When Harry emerged from the Chamber of Secrets, he felt he no longer feared death.
There was nothing terrifying about it; James had told him that death was lighter than sleep and entirely painless.
In fact, when Harry left the Chamber, the History of Magic class hadn't even ended. He hadn't spent much time with his parents. Ever since he had been enthralled by the Mirror of Erised in his first year, Harry knew he shouldn't become too attached to illusions.
Besides, he thought he wouldn't have to wait long to see them again.
...
Harry's first Occlumency lesson was on Saturday. That day, as usual, he headed to the dungeons and happened to run into Malfoy wandering around the castle.
Ever since Malfoy returned to Hogwarts under Cyrus's lead, his excitement had diminished significantly.
To be honest, Malfoy had initially felt nostalgic about his days at Hogwarts. After all, his two friends were still here. But this time, upon returning, Malfoy realized that things had changed.
Goyle and Crabbe now regarded him with hostility, loudly declaring that he and his father were traitors who would eventually face retribution.
The rest of Slytherin wasn't much different.
Nowadays, the entire house seemed divided into two factions. One side's parents still supported Voldemort, while the other had crossed the fire to rally around Cyrus.
Because of this, Malfoy found everything far less enjoyable. So much so that, even when he ran into Harry, he had no energy to pick a fight.
Coincidentally, at this moment, even looking at Malfoy gave Harry a faint sense of nostalgia.
However, as Harry approached Snape's office, that nostalgia quickly faded.
He realized his steps had stopped at the same place as Malfoy's—right outside Snape's office door.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Potter."
Although his dislike for Harry was still evident, and he frowned as if he wanted to start an argument to relive the old days, he opened his mouth but said nothing.
He decided it wasn't worth wasting time on an idiot like Harry.
Unlike Harry Potter, who could still carelessly enjoy his carefree school life, Malfoy felt he was being crushed by immense responsibility and pressure. His family was caught between Voldemort and Cyrus, and he believed it was time to act more maturely.
"It's none of your business!"
"That's exactly what I was going to say!"
Malfoy responded, insincere as ever. With a cold sneer, he pushed open the door to Snape's office. The two of them entered one after the other.
The room was dimly lit, with shelves lined with hundreds of glass jars. Sticky specimens of plants and animals floated in colorful potions.
"I brought the Pensieve, Professor," Malfoy said as he entered the room. From a small bundle—likely enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm—he pulled out a shallow stone basin engraved with mysterious symbols.
"The Pensieve?" Harry immediately recognized it.
At another time, Harry had entered a Pensieve with Dumbledore. Malfoy's Pensieve looked older and more worn than Dumbledore's.
"Where did you get a Pensieve?"
"None of your business!" Malfoy snapped instinctively. But then, reconsidering, he smirked smugly. "Of course, it was a gift from Professor Cyrus! He personally taught me advanced Alchemy back in second year! This Pensieve was something I repaired back then!"
Hearing this, Harry felt a pang of jealousy.
He had time to teach Malfoy but not me?
"Close the door behind you, Potter."
Harry was still fuming when Snape's cold voice emerged from the shadows, startling him.
It was unclear whether Snape had been in the dark from the start or had just stepped in, but his sudden voice made both Malfoy and Harry feel uneasy.
"Draco, place the Pensieve on the table, then you may leave," Snape said, his hollow gaze briefly sweeping over Malfoy. "And remember, do not speak of this to anyone."
"I understand, Professor. Headmaster Cyrus has already mentioned it to me."
With a nod, Malfoy left the office. Harry stepped forward and closed the door.
The creaking sound of the wooden door shutting felt to Harry as if he were being swallowed by darkness, trapped forever in this cold, oppressive prison. Snape, standing within this cage, seemed like a venomous snake, his head raised and ready to strike.
But Snape didn't.
Instead, the man Harry considered utterly detestable moved toward the desk, standing in the only pool of firelight in the entire room. The flickering flames didn't make him look any warmer; if anything, they only made him more sinister.
Snape silently gestured toward the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
Harry walked over and sat down. Snape followed suit, sitting across from him, his cold, unblinking black eyes fixed on Harry. Every line on his face seemed etched with disdain.
"All right, Potter, you know why you're here," he said. "Cyrus has tasked me with teaching you Occlumency. I can only hope you're more competent at this than you are in Potions."
Perhaps because he knew his days were numbered, Harry felt bolder than usual.
At that moment, Harry summoned his courage, looked Snape directly in the eye, and asked, "Why does Mr. Cyrus think I need it?"
Snape did not immediately answer Harry's question. Instead, he dragged out a long, disgruntled tone as he angrily corrected Harry's lack of respect:
"This may not be an ordinary lesson, but I am still your teacher. You should add Professor or... Sir!"
There was always a certain satisfaction in making James Potter's son address him with respect.
Harry did add a title, though not without a twist.
"Please tell me, Sir, why does Mr. Cyrus, think I need it?"
He put deliberate emphasis on the word sir.
It was outright mockery!
Snape, however, didn't waste time dwelling on it. He had long since accepted that Harry Potter, like his father, was an arrogant and insolent brat.
Ignoring the issue of titles, he shifted directly to a personal attack.
"Why does he think you need it?" Snape let out a cold, disdainful laugh. "Clearly, Cyrus believes your brain is as empty as a troll's—or perhaps like a lavatory, open for anyone to wander in and out of."
He paused for a moment, seemingly savoring the pleasure of insulting Harry.
Harry didn't get angry because he recalled how, during the incident at the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort had seen straight into his mind. Similar things had happened many times before, but Harry had never paid much attention to it.
"So, you're saying that once I learn Occlumency, I can avoid having my mind read?"
"Read minds? Only Muggles would think of it as mind-reading," Snape sneered again. "You fail to grasp the subtle distinction. You're careless—that's why your Potions grades are always so dreadful!"
My Potions grades are dreadful because you're constantly picking on me! Harry thought bitterly to himself.
To be fair, Harry's performance in Potions wasn't truly abysmal. Even with Snape nitpicking and creating problems out of thin air, Harry had managed to earn a solid passing grade on his O.W.L.s, which proved he had at least some aptitude for the subject.
"That minor aptitude of yours is hardly worth mentioning," Snape said as though he had plucked the thought straight from Harry's mind. "The insufferable know-it-all Miss Granger was brewing Polyjuice Potion back in second year." He pointedly referenced their past exploits.
"Now, listen to me! The mind isn't a book, Potter; it can't simply be opened and read at will. Thoughts aren't carved into the skull, waiting for someone to crawl in and decipher them. The mind is a complex, multilayered entity, Potter—at least, most minds are..."
At this point, Snape paused, a smirk forming on his face.
It was clear he was mocking Harry, implying that his mind was one of the rare exceptions—simple, one-dimensional, and foolish.
To some extent, it was hard to argue otherwise. Scoff~
"Legilimency is the ability to extract emotions and memories from another person's mind," Snape began.
In most cases, this meant—emotions.
"But for masters of Legilimency or natural-born Legilimens, it can allow them to study someone's mind in certain circumstances and make accurate interpretations.
"For example, the Dark Lord can almost always tell when someone is lying to him. Only those skilled in Occlumency can seal away feelings and memories that contradict their lies, deceiving him without being detected."
"Isn't that mind-reading?"
As Snape had said earlier, Harry struggled to grasp the subtle difference.
In truth, Legilimency was like extracting a mosaic-like image from someone's mind. How that image was interpreted depended on the skill of the Legilimens.
A highly skilled Legilimens could see through the surface to uncover the essence, revealing the true picture hidden behind the mosaic.
A skilled Occlumens, on the other hand, wouldn't simply make the mosaic blurrier. Instead, they would replace it with a false image of their choosing, achieving deception by showing only what they wanted the Legilimens to see.
"Of course, time and space affect magic, Potter. Eye contact is often crucial for Legilimency," Snape said, staring into Harry's emerald-green eyes.
This made Harry instinctively avert his gaze.
For the first time, he didn't stubbornly maintain eye contact with Snape until his eyes burned.
He thought to himself, if time and space can influence the power of magic, and Cyrus insisted on him learning Occlumency, perhaps his earlier suspicions were correct.
That he would inevitably face the Dark Lord. That he would have to die.
'Of course, I won't run away!'
Perhaps because Harry had looked away, Snape couldn't sense his thoughts at that moment.
A flicker of disappointment crossed Snape's eyes, so brief it was as though it had never been there. He quickly continued, "In theory, the magic of Hogwarts Castle would protect you. But since Cyrus insists you learn this, I trust he has his reasons."
Snape drew his wand from his robes and pressed it against Harry's temple.
It wasn't a pleasant sensation. Harry felt as if that small patch of skin was swelling, throbbing with a sharp pain.
"I don't care what his reasons are. My only task is to teach you," Snape said, his tone icy and detached, as though he thought Harry dying would be the best outcome.
Of course, this was a lie.
If Snape had caught even a glimpse of Harry's belief that he needed to die, he would likely have stormed straight to Cyrus and demanded an explanation.
"I have one more question," Harry asked nervously, feeling the throbbing in his temple. "What's the Pensieve for?"
"It's not for you. It's for me," Snape said, his wand doing nothing to Harry but instead pressing against his own temple. He smirked coldly as he drew a silvery, distorted thread from his head.
Harry recognized it as one of Snape's memories.
What Harry didn't understand was what kind of dark, unspeakable past the memory contained that Snape would go to such lengths to carefully extract and store it before they began.
"Stand up, take out your wand, Potter," Snape instructed. "You may disarm me or defend yourself by any means you can think of."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to enter your mind," Snape said softly. "I want to test your ability to resist. Now, prepare yourself... Legilimens!"
Harry couldn't fathom how one could disarm someone probing on someone's mind. Knock their head off? That was ridiculous!
Even Snape hadn't expected how easily he breached Harry's mind—it was like a truck crashing through a thin sheet of paper.
Snape felt as though he were flying through a stormy night on a broomstick, with Harry's memories pelting him like raindrops.
Five-year-old Harry, watching Dudley ride a shiny red bike, feeling a surge of envy...
Sitting beneath the Sorting Hat, hearing it suggest Slytherin...
Seeing Cho Chang with Cedric Diggory at breakfast, nursing a quiet heartbreak...
And in the Chamber of Secrets, being embraced by Lily—!!
The scene shattered abruptly.
Harry found himself sprawled on the floor, gasping for air, bracing for Snape's inevitable scorn.
But the rebuke never came.
Looking up, he saw Snape staring at him with an unfamiliar expression. There was a gleam in those black eyes that made Harry deeply uncomfortable, as though he were a piece of honey-glazed roast meat.
"Hand it over!"
Snape extended his hand, his breath heavier than usual.
It was as if Snape had suddenly come alive—no longer looking like a lifeless gloomy guy but someone vibrant and pulsating with intensity.
"What?"
"The stone," Snape said urgently, "I saw you summon Lily's soul."
Unlike Voldemort, Snape, although also a half-blood, had heard the tale of The Deathly Hallows since he was a child. He immediately connected the stone with the Resurrection Stone.
But whether it was or not didn't matter now—he was about to see Lily Evans' face!
It was what he had longed for!
"Hand it over!"
"That's my mother! What does it have to do with you?!"
_________
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