The sanctity of a healthy mind

'Hold still,' said Harry sharply, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His wand was pressed against Amy's temple, having rested against the same spot for more than ten minutes. His arm was on fire, his muscles screaming defiance and protest, but Harry gritted his teeth and persevered. The sooner he finished this medical examination, the better.

'This feels so weird … like a thousand bees buzzing inside my skull. Are you sure you know what you're doing?!' asked Amy, still fidgeting on her chair.

The honest answer would be 'mostly', but Harry figured that wasn't something he was supposed to say. He opted for a slightly euphemistic 'Of course!' instead.

Amy frowned, blowing a few loose strands of her dark hair out of her eyes. 'You're not trying to reassure me with irrational optimism, are you?'

'Not at all. Now be still, please.'

Poppy's instructions had been vague, which hadn't been helped by the fact that Harry didn't want the motherly matron to figure out exactly what troubled him. Amicable friendship or not – she was duty-bound to report to Dumbledore.

'Raise your left ring finger in front of your body.'

'Like so?'

'Right. Now, close your eyes and nudge it with your right little finger.'

Harry watched as Amy followed his instructions effortlessly.

'You're not taking advantage of this to make the monkey dance, are you?' asked Amy suspiciously.

'No.'

'Well, you'd better not. I know where you sleep!'

Harry carefully brought his wand to the little bowl of water, dipping the tip in just enough to ripple the water. For a few seconds, he stared intently at the surface, waiting for anything to happen. But the little waves ebbed away, and within a few moments, the surface was as smooth as it had ever been. There was no change in colour either.

'All right, we're done,' he said, swivelling on his chair to flip through a large tome that lay next to the patient's bed on a small lectern.

'And?' demanded Amy, opening her eyes. When he didn't answer immediately, she got up, eyeing him impatiently. 'Come on, tell me already!'

Harry reread the passage about mind-affecting spells once more – just to make sure. 'Well, according to this, you're not currently subject to any mind-altering charm that I know of. Except for one, obviously, that I have no method of detecting.'

'The Imperius,' said Amy matter-of-factly.

'Indeed. But it doesn't exactly fit the pattern, meaning the only positive was a recent obliviation after all. Again. Seeing as your housemate confirmed that you didn't stay in the dormitory the entire time and only strolled in around noon, we can also exclude Polyjuice. I'd say you were probably confunded or under some kind of potion. But my expertise with the latter is limited.'

'Those bastards,' grumbled Amy, clenching her fists. 'I'm so going to –'

'To do nothing,' said Harry flatly. 'Not yet anyway.'

'What?! You're expecting me to take this insult?! Those blasted smarty-pants! Next time, I'm going to –'

'Wake up in your dormitory again, more than likely,' finished Harry. 'I know you must be frustrated, but this marks the second time you tried to get the better of them. I don't see why the third time would be any different.'

'But we haven't learned anything yet!' spat Amy heatedly, glaring at him.

Harry knew that Amy was probably the most orgulous of his friends – even if she'd never put it that way. She was also the most slippery and sneaky person Harry knew, and she was immensely proud of that. This had to sting. Small wonder she was bristling.

'Quite the contrary,' he said, smiling encouragingly. 'We learned that Hermione's teachers are the real deal. Someone powerful and vigilant with expert knowledge in covert dealings. In short, we're likely dealing with either yet another very successful criminal or –'

'… an Auror, yes, I'm not daft,' said Amy, looking slightly mollified. To Harry's relief, she seemed to recognise that it might be unreasonable to expect a student to best an Auror.

'Two teachers,' recapped Harry, swivelling on his chair, lost in thought. 'One of them likely an Auror or very experienced Hit Wizard. They're extremely cautious but not unreasonable.' Faced with Amy's burning glare, Harry hastily added, 'You have to admit that they could've done a lot worse to you. If you think about it, you're a bit of a security risk for them, but they haven't done anything to permanently discourage you from snooping around.'

'They're cocky!' Amy rephrased his musings.

'Quite.'

'But they're also worried. They have stakes.'

Harry looked at Amy with interest. 'What do you mean?'

'They wouldn't be on the lookout if they didn't have anything to hide, would they?'

'Well, you're right, of course,' said Harry thoughtfully. 'I wonder what it is they're worried about. Their job? Family?'

'Have you ever considered they might be someone we know?'

Harry thought the notion was ridiculous and was about to say so, but then he reconsidered. 'What makes you say that?' he asked instead.

Amy shrugged. 'Nothing. But my mother always said that the worst kind of enemies are traitors because they're always out of sight. I think it's good thinking to assume the worst and work your way up from there.'

'Don't take this the wrong way, Amy, but your mother is mildly insane. And your father … well …'

For just a second, it looked as if Amy was going to hit him, and Harry was certain that would have been the consequence of anyone but him saying what he had just said. In the end, Amy just sighed, looking away. 'I know, I know,' she grumbled. 'Doesn't mean she's wrong though.'

'No,' admitted Harry. Paranoia, as much of a burden as it usually proved to be, had saved his family a dozen times over in the past. 'I guess it doesn't.'

Memory Lane

Harry knocked on the door and, without waiting for a reply, entered.

Tracey was in the middle of a lecture, her left forefinger raised and her right hand resting on her waist. Her arm sank slowly as Harry's appearance drained the enthusiasm from her.

'Harry!' said Leo, surprised. 'We didn't expect you tonight.'

Harry softly closed the door behind him, nodding at the assembled unofficial Occlumency club. 'I know. Yaxley and Shafiq got on my nerves again, and the library's about to close. Don't mind me, I just need some space to read in peace.'

He retreated to the far back corner of the room, opened his book about 17th-century charms and began to read.

Hesitantly, Tracey resumed her lecture, and Hermione, Draco, and Leo turned their attention to her instead. Daphne, on the other hand, smiled, walking up to him. Privately, Harry suspected that she'd yearned for just about any kind of distraction. At least she wouldn't be any worse than Yaxley and Shafiq.

'Hey!' she said, sitting down next to him. 'Any news about Pettigrew?'

'None,' said Harry, his gaze fixed firmly on the text before him.

'So he's still being held by the Ministry?'

'Yes.'

'You don't think that solicitor of his will save his neck?'

'Maybe.'

'How?' asked Daphne, oblivious to his lacklustre replies.

Harry's brow creased. He'd reached the end of single word answers. 'It all depends,' he said, hoping this would fly.

'Depends on what?' asked Daphne with the patience of a saint.

'Fine, you win!' said Harry, closing the book. Daphne, he saw as he looked up, was grinning. 'Proper procedures, correct channels, efficacious evidence – those sorts of things. Look, are you really interested in British case law, or do you simply wish to keep me from my book, which – for your information – is really gripping?'

'You've been hiding away with either Pomfrey or your books ever since Hogsmeade!'

'It's only been a couple days.'

'You didn't even turn up to watch Malfoy lose! It really was quite something when Hufflepuff scored and pulled two hundred points ahead. Malfoy was incandescent with rage. It was at that moment that I felt something … yes … something like pity for him.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'As if. I'd bet anything you turned up hoping he'd lose.'

Daphne grinned at him again. 'Guilty as charged! Shame he didn't play any worse. I mean, he's not even the most hopeless of the lot. The beaters are ridiculously bad; they're like baboons swinging branches. I sort of expected them to hurl faeces any second.'

'Listen, the only organised extra-curricular activity I'd even consider joining is the Duelling Club – and that one's suspended. And that was disgusting, by the way. Thanks for the imagery.'

'Yeah, I wondered about that,' said Daphne, ignoring his complaint. 'Duelling's popular, right? Can't imagine nobody'd sign up if they reopened it. Do you have any idea why they're so stubborn about it?'

Harry sighed, looking at the enthusiastically babbling girl at his side. He chose to yield, shoving the book away and turning around to properly face her. 'Well, I know Flitwick used to be in charge. He and Snape have both been in the European Duelling Circuit. Formally, Flitwick is still in charge, but something must have happened to spoil it for him. He's never brought it up when we chat after class.'

'So how do you know?'

'Newspapers. He used to be the British champion.'

'I can see that. I imagine it'd be really difficult to hit him when he moves about all quick-like,' said Daphne.

Harry gave her a sharp look. 'I feel like this might be the time to point out that I like Flitwick!'

'I didn't mean it like that!'

'Fine.'

'… but you have to admit he's tiny.'

'He's not … statuesque, but he's got a very bright mind, and – for your information – he's got an incredible sense of humour.'

'There you go then! You should ask him to reopen the club.'

'Wait, what?!' asked Harry, reeling.

'You're probably his favourite student ever! Remember when he took points off Finnigan for standing in the way of your spell?! That was ridiculous! Brilliant, really, but utterly ridiculous!'

'Well, technically speaking, he really did stand in the way of my spell.'

'Don't give me that rot, Harry; I know for a fact that you held your fire until the exact moment so he'd be "in the way"!'

Harry gave a lazy smile. 'Accidents happen.'

'I'm sure they do,' said Daphne, smiling exasperatedly. 'Anyway, why don't you go ask him? He's bound to say yes if it's you!'

Harry sighed. 'Not right now. No. No, seriously, Daphne, listen! I have a lot on my plate – too much for my taste and appetite! Duelling lessons really aren't that important considering what we're dealing with on a daily basis.'

'I thought you might enjoy it,' grumbled Daphne, unwilling to give up too easily. 'You're reading too much!'

'I like reading,' said Harry testily. 'What's wrong with that?'

'It reminds me of how you used to hide away in the library, that's what!' said Daphne, crossing her arms.

Harry swallowed his first response. 'It's nothing like that. I'm just a bit … frustrated, all right? Come on, don't tell me you can't understand.'

'I do understand,' said Daphne reproachfully. 'Which is why we're having this talk! Don't you think you might've enjoyed the day with considerably less brooding and more fun if you'd just come to the stupid Quidditch match with the rest of us? Do you really think I went there for house unity or interest in sports or any of that rubbish?! Don't make me laugh! And – Merlin knows I'll deny mentioning this until my dying breath – Malfoy really was disappointed you didn't show up.'

'All right, all right – I get it!'

Daphne instantly deflated like a balloon that had been punctured. 'Fine then. As long as you understand.'

'Why is it always you who gives me these kinds of friendly little reminders anyway?' asked Harry after a while.

'Well,' said Daphne, 'mostly because the others don't know you well enough, are quite guarded around you, are too prideful, or think – and here I quote – all this "touchy-feely stuff is stupid". That's why.'

Harry grinned. 'Let me guess. Tracey, Hermione, Draco, Amy – in that order. What did Leo say when you nagged him about it?'

'I didn't nag!' She looked up, bashful. 'He said I should talk to you since I know you best and also, well … never mind.'

Harry raised an eyebrow but chose not to inquire further. For once, Daphne's endless stream of words appeared to have dried up.

'How about I help you with the Banishing Charm?' said Harry to break the silence. 'You'll be the first in class to get it right.'

'After you, you mean. But really, Harry?' moaned Daphne, less than thrilled. 'Homework?'

Motivating Daphne for schoolwork that wasn't related to Potions could be a challenge, but Harry knew just the thing. 'If you get it right, you can try hitting the back of Draco's head with bits of chalk from here.'

Daphne immediately sat straight. 'Great! How do I start? What do I do?'

Harry rolled his eyes again, but there was a smile on his lips even as he corrected Daphne's grip on her wand, moving her hand through the motions.

He really was being stupid after all. His personal past was a wasteland of nightmares, and the present – more often than not – was trying to keep up that tradition. That wasn't going to change any time soon. Daphne, however, had always been there through all the troubled times. With her, it was always easy, uncomplicated. It was hard to imagine where he'd be today without her.

'No, you're making too large a sweep,' said Harry, wiggling his arm around her waist to take her right hand in his. With a sharp snap of his wrist, he directed her wand and hand both.

'Depulso!'

They both watched the small piece of chalk zoom across the room.

'Ouch! What was that?!' mumbled Draco, rubbing his skull.

'What was what?' they heard Hermione ask.

'Dunno. Something hit me.'

'Maybe a bit of plaster? This place is really badly maintained,' said Hermione, eyeing the ceiling warily. 'Do you think we should tell Filch? It might be dangerous here.'

'You're off your rocker, Granger,' mumbled Draco, glancing over his shoulder. Daphne and Harry were innocently deep in conversation. When he looked away again, frowning, Daphne began to snigger. 'How can you do it so effortlessly with my wand and my hand?! Anyway, let me try already!'

The rest of the evening (and – incidentally – a substantial part of the classroom's furnishing) passed by quickly. Shield Charms, Harry decided as he idly watched books, junk, and everything else Draco and Daphne could get their hands or wands on zoom by, could never be over-appreciated. Harry didn't partake, though he chose to intervene one time when Draco maliciously hurled a rather large book at Daphne when she had to sneeze due to the immense amount of raised dust.

Inwardly, Harry was quite impressed how fast Draco got the hang of the charm though. Then again, being bombarded with stubs of chalk (and later broken legs of a chair) was probably highly motivating in its own right. Leo, Tracey, and Hermione looked rather annoyed about the stray projectiles and the perceived lack of discipline, but they didn't say anything, choosing instead to talk that much louder to express their disapproval over all the fuss.

That was until Tracey had enough and casually summoned all the junk in the room to her side. 'Evanesco!' she snarled, vanishing the entire supply of ammunition. 'What was that, Hermione? Didn't catch a word of that with all that ruckus these idiots made.'

'Oh – that was neat!' said Hermione, nodding approvingly. 'I was wondering, since Occlumency's capable of controlling emotions, aren't you in danger of accidentally altering past emotions?'

'What?' asked Leo. 'No, that sort of thing doesn't happen, don't worry. I don't even think it's possible to tell you the truth. Never heard of it.'

'Me neither,' said Tracey.

'It's possible,' said Harry, yawning and stretching as he stood up. 'You know how there are two approaches to Occlumency, right?' When the Muggle-born gave a slow nod, he continued, 'Well, if you stick to subjugating your emotions instead of killing them off, you'll be perfectly fine. Technically speaking, it is still possible, but you'd have to really mean it, and even then you'd need to know the spell and some sort of container to store your emotions in. That approach to Occlumency wasn't invented to wipe your own mind. You'll be fine.'

'Oh, thank God,' said Hermione, looking relieved.

'Come on,' said Daphne, patting chalk dust off her robes. 'Let's call it a day, guys. We have another stupid Apparition lesson tomorrow. I'll need all the sleep I can get to make it through that.'

'Good thinking,' said Hermione, gathering her notes.

As he was wont to do, Harry checked the windows, cleaned the floor, and pushed the chairs they'd used to the wall before he left. The others were waiting for him, probably at Daphne's insistence. Behind his back, Tracey was watching him, her expression thoughtful.

'Something wrong, Tracey?' he heard Daphne ask.

'What?! Oh, it's probably nothing.'

Memory Lane

It always surprised visitors how busy the Ministry was at all hours. The foyer, even at this time of the night, was bustling with paper planes and hassled-looking people muttering under their breaths. Some departments, like Magical Law Enforcement or International Cooperation, practically never slept, and whoever worked at the Quidditch League found out all too soon that most reports had to be written at night. People often wondered what kind of magic was done the most at the Ministry. The answer was simple: Cheering Charms. A close second were Anti-Hysteria Potions, which were distributed free of charge to all members of staff. It was a strange quirk of humankind that the Ministry was immensely proud of that fact.

Contrary to what newcomers to the Ministry thought, not only the underlings worked late at night. Inter-department conferences between the senior staff were quite common.

'He's something, isn't he?' said the man, throwing himself on top of the couch. 'Always deep in trouble!' The way the man guffawed, one couldn't help wondering if 'trouble' – in the man's very personal vocabulary – was interchangeable with 'fun'. 'Talk about a close shave!'

The woman watched wearily as the man made himself comfortable on what, essentially, was her bed just as often as the one she shared with her husband at home. 'Will you at least take your shoes off?! And yes, sit down, why don't you? How about my couch? Don't mind me.'

'Thanks,' said the man, grinning. 'Aw, come on – don't be like that! We got something, didn't we? You need to let loose once in a while. You're more crusted than some of the geezers snoring through the Wizengamot! You're not even forty yet, for Merlin's sake!'

The woman threw the man a sharp glare. 'You were always hopeless. Even back at school I always knew you'd end up a good-for-nothing. Back to the topic.'

'Hey, I'm an Auror! That's definitely more than nothing.' Ignoring the sceptic expression of the woman, he put both arms under his head, closing his eyes. 'Anyway, anything new from our good friend Peter?'

'Nothing. He's refusing to say anything but "I demand to speak my lawyer".'

The man raised an eyebrow. 'He hasn't yet? How'd you manage that?'

'There's this obscure precedent fourteen hundred … something-something. Someone sold Ministry secrets and the Wizengamot deemed it a security risk for the suspect to meet his lawyer, a known associate, until all security leaks had been addressed. But we're going to let him see his solicitor soon regardless; that way we can arrest him, too.'

'Nice,' said the man, giving a huge thumbs up.

'Anyway, would you please be serious for once?! That Hogsmeade business was much too close for comfort. Did you know the boy was in contact with Pettigrew?! If it hadn't been for the rat's greed, this entire operation would be in jeopardy!'

'How was I to know?! It's not like I can just walk up to him. "Hey, Harry. How's it hanging?! Oh, I'm with the Ministry, but I'm sure we'll be best mates regardless." Right!'

'Fine, be that way. But I have to say, I'm impressed and disgusted,' said the woman thoughtfully. 'You know, him being Lily's boy, I always thought there was a chance … But it seems I was wrong. He's more Black than I can stand.'

'And others aren't?' said the man, grinning. 'But how so?'

'You do realise how little the girl knows, right? She clearly considers the boy to be her friend, but that friendship's not exactly founded on trust, is it?'

'You wouldn't understand. The old families are brought up to do it like that. They'll never completely trust you unless you're a relation. The best the poor girl could hope for would be marrying a distant cousin of Harry's. The old sods wouldn't want a Muggle-born too close to the wood trunk, but they might be able to ignore her joining some unimportant side branch. That might change things in the long run.'

'That's repulsive.'

'Hey, don't look at me like that! I've got nothing to do with all that rubbish! Just saying how it is.'

'I know, I know …' The woman sighed, rubbing her eyes. 'Amelia is getting on my nerves these days.'

'Welcome to my daily life.'

There was a knock on the door.

'Come in,' said the woman.

'Ah, Rendall!' said the man on the couch, waving. 'We've had our first coup!'

'With your lessons?!' said Rendall Prewett, eyes widening. 'Enough to get back at the Blacks?!'

'Not yet,' said the woman, throwing her colleague a look. 'But we've had some real progress. Come, sit down. We'll fill you in.'

Memory Lane

'Oh, no. Are you all right, James, my dear?' asked the cruel voice in the grey mists of time, thick with sham sympathy. She was leering down at the bleeding man whose fingers were still twitching in the direction of his wand, his mouth, ruined and bloody, forming unheard words.

'Looking for your toy-toy, teeny-weeny Jamesy?'

Those few who had already returned from securing the mansion laughed sycophantically.

'Here, my poor ickle Auror. Take it. Pick it up. I'll give you a hand.'

Carefully, she nudged the discarded wand with her feet in the direction of the moaning Auror. James Potter, through delirious eyes, blinked at the woman looming above him. Then, with a speed and precision that took most of the watchers aback, his hand shot for the wand, swinging his broken arm at the woman above him in a wide circle.

But the woman had been ready, had been waiting. 'Diffindo!' she yelled, cackling madly.

James Potter screamed, howled with pain as a fountain of blood shot from the stump of his arm.

The woman, still laughing, picked up the cut-off hand that was still clutching the wand, waggled it a few times, and threw it at the writhing man on the floor, blood spraying everywhere. 'There you go, Jamesy. We all know your reputation as a hands-on man on the job. This should come in handy.'

'Harry, Harry!' cried another, distant voice.

Harry gaped in horror, his entire body shaking. His heart was threatening to leap from his throat as he stared with wide eyes at Daphne, who was shaking him by his shoulders. Daphne appeared scared out of her mind.

His hands felt clammy, and he had to gulp a few times to keep the bile down. He felt so sick, the recollection of his father's mutilation, his screams of agony still piercing his core.

'Hey,' he said weakly, struggling to sit upright. He must have fallen asleep in the common room again. 'How late is it? Did I miss a lesson?'

'Don't give me that! You were screaming your lungs out right now! You had another nightmare, didn't you?'

Harry clenched his fists and nodded.

'That bad?' asked Daphne softly, sitting down very close to him, leaning against his shoulder.

It took a while to form coherent words, but eventually Harry answered, his voice raspy. 'They were sick bastards, those guys that attacked the Potters. I've seen some nauseous things, but those bastards that killed my parents were psychopaths by any standards.'

'What'd they do?' whispered Daphne, taking his hand.

'You don't want to know.'

She tightened her hold on his hand. 'What did they do?' she asked again, a tad more insistent.

'My father … they made him duel. He lost – badly, I told you already. I just saw what happened afterwards.'

'They might have cheated. I mean, he was an Auror, right? You told me there were so many of them.'

Harry gave a bitter laugh. 'Do you really think I care that he lost? You don't understand, I see him, see him still lying on the floor, arms broken, resting in an unnatural angle, mouth bloody, teeth missing, eyes swollen, hair singed, feet ashen from some dark spell. I smell the rot of death hanging in the air. They … they cut off his hand and … hit him with it, jeering. All of them were hooting as if they'd never seen anything so hilarious, as if they were watching some fancy trick, some Sunday afternoon show.'

Daphne put one arm around him, drawing him even closer to her. Harry let out a deep breath, relaxing into the familiarity of her closeness.

'You know, it's no wonder that you were a little … you know … when you were younger,' she said gently.

'Neurotic,' said Harry shortly.

'Don't say that! I mean, even if you didn't remember all of that, that sort of stuff has to leave a mark somehow … But …'

'But what?'

'Are you sure you're actually better off remembering?' she asked. 'I mean, the more you think back, the more pain there is. Pain won't bring you closure, Harry. Pain will only make it worse.'

'What?! I should just ignore it? Let myself be dominated by some unknown fear? No, I'll suffer these nightmares. I'll remember the faces of all those wretches responsible. And I will find them.'

'But you might never remember. You weren't even two yet, Harry – two! Most people will never remember something that far back.'

'I will,' said Harry stubbornly. 'I already am. I'll watch it all, I'll find out who they are, and I'll make them pay their dues.'

Whatever Daphne's thoughts on the matter, she didn't speak up again. Harry suspected she disapproved. For the rest of the afternoon, they just sat huddled together in front of the fireplace. Harry didn't want to talk, and Daphne knew better than to try. But she was there with him, and that made all the difference.

Memory Lane

Slowly but surely, the nightmares became a recurring self-inflicted torment, and it wasn't all that uncommon for Harry to spend the better part of the night in the common room, crouched in front of the fire, staring into the flames – in Daphne's words – like a 'gloomy spectre of misery'.

As of late, Daphne was setting her alarm for the middle of the night, or so Harry privately suspected; it was getting hard to believe she was having trouble falling asleep, had to use the bathroom, or awoke in a panic because she'd forgotten to do her homework every other night when Harry knew Daphne to be a very heavy sleeper.

He didn't bring it up – just as Daphne refrained from raising her opinion about Harry willingly suffering nightly visions of horrendous disfigurements wreaked on his family. He suffered them as stoically as he could. Eating wasn't easy though, especially in the morning whenever he'd witnessed the gruesome affair of his family's demise, even those bits he'd seen before. He could never stomach more than a few minutes of his parents' anguish, no matter how resolute he was, as his own screams would often rip him from his memories, back into his shaking, sweat-drenched body.

'I can't believe you're doing this to yourself,' Daphne had said the one time she'd braved the topic during their nocturnal vigils in front of the fire. 'How come you're having those dreams at all?! Shouldn't Occlumency help?'

It should, would have been Harry's answer had he felt inclined to give it. But the truth was that Harry was going out of his way to refrain from all the little exercises that had become second nature to him. They had become so much a part of his routine that he had to make a conscious effort not to slip up whenever he lay in his bed of feathers, awaiting sleep's gentle touch.

He was being impatient; from what he could tell, forgoing his exercises increased the frequency of his suppressed memories. Without Occlumency, they felt different though. Less like memories, more real – urgent.

That, in turn, bore other consequences; sleep deprivation and a meagre diet took their toll on Harry, and he was having trouble concentrating in class. Worse were the resurfacing magical hallucinations. They were as grating during Transfiguration lessons as they were useful in spotting Disillusionment Charms. Even the chatter of the wands had returned.

But he was possessed, engrossed by every detail of agony he witnessed, eagerly wishing for more, for that one glimpse that would allow him to identify his secret enemies. What were a few strands of light, eerie echoes of laughter unheard by all but him? What was the lingering smell of blood he couldn't rid himself of in comparison to that treasure of knowledge he so desperately sought? He welcomed the daydreams. Harry felt elated whenever he dozed off during the day, being just aware enough to hope for one more stroll through his nightmares.

So far he had been out of luck. There hadn't even been another sighting of Dolohov near Hogsmeade.

In a way, Harry simply tried to get the school days over with as fast of possible; he suffered the vanities of the day only for those few nightly minutes of masochistic pleasure. Like never before, his heart was burning for vengeance, and every detail he bore witness to only steeled his resolve.

It was one of those days, not long before the Yule break, that – to his astonishment – Harry, feeling slightly light-headed, was being held back after another Defence class he could only vaguely recall.

'Black, one moment,' said Aenor as the rest of the class trotted towards the exit.

'What does she want?!' hissed Daphne, who was walking right behind him in case he collapsed, which – Harry liked to point out – had only happened once.

Harry shrugged. He had no appointment he was aware of. 'What is it … Professor?' he asked, choosing to opt for a formal approach in the presence of Daphne and Tracey.

'You have another of your droll Apparition lessons if I'm not mistaken?' asked Aenor.

In unison, they all nodded.

'And, according to Filius, you have already completed the course, Black?'

Harry shrugged again. 'I suppose. More practice wouldn't hurt I su–'

'Good enough!' declared Aenor, smiling. 'I need to have a word with you. You lot – off you go. Do enjoy your date with Twycross.'

'Later, Harry,' called Draco.

'Tell us at dinner what this was all about,' said Hermione, waving goodbye.

Daphne and Tracey threw Aenor one last contemptuous look before they followed the rest of the Slytherins.

Harry and Aenor silently watched them go.

'What is it?' asked Harry when they were alone.

Aenor sat down behind her desk, grinning. 'Is it just me or do I detect a certain lack of appreciation for my time here?'

Harry sat down in front of the desk, staring through droopy eyes. 'I'm a tad tired.'

'So I noticed. You didn't even rise to my bait of putting Bones in her place. You're not ill, are you?'

'Lack of sleep,' said Harry non-committally. 'What can I do for you?'

'For me? I rather thought I was doing something for you!' When Harry stared through unseeing eyes at her, she said, 'Dumbledore's out of the country for the day, and the four illustrious heads of houses are attending the Apparition class.' She waited to see if this would clue Harry in. It didn't. 'Legilimency,' she said, speaking very slowly. 'You do remember, don't you? Glimpsing into another's mind – that sort of thing?'

'Oh, yeah,' said Harry, who in truth hadn't remembered at all. 'Right. Great! So … now?'

'Now,' said Aenor.

'Do I need to prepare myself? Is there something I should know? Some kind of … ritual or something?'

'Listen, Harry,' said Aenor with a hint of impatience. 'This, frankly, is an exercise in futility. I'll say it one more time. Master Occlumens try their hands at Legilimency under the careful instruction of another Legilimens. You don't pick it up during one idle afternoon in your third year of school! This,' she said with an exasperated sigh, 'I do against my better judgement and to shut you up. We'll go over the charm. I'll answer your questions. You'll get your chance to try your hand. You'll be thoroughly disappointed, and I'll have my peace whilst fulfilling my carelessly given promise.'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' said Harry sarcastically.

'See? This is what you don't get. This isn't a matter of confidence. This is a matter of reality. Hecate herself wouldn't have been able to pick it up between lunch and teatime.'

'But here we are anyway,' said Harry with a faint grin.

'But here we are,' repeated Aenor sombrely. 'As you're no doubt aware, Legilimency doesn't restrict itself to deciphering visions, emotions, thoughts, or memories of the test subject. Its true art is … manifesting your own will to dominate another's, not unlike the Imperius. Both of which – regrettably – have been outlawed by your charitable Ministry of the Weak. We, however, will not pursue such lofty goals. I won't even go over how the wandless application of the spell differs from what you're about to fail at. For – indeed – we'll stick to the crudest, most basic form of the spell.'

Harry frowned. 'We could at least talk about it, couldn't we?'

'Later maybe,' said Aenor shortly. 'You are aware that I'm breaking the law just telling you these things, right?'

'Are you afraid I'm going tattle, Professor?' said Harry, smirking.

'Very amusing. The only thing I'm afraid of is dying of boredom. Anyway, you know the incantation, don't you?'

'Er, no,' said Harry lamely.

Aenor looked taken aback. 'You don't?'

'My … initial Occlumency instructor never had the courtesy to announce the spell,' said Harry. 'Not unlike you,' he added. 'And as we've already established, it's not exactly a topic you read about daily in the Prophet. Also, Grandfather always said some magics should wait.'

'And you listen to him but not to me?!' She sighed. 'Anyway, did your grandfather teach you?'

'It wasn't my grandfather, no,' said Harry slowly. As far as he was aware, Arcturus wasn't actually a Legilimens. No, his first teacher had been Bellatrix, but he wasn't about to say so.

'Doesn't really matter. The incantation is Legilimens, and this,' she performed a sharp stabbing motion followed by an inward twirl, 'is the exaggerated gesture – which you would usually drop first and well in advance of stopping to chant the spell. Try it a few times without your wand.'

Harry, feeling like a six-year-old about to attempt his first bit of magic, sheepishly went through the motions.

'All right,' said Aenor. 'Now pick up your wand, look me in the eye, do the spell as best you can, and imagine diving head-first into my mind via my irises.' After a short pause, she added, 'I shall refrain from squashing you like a bug, generous person that I am.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'You have my gratitude, your highness.'

They stood up, positioning themselves in the middle of the room, opposite one another. Aenor, Harry realised, had her wand at her side, even if she wouldn't, strictly speaking, be needing it. Harry didn't blame her as he would have done the same; testing spells could get messy.

'All right, on my count of three. One,' began Aenor.

Harry, alarmed that he was being asked to perform this highly advanced bit of magic so suddenly, hastily raised his wand, staring at those glacial eyes that danced mockingly.

'Two! Three!'

Harry concentrated, willing himself to leap from his corporeal body and focusing on those eyes. 'Legilimens!'

For a few seconds, they stared at one another.

'Satisfied?' said Aenor, her serious expression slowly turning into a grin. 'See? There's at least this one charm you're bound to fail at.'

Nothing at all had happened – not even a tingling, not even the faintest reverberation of magic. Perplexed, Harry stared at his wand.

'Come on! Give me a chance!'

'It wouldn't be a chance even if I gave you the entirety of this month,' mumbled Aenor. Spotting his expression she raised her hands in concession. 'Fine. Fine! Have another go. Ready?'

Harry nodded grimly.

'One! Two! Three!'

'Legilimens!'

Once more, there was a whole lot of nothing.

'I'm not doing anything wrong, am I?'

'Not as far as I can tell,' said Aenor, clearly amused by his disbelief.

'You're not trying to get rid of me, are you?'

'No,' she said severely, her grin dropping. 'The entire point of this exercise was to show you that some things are beyond us. At least for now. I'm not trying to cheat you; I'm trying to open your eyes!'

But Harry wasn't willing to give up so easily. 'Isn't there some … clue you can give? Anything at all?!'

Aenor sighed again, scratching her neck with one hand while the other rested on her waist. 'Well, you could try to focus on the state of not occluding your mind. That's how my instructor used to put it. I don't think I can explain it any better, do you know what I mean? Imagine skipping your exercises, how your mind would feel. Unwound. Disorderly. Open. Know what I mean?'

Harry nodded. He knew perfectly well what she meant, seeing as he'd been feeling like that for quite a while now.

'I do. Once more, please.'

Aenor shrugged, lifting her own wand. 'One! Two! Three!'

'Legilimens!'

Once more, even as Harry shouted the incantation, he felt as if he threw his words against a bottomless pit. There was nothing. His effort simply … vanished along the way.

'Again!' he said, gritting his teeth.

Aenor was about to say something, but spotting his expression, she reconsidered. 'Okay. One! Two! Three!'

Again, Harry focused his entire being on the spell, willing himself to lunge forward into those clear eyes he knew so well. Again, he felt … impeded, as if his effort was blocked by some invisible barrier.

'Again!'

Again, again, and again he tried. But there was nothing, nothing at all happened.

Aenor must think I'm an idiot.

'Look, Harry,' said Aenor, not unkindly. 'Why don't we just talk about the spell? That, at least, will be somewhat fruitful. I'm not disappointed, really. I went into this with the absolute, unshakable certainty that nothing would happen.'

'No … I feel like it's possible but … something's in the way.'

Aenor looked unconvinced. 'It's true that, as far as I know, most students lack the will to violate another's mind but –'

'Again!' he insisted, clenching his fist. He was getting frustrated, and he knew it.

Against her better judgement, Aenor lifted her wand once more. 'All right. Once more. One! Two –'

Harry gritted his teeth, pointing his shaking hand. His head was a mess. All the pent-up frustration of the past few weeks was swirling around. The bottomless hatred – directed at his own weakness and those sadistic madmen – that lingered whenever he forced himself to watch his nightly torture sessions, it all clamoured inside of his head, an unquenchable bluster of blind rage.

How to move the wand, how to sharpen his mind – all of that was far from his thoughts. There was only the dull, mundane hunger to succeed. The hunger for vengeance. The hunger to rid himself of his past. The hunger to prove himself, maybe. What it was he wanted was a matter of perspective but – undoubtedly – it boiled down to voracious hunger.

'Legilimens!'

Suddenly, it was as if someone had pulled the plug from the bath of reality. Aenor, the floor, the walls, it all spiralled out of control as if an unseen, nauseating vortex of infinite mass was draining the very fabric of existence, cramming it with all its might into Harry's brain.

A thousand pictures, colours, strands of coarse sounds, the echoes of smells, it all blended into one gigantic, massive, incalculable mountain of undecipherable, meaningless information, slamming into Harry's consciousness, battering away at his mind like asteroids against a carefully calculated telescope.

Harry screamed his lungs out, but the merciless torrent wouldn't stop.

He was blind, the world in front of him having long lost any resemblance to what he knew. Whether he was standing or flying, he had no way of knowing. Gravity, along with any other concept of normalcy, had lost its meaning.

Harry prayed it would stop, hoped this ordeal would finally cease; it hurt so badly.

But there was always more, more to be drunk like the water of truth; beyond this mind, beyond this room, beyond this school – the bottomless pit in his mind would never have its fill.

He was vaguely aware of something slamming into him. And then the world – or what remained of it – grew dim.

How much time passed, Harry didn't know. He awoke to the discomforting sensation of a hand pressing against his throat.

Forcing one burning eye open, he saw Aenor kneeling next to him, one hand around his throat, the other hand pointing her wand between his eyes.

'Do you recognise me?!' she demanded, her voice urgent and laced by a shrillness Harry was unfamiliar with. 'Do you? Speak!'

'Yeah?' he croaked. Her hand was constricting his windpipe. 'What happened?'

She stared at him, her eyes unnaturally wide. Then, she took a few careful steps back, though her wand remained pointed in vaguely his direction. Her other hand, Harry noticed, was scratched, mangled.

'You are never to use that charm again. Never – do you hear me?! Not in a thousand lifetimes or if the very sky falls on you! Don't even think about trying to use the charm. Harry, I'm serious.'

'Yeah, okay. I get it,' he said, coughing. His throat was sore. 'What happened?!'

Again, she ignored his question. 'Keep practising your Occlumency. Nothing else! I'm not joking around here, and this isn't a polite request. If whatever just happened happens again, I might have to put you down – Vow or not.'

She did sound deadly serious. For a few seconds, Harry stared into those cool eyes. He nodded.

'What happened?' he asked for a third time, wiping his mouth. 'I had some sort of … hallucination.'

'Nothing happened. Forget anything happened at all. Forget it all!' she said, hastening towards her desk, scribbling away with maddening speed. 'I need to … consult others – books not available here. This cannot wait. I just hope it isn't –' She frowned, her pen momentarily coming to a halt. 'Doesn't matter. I'll soon know anyway.'

Harry frowned. What was happening?!

Aenor, having finished whatever notices she'd scribbled, conjured a cloak, and shot one last glance at Harry. 'Occlumency, Harry. Do you understand?'

'I don't understand! What happened?!'

Aenor came to a stop next to him, and for barely a second, her hard gaze softened. 'Are you afraid?' she asked.

Despite himself, Harry gave a hesitant nod.

'Good. Don't speak of this to anyone. Don't let your Occlumency waver for even a second. I need to get some answers …' She gripped his shoulder and then, without another word, she was out of the classroom, rushing as if the devil was on her heels. Harry stood next to the door, listening as the echoes of her steps faded away.

Looking over his shoulder, he cast one last glance at the room – and his breath caught.

In the centre, right where he had stood, something seemed to have thrashed the furniture. Even the age-old oak desks hadn't been spared; one of them was missing a vaguely oval-shaped part of its top.

Harry shuddered. The room … it felt as if it was filled with a oily, gaseous darkness. Harry recoiled, disgusted by the murkiness behind him.

Even the chilly corridor, oddly bereft of any torch light, had never seemed so inviting and warm.