At precisely a quarter past half six, Pleione made her way towards the dungeons with steady, deliberate steps. Her thoughts had been tangled for days, turning over and over how best to approach Harry about the delicate business involving Sirius Black. It wasn't something she could say out loud in the middle of a corridor.
She needed a quiet word with him. Alone.
The castle grew dimmer the deeper she descended, torches flaring to life as she passed them, casting flickering shadows that danced along the cold stone walls. Outside Snape's classroom, she leaned against the cool stone, arms folded tightly, waiting. Her eyes wandered down the corridor, watching for any sign of Harry's arrival.
From her schoolbag, she pulled out her Walkman and popped in the tape George gifted her for Christmas. As the second song faded into the third, footsteps echoed off the walls, and Harry came loping around the corner, hair more dishevelled than usual, a peculiar grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Merlin's beard," Pleione said, tugging one headphone down. "What are you so pleased about?"
Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "You can tell?"
"Harry, you're practically glowing. Give it a few seconds and I swear you'll start levitating from sheer joy. And I know it's not excitement about our charming rendezvous with Professor Snape. What is it? Did Cho Chang finally ask you out?"
Harry puffed out his chest slightly. "I did."
"Well done," Pleione said, arching a brow. "Just make sure you dress nicely, and for Salazar's sake, don't bring up Diggory. The date's about you, not her dead boyfriend."
"Oh. Yeah. That's... sound advice. Thanks."
"Don't mention it." She paused, her expression shifting to something more serious. "Harry—about my father, Orion."
He met her eyes, his smile fading slightly.
"I think my mother's found a way to get him a fair trial. Do you think you could convince Hermione to speak with me? Madam Bones might want access to a few memories. From two years ago."
Harry gave a small, thoughtful nod. "D'you reckon he's got a chance?"
Pleione shrugged. "Hard to say. Mother needs to know what Hermione remembers. Since Christmas, she's run clean out of patience. She wants Father's name cleared—better yesterday than tomorrow."
Harry nodded again. "I'll talk to Hermione."
"You can use the mirror my father gave you—the Way Mirror," Pleione added quickly. "It's the safest way to contact me. Just tap it and say my name. It'll work both ways and you can also use it to contact Father.."
She tucked the Walkman back into her bag and knocked briskly on the door before pushing it open.
Snape's office was dim and lined with tall shelves groaning beneath jars of pickled things and exotic ingredients. The air smelt of damp stone, dried herbs, and something sharp and metallic. Pleione's eyes darted curiously along the shelves—she couldn't help it.
"Are those Chimaera scales?" she asked before she could stop herself, drawn to a gleaming pile that shimmered faintly on the highest shelf.
Snape's cold voice answered from the shadows. "Indeed, Miss Seymour." His tone was as chilly as ever, but carried a hint of approval. "An astute observation. However, you're not here to inspect my stock cupboard."
"Good evening, Professor. Sorry, sir." She offered a quick nod and sat in the chair across from his desk, where a shallow, rune-carved stone basin sat glinting dully—clearly a Pensieve. Harry slouched into the seat beside her.
"You are both here," Snape began, folding his arms, "to study Occlumency—the branch of magic that protects the mind from external penetration and influence." His voice was soft and deliberate, like velvet drawn over knives. "Such skill forms the only reliable defence against Legilimency... the Dark Lord's forte."
"What's Legilimency?" Harry asked.
Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "This is not a playground, Potter. I remain your professor, and you will address me as such."
Pleione gave Harry a sharp stamp under the desk. He shot her a look but muttered, "Yes, sir."
"Legilimency," Snape continued icily, "is the ability to extract emotions and memories from another's mind."
"He can read minds?" Harry interrupted.
Pleione shut her eyes and gave him another, harder stamp. He had the subtlety of a rampaging Graphorn.
"The mind is not a book, Potter," Snape said with a sneer, "to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls to be perused by any intruder. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing."
He stepped forward, eyes glittering. "Those who have mastered Legilimency may, under the right conditions, delve into another's mind and interpret what they find. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when he is being lied to. Only those skilled in Occlumency are able to conceal the truth—by burying conflicting feelings and memories beneath falsehood."
Pleione leaned in. "And how exactly does one bury them, Professor?"
Snape's expression barely shifted. "One must calm the mind, Miss Seymour—however unnatural that may feel. Focus on the thoughts and emotions that support the deception. Occlude with your mind, not your wand." He turned to Harry. "You resisted the Imperius Curse once before. You'll find this requires similar resolve."
Harry gave a stiff nod.
"Now," said Snape, withdrawing his wand. "Close your eyes. Breathe. Focus only on that. Let every distraction, every lingering thought, fall away."
Pleione obeyed, her breath falling into rhythm. She could hear Harry fidgeting beside her.
"Very good, Miss Seymour," Snape murmured. "Now, open your eyes. Keep the mind blank. Picture a calm sea, if it helps. Imagine your thoughts drifting beneath the surface—still, undisturbed."
Raising his wand, Snape touched it to his temple and drew a silvery strand of memory, which he placed carefully into the Pensieve.
"Miss Seymour, you first," he said.
Pleione rose, wand in hand.
"If you can maintain your composure, you will not need it. However, should you feel it necessary, you may attempt to disarm or defend yourself. Understood?"
She nodded.
"I'm going to try to break into your mind now. Brace yourself—three, two, one—Legilimens!"
It was like being plunged into icy water. Images surfaced like bubbles rising too fast to catch. She focused on her breath, tried to stay afloat. Sweat trickled down her back. Snape's presence was invasive, sharp, pushing deep.
Harry made a small sound—whether of surprise or sympathy, she didn't know—and the flicker of distraction broke her control.
Memories erupted.
George lying on the grass by the Black Lake—her mother's furious slap after she'd shattered the vase—Rosier, lips brushing hers in unexpected tenderness—Berenice's head thrown back as a strange voice took hold—Adrian's arm around her, holding her while she cried—
She raised her wand instinctively. "Expelliarmus!"
Snape's wand flew backwards, clattering against the wall.
"Not bad for a first attempt, Miss Seymour," he said coolly. "You were fending me off quite well—until the slip."
"Did you see everything I saw?" Pleione asked quietly.
"Fragments," he replied, eyes unreadable. "Enough."
She knew what he'd glimpsed. Berenice. The prophecy. Her stomach gave a small twist.
"Compose yourself, Miss Seymour," Snape said, straightening. "Potter, your turn."
Harry stood, shoulders tense.
"Keep your mind still. As Miss Seymour demonstrated. Three, two, one—Legilimens!"
Harry tried, but the strain was obvious. His jaw clenched, his thoughts too loud.
"You let me in too far, Potter," Snape said. "You must focus."
"Miss Seymour," he snapped, "again."
They practised three more rounds. Each time, it took Snape longer to break through Pleione's defences. Harry, however, continued to falter—emotion crackling beneath the surface like a lit fuse.
"Weak, Potter," Snape spat. "Fools who wear their hearts on their sleeves, who cannot control themselves, who wallow in grief and let their tempers rise—they are easy prey for the Dark Lord. Master yourself. Discipline your mind."
"I try," Harry said through gritted teeth, green eyes flaring.
"Not hard enough," Snape retorted. "Focus on the sea. Let go of your precious anger. Empty it."
Harry's jaw clenched, but he nodded.
"I want to see both of you here again on Wednesday, same time," Snape said, sweeping back behind his desk. "Every night, before sleep, practise clearing your mind. Empty it. Quiet it. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes," Harry muttered, already reaching for his bag.
"I will," he added, barely audible, and made for the door without looking back.
"And now, Miss Seymour," said Snape, turning towards her with narrowed eyes, deliberately drawing out her surname as though testing its weight. "You will tell me everything that occurred last June—when the three of you were meant to be attending the Third Task."