"How do you resist?"
Sean asked with genuine curiosity.
Of course, he hadn't forgotten that Legilimency-style magic could be interrupted.
For example, Harry had once used the Shield Charm to rebound Snape's Legilimency.
Legilimency, Memory Charms, Confundus— even the Imperius Curse— all had counters of some kind.
And during casting, the caster could be interrupted by offensive spells.
That was only natural. After all, the one using the spell was still a wizard, and wizards—powerful magic or not—rarely had powerful bodies.
"If you agree, Mr. Green… please understand.
"I'll use a very mild Legilimency to probe what you ate today. Then you'll understand what resisting feels like.
"And finding that sensation is the first step to learning Occlumency."
Quirrell chose his words carefully.
Sean could more or less grasp that magic needed something concrete.
Or rather: concreteness made magic easier.
He couldn't just imagine rain and snow out of nothing—if he wanted to conjure them, he at least had to summon a cloud.
And a spell like the Separating Charm was hard to cast "raw," but if you put up a sign or ringed something with shrubs, the spell became far simpler.
"Alright, Professor."
Sean agreed at once.
"Ah— yes. If you have any issues, I'll stop immediately."
Quirrell stood stiffly before the fireplace, gripping his wand so tightly his fingers went pale.
"We start now?"
Sean lifted his head and met Quirrell's eyes directly.
The key to Legilimency was eye contact.
Really, most spells required you to aim properly at your target.
A very clear example was first-year Harry's Quidditch accident: both Quirrell and Snape had needed to keep their eyes on Harry to fight each other's magic.
"Yes—if that's what you want."
Quirrell forced himself not to look away. He raised his wand, gave Sean a tiny nod, and said, "Legilimens!"
For a moment, it felt like something—like a bee—had lightly stung Sean's mind.
But almost immediately, the sensation was shoved out, rejected.
One second. Two. Three…
After more than ten seconds—
"Did you see anything?"
Sean worked hard to keep his emotions from shifting in the slightest.
"Ah… ah—soon, Mr. Green."
Quirrell fell silent for a while. The reverence in his gaze deepened.
And then Sean felt it again—another sting.
This time the "bee" had a sharp barb, trying to pierce the barricade Sean had built by emptying his mind and wiping his thoughts smooth.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
[You practiced Occlumency at a proficient standard. Proficiency +10]
[Occlumency: Locked (10/30)]
After what might have been two or three minutes, the disguise finally popped like a balloon pricked by a needle.
And Quirrell, at last, saw images—fragment after fragment:
eating lamb, drinking pumpkin porridge, chewing toffee, drinking pumpkin juice, eating a banquet, waiting for pumpkin porridge to finish simmering…
Quirrell's mouth twitched upward before he caught himself.
He dropped his gaze to the pumpkin juice on the table, no longer daring to meet Sean's green eyes.
Strangely enough, there were two wizards he'd "sworn loyalty" to, and he couldn't bring himself to stare either of them in the eye…
Fortunately, not for the same reason.
Sean could see those images too—scenes of meals in Ilvermorny.
He latched onto the sensation. In theory it was simple: don't rummage through your memories, and don't let your emotions ripple.
In practice, it was brutally difficult.
Because a wizard couldn't control every thought at every second.
And feelings could never remain perfectly steady.
They were lively, skittish things—like birds that refused to stay perched.
"Professor, I slipped."
Sean sounded disappointed. He believed he could have done better.
If he hadn't noticed the pumpkin juice on the table—if he hadn't let that tiny gap open—he could have held out longer.
"Oh… oh, you slipped—"
Quirrell hesitated. That talent was terrifying… but to the honorable Mr. Green, perhaps this was only the bare minimum.
"Professor, I have a question. A wizard's resistance is exhausting, and it has limits.
"If someone keeps using Legilimency, will the wizard inevitably have their memories read?
"Or is it different for an Occlumens?"
Sean stared at the pumpkin juice as he asked.
"Legilimency is not an easy art. Very few wizards can learn it, and even fewer become masters," Quirrell explained carefully. "Occlumens can produce resistance at will. Just as some wizards are more sensitive to certain branches of magic, Occlumens are more sensitive to being watched—and can react in a heartbeat.
"As for whether a wizard will inevitably be read—
"Mr. Green… there's more than one way to break magic. Sometimes the best defense is simply to attack."
"I understand." Sean nodded.
Magic always depended on the person. An Occlumens could contend even with a master Legilimens.
In the end, it still came down to who had the deeper mastery.
And more than that—if a wizard couldn't resist at all—whether by mental defense or by striking back with spells—then Legilimency and three drops of Veritaserum weren't all that different.
"Occlumency can block outside magic.
"Now that you've found the sensation, you can try to recall what you've forgotten. It may simply be buried deeper."
Quirrell explained with unusual patience.
Light gathered in Sean's eyes.
Outside, the colorful shop windows were rimmed with ice, and Diagon Alley was full of scarf-wrapped witches and wizards.
He thought back to Hogwarts—he'd never run into a mystery like this before.
The snow began to fall heavier, dull and thick.
If someone sat by a fire and kept staring into the snowfall—
then the things you couldn't explain, the things you couldn't remember, would sink slowly to the bottom of your heart, and with the snow, become clearer.
Being rescued from the orphanage by Professor McGonagall. Boarding the Hogwarts Express. Meeting Justin and Hermione. Arriving at Hogwarts…
Scene after scene reconstructed itself, so vivid that even the panel's proficiency notifications could barely pull Sean out of his thoughts.
And the buried thing—slowly—worked its way up.
Until it froze on a single night.
Back then, the three of them had just started at Hogwarts, and they'd discovered a hidden room.
On the wall hung a portrait, its canvas yellowed and cracked with age. It wasn't a stern wizard at all—
but a snowy-white owl in a velvet waistcoat, wearing tiny pince-nez spectacles.
One claw was laboriously nudging the glasses back into place. The other held a roll of old parchment.
And its eyes—
never left them.
~~~
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