Chapter 129 - Steadfast Will

The water of the Black Lake had risen past the very top of the windows. The Potions office was completely cut off from natural light now, lit only by torches and the fireplace.

In the dimness, Praeris stirred the potion with one hand and fed ingredients into the cauldron with the other.

"Have a seat," she said to Harry, who was sitting across from her. "Montague still hasn't recovered. His mind is a fog. I've prepared several potions, but Madam Pomfrey and the professor both feel they're still missing something."

Praeris's skill in Potions had grown increasingly refined. In terms of specialization and direction, however, she had taken a path not entirely in line with her mentor's.

Healing was properly Madam Pomfrey's domain, but the existing medicines couldn't fully meet her requirements. So the perpetually busy Snape had delegated the task of brewing for Madam Pomfrey to her.

Seeing Harry sitting there with nothing to do, Praeris gave him a brief overview of their research.

Regrettably, thanks to Snape, Harry's interest in Potions was about equal to Praeris's interest in broomsticks. Advanced potions research didn't even enter the picture.

Praeris could see that clearly enough, and she didn't press him. "There's a box of butter shortbread in the tea cabinet," she said. "Open it up and have some with the black tea."

Harry had known for a while that Montague had gone missing because George and Fred teamed up to stuff him into the Vanishing Cabinet. He had no intention of telling Praeris that. As far as Montague's condition went, Harry thought the guy had it coming.

"How sad," Harry said, in a tone of great commiseration. His expression did not change in the slightest. He ate a piece of shortbread.

He was a Gryffindor. His schadenfreude was so thoroughly reasonable that Praeris never once suspected he knew anything.

Lately, Harry's Occlumency lessons had been proceeding in fits and starts. Praeris had rescheduled more than once.

Snape needed the office on short notice. A first-year's mishap required a Prefect to handle. Umbridge summoned her. She had a date with Draco Malfoy. Prince really has no class, Harry thought.

Beyond scheduling, Harry's personality was also fundamentally at odds with what Occlumency demanded.

Stirring the potion, Praeris explained her analysis. "Your capacity for empathy is very strong. You always understand what others are feeling inside, which makes you prone to resonating with their emotions."

Take Neville. Faced with Neville's parents' condition, Harry felt genuine sadness for him. Perhaps because his own parents had also met with misfortune, he could always find his way into Neville's grief.

"Faced with pain, your instinct is neither to cover it up, nor to suppress it, nor to run from it. You face it head-on."

Perhaps Harry came across as short-tempered at times, but that was his way of releasing pressure.

In life, certain behaviors that look immature from the outside are sometimes precisely what allow a person to keep going. It was the brain's own protective mechanism. Forgetting was another. Zoning out was another.

Praeris was accustomed to keeping emotions inside, waiting through a long, slow process of self-digestion and reconciliation.

Harry also tried to solve problems on his own, but he often failed, and then turned to his friends.

"That's why it's very difficult for you to achieve the degree of psychological and emotional self-discipline that Occlumency requires."

Harry reached toward his teacup, then pulled his hand back.

He laughed at himself inwardly. By now he could predict exactly what Praeris would say: Yes, people always get a dry mouth when they're nervous — it means the person is under stress, or about to lie.

Occlumency practice worked best when emotions were already in turbulence. Every time Harry had been successfully invaded, it had been at similarly vulnerable moments, or when he was relaxed and half-asleep.

Only by keeping control of his emotions even then could it be considered mastery.

Snape and Harry could fairly be said to despise each other, which meant achieving that emotional turbulence required no effort at all between them. Praeris and Harry had no such animosity.

So before the second lesson, she had politely informed him: "Potter, I may use certain offensive methods to provoke your emotions."

At the time, the unsuspecting Harry had accepted her brief verbal informed-consent notice.

But even if you killed him, he never would have guessed that the way Prince provoked his emotional turbulence was,

"Licking your lips? Are you nervous?"

"Pressing your lips together? You're resisting my reading of your psychology?"

"Body rigid, not daring to move. Are you afraid of me continuing?"

Under that smooth, relentless barrage, Harry's body heated up. He started to sweat.

Offensive it genuinely was. His emotions were genuinely provoked.

Hermione told Praeris that Harry had marched back, raised his hand, and sworn on his life that he would rather die than continue attending Prince's lessons.

"She's a pervert!" Harry had shouted. "A lunatic! An absolute thug!"

Hermione had been astonished, bewildered, and for some reason also found it very hard not to laugh.

Praeris's response had been calm. "These are extraordinary measures for extraordinary times. If I had to rely on methods like that just to make friends or be in a relationship, wouldn't that make my life a complete failure?"

The fact that Harry was sitting here now meant that, in the end, he had accepted that reasoning.

Today, the two of them were working through the final condition for Harry to complete his Occlumency training.

The final requirement was a powerful force of will.

"Similar to resisting the Imperius Curse," Praeris said, turning it back on him. "We've had that class, haven't we?"

Harry turned it over for a moment. "Snape said the same thing."

"That's Professor Snape, sir." Praeris corrected him. "Yes, I imagine you won't forget that the professor is a true Occlumency master."

"Yes, I remember." Harry shrugged. "What a shame I'm not senile."

If he were senile, he could forget about having lessons entirely, and wouldn't be sitting here getting tormented by Snape's apprentice.

"Potter, it really would be convenient if you were senile." Praeris let out a scoff. "The moment the Dark Lord entered your mind, he'd find nothing but fog."

Their moments of civility were always so brief. The instant Harry mentioned Snape, Praeris turned as aggressive as a mother hen protecting her chicks.

In any case, the lesson began. Harry walked to the Pensieve and extracted a portion of his memories.

This time, what he drew out included not only the day he had seen Snape's memory, but also a portion of memories concerning the Weasley twins. George and Fred seemed to be quietly plotting some dangerous prank, and Harry had no intention of letting Praeris know about it.

"If you can't achieve a high degree of emotional and mental self-discipline," Praeris told him, "then you can only fall back on willpower. But a person can't hold a state of resistance forever. Otherwise, you'll snap like an over-tightened string."

"That's why Occlumency built purely on willpower never lasts."

Praeris handed Harry a small vial. The Foe Potion. After drinking it, the Praeris Harry saw would transform into the person he hated most.

The Foe Potion was something Praeris had formulated specifically for his training. She had combined a Hatred Potion with Amortentia, so that it carried both the hatred-inducing effect of the former and the hallucination effect of the latter.

For Harry, the result wasn't only hatred. It was also horror.

He knew perfectly well that the person sitting across from him was Prince. His eyes told him something else entirely.

Voldemort. Sitting there across from him.

No hair. No lips.

Can you imagine it? Voldemort, posture elegant, politely asking: "Harry, how are you feeling? If you're ready, I'll begin Legilimency now."

There was still a bit of a problem, Harry thought. The sheer horror of it was no less than Snape gently and softly inquiring after his well-being.

At the very moment Harry's thoughts were wandering in that direction, Winnie stepped out from the shadows.

Just moments ago, Snape had relayed a piece of good news to her.

Dumbledore had fulfilled his promise. Members of the Order of the Phoenix had rescued Prim Purnell from Voldemort's captivity.

Winnie closed her eyes and let out a long, heavy breath. When she opened them again, she looked at Snape and said, "The item Dumbledore wants — I've confirmed the location. But I have no way to tell him."

In her clashes with Bella, Winnie had confirmed the location of the Hufflepuff's Cup. She simply could not speak it aloud.

"The Fidelius Charm?" Snape asked, his voice cold.

Winnie nodded. She was quiet for a moment, then said, "Please tell Prim that my money is all in the old place, and she knows where the key is. If she needs it, she can take it. She must take good care of Praeris."

Snape had only completed half of Dumbledore's task, but he couldn't delay any longer.

He turned to leave. Winnie called out to him again.

She stared at his back. "You must," she said, her voice low and steady. "You must relay my words."

Snape didn't turn around. He flicked his wand and vanished on the spot.

He was gone. Winnie stepped further out from the shadows.

She had to compose herself now. Return to the temporary base. Pretend she had no idea that Prim had already been rescued.

It wasn't that she didn't want to leave. She couldn't. Not only could she not leave, she had to redouble her display of sincerity, atoning for her "betrayal" with even greater devotion.

If she fled the moment Prim was rescued, she might well escape. But Voldemort would immediately understand that someone had been feeding her information all along. The moment he understood that, the likelihood of Snape being exposed would increase dramatically.

Back in Snape's office, Harry had already gone.

Today's Occlumency lesson had been, to put it plainly, explosive. Praeris and Harry had nearly come to blows.

To make the simulation more realistic, Praeris had imitated the Voldemort she had seen in Harry's memories.

"Courage — I have always admired courage. Yes, your parents..." Praeris had said, her face twisted into a vicious grin. "They were both very brave, back then. Did you think courage alone could stop me from entering your mind?"

"Dumbledore surely hoped you could resist me. What a pity." She raised her wand. "Come, Harry. Look at me —"

She looked directly into Harry's eyes and launched Legilimency, driving into his mind like a battering ram.

Under the Foe Potion, Harry raised his wand. And cast a Disarming Charm on Praeris.

Praeris's hands were empty, her wand sailing across the room.

She could use wandless magic, of course. But she genuinely had not expected Harry to suddenly disarm her.

She really wanted to ask: which professor teaching Occlumency has to guard against their own student suddenly disarming them?

She tried to hold it in. She couldn't.

"What a novel approach to Occlumency," she said, her tone razor-edged. "I've truly never heard of it before."

Harry rushed to explain. "You can't expect me to face Volde—"

"The Dark Lord, thank you." Praeris cut him off.

Harry didn't understand why both Praeris and Snape were like this. "Dumbledore says it too."

"Unfortunately, I am not Dumbledore." Praeris shot back. "You should be grateful I'm not calling him the Dark Lord."

Compared to the Dark Lord, Harry supposed You-Know-Who was barely acceptable.

The lesson had been genuinely brutal. Praeris had to split her focus the entire time, performing Legilimency while simultaneously intercepting the Disarming Charms Harry kept instinctively firing. She also had to guard against the possibility that, after she blocked him, the potion's effects would surge back up and he'd really start fighting her like she was Voldemort.

By the time the Foe Potion wore off, it had only been half an hour. It felt like much longer.

Compared to Praeris, a witch who had mastered a vast catalogue of spells, Harry Potter had rich practical combat experience. He was better at taking the simplest spells and finding entirely new ways to use them.

"Thank you so much," Praeris said, her smile thin and cold, "for enriching my practical combat experience."

"Don't mention it." Harry replied. He hoped he didn't sound as sarcastic as he felt. "And thank you for the butter shortbread."

"Oh?" Praeris's smile shifted into something considerably more dangerous. "Why thank me? Draco bought those. You should be thanking Draco Malfoy."

Harry's eyes went wide. He began to seriously consider a question: could something eaten half an hour ago still be brought back up?

No. After an entire lesson, the shortbread was probably mostly digested already.

Prince has no taste, Harry thought, face stiff.

Teaching Harry was harder than teaching Marcus. After drilling Occlumency, Praeris had also been forced to learn, while simultaneously casting Legilimency, how to defend and dodge Disarming Charms in every possible configuration.

The one thing worth celebrating was that Harry had managed, once, to successfully block her intrusion. That was genuinely something.

Those several grueling sessions had a direct consequence. During the career advice consultation, when Professor Snape asked her about her thoughts on a future career, Praeris answered without a moment's hesitation.

"I don't want to be a professor."

Both Snape and Umbridge looked at her.

"Miss," Snape said, his voice flat. "I am very pleased to know what you do not wish to do. But perhaps what we are meant to be discussing today is what you wish to do after leaving Hogwarts."

➤ Next: Refusal — The Conversation