CHAPTER 58: LESSONS IN PRECISION
"Pathetic, Potter!" Snape's voice dripped with disdain as he watched Harry struggle yet again with the projectile jinx. "If that's all you can manage, perhaps it's time you considered a different career."
They were in Snape's private quarters, the air thick with tension and the relentless repetition of spells. Snape had not advanced to teaching new magic; instead, he relentlessly fired off the same jinx repeatedly while enchanted targets darted around Harry, noting every hit, or rather, every miss. Frustration gnawed at Harry as he failed, time and again, to hit the bullseye.
"I've been at this for hours!" Harry finally protested, his frustration boiling over. "You haven't even allowed me a moment's respite."
"The Dark Lord doesn't grant respite!" Snape shot back, his black eyes piercing. "Consider yourself fortunate he's preoccupied elsewhere. You'd be dead if he weren't. Now, focus and cast again!"
Harry's jaw clenched, a mixture of anger and determination fueling his next spell. The targets whizzed by in a blur of green, blue, and pink, mocking him with their elusiveness. His aim was true enough to strike them, but always off-center, never hitting the precise mark he sought.
"You're weak, Potter," Snape sneered, pacing around him like a predator circling its prey. "Your lack of precision is appalling. You must do better."
Harry bit back a retort, knowing it would only provoke Snape further. Instead, he channeled his frustration into his casting. He focused on the movements of the targets, their erratic paths challenging his reflexes and aim. With each attempt, he willed himself to improve, to prove Snape wrong.
Hours stretched into what felt like an eternity of failure and relentless criticism. The room echoed with the sound of spells and Snape's cutting remarks, pushing Harry to the edge of his endurance.
"Again," Snape commanded sharply as Harry's concentration wavered. "Focus, Potter. This is no time for incompetence."
Harry gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders, determination hardening his resolve. He would hit the bullseye. He had to.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of struggle and sweat, Harry's spell found its mark. There was a satisfying burst of red light as his jinx struck dead center on one of the targets. The enchanted object froze momentarily in mid-air before dropping to the ground.
Snape's expression betrayed a flicker of begrudging approval, though his tone remained clipped. "Not entirely abysmal, Potter. Continue."
Buoyed by this small victory, Harry pressed on with renewed vigor. The targets continued their chaotic dance around him, but now, he felt a glimmer of hope. He could do this. He would master this spell, no matter how many tries it took.
As the training session wore on, Harry found himself gradually improving. The occasional hits on the bullseye became more frequent, and Snape's criticisms, while still sharp, grew interspersed with moments of grudging acknowledgment.
"Better," Snape conceded at one point, though his tone was gruff. "But don't let it get to your head. The Dark Lord won't be impressed by mediocrity."
Harry nodded curtly, his determination burning brighter than ever. He knew he had a long way to go before he could face Voldemort, but with each successful spell, he edged closer to readiness.
The day wore on, the sun dipping low in the sky unnoticed as Harry persisted in his training. Snape's quarters remained a crucible of effort and harsh discipline, but amidst the relentless drills, a spark of resilience ignited within Harry. He would not give up. He would prove himself capable.
And so, under the watchful eyes of his stern mentor, Harry Potter continued to cast, his spells becoming sharper, more precise, inching him ever closer to the daunting task that lay ahead.
Harry was beginning to understand Snape's motivation for taking on the role of his trainer. After years of Snape's disdain in Potions class, it seemed the professor relished the opportunity to assert his dominance in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation?" Snape's voice cut through Harry's thoughts, dripping with impatience. "If you're only going to wave that wand around instead of hitting targets, I'd rather know now before I waste my time teaching you anything."
Harry scowled inwardly. "Fuck him," he thought bitterly. "He wants spells? I'll give him spells."
With a determined focus, Harry ceased his movements, blocking out everything except the targets in front of him. The projectile hex he was practicing had a standard speed, but Harry knew well that magic could be influenced by the caster's willpower and magical prowess. If he couldn't match the targets' speed, he would enhance his spell's velocity. If precision failed, he would overwhelm with sheer volume.
"Waddiwasi," Harry muttered under his breath, the incantation now second nature after countless repetitions. His wand traced a swift arc at a precise forty-five-degree angle, aimed unerringly at the moving target.
Snape's taunts and criticisms became background noise, deliberately ignored. Harry knew that anger would only cloud his focus, and he couldn't afford distractions now.
Again and again, Harry cast the spell, each motion more fluid and each spell more purposeful than the last. He adjusted his technique, fine-tuning the spell's speed and trajectory with every attempt. The targets darted about unpredictably, challenging his reflexes and concentration, but Harry refused to relent.
As minutes turned into hours, Harry's determination burned brighter. His spells began to find their mark more frequently, hitting closer to the bullseye with each successive cast. Snape's voice, now reduced to sporadic barbs, no longer carried the same sting. Harry was in his element, pushing himself to excel despite the obstacles.
By the time the session drew to a close, Harry had made significant progress. The targets bore multiple marks where his spells had struck true, testament to his persistence and growing skill. Snape, though reluctant to admit it openly, observed Harry's improvement with a begrudging nod of acknowledgment.
"Better," Snape conceded tersely, his tone gruff but tinged with a hint of reluctant respect. "Your dedication is commendable, Potter. But don't think for a moment that you're done improving."
Harry nodded, a sense of satisfaction mingling with his exhaustion. He knew there was still much to learn and master, but today's small victory fueled his determination further. Snape might never praise him openly, but Harry had proven to himself that he was capable of rising to the challenge.
As they left Snape's quarters, the weight of the day's training settling heavily on his shoulders, Harry couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. He had turned Snape's skepticism into motivation, inching closer to becoming the wizard he needed to be. And as he walked away, he knew that he would return tomorrow, ready to face the next challenge head-on.
Harry knew he had to channel his anger into focus.
Lowering his body into a determined fighting stance, Harry unleashed spells in rapid succession, barely pausing to assess his hits before casting the next. One after another, the spells shot from his wand with increasing intensity.
"Green. Green. Blue. Pink. Green. Blue. Blue. Green—" The targets shimmered with the impact of his spells, but none hit dead center.
"How did it feel, Potter, standing all alone in the graveyard? Did you wish you had a parent to die for you?" Snape's cutting words sliced through Harry's concentration, stoking the fires of his anger.
Harry's magic surged, a cold determination settling over him. The flames of rage transformed into a blizzard of pure hate. He could feel his wand vibrating with power as he pushed more and more magic through it.
"Green. Blue. Pink. Pink. Blue. Green. Pink—" His spells continued to strike, each cast with increasing ferocity.
Snape's taunts only fueled Harry's resolve. "The Dark Lord will torture your loved ones, and he'll do it in front of you—"
"Pink. Blue. Blue. Pink. Pink. Pink—" Harry's teeth clenched in fury. He wouldn't let Voldemort hurt anyone else. Not Sirius, not Daphne Greengrass, not anyone he cared about.
"No!" Harry growled, his voice thick with determination. He had already lost his parents. He had finally found a life worth living, with people who loved him. Voldemort would not take that away from him.
"Pink. Pink. Blue. Pink. Blue. Pink. Red—" And then it happened. A burst of red light exploded from his wand, hitting the bullseye dead center. The target froze in mid-air before dropping to the ground, marking Harry's achievement.
Breathing heavily, Harry stood triumphant amidst the aftermath of his flurry of spells. The room was silent save for his ragged breaths and the echo of his success.
Snape regarded him with a mixture of surprise and begrudging admiration. "Impressive," he muttered, his voice gruff. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Potter."
Harry's chest swelled with pride, knowing he had turned Snape's skepticism into triumph. He had overcome his anger, channeled his focus, and achieved what had seemed impossible moments before.
As he left Snape's training quarters that day, a renewed sense of determination burned within him. Voldemort's threats still loomed, but Harry knew he was one step closer to being ready to face them. With each spell cast, each obstacle overcome, he grew stronger.
And deep down, he knew that as long as he had the will to fight and the support of those who believed in him, nothing—not even Voldemort—could break him.
The moment Harry's spell hit the red portion, both targets illuminated brightly in white and came to a halt.
"Enough!" Snape's voice cut through the room as he approached, his demeanor oddly casual despite the accomplishment. "It's about time. I was nearly considering slowing the targets down just to see if you could manage a proper hit. Perhaps there's more to you than just riding on his fame. Though I suspect it was likely a fluke."
Harry clenched his jaw, ready to retort, but Snape raised a hand to silence him. "Compose yourself, Potter. That was merely a basic test, and your performance has been disappointingly subpar. Your aim lacks precision, and your magical output is inconsistent. You must strive for greater consistency. I suggest using some of that gold in your account to procure a pair of these targets and install them in your private quarters. As always, the Headmaster plays favorites."
Still simmering with anger, Harry found himself begrudgingly acknowledging the sense in Snape's words. He had yet to fully calm the fury within him, but Snape's critique struck a chord.
"Where can I purchase these targets?" Harry asked, his voice edged with irritation.
"I have my sources," Snape replied after a moment's pause. "But it's illegal to buy them commercially or obtain them without an Auror license."
Did Snape just hint at acquiring contraband? Harry couldn't help but wonder if surprises from the professor would ever cease.
"I'll... use the gold," Harry conceded reluctantly.
Snape nodded curtly. "I've heard Black has been assisting in developing your physical and magical stamina. Is that correct?"
Harry nodded, catching his breath. "Yes."
Despite the tension between them, Harry sensed a begrudging respect from Snape. He knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but with Snape's begrudging guidance and his own determination, he felt more prepared than ever to face whatever lay ahead.
"You will work on your casting speed and accuracy in your room every night from now on," Snape declared, his voice carrying the weight of command. "I will evaluate your progress every two weeks. If you can consistently hit at least five reds out of ten throws, I might cease calling you pathetically weak. I might even deem you Acceptable."
Harry nodded solemnly, inwardly bracing himself for the rigorous regimen Snape was imposing.
"I take it Black has been advising you on spell selection?" Snape inquired, his tone tinged with skepticism.
Harry nodded again. "He emphasized balance. Using weaker spells to catch enemies off guard, preserving magical reserves, and reserving stronger spells for decisive strikes."
Snape snorted derisively. "How quaint. Fifty years since Grindelwald's defeat, and the DMLE still clings to such outdated strategies. No wonder the Dark Lord nearly triumphed in the past."
Harry remained silent, absorbing Snape's critique with a mix of frustration and determination. He knew that Snape's harsh training and criticisms were meant to prepare him for the challenges ahead, no matter how begrudgingly given.
As they parted ways, Harry carried with him a renewed sense of purpose. He would master the art of spellcasting, honing his speed and accuracy until hitting five reds out of ten became second nature. And in doing so, he would prove to Snape, to himself, and to everyone who doubted him that he was more than just the Boy Who Lived—he was a wizard capable of standing against the darkness that threatened their world once more.
Harry's scowl deepened at the insinuations Snape made. Sirius had taught him that many wizards and witches overlooked the importance of physical strength, focusing solely on magical prowess. It didn't help that those naturally gifted with physical abilities often fell into categories like Dark Creatures—werewolves, giants, trolls—facing societal prejudice. Apart from Aurors, Hit-wizards, and Quidditch players, few bothered to develop their physical capabilities. Sirius had emphasized that magic could enhance physical strength but also deplete it with extended use, leading to physical exhaustion. That was why he advocated for practical spells over flashy but draining ones.
"Yes," Harry sneered back, his tone cutting. "That same 'tripe' that earned Sirius his reputation."
Snape's eyes darkened with something ugly. "Reputation indeed. It also landed him in Azkaban for twelve years. I wonder if your father used that 'tripe' before the Dark Lord disposed of him like a dog."
Harry saw red. Before he knew it, his wand was inches from Snape's face. "Say that again?" His voice was low and dangerous. "Because I'm quite certain I can demonstrate exactly what my godfather taught me. I came here expecting to learn how to fight Voldemort—" he ignored Snape's sharp intake of breath, pressing the wand closer, "—but if all you're going to do is insult my godfather and disparage my father's memory, then I'll learn on my own."
Snape's expression hardened, but Harry held his ground, his wand steady and unwavering. The room felt charged with tension, the air thick with confrontation.
After a tense moment, Snape spoke, his voice low and measured. "Lower your wand, Potter."
Harry hesitated, then slowly withdrew his wand, keeping his eyes locked on Snape's.
Snape's gaze bore into Harry's, assessing him with a mix of disdain and grudging respect. "You have spirit, Potter. But spirit alone won't save you from what's to come."
Harry's jaw clenched, but he nodded curtly, his resolve unshaken. "I'll learn what I need to, one way or another."
Snape nodded in acknowledgment. "As you wish. But remember, magic is not just about power or skill. It's about control."
With that, Snape turned and swept out of the room, leaving Harry to wrestle with his conflicting emotions. He knew Snape's words held truth, but he also knew he couldn't stand idle while his family's honor was attacked.
As he left Snape's quarters, the weight of the confrontation hung heavy on Harry's shoulders. He knew he had to find his own path, to learn and grow stronger, not just in magic but in resolve and character. Voldemort loomed ever closer, but Harry was determined to face him on his own terms, armed with everything he had learned—from Sirius, from his father's legacy, and from the harsh lessons of those who doubted him.
Fuming with frustration, Harry turned on his heel, intent on leaving Snape's presence behind.
"Potter!" Snape's voice sliced through the air, commanding attention. Something in his tone halted Harry in his tracks. There was no trace of anger, despite Harry's earlier outburst. When he reluctantly glanced back, Snape's eyes bore into him like shards of ice. Try as he might to reignite the anger that had consumed him moments ago, Harry found himself faltering under Snape's unwavering gaze.
"Weak spells and versatility may suffice against common criminals," Snape continued, his voice cutting through the silence, "but not against a force like the Death Eaters. They operated as a cohesive unit, executing their objectives swiftly and efficiently. That unity, that force, is what terrorized Wizarding Britain for decades."
Harry's mind raced back to the chaos of the Quidditch World Cup and the chilling events in the graveyard. He shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet Snape's piercing stare.
"Granted, recent events have diminished their numbers," Snape acknowledged coolly. "But unless you can replicate those 'flukes' consistently and reliably, you will not survive. And even if you do, luck will only take you so far. Do you know why?"
"Because I'm weak?" Harry's voice was bitter, his frustration palpable.
Snape shook his head slowly. "No, Potter. Because you lack control. In the past four years, I have observed you closely. Every conversation, every encounter, has revealed your emotional vulnerability. I have seen rage ignite in your eyes with the slightest provocation. You may possess luck and power, perhaps both, but without mental discipline, they count for little."
Harry absorbed Snape's words with a mixture of resentment and begrudging acknowledgment. He knew Snape was right. His emotions often clouded his judgment and fueled reckless actions. It was a weakness Voldemort could exploit, a vulnerability he couldn't afford.
"And that," Snape concluded sharply, "is your greatest flaw."
With those words hanging heavily in the air, Snape turned away, leaving Harry to wrestle with the unsettling truth. As he exited Snape's quarters, Harry knew he had much to ponder. Control—over his magic, his emotions, and ultimately his destiny—would be crucial in the battles to come. He couldn't afford to let anger or fear dictate his actions anymore. If he was to face Voldemort and survive, he would need to master not just spells, but himself.
His words struck Harry like a series of Blasting Curses. He groped through memories, reaching for anything to refute Snape's assessment. Dumbledore had warned him from the start that Snape was among those protecting the Philosopher's Stone, and Voldemort himself had confirmed Snape's loyalty. Despite knowing Snape's deliberate hostility, Harry had never attempted to bridge the gap, content to label Snape as an adversary.
"Death Eaters thrive on taunting their victims. Your emotional volatility would make you an easy target. Do you understand the gravity of this training? Yet you were ready to dismiss it all because of a remark about a dead man? The dead are gone; let them rest. Stop taking everything personally and focus. Even in the face of rage, channel it into concentration."
After a weighty silence, Harry managed to ask, "How... how can I get better?"
Snape regarded him with a measured gaze, his expression unreadable. "Improvement begins with discipline," he stated firmly. "You must learn to control your emotions, Potter. Train your mind as rigorously as you train your magic. Practice Occlumency to shield your thoughts from intrusion. Build mental resilience so that even under duress, you can maintain clarity and focus."
Harry nodded slowly, absorbing Snape's words. It wasn't the answer he had expected, but deep down, he knew Snape was right. His emotional tumult had often clouded his judgment, leaving him vulnerable in crucial moments.
"And in your spellcasting," Snape continued, his voice softer now but no less intense, "focus on precision and efficiency. Master spells that suit your strengths but also challenge your weaknesses. Develop strategies, anticipate your opponent's moves, and adapt swiftly."
Harry listened intently, a sense of determination welling within him. He was tired of reacting impulsively, of letting his anger and grief dictate his actions. If he was to survive and prevail against Voldemort, he needed to evolve beyond his instincts.
"Lastly," Snape concluded, his tone almost begrudgingly, "learn from your mistakes. Reflect on your failures as much as your successes. Only then can you truly grow."
As Snape turned away, leaving Harry to ponder his words, a new resolve settled over him. He would heed Snape's counsel, no matter how grudgingly given. The path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but with discipline, focus, and a willingness to learn, Harry was determined to face it head-on.
Snape's expression shifted subtly, almost hinting at a smile that didn't quite manifest. "There is a magical discipline known as Occlumency. Are you familiar with it?"
Harry nodded slowly, recalling the basic explanation Fleur had given him. She had touched on Occlumency as part of a broader set of magical disciplines involving the mind and perception. Legilimency, for instance, was a form of mind magic used aggressively, while Occlumency focused on creating mental barriers to defend against such intrusions. Fleur had also mentioned that Harry's connection to Death magic provided a natural defense against external penetrations, except those that surpassed the strength of a Veela's enthrallment.
"It's used to prevent attacks from Legilimens," Harry replied, trying to recall the details accurately.
Snape frowned slightly. "And do you understand what a Legilimency attack entails?"
Harry hesitated, debating how much to disclose. "Um, not entirely. But Sirius explained that the Imperius Curse is related to it. I've had some experience resisting Imperius and enthrallment. I can resist them completely."
Snape's expression remained guarded, but Harry sensed a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "Resistance to Imperius and enthrallment is a significant skill," Snape conceded, his voice measured. "However, Legilimency goes beyond mere control. It delves into the mind, seeking thoughts and memories. Mastery of Occlumency requires not only blocking external intrusion but also shielding your innermost thoughts and emotions."
Harry absorbed Snape's words, understanding the gravity of what lay ahead. His encounters with Voldemort had taught him the importance of guarding his mind against intrusion. He knew he needed to delve deeper into Occlumency, mastering it to fortify himself against the Dark Lord's probing gaze.
"I can teach you the basics of Occlumency," Snape offered reluctantly. "But understand, Potter, it will require discipline and dedication. You must learn to control your mind as rigorously as you do your magic."
Harry nodded solemnly, steeling himself for the challenges ahead. Snape's unexpected offer was a step forward—a chance to strengthen himself in ways beyond mere spellcasting. As he left Snape's quarters that day, Harry knew that mastering Occlumency would be crucial in his quest to confront Voldemort, safeguarding not just his thoughts but also his very soul from the Dark Lord's insidious reach.
Snape narrowed his eyes briefly, then a glint of recognition crossed his features. "Ah, Miss Delacour," he murmured. "That explains quite a bit. Very well then. Tell me, Potter. Do you believe you have what it takes to resist my Legilimency?"
Harry tilted his head, considering Snape's question carefully. "I can try," he replied with quiet determination.
"Are you certain?" Snape's voice took on a sharper edge. "Unlike Miss Delacour, I will not handle you with kid gloves. A Legilimency intrusion can be... damaging to the mind."
Harry almost snorted at the notion of Snape showing consideration. That would indeed be something. He simply nodded in response.
Snape tilted his head slightly, locking eyes with Harry. The scrutiny was intense, as if Snape was dissecting him with his gaze. Then, without warning, Snape acted.
"LEGILIMENS!"
The intrusion was swift and powerful, a psychic assault that came without any preamble. In less than a fraction of a second, it pierced into Harry's mind with startling force.
Harry didn't flinch. He didn't look away or attempt to evade. He didn't even reach for his wand. He didn't need to—not for this.
Instead, Harry drew upon his training, focusing inward. He visualized a barrier forming around his thoughts and memories, fortified by his resolve. His mind became a fortress, layers of protection rising instinctively against Snape's probing.
Snape's expression remained unreadable as the Legilimency probe continued, searching for any chink in Harry's mental armor. But Harry held firm, his determination solidifying with each passing moment.
After what felt like an eternity, Snape withdrew his Legilimency with a curt nod. "Impressive, Potter," he acknowledged grudgingly. "Your resistance is commendable. Keep practicing Occlumency. It will serve you well."
Harry exhaled slowly, relieved but also exhilarated by the successful defense. He had proven to himself—and perhaps to Snape—that he was capable of more than just spellcasting. With Occlumency, he had the potential to shield his mind against even the most skilled Legilimens, a crucial skill in the looming battles ahead.
As he left Snape's quarters that day, Harry knew he had taken another step toward readiness. The path was fraught with challenges, but he was determined to face them head-on, armed not only with magic but with the resilience of a mind fortified against intrusion.
"It was incinerated the moment it touched his mind."
"What... what was that, Potter?" Snape asked, clearly taken aback. "That was not Occlumency, I think."
Harry shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "That's my Family Magic. I've tested it against Fleur—Professor Delacour's enthrallment, and now against you. So far, it hasn't let me down."
Snape muttered under his breath, grudgingly admitting, "I'll admit it's formidable. However, the true benefits of Occlumency extend beyond defending against such intrusions. It can enhance your memory recall abilities, some even achieving what Muggles call Eidetic Memory. More importantly, Occlumency teaches control over emotions—amplifying, suppressing, or even ignoring them. A master Occlumens can elevate their perception and intellect to extraordinary levels. It's what distinguishes individuals like Albus Dumbledore and the Dark Lord."
Harry frowned thoughtfully. If McGonagall's theory held true, his abilities were inclined towards magic that altered his own body rather than external spells. Occlumency appeared to fit into that category perfectly. On the other hand, Legilimency posed risks he was unwilling to take; inadvertently imparting a hint of 'Death' into someone's mind during an intrusion would be catastrophic.
Snape's words lingered in Harry's mind as he left the potions master's quarters. Occlumency wasn't just about defense—it was a pathway to mastery over his own mind, a tool to enhance his capabilities beyond conventional magic. As he continued his journey to readiness for the challenges ahead, Harry knew that embracing Occlumency would be essential in protecting himself and those he cared about, ensuring his mind remained a fortress against the darkest of intrusions.
"And... How can I learn this Occlumency?" Harry asked, his tone earnest.
Snape hesitated briefly, his gaze turning distant. "Typically, a rudimentary form of mental defense can develop in response to repeated exposure to Legilimency attacks, much like the one I just attempted on you. However, this process requires a level of trust between the individuals involved, as the Legilimens gains access to the victim's mind and memories."
"Well, that's clearly not an option—" Harry interjected.
"...Indeed," Snape acknowledged, his tone clipped. "Which poses a dilemma. Historically, witches and wizards have developed Occlumency through traditional methods such as meditation. However, this approach is time-intensive and often takes years, even decades, to master."
Harry fought the urge to whistle in disbelief. Years? Decades? With Voldemort's looming threat, he couldn't afford such a luxury. "So, no shortcuts?"
Snape's expression darkened slightly. "No shortcuts," he confirmed bluntly. "Occlumency demands discipline, patience, and consistent practice. It's not a skill to be rushed or taken lightly."
Harry sighed, absorbing the harsh reality. If he wanted to master Occlumency, it would require a commitment far beyond his current circumstances. Every moment wasted was a risk, leaving him vulnerable to Voldemort's probing mind. Yet, he had no choice but to embark on this arduous journey, trusting in Snape's guidance to navigate the complexities of shielding his thoughts and emotions.
As he left Snape's quarters, determination burned within Harry. He might not have time on his side, but he refused to let that deter him. Occlumency would be his shield, fortifying his mind against the horrors yet to come, and preparing him for the ultimate confrontation with the Dark Lord.
Snape looked conflicted. "There is an alternative. It's risky, and not something I would typically suggest. However, given your unique circumstances, I will need to discuss this with the Headmaster."
Harry nodded, surprised by Snape's unexpected openness. It was more than he had anticipated.
"Until then," Snape continued, his tone firm, "you'll need to learn to recognize when someone is attempting to manipulate your emotions. Your Family Magic seems protective against magical manipulation, but you're vulnerable to psychological tactics. Your reactions to Draco Malfoy and Professor Umbridge show potential, but you have much to learn."
Harry inwardly grinned, recalling Dumbledore's deft handling of Draco's punishment and Umbridge's reprimand. It had been a Slytherin-worthy maneuver, orchestrated to perfection. Even Daphne had acknowledged the cunning behind it, despite losing out on a private dinner as a consequence.
"That's all for today. You may leave," Snape concluded abruptly, reverting to his usual demeanor.
As Harry exited Snape's quarters, thoughts swirled in his mind. The prospect of Snape consulting Dumbledore about an alternative method for learning Occlumency intrigued him. It seemed there might be a glimmer of hope to expedite his training, to fortify his mind against the looming threats. With each step away from Snape's office, Harry resolved to sharpen his awareness, honing his ability to discern and defend against emotional manipulation—an essential skill in the turbulent days ahead.
As Harry made his way through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, he couldn't shake off the weight of Snape's words. The idea that there might be an unconventional method to accelerate his Occlumency training both excited and concerned him. He knew Snape's reservations were not to be taken lightly; the potions master rarely endorsed risky approaches without serious consideration.
Reaching the Gryffindor common room, Harry found himself distracted by the flickering fire in the hearth. He sank into an armchair, thoughts swirling as he replayed the day's training session in his mind.
The training with Snape had been grueling as always, yet today had brought unexpected revelations. Snape's acknowledgment of Harry's progress in handling emotional manipulation was a rare compliment, albeit wrapped in his usual abrasive manner. The incident with Malfoy and Umbridge had been a turning point—instances where Harry had instinctively resisted provocation, albeit with varying degrees of success.
But Occlumency remained a daunting challenge. The idea of developing mental barriers strong enough to repel Legilimency attacks, to shield his thoughts from the probing of Voldemort or any other skilled practitioner, was crucial. Harry knew he needed more than just defensive magic; he needed mastery over his own mind, discipline to control his emotions amidst the chaos of impending battle.
As the fire crackled softly, Harry's thoughts turned to Dumbledore. Snape's mention of consulting the Headmaster sparked hope. Dumbledore had always been a source of wisdom and guidance, his unconventional methods often yielding unexpected solutions. If anyone could devise a way to expedite Harry's training in Occlumency without compromising his safety, it would be Dumbledore.
Yet, doubts lingered. The urgency of Voldemort's threat pressed upon him. Every day brought the risk of discovery, of facing the Dark Lord in a battle of wills and magic. Harry couldn't afford to wait for years to master Occlumency through traditional means. His determination to protect his friends, to prevent history from repeating itself, burned fiercely within him.
Rising from the armchair, Harry resolved to seek out Dumbledore. He needed answers, guidance, and perhaps a glimpse of the alternative approach Snape had hinted at. With determination etched on his face, Harry left the common room, navigating the familiar corridors of Hogwarts with purpose.
As he ascended the stairs toward Dumbledore's office, the weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders. The fate of the wizarding world rested, in part, on his ability to prepare himself mentally and magically for the challenges ahead. With each step, Harry steeled himself for the uncertainties of the future, determined to grasp every opportunity to strengthen himself against the darkness that threatened to engulf them all.
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