Wyzett stared, transfixed, until the scent finally reached his nose—a warm, sweet aroma of freshly baked bread that made his mouth water.
"Feeling hungry now, aren't you? Here, have some bread!"
Aberforth's voice cut through his reverie. As he spoke, a loaf floated over, stopping right in front of Wyzett. The rich fragrance of toasted wheat filled the air.
Candlelight flickered on the walls, casting a golden glow over the crisp, inviting bread.
Unable to resist, Wyzett took it in his hands. The crust crackled beneath his fingers with a satisfying snap.
He tore it open. Steam billowed out, carrying the lush scent of grain straight to his nose. He inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut as the aroma washed over him.
The bread was crisp on the outside, pillowy soft within—a perfect contrast. Subtle sweetness and the earthy flavor of wheat mingled on his tongue, melting slowly as he savored every bite.
But there was something else, too—something he couldn't quite name. A gentle warmth bloomed in his chest, as if the bread itself carried a trace of home.
If only he had some Gurdyroot and Dirigible Plums, it would be just like the taste of family.
The loaf was large—easily the size of both his palms—but he devoured it without even noticing, left still wanting more.
"That's my answer to what it means to be a wizard, and what magic truly is." Aberforth grinned, crumbs tumbling into his beard. "To me, it's the wizards who master the magic of everyday life—those are the real wizards."
"They use their gifts and imagination to make things real, to shape the world around them. Magic gives us the power to do more than just accomplish tasks—it's what makes us special."
"What you tasted in that bread was the feeling I put into it." Aberforth dropped onto his stool, tearing off another bite, not caring in the slightest about the mess.
"What I want you to understand is this—the way you build a soul maze is much the same. You use emotion to create a shield, something to protect your soul from Voldemort's corruption…"
Constructing a soul maze was, in many ways, the opposite of Occlumency.
Occlumency demanded the suppression of emotion. Any feelings shown outwardly might be nothing but a carefully crafted illusion, a decoy for the Legilimens.
It was a way to evade mental intrusion, to maintain perfect rationality.
But the soul maze required the opposite: magnifying positive emotion, letting vibrant feelings fill your soul until they formed a labyrinth.
For a skilled Legilimens or a wizard with deep knowledge of the soul, it meant having to navigate that maze before reaching the true core.
No question, Occlumency was the more advanced art—subtle, invisible, able to fool even the most cunning mind-reader into thinking they'd found the truth.
A soul maze, on the other hand, was an open declaration: I am defended. Try to push further, and you'll lose yourself in my memories.
Even a determined Legilimens would need time to work through the maze before they could reach the heart.
But here was the advantage: building a soul maze was far quicker to learn than mastering Occlumency.
For now, the best plan for Wyzett was to craft this emotional shield as fast as possible, while beginning his long-term practice of Occlumency.
…
"I told you to recall happy memories—so why are your ears so red?" Aberforth's voice was thick with mischief as he supervised.
"It can't just be from eating too much bread, can it? I'm dying to know… what exactly are you thinking about? Maybe I should find another one of those enchanted parchments…"
Wyzett, who'd been lost in thoughts of Christmas holidays, snapped his eyes open and raised his wand. "Nox!"
The candles around them instantly dimmed.
With a sharp snap of his fingers, a mass of Devil's Snare vines shot toward Aberforth, wrapping him up tight and sealing his mouth.
Aberforth's counter was swift—a fireball appeared from thin air, rising overhead and flooding the room with heat and light.
The Devil's Snare withered at once, shriveling back into Wyzett's palm.
Aberforth looked genuinely surprised. "Human transfiguration magic? How many more surprises do you have up your sleeve?"
"So that's why Albus has gotten so cheeky lately—nothing like his usual self. With you around, he's got every reason to be proud."
He rambled on, spinning stories about Dumbledore's embarrassing moments—half to himself, half confiding in Wyzett.
"Albus says you're trustworthy. I suppose I can tell you all this and trust you won't go blabbing, right?" He grinned, sly as a serpent offering a forbidden apple.
Wyzett was unmoved. "I'll keep your secrets."
"Boring…" Aberforth muttered. "That's enough for today! If you can already channel emotion through bread, your learning speed is beyond anything I expected…"
Even after Wyzett returned to Hogwarts, his ears still burned red.
To be able to infuse food with feeling…
If he could master that kind of magic, he'd have something special to show his family over the summer holidays.
…
During the days spent building his soul maze, Wyzett found his emotions transformed—everything at Hogwarts seemed brighter, more beautiful.
That, too, was part of the process: discovering the world's wonders, collecting moments of joy and weaving them into the maze.
A soul maze also needed a core—a memory so vivid and precious that it could anchor the whole structure, making it easier to expand and strengthen.
For Wyzett, there was no question: the ancient, castle-like home, the magical garden, the people who filled it with life… and every moment of that Christmas holiday.
He was grateful for Snape's letters. Without them, he might never have slowed down enough to truly savor the rest of his break.
Those memories became the foundation of his soul maze.
Besides his practice, Aberforth would sometimes have him sit at the bar, soaking up the atmosphere and listening to the customers' stories.
The Hog's Head was a wild place. The regulars couldn't go three sentences without a "Damn it" or five without a "Shit."
But if you ignored the language, their tall tales were entertaining—good enough to polish up and submit to The Quibbler.
The patrons didn't just boast; they'd get drunk, argue, and draw wands for duels at the drop of a hat.
Most customers barely looked up at the chaos. Some even cheered, shouting crude encouragements and placing bets on the outcome.
Aberforth rarely intervened—unless someone damaged the bar. Then, with a flick of his wand, he'd subdue the duelists and demand compensation.
These duels were fascinating to watch. The combatants would trade insults, dredge up embarrassing secrets, and try anything to throw off their opponent's focus.
Disrupting your opponent's mindset, Wyzett realized, was a vital skill in battle.
In a duel, it wasn't just about the magic you knew—mental warfare was just as important.
More often than not, the first to lose their temper and attack in anger was the first to lose.
…
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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