Before committing to his private lessons, Albert decided to take a small detour past the library. Call it a criminal's curiosity or simply a need for risk assessment, but he wanted to see exactly how much damage his "technical error" had caused the night before.
The corridor outside the library was uncharacteristically crowded. Usually, students avoided this area on a Saturday unless they were drowning in homework, but today, a small crowd had gathered, whispering and peeking through the gaps in the heavy oak doors.
"What's the word? Is the library hosting a surprise party?" Albert asked, slipping into the crowd next to a third-year Ravenclaw who looked particularly distressed.
"I wish," the boy muttered. "Madam Pince has gone nuclear. She's locked the doors and is doing a full scroll-by-scroll audit of the Restricted Section."
A girl nearby added in a hushed, terrified tone, "I heard some of the books were actually stolen. You know what they say about those volumes—some of them can eat your fingers, and others can rot your soul just by being read. If someone walked off with three or four of them, the whole castle might be cursed by Monday."
Albert nodded solemnly, keeping his face a mask of concern. Internally, he felt a wave of relief. He had already returned every single book he had "borrowed" during his late-night sessions. If Madam Pince found a shortage, it was likely due to her own disorganized filing system or some other brave soul who wasn't as diligent as him about returns.
Satisfied that the trail was cold, he headed back to the Gryffindor dorms. He reached into the secret compartment of his trunk—a space protected by a rather nasty stinging hex for uninvited fingers—and pulled out ten gold Galleons. He didn't just toss them in his pocket; he used a quick Transfiguration spell to fashion a small, elegant velvet pouch to hold the "tuition fee."
Ten Galleons was a steep price for a few hours of a student's time, but Albert viewed it as an investment in his own survival. Until he could lock his mind away from the likes of Albus Dumbledore or Severus Snape, he was effectively walking around naked in a world of telepaths. The secret of the Ravenclaw Diadem alone was worth a thousand Galleons; ten to keep it hidden was a bargain.
He arrived at Classroom 17, the usual haunt for the Transfiguration Club, and found Isabelle already settled in. She was draped across an armchair, looking like a painting of scholarly boredom as she flipped through Transfiguration Today.
"You're precisely on time," she remarked, her eyes not leaving the page. "I suppose that's one of the few things you and I actually have in common."
"Punctuality is the soul of business, Isabelle," Albert replied. He reached into his robe and tossed the velvet pouch onto the small table beside her. "The first installment of the 'Don't Let Snape Read My Mind' fund."
Isabelle closed the magazine with a sharp snap. She didn't look at the bag immediately. Instead, she looked at Albert, her gaze cool and analytical. "You're very eager. That usually means you have something very big to hide."
"Or I just value my privacy. Shall we?"
"Aren't you going to check the count?" Albert added with a teasing tilt of his head. "For all you know, I filled that with gold-painted Knuts."
Isabelle's hand paused over the bag. She gave him a look that suggested she found his humor more exhausting than charming. Under his persistent gaze, she undid the drawstring and reached inside, pulling out... a single, copper Knut.
Her expression froze. The cold, regal mask of the Ravenclaw prodigy cracked, revealing a flash of genuine irritation. She looked at the copper coin, then back at Albert, her eyes narrowing.
"You really are a piece of work, Anderson," she said, her voice dropping an octave.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," Albert chuckled, reaching into his other pocket and producing the real pouch of gold. "A small test of your composure. Consider the Knut a tip for your patience."
He handed over the ten Galleons. Isabelle checked them this time, her fingers nimble as she counted the weight of the gold. Once satisfied, she tucked the bag away.
"I assume you've already done your homework," she said, leaning forward. Her red hair caught the dim afternoon light. "I assume you spent your 'productive' time last night in the library, perhaps 'borrowing' the Advanced Mind Locking Guide? It would explain the earthquake everyone is talking about."
Albert didn't flinch. "A tempting theory, but no. I haven't had the pleasure of reading the Advanced Guide yet. I'm coming to you as a blank slate."
Isabelle didn't look like she believed him for a second, but she moved on. "Occlumency—or Mind Locking, as you call it—is the art of closing the mind against magical intrusion and influence. It's a passive defense, but a high-level practitioner can make it an active deception. Usually, those who can lock a door also know how to pick a lock. Legilimency and Occlumency are two sides of the same coin."
She pulled her chair closer, invading his personal space until there was barely a meter between them. Albert could smell the faint scent of parchment and something herbal—maybe a potion she'd been brewing. Up close, her beauty was undeniable, but it was tempered by an aura of intellectual arrogance.
"Experienced wizards can read you like an open book," she continued, her eyes locked onto his. "They don't need a wand. They look for the flicker of a memory, the shift in your pulse, the way your pupils dilate when you lie. Snape is a master of this. He doesn't read your thoughts so much as he feels your guilt."
"And you?" Albert asked, a playful glint in his eye. "Are you feeling my guilt right now?"
"Look into my eyes, Albert," she commanded, ignoring the joke. "And don't look away."
Albert felt a sudden, sharp prickling sensation behind his retinas. It wasn't painful, but it was invasive—like a cold breeze blowing through a room that should have been sealed shut.
"You're doing it," Albert whispered, his smile fading.
"I'm doing it," she agreed. "I'm opening a window. I can see the flicker of the Great Hall... the smell of fried chicken... a flash of a card game. Your mind is like a crowded tavern, Albert. Anyone with the right key can just walk in and take a seat."
She pulled back, and the sensation vanished.
"The mind of a normal wizard is a mess of raw emotion and unorganized imagery," she explained. "Learning to lock it isn't about building a wall. It's about becoming a void."
"So, what was I thinking just now?" Albert asked, leaning back and averting his gaze.
Isabelle sighed. "You were thinking that even if you flatter me, it won't lower the tuition. And something about whether I'll age prematurely from being so high-strung. Honestly, you're quite annoying."
Albert stared at her, genuinely impressed. "Your Legilimency is much better than you lead on, Isabelle. That was a very specific read."
"Don't test me again," she warned, though her cheeks flushed slightly. "Now, we begin the real work. I'm going to enter your mind with more force this time. You need to clear your mind. Empty it. Don't think of 'nothing'—just stop thinking. If a memory pops up, push it back into the dark."
"Understood."
"Ready? Three, two, one... Legilimens!"
The world tilted. The stone walls of Classroom 17 dissolved into a blur of colors. Albert felt a sickening pull, and suddenly, he was six years old. He was in a sun-drenched park, his hands gripping the handlebars of a brand-new bicycle. He could feel the pride swelling in his small chest.
Then, a flicker. He was eight, sitting on a rug, weaving a story for his sister, Nia. He could see her wide, adoring eyes.
No, Albert thought. This isn't for you.
He began to fight back. Instead of trying to "hide," he decided to overwhelm her. He started mentally reciting complex economic formulas and the proofs for advanced Transfiguration theories he'd memorized. He turned his subconscious into a library of boring, dense textbooks, stacking them one on top of the other until the childhood memories were buried under a mountain of dry data.
He felt the pressure in his skull increase, then suddenly—pop.
He was back in the chair. His breathing was heavy, and a thin bead of sweat had formed on his brow.
"You... you actually did it," Isabelle said, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and begrudging respect. "You didn't just block me. You built a labyrinth of boredom. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of mathematics."
"It's a strange feeling," Albert muttered, rubbing his temples. He pulled a bar of chocolate from his robe. "I feel like my brain was just put through a blender. Want some?"
Isabelle looked at the bitten bar, her lip curling slightly, but then she reached out and broke off a clean square. "Your first attempt was better than my first five. Most people just panic and let their most embarrassing memories float to the top."
Albert checked his internal system panel. Mind Lock—or Occlumency—still hadn't appeared in the skill list. He frowned. Apparently, a single successful defense wasn't enough to "learn" the skill in the eyes of the system.
"Again," Albert said, sitting up straight. "I want to try a different method."
"You're a glutton for punishment," she noted, but she readied her wand.
"Wait." Albert stood up and grabbed a cushion from the corner of the room, placing it on the floor. He sat cross-legged, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing, mimicking a meditative state he'd read about in his past life. "Now. Go."
"Legilimens!"
This time, the invasion was swifter. He saw his nine-year-old self helping his mother bake a cake for Nia. But this time, Albert didn't build a library. He focused on the center of his mind and visualized a vast, empty ocean. Every memory that tried to surface, he shoved beneath the waves.
He felt Isabelle's presence roaming, searching for a crack, but he kept the surface of the water perfectly still.
He opened his eyes. Isabelle was panting slightly, her wand hand trembling just a fraction.
"That's enough," she said, sounding breathless. "You've got the hang of it. I have nothing left to teach you. You're a natural."
She started to pack her things, but Albert reached out, his hand firmly catching her arm.
"Hold on," he said, his voice low. "You can't just take the gold and run after twenty minutes. I haven't fully mastered the 'void' state. I can still feel the edges of my thoughts fraying."
He checked the panel. Still nothing.
"I've been very sincere with the Galleons, Isabelle. I expect the same sincerity in the instruction. Give me the theory behind the 'blank' state. How do you maintain it when the intruder is more powerful than you? How do you lie while being read?"
Isabelle looked at his hand on her arm, then up at his face. She saw the intensity in his eyes—the look of a man who wouldn't settle for 'good enough.'
She sat back down. "Fine. If you want the advanced theory, listen closely. To lie to a Legilimens, you don't hide the truth. You replace it with a truth that feels just as real..."
For the next half hour, they dove into the deep mechanics of mental magic. Isabelle truly was a genius; her understanding of the flow of magic between the eyes and the brain was far beyond what any textbook offered. She explained how to "seed" a false memory with real emotions to make it indistinguishable from reality.
As Albert listened, trying the techniques as she spoke, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.
[Skill Discovered: Occlumency (Level 1)]
He didn't stop there. He used his stored experience points to immediately bump it to Level 2.
Suddenly, the world felt different. The "noise" in the back of his mind—the constant planning, the fragments of songs, the worries about the future—all of it fell into a structured, silent order. He felt like his brain had been upgraded from a chaotic desk to a high-security vault.
He opened his eyes. His pupils were dark, steady, and strangely empty.
Isabelle shivered slightly, her brow furrowing. "Your eyes... they went cold. I think our transaction is finally complete, Anderson. I can't feel a thing from you now."
She stood up to leave, her movements a bit more hurried than before. But Albert reached out and grabbed her arm again.