hand through his hair again. "My headache's getting worse. Can we stop for today?"
Adrian nodded in agreement. "Mother should have something for it," he said, got up from his seat. "Come on, my head's killing me too."
Tiberius rose from his chair. "Can you not tell mother? Please?" he requested.
Adrian frowned lightly, pressed his lips together. It was a reasonable request, of course. Madam Pucey could be rigid in her ways, and Adrian doubted she would be readily accepting of Tiberius's inclinations. By Merlin, Adrian himself was having a hard time comprehending it. But on the other hand, how many secrets was he going to need to carry?
"Please, I'll tell her myself," Tiberius added, pleading. "Just, not yet."
"Very well," he agreed with a sigh. "I hope you'll be careful enough that she won't have to hear of it from someone else."
"Yeah, of course," Tiberius nodded, relieved.
"I want you to be very careful about it, even otherwise," Adrian added. "Especially about who you allow to find out. Don't draw attention it."
He frowned at him. "You think I should hide it. I'm hardly going to flaunt it, you know, but I'm not going to be ashamed about – about who I like."
He raised an eyebrow at him. "I think people can be malicious without reason. If you give them a reason, you make it easier for them. All I'm asking is for you to be sensible."
Tiberius looked away, scowled lightly.
Adrian was only trying to protect Tiberius, and that was the most important thing, wasn't it? What did his own hypocrisy matter – dating a Muggle-born in a period of increasing anti Muggle-born sentiment.
Madam Pucey tsked in disapproval at their state when they went in search of Headache Draught. "You really ought to be gentler," she said to Adrian, pressing potions into both their hands. "Or do I need to take over teaching him?"
Tiberius silently gulped his potion down, not meeting either of their eyes.
Adrian hummed in acknowledgement, drank his potion. Was it his fault?
"That's not an answer," she said, crossing her arms.
Well, the blame was bound to fall on him anyway. He bit back a sigh. "I am gentle enough," he replied.
She raised her eyebrows at him. She turned to Tiberius then, gently caught his face in between her hands, narrowed her eyes lightly.
Tiberius shied away from her scrutinizing gaze. "Mother, we're doing fine," he said, drawing her hands away.
She did not appear to be convinced, but she let him go. "Get some rest," she ordered, grabbing the empty phials. "Both of you," she added to Adrian.
Lest she probe further into their session, they both took the offered escape, left for their rooms.