Headache and hassle — blunt words, but they perfectly capture what my neatly scheduled daily routine had become. Professor Snape and his additional sessions had contributed their fair share to the mounting pile of complications.
Learning Occlumency through practical methods was, as I'd come to understand, the most effective approach available — there was simply no concrete theoretical framework, no set of algorithms or procedures, owing to the vast differences between individual minds. Even two twins raised in absolutely identical conditions down to the last second would perceive and process the world differently. But that was beside the point.
The additional sessions took place every single day and occupied what seemed like very little time — forty minutes at most. True to his word, Snape would seat me at a desk facing the wall, set me some task requiring attention and of genuine use to me — enough to keep me engaged — then cast a complex of charms isolating me and my perception from the surrounding world, and at random intervals apply Legilimency. My task: to detect these spontaneous incursions and repel them. He didn't use a purely forceful method — the sort where the attack announces itself through an almost complete withdrawal from reality into one's own thoughts. Only gentle influence, imperceptibly redirecting my thoughts in whichever direction suited him.
What made it bearable was that he never had time to rummage around meaningfully in my mind. Accustomed as I was to monitoring a great many aspects of my own existence, I simply detected the foreign element immediately — the stimulus nudging my thoughts somewhere other than where I intended them to go. I'd isolate it and discard it.
Even so, even with my resources and mental capacity, these exercises left me noticeably drained. Thoroughly drained, I might even say. Daphne was equally wrung out, so I, being a considerate sort of person, always kept a bar of chocolate on me — the kitchens had plenty. We'd break the chocolate between us and talk. It didn't do much for one's energy, but it lifted the bad mood that came with exhaustion as if by magic. As for Potter — his mutual antipathy with Snape was apparently sufficient to propel him briskly out of the sessions, however pale and unsteady his legs were. Briskly, at any rate.
And so the days went by, one after another, with prefect duties further refusing to leave things be — the small bureaucratic tedium and the evening patrols — adding no variety whatsoever to the grind. On top of that, the Aurors and DMLE personnel stationed in the castle did nothing for the students' peace of mind; if anything, they cultivated a taut, oppressive atmosphere. Looking at those stern and serious faces, every student seemed to be gradually sinking deeper into a leaden anticipation of something. Something that simply had to happen. Something these wizards were here for.
The little spiders reported more frequently than usual on small clusters of students gathered to discuss the situation in the country, the Ministry's actions, and their own unease at having law enforcement quartered in Hogwarts. Time passed.
February arrived. The snow was entirely gone, but the world sat in grim austerity, drained of colour. Grass had barely begun to grow — only the cold-hardy varieties, and half-heartedly at that. The Forbidden Forest did its best to menace everyone with its enormous conifers, their needles winter-dark, and the mosses and lichens no less cheerless.
Today was Monday, the twelfth of February, and a Quidditch match was almost upon us — our team against Ravenclaw, a contest no one was taking lightly. Many students had seized on it as a lifeline for their emotions, something to haul themselves clear of the suffocating atmosphere that had settled over the castle. Endless discussion of what the match might bring, predictions, breakdowns of each side's strengths and weaknesses, or simply "Our lot are brilliant and I'm backing them" — all of it had managed to nudge even the academic weight the professors kept piling on us slightly to one side. Even now at breakfast, the talk drifting from all directions was about the game, still nearly a fortnight away.
"Hector..." Herbert dropped into the seat beside me — formerly the Keeper, now a Beater. "Any chance you'd train with us? We're completely certain — no, two hundred percent certain — you'll be fine. But still..."
"Mate," I tried to spear a small fried mushroom with my fork, but the wretched thing was proving elusive. "I barely find time to spend with my girlfriend as it is."
"Ah, that's important," Herbert agreed, without a trace of irony. "Girls are strange creatures. The main thing to remember — you're always in the wrong, and no argument shall be entertained."
Somewhat entertaining to hear this from Herbert, with Tamsin standing directly behind him. They were, more or less, together — or sort of together, or about to be, or something else entirely that they hadn't quite sorted out themselves. Not my business, and not something I particularly cared about.
"You look like you're having some trouble there," our Chaser said, addressing Herbert.
He instantly seized a serving of raisin pudding from the table, turned around, and presented it with genuine solemnity.
"Pudding?"
The little scene gave everyone a moment's amusement, after which the guilty parties went back to their own classmates. I turned to mine:
"Why are you all so gloomy? Don't tell me Monday is simply a difficult day."
"It's fine," Justin sighed. "Just the extra sessions... you know."
"I do."
"They've become very... flat."
"I hadn't noticed, particularly."
"That's because you," Hannah said with a smirk, "spend most of your time there either talking with Malfoy, Greengrass, or one of us — sometimes combining us into one group — or going through books with your sister. You and whoever you're with end up doing your own thing entirely, Patronus practice aside."
"We focus on counter-jinxes and learning anything that catches our interest." I could only shrug and get on with breakfast.
"Right," Ernie said, poking dubiously at his bacon. "Whereas the rest of us follow Potter's lead. And lately he's been... declining."
"Yeah..." I had a reasonable understanding of why Potter's state had deteriorated, but those weren't my secrets to tell.
Harry had been walking around with dark circles under his eyes lately, pallid and under-slept. Quick to snap. He needed to see someone — the problem clearly wasn't the sessions with Snape. But if he didn't choose to go to the hospital wing himself, or raise it with Dumbledore, who plainly worried about him — in his own fashion, perhaps — well. It wasn't a compulsory treatment facility.
"What about practising independently?"
"It's just become habit to follow the plan," Ernie said dismissively, and finally decided to eat the bacon, breaking it a couple of times with his fork to make it more manageable. "Everyone has their own thoughts and ideas, but they're all different and sometimes they contradict each other."
"You want me to take charge of it? I've already got more responsibility and activity on my plate than any sane person would want." I copied Ernie's manoeuvre with the bacon and prepared to eat it immediately after finishing my thought. "I'm certain Hermione's spotted the same thing and has already drawn up, or nearly drawn up, a study plan. Whatever else one might say about her, no one comes close to matching her there."
"You're underselling yourself," Hannah said with a smile. "I'm sure you could take it on yourself."
"No thank you, all the same. I can offer a suggestion, though. Since our D.A. sessions are focused on going up against other wizards, drill your counter-jinxes until they're automatic. For offence — work on Stupefy, aiming for the fastest possible casting and the highest possible spell velocity. Bombarda Maxima — aimed at the ground beneath your opponent's feet..."
"Slower, please," Susan said, having produced parchment and a quill from somewhere. "I'm writing this down."
That more or less set the tone for breakfast, after which came another long school day, and in the evening — as had become established — a bit of personal time spent on homework and practice of various academic and more advanced spells with my Hufflepuff classmates, followed naturally by the additional sessions with Snape.
Those sessions mostly went hard on Potter. Though — why "mostly"? Always. There was nothing to find fault with in Daphne or myself — we followed instructions precisely and, more to the point, successfully. At one point Snape even went so far as to compliment Daphne:
"You are doing magnificently, Miss Greengrass..."
Potter at that moment was, as usual, suffering through something private and sulking at Snape with a ferocity only teenagers can fully commit to.
"...I find myself simultaneously pleased and frustrated," Snape continued, "by the fact that I cannot reach any memories of even marginal value. Not without intending harm, at any rate — and even then, I suspect it would be no easy matter. The most valuable thing I managed to access was the memory of you setting aside something sweet from breakfast or dinner to eat quietly on your own with a book."
"Charming," I couldn't help smiling, and Daphne coloured very slightly, glancing sideways at me as though checking whether she'd find reproach on my face. "Don't worry about it. I'd already guessed you did something of the sort."
"Had you?"
"Given your fondness for anything sweet..."
"You can continue this conversation elsewhere."
Snape praised me too — but with surgical precision and in quantities so carefully rationed they bordered on homeopathic. With Potter, on the other hand, he tried every approach imaginable in search of some working key to the boy's capacity to learn. Measured delivery of information. Brisk but calm practical work. He even unbent enough to produce a few words of praise — albeit couched in Slytherin circumlocution, if not heavily so — which Potter apparently failed to register entirely, or if he registered it, drew the wrong conclusion.
Today Snape had opted for aggression, apparently hoping to stimulate Potter's mind, his consciousness, and with it his magic — which was what actually enabled resistance to Legilimency intrusion. Or so I understood it, at any rate. And yes, Occlumency was designated a magical discipline for good reason — a person without magic was nearly incapable of resisting the Legilimens spell regardless of how ordered and controlled their mind might be. Magic was what made resistance possible.
"...Get up!" Snape's voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back — today I was without the muffling charms for a session in direct confrontation. "Get up! You are not trying, Potter! You are making no effort. You fixate on the memories you fear, you foreground that fear and throw the door open yourself — you hand me the weapon against you with your own hands."
"I am... trying... to resist," Harry mumbled, getting to his feet.
"What did I say? Rid yourself of emotion!"
"Easy for you to say. That's rather difficult at present."
Enough energy to snap back, at least.
"You think it will be easier facing the Dark Lord? You think he will graciously allow you time to quiet the two and a half thoughts rolling slowly around those one and a half brain cells? Fools whose every feeling is written on their face, who cannot govern themselves, who are so easily provoked — they are already victims."
"I'm not weak," Potter shot back, with some heat. "And I'm not a fool..."
"Then prove it! Pull yourself together!" Snape barked. "Suppress the anger, suppress the fear, govern yourself! Again! Ready! Legilimens!"
Watching this performance — there was no other word for it — I found myself arriving, not for the first time, at the same conclusion: there are people for whom certain skills are simply not accessible, and the skill in question need not be magical. That didn't make the endeavour worthless — but when there was a time constraint and a reasonably high level of proficiency was required, the situation was bleak.
The session ended, once again, in Potter's failure.
"You..." he said at last, "won't tell me... what's in the Department of Mysteries?"
"Don't make me repeat myself..."
Apparently this particular exchange had already occurred before — its meaning escaped me entirely.
"On that note, today's session is concluded." Snape turned sharply to us. "Despite your progress, the exercise of clearing your mind before sleep remains as relevant for you as it does for Mr Potter."
"Yes, sir," I said, with a nod.
"Of course, Professor."
"Excellent. You're dismissed."
Potter left the classroom and disappeared around the corner at speed, in solitary state as usual. I walked with Daphne the short distance to her common room entrance. The time, as always after Snape's sessions, was fairly late; the corridors were cold and dim, and the odds of encountering anyone were minimal.
"I'm exhausted," Daphne said, taking hold of me and hanging from my neck rather than standing under her own power. "This is the hardest and most draining year at Hogwarts yet."
"Then we need to get away from it for a bit." I returned the embrace. "The formula's proven — we can go somewhere for a walk at the weekend. Or slip away from the Hogsmeade trip like last time."
"Mm."
"Which do you prefer?"
"Yes."
"Right, that's very clear."
After walking Daphne to the common room and saying goodnight in the customary fashion, I went to attend to what was next on my schedule — the tedious patrols. Students simply did not get up to anything worth catching them for — they simply didn't! Did the administration genuinely expect a prefect to go after every person they encountered, docking points or frogmarching them to the duty professor... or whatever else they had in mind? Though I recalled catching Percy Weasley in the prefect role once. A problematic individual, Percy. So thoroughly exacting that, as the saying goes: "I'll report the lot of them and keep the castle for myself."
As a case in point — the little spiders reported that the twins and Lee Jordan had mounted an expedition to Hogsmeade via the secret passages, having wagered on it. The terms of the bet: whoever the Aurors caught was the "loser." Or there were some younger Gryffindors intersecting with some younger Ravenclaws, quietly debating what to do next — they simply wanted to explore the castle, and the presence of law enforcement personnel was pumping a considerable quantity of adrenaline into their bloodstreams. To say nothing of a couple or two who were simply tucked quietly into a dark corner, murmuring pleasant words at each other and kissing at intervals. I felt something of a voyeur, but that was how I gathered information.
And absolutely no conspiracies, no sabotage, no inappropriate activity of any kind. Hardly worth counting the small booby trap the Slytherins had set above the Gryffindor common room entrance while wearing home-made Invisibility Cloaks. A simple trap, mildly offensive but entirely harmless — a very loud party-cracker, Silencing Charms, a rudimentary Sticking Charm, and chicken feathers. Entertaining craftsmanship, actually — runes in there, symbolic inscription on a disposable wooden board, numerology too.
The Aurors were doing precisely the same as me, while others stood at their posts. Tedium and a thorough waste of time. One patrols, and patrols, and finds precisely nothing worth patrolling for.
Just as the time came to wrap up this not particularly productive activity, the little spider above the Gryffindor common room sent a signal — a group of students had just left it. Reasoning out where they were heading in such haste, I began pulling in feeds from the other spiders.
These particular lunatics — Potter, the fifth and sixth Weasleys, Neville, and Hermione — had attempted for some reason to reach Black via the fireplace, but he wasn't responding. Hermione was urgently talking the reckless idiots out of some "catastrophically rash course of action" the nature of which I hadn't yet established, and was insisting they tell "the right professors," the Headmaster, or at minimum the Aurors immediately. Potter was saying Dumbledore wasn't here, and now the entire group, having dressed for the weather, was hurtling in a determined straight line toward some adventure or other. I half expected Hermione to make one or two more attempts at persuasion, then simply bind the lot of them and drag them back — there was something in her expression and gestures that suggested she'd considered it.
Conclusion: they were planning something reckless. From what I'd gathered — dangerously so. Outside Hogwarts. At night. Without support.
I needed to intercept them in the Entrance Hall — they were heading in that direction, cutting straight through, quite literally in a straight line. Intercept, get the full picture, and put a stop to it. As the saying goes: not on my watch.
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