Something Better Than This

Chapter 14: Legilimens

That first night, the seven of them (not counting the basilisk Urraca, who spent the entire time hunting rats in the walls, or Jakinda, who watched and listened far more attentively but couldn't really participate) worked nearly until dawn, hashing out what the spell had to be able to do, the basic shape of it (whatever that meant), and how much power it was likely to take. Harry was sure he'd been completely lost since three in the morning.

Naturally there was no way to see the sun rise or to hear a rooster crow from the Chamber of Secrets -- for the first, it was under a lake with no enchanted windows or ceilings, and for the second, it was after all the home of a basilisk. But there were bells in the school, and early in the morning a chime rippled across the ceiling that made everyone look up and simultaneously yawn.

Godric, Helga, and Rowena went off to break their fast -- dinner had long since disappeared, and they hadn't eaten anything since coming down to the Chamber -- and to teach their awakening students, grumbling (so Salazar translated it) that they were getting much too old for this sort of thing.

"Those of us who haven't anything else to do at the moment, however," Salazar added, "should probably get some sleep. They all say they're too old for this and will be too tired to do anything tonight, but I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they all turn up looking as if they've been hit on the head but still bursting with ideas." He grinned at Harry's expression. "That's not an insult. I've done it myself, and more recently than you might think."

Harry laughed at that. "I don't know how you all keep going. I'm tired, anyway."

"You're only seventeen," Salazar retorted. "You're not allowed to be tired!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione slept much of the day away, which left them logy and embarrassed when they finally woke, especially since Hermione had dozed off in the boys' room. This wasn't really considered appropriate in their own century, and they all rather suspected it would be considered less so in this one. On the other hand, if she was to be discovered in their room at all, there were worse times than the middle of the afternoon.

Salazar was right, not only about the other three Founders but about himself. When they reconvened, all the Hogwarts Four immediately started talking all at once, and they spent a considerable amount of time stumbling over each other's sentences before they managed to get themselves sorted out.

Meanwhile, as they waited for a translation, the four younger people were laughing over Jakinda's preparations for the event. Evidently she had wanted to come, or else Salazar hadn't liked to leave her alone -- but as she'd spent most of the previous night with her head on her hand and drifting on the edge of sleep, tonight she had brought suitable gear: a squashy pillow and several blankets, most of which she began laying out, folded longer than they were wide, and stacked on each other on the floor.

On seeing the bedding, Harry grinned and gave her a thumbs-up; Jakinda smiled back tentatively but with blank, worried eyes. Hermione leaned in and tried, in a muddle of Latin and what was presumably the pronunciation of some of the words she'd learned in Ancient Runes, to explain.

After several minutes of this and hand gestures that looked to Harry like flailing, Jakinda grinned back. She grinned with her whole face, which made her look a bit more like her father and his statue, and made Harry think that he knew where her wrinkles would be when she was old.

The process of Jakinda putting herself to bed on the floor started out very matter of fact but somehow turned into an elaborate and very silly production. Ron impulsively bowed and picked up one of the remaining blankets, throwing an end to Harry so they could start folding it; Jakinda bowed back when they set it down, then rescued the last blanket and wrapped it around herself, adopting a very serene and faintly smug expression as she lay down. Hermione put the pillow under her head and tucked her in. Jakinda batted her eyes, which prompted Hermione at the very last to mime a kiss to the air over her cheek.

This set all four of them laughing helplessly and as quietly as they could, which finally attracted the attention of the Founders and brought Salazar away from the discussion. As by this time nothing was actually going on, Salazar could only survey his daughter's makeshift bed on the floor and the other three grinning faces (doing their level best to get back to normal, serious expressions and contorting terribly in the process) and give them all a baffled and faintly suspicious look, which set Jakinda off again, practically crying with laughter. She finally managed to give him an explanation, whereupon he shook his head, kissed her cheek (not the air), and waved the other three up to the table.

This second night was also a late one; on the third, Helga put her foot down shortly after what must have been midnight and insisted (according to Salazar's translation) that they had to sleep at some point or they would be utterly useless during the day and probably wind up sending everyone a thousand feet up in the air instead of a thousand years into the future, which would be painful.

They still worked long and intensely on both the spell itself and on attempts to make discussing it easier. Hermione spent hours with Helga and sometimes Rowena patiently writing out meanings and explaining pronunciation, sorting out what the lessons in Ancient Runes had and had not covered, until they could carry on at least a slow conversation without Harry and Salazar as go-betweens. Hermione was still more fluent in the diagrams... apparently Arithmantic conventions remained very traditional. Some of them remained on the slate; others hung in the air, etched in static blue lightning. Once it was decided that the spell would require a mingling of fire and water, Hermione returned to one of her favorite spells from first year, and bluebell flames danced on a shallow basin.

Ron suggested once during the day that all the staring into the flames and lightning was starting to make Hermione's eyes look blue even when she left the spellwork behind, but she looked into the mirror and insisted they were still brown.

Ron was participating a great deal more than any of them had really expected. After hashing out some differences in the rules and the shape of the pieces, he and Rowena had played a quick match of something rather like chess, which turned out to be a useful model for some types of spell design.

Harry was actually beginning to feel a little left out of the whole process, which had gone largely nonverbal.

On the fifth day, Salazar took him aside to start quizzing him on all his interactions with Voldemort. Harry started with the obvious and ended up racking his brains for details; he described the burning in his scar and admitted to the feeling when he'd first encountered the diary Horcrux that the name of Tom Riddle had seemed familiar, and not in a hostile or unpleasant way. He hadn't thought about that for a while, and it made him decidedly uncomfortable.

"Not reassuring, no," Salazar hissed thoughtfully. "But not immediately alarming. The mind plays tricks on itself at times. But this mental connection -- you say you tried Occlumency to block it, but it didn't work? And yet Voldemort was able to block it the next year?"

"It worked when he tried it," Harry grumbled. "Dumbledore said that when my scar stopped hurting even though Voldemort was obviously really active, it meant he was probably using Occlumency against me."

"So the magic is related." Salazar tapped his fingertips together and glanced over at the worktable. "Rowena and Helga are the experts in spell design. They could probably do without me or Godric for the time being, and he is the most accomplished Legilimens and Occlumens I have yet encountered or heard of."

Harry grimaced. "Do you really think that would help? I didn't much enjoy having my brain broken into over and over again."

Salazar gave him a skewering look. "Evidently the disciplines are relevant. Shall we consult?"

"I suppose so," Harry said, not feeling very happy about it.

"Excellent. Godric!" This last call was not in Parseltongue, and Harry promptly lost track of the conversation until Salazar saw fit to inform him that Godric would be happy to teach him, if Harry agreed.

Harry agreed.

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The first Occlumency lesson began with Harry in a room with both Godric and Salazar, for which Harry felt some secret relief. If Salazar was there, that probably meant that there would be some instructions involved. Perhaps there would even be more than with Snape.

Harry took deep breaths and tried to clear his mind in preparation while Godric spoke.

Salazar nodded through Godric's explanation and then supplied the translation. "You should begin by clearing your mind of distractions, then sort through what you want to hide and learn to set that and the feelings connected to it aside. It is very difficult to specifically avoid thinking of a given thing, but it is, in the end, the key to Occlumency. Try substituting another thought, or blankness if you don't mind being obvious, but you need to have it ready to hand, so to speak. Like preparing a memory to call on easily for your Patronus, so that when you meet a Dementor, you don't have to go searching for the thoughts that are hardest to find then anyway."

When Salazar paused, Godric added a question. Salazar translated, "What method did your previous teacher take? You look as if this wasn't it."

"He just told me to clear my mind and control my emotions," said Harry. "Then he jumped right in and attacked me."

"Hrm. That's not an uncommon method -- it does work well sometimes, particularly when the student has reason not to want the teacher in his mind. The attacks should start out fairly weak, though, to build up strength." Another exchange between the two older wizards. "Godric says to sit, and choose something to try to hide from him."

Harry frowned. "I thought the idea was to shut somebody out of your mind altogether."

"Well, then try to think about nothingness."

Harry sat down with his eyes shut and tried to think about nothingness.

The other two murmured to each other, and at last Salazar hissed, "Look at his eyes."

Harry opened his own eyes and fixed them on Godric's, trying to hold the thought of blankness.

"Legilimens." The incantation, at least, was easy to recognize. Godric's gaze bored into his, and Harry caught himself starting to think of Snape again. Immediately Godric blinked, and there was a sense of pressure lifting away even though Harry hadn't felt it being applied.

Godric shook his head and spoke. Salazar translated, "Again."

This time it tickled, and Harry swatted at the feeling, trying to make it rebound. For a second it felt almost like the time he'd forced Snape's spell back on him, and he thought he would see Godric's own thoughts, but then he hit something and his thoughts scattered like ripples hitting shore.

"It's possible that we'll want you studying Legilimency too," Salazar translated after a moment, "but let's stick to one at a time for now."

More explanations and more attempts followed. Salazar provided them with translations of a few choice phrases so that after the first few days of lessons he could leave Harry alone with Godric.

Harry didn't think it was helping much. He now had a better idea of how he was supposed to go about Occlumency, but he still didn't seem to be very good at it, and he didn't think it was just because he minded having Godric Gryffindor in his thoughts less than having Severus Snape see them. Not that he was exactly happy about it, even so. Godric had seen altogether more memories than Harry even wanted to look at himself.

And even when Godric didn't try to aim for the worst memories, Harry dreamed all too often at night of the Department of Mysteries, of Dementors, of Voldemort rising from a cauldron... or of chickens and werewolves, knives and razor-sharp beaks, and being covered in blood. He tried clearing his mind and reminding himself that he still liked eating chicken and that Fenrir Greyback had been intending, if not to kill Gabrielle Delacour, then to steal her away or injure her permanently. After that, he dreamed of playing Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchard, where there ran a calm stream filled with blood, and rippling mirrored curtains hung from the trees. And, rather incongruously, his broomstick got stuck in one gigantic nostril of Slytherin's statue, and came out covered with troll snot.

Ron told him jokes about the dreams, which made them much less eerie.

And then there were the unexpected hazards.

"Legilimens." Godric had made it clear that speaking the incantation was merely a courtesy for while Harry was learning. Even with the warning, however, Harry still found memories rising leisurely into his mind without his willing them, and certainly without his wanting them, and while they seemed to flow as naturally as at any other time he might unwillingly reminisce, he also had the feeling that there were fingers in his mind and turning pages.

Today they happened to be of Sirius. Seeing his surprise as he arced back through the Veil... the mirror, finding it, smashing it, gathering up the pieces, the cuts from the sharp edges of the fragments... finding its mate under the pillow with the fat spider....

Grimmauld Place. Sirius inviting him, as they left the Shrieking Shack expecting the truth to come out, to come and live with him. Later that night, when the Dementors surrounded them, before... before....

A silver stag erupted outward, though Harry didn't remember casting a Patronus, and charged straight for Godric with its antlers lowered.

The room was too small for Godric to have room to try to dodge; the great stag could almost have touched him by the time it was fully formed. He raised his hands a little, as if to grasp the antlers, and if the stag had been physical he would have caught them, for all the good it might have done him. Through the stag's light, Harry saw the antlers break through Godric's palms and take him in the chest; then the stag had gone straight through Godric and the wall behind him, leaving Godric leaning against the stone with his head thrown back.

He braced himself and stood straight again, shaking out his robes. His hands were trembling. Harry averted his eyes for a moment, from that, which left him startled when Godric touched his chin gently and turned his face forward again, saying the words that had been translated for him as "Look at me."

Harry looked.

The images behind Godric's eyes, freely offered, were blinding silver-white tinged with wonder. The stag's charge had been something like Harry's own encounter with the hummingbird, a sensation of piercing without pain, only a very great intensity and some little sense of the force of someone else's joy.

That covered the reassurance that he hadn't actually caused any injury; after a moment more, the image reappeared -- not quite memory now, unmoving, the stag again -- with a strong sense of approval. "Bonus est."

"Er... Thanks." He really ought to start remembering how to say that in Latin or Old English. Either one would do. Apparently Godric was pleased with his Patronus. Harry was impressed that Godric had the self-possession to comment on this after being charged by it.

Godric was giving him a long and thoughtful look now, and after a moment the Founder went and slapped a hand against the wall near a corner, speaking to it in a loud voice. A few minutes later, a narrow section of the wall shimmered and disappeared, and Salazar walked through it.

Not far into Godric's explanation, Salazar started laughing.

"What?" Harry asked. "What did he say?"

"'Let's just say that his best defense may be a good offense.'" Salazar was still chuckling, giving his hisses an odd staccato quality. "Godric says you don't seem to be able to... divide your thoughts as one must for Occlumency. You do, however, seem to have some talent for turning the spell around and searching in your questioner's mind, and he suggests it might help to concentrate on teaching you Legilimency itself instead. Most people, even skilled Occlumenes, will have trouble paying attention to your thoughts or delving into them effectively if you're poking about in theirs."

"Well, I can't do much worse at that," Harry said wryly. Then, thoughtfully, "What if I wanted to show someone some of my thoughts on purpose? Not just putting them in the way like you suggested earlier, but the way Godric showed me memories just now?"

Godric grinned when he heard that question in full. "We can work on that too."

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