Ever since that day at the lake, things had changed. The shift was subtle at first, but it became more obvious as the days passed. Celeste and Daphne had stopped talking to him, their usually easy banter and glances gone, replaced by an unspoken distance. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. Their families' influence, no doubt—especially after what happened at the lake.

Blaise, however, remained as stoic and unbothered as ever. He never brought up the change in dynamics or what had happened at the lake, and for that, Giza was grateful. The last thing he wanted was more questions, more complications.

Now, as he walked down a quiet corridor, the silence felt heavy. Most students were likely tucked away in their common rooms, laughing and chatting like nothing had changed. But for him, everything had.

He stopped outside Professor Snape's office door, his stomach twisting with dread. This was it. The lessons Dumbledore had arranged, the ones meant to save him from expulsion—and possibly worse. He knew Snape didn't like him. He made that abundantly clear. Yet here he was, about to put his fate in his hands.

The door loomed before me, dark and uninviting. Giza raised his hand to knock but hesitated, his mind racing with the memory of that explosive moment by the lake. The power he had unleashed, the uncontrollable rage... *Would Snape really be able to help him? Or would he just make everything worse?*

He swallowed hard, his hand still hovering near the door. There was no turning back now.

"I don't have all day, get in here," came the sharp voice from the other side of the door, cutting through the silence of the corridor.

Giza flinched slightly at the sound, his hand falling to the doorknob. There was no room for hesitation now. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The office was just as intimidating as he had imagined. Shelves lined with glass jars of strange, unsettling ingredients cast eerie shadows across the walls. The curtains were drawn, adding to the heavy, dim atmosphere. At the center of the room, sitting behind his desk like a watchful predator, was Professor Snape. His black robes melted into the darkness, but his sharp eyes gleamed, locking onto Giza as soon as he entered.

"Shut the door behind you," Snape commanded, his voice cold and impatient.

Giza quickly complied, the sound of the door closing echoing loudly in the stillness of the room. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his nerves in check as he stepped forward.

"Sit," Snape ordered, gesturing curtly to the chair in front of his desk.

Giza sat down, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, trying to hide the tension building within him. He felt Snape's piercing gaze on him, as if the Potions Master was weighing his very soul.

"You're here because the headmaster believes you have potential," Snape began, his voice slow and dripping with disdain. "Personally, I have yet to see anything worth cultivating. But, I am tasked with teaching you nonetheless."

Giza remained silent, his fists tightening slightly. He knew better than to speak back to Snape. The professor's tone left no room for argument.

Snape leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Let's make one thing clear, Patel. I am not here to coddle you. If you fail to control your... *outbursts, the consequences will be yours to bear. Do you understand?"

Giza nodded stiffly, his heart racing, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

"Good," Snape said, his voice like ice. "Now, let us begin."

"I have been informed by Dumbledore that you already have a handle on calming the mind through meditation, but that is merely the first step," Snape said, his sneer ever-present as he looked down at Giza. "With this alone, you will never control your emotions fully on a whim."

Giza sat stiffly in front of Snape, feeling the professor's disdain wash over him. Snape's words stung, but Giza remained silent, knowing that arguing or defending himself would do no good here.

Snape continued, his voice cold and measured. "Meditation may help you find temporary calm, but true mastery of Occlumency requires far more than sitting in peace. You will need to learn to protect your mind from intrusion, to control your emotions even in the midst of chaos, not just in moments of stillness."

He circled behind Giza, his footsteps soft but deliberate. "Fail to do this, and the next time you lose control, there may be no one to stop you from destroying everything in your path. Do you understand?"

Giza nodded, the weight of Snape's words settling heavily on his shoulders. He knew he had a long way to go, but Snape's cutting remarks only made the path ahead seem more daunting.

"Clear your mind and focus on pushing the foreign entity out," Snape commanded, his voice low and intense as he stood over Giza. Without waiting for further instruction, he raised his wand. "Legilimens."

In an instant, Giza's world shifted.

Memories flooded his mind—memories he hadn't chosen to revisit. The stark, cold dormitories of the orphanage, the lonely nights staring up at the ceiling, wondering if anyone would ever come for him. Faces of the other children, their sneers, their taunts. The countless times he had felt alone, abandoned, misunderstood.

The sharp sting of being different, the unexplainable sparks of magic that had always set him apart and made him feel even more isolated. Everything flashed before him in quick succession, each memory more vivid than the last.

His heart pounded, and panic began to creep in. It was like reliving the worst parts of his past, all of it laid bare before Snape, who stood silent and watching, waiting for him to act.

Push it out.* Giza tried to focus, tried to grasp the instruction Snape had given him, but the memories kept coming, overwhelming his senses. His head throbbed as he struggled to clear his mind, to push back against the intrusion.

Suddenly, the torrent of memories ceased, and Giza was left panting, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart raced, and the disorientation from the onslaught of memories still clung to him. He blinked a few times, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the experience left him feeling exposed, raw.

"Pathetic," Snape sneered, his dark eyes cold and unrelenting. "Again."

The sharpness of Snape's words cut through Giza like a blade. The professor stood before him, unmoved by Giza's struggle, his expression filled with nothing but disdain. For a moment, Giza's hands clenched into fists, the familiar surge of anger bubbling beneath the surface. But he knew better than to let it take control here.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, to steady his mind. Snape was not going to go easy on him. This was going to be brutal, and he had no choice but to endure it.

"Clear your mind," Snape ordered, his voice cold as ever, preparing for the next attempt. "If you cannot block me from your memories, you will never have control. Focus."

Giza swallowed hard, bracing himself for what was coming. He had to do better. He couldn't let Snape tear through his mind again—not like that.

"Legilimens."

Once again, the world around Giza dissolved into a chaotic storm of memories—blinding lights, distorted colors, and the haunting echoes of his past. His mind was assaulted with images from his childhood, his time at the orphanage, the loneliness, the fear, and the unexplainable magic that had always made him different. The pressure in his head mounted, as if someone were prying open his deepest thoughts.

But this time, Giza could feel something different. The meditation sessions he'd practiced with Celeste had done more than just calm his emotions; they had made him aware of his inner self, the core of his being. And now, in the midst of this mental chaos, he could *sense* Snape's presence—a foreign, invasive force in his mind.

Focus.* The word echoed in his thoughts, though it was difficult to hear over the noise of the memories rushing by. Snape's voice rang out sharply, commanding him to concentrate. "Focus, boy."

The memory of him using his power against the bullies in the orphanage surfaced, raw and vivid. The rage, the uncontrollable surge of magic, the fear. For a brief second, Giza felt the magic within him stir, not just in the memory, but *now, in the present. It was like a spark, pushing back against Snape's intrusion.

And then, just like that, it stopped.

The spell was broken, and Giza found himself back in the dark, silent office, breathing heavily. He was staring at Snape, whose face was now unreadable, the usual sneer gone. There was something in Snape's eyes—a hint of recognition, maybe even curiosity—but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

"You felt it," Snape said quietly, not a question but a statement. His voice had lost some of its edge, replaced with something harder to pin down. He studied Giza for a long moment before speaking again. "We'll continue tomorrow."

With that, Snape turned sharply, leaving Giza sitting in the chair, still trying to process what had just happened.


Later that night, Snape sat alone at his desk, a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey beside him, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. The liquid swirled in his glass as he tilted it in his hand, though he hadn't taken a sip in some time. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of his lesson with Giza Patel.

He had expected the boy to struggle, as most first-year students would when attempting Occlumency for the first time. What he hadn't expected was the depth of the memories he had glimpsed—raw, unfiltered, and full of pain.

Snape closed his eyes, recalling the flashes of Giza's life at the orphanage: the cold, unfeeling walls, the isolation, the bullying. He had felt the boy's anger, simmering just beneath the surface, the same kind of rage that Snape himself had once known. And then there was the memory of Giza's power—uncontrolled, explosive—when he had fought back against his tormentors. It was chaotic, dangerous magic, but the potential was undeniable.

Snape took a deep breath, his grip tightening around the glass. The boy's magic was unlike anything he had seen in a long time. Raw power, fueled by emotion. *Too much emotion, Snape thought grimly. He could feel the echoes of it even now, pulsing in the back of his mind.

There was something unsettling about Giza's magic—something ancient, something primal. It reminded Snape of memories he'd rather forget, of students who had walked dangerously close to the edge. The boy was powerful, yes, but the power was barely contained. And if he couldn't master it...

Snape shook his head, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a long, burning sip. The boy needed to be controlled, trained, before he became a danger to himself and everyone around him. But there was something else gnawing at him, something he wouldn't admit, even to himself.

For a moment, as he sat at his desk, staring into the glass, Snape saw a reflection of himself in Giza—a young boy, full of power and anger, trying to navigate a world that had never been kind. And it made him uneasy.

With a sigh, Snape set the glass down and leaned back in his chair, his mind still turning over the lesson, still replaying the boy's memories.

But the main problem, the one that gnawed at Snape the most, was that Giza reminded him of *himself*. The loneliness, the constant feeling of not belonging even within his own house, the endless bullying—it all mirrored Snape's own bitter past. He stared into his glass, the amber liquid reflecting his thoughts back at him, then downed it in one go.

As the firewhiskey burned its way down his throat, Snape's mind betrayed him, dredging up memories he had long tried to bury. He could see them as clearly as if it were yesterday: the spiky-haired boy with glasses, laughing at his expense, surrounded by his gang. Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew—all of them had made his life hell at every opportunity.

The mockery, the taunts, the way they treated him like he was beneath them. It wasn't just the bullying—it was the way it had carved something deep into him, something he had never quite been able to erase.

Snape's grip tightened around the empty glass. Giza's situation wasn't the same—he wasn't surrounded by a gang of tormentors—but the way the boy carried that quiet weight of isolation, that simmering anger just below the surface, it was too familiar. Too close.

He poured another glass, his hands steady despite the firestorm of thoughts in his head. *Why was this boy getting to him so much?*

The truth was, Snape didn't like the reflection he saw. He didn't like the reminder of who he had once been. And yet, beneath all of that bitterness, he couldn't help but feel the faintest flicker of responsibility. If he didn't help the boy, if he didn't teach him to control his power, Giza might end up on a path far darker than even Snape's own.

But as Snape stared into the bottom of his glass, he couldn't decide if he was doing it for Giza—or for himself.