The following evening, after classes ended and the castle began to quiet, I returned to the Room of Requirement with Abraxas and Orion in tow. The great wooden door appeared before us once more, and as it opened, the familiar scent of parchment, dust, and brewing potions greeted us.
This time, though, I had something very specific in mind.
"Before we begin," I said, turning to face them, "there's something important I need to teach you both."
Abraxas arched an eyebrow. "Another spell?"
"In a way," I replied with a faint smirk. "But not one you'll find in any of your textbooks. It's called Occlumency — the art of shielding your mind."
Orion frowned. "From what?"
"From intrusion," I said simply. "From Legilimency. From… certain people who like to see more than they're meant to."
The name hung unspoken between us, but they both understood. Dumbledore.
I gestured toward the lounge area, where the firelight shimmered against the green velvet cushions. "Sit. Close your eyes."
For the next thirty minutes, I guided them through the fundamentals — clearing the mind, focusing emotion, controlling thought. Orion struggled at first, his emotions too volatile. Abraxas, however, was more composed; pureblood upbringing had already trained him in restraint.
"Good," I murmured. "Push everything out — thoughts, distractions, doubts. If someone tries to enter your mind, they'll find only silence."
After half an hour, both of them were sweating from concentration. Not perfect, but a start. Enough that I wouldn't have to worry about loose minds wandering if anyone — or any professor — tried to pry.
"Remember," I said, pacing before them, "a secret shared is a weapon lost. Occlumency protects not just you, but what we build here."
They both nodded, eyes sharp with understanding.
Satisfied, I moved toward the dueling area. "Now," I continued, "let's get to the practical part of tonight's training."
I raised my wand, motioning for them to stand. "First — Protego. The Shield Charm. It's basic defense, but if you master it, it can save your life."
A translucent barrier shimmered into existence before me with a flick of my wrist. "Your turn."
They practiced again and again — shields flickering weakly at first, then gradually strengthening as they focused. I corrected their stance, adjusted their wand movement, and explained the rhythm of magical flow that made the spell solid.
"Magic isn't just words," I reminded them. "It's intent. It's control."
Once they could summon a stable shield, I stepped back. "Now, offense. Expelliarmus and Stupefy."
Their spells were clumsy at first — too much power, not enough precision. I demonstrated, wand flashing through the air, disarming both of them in quick succession before either could blink.
Abraxas grinned despite himself. "Show-off."
"Teacher," I corrected calmly, lowering my wand. "Try again."
They did — again and again — until sparks filled the air. The dummies in the corner bore scorch marks, and the scent of ozone hung heavy in the room. But by the end of the night, they were improving. Faster. Sharper.
And loyal.
As they packed up, Abraxas turned to me. "You really think all this will matter, Tom?"
I met his gaze evenly. "It will," I said softly. "Because when everyone else is playing catch-up, we'll already be steps ahead. Prepared for everything — and everyone."
The firelight flickered across their faces, reflecting the faintest spark of something new — ambition.
When they finally left, I lingered in the room alone. My reflection shimmered faintly in a nearby mirror — calm, composed, and utterly in control.
A leader was forming — not of darkness, not of light… but of purpose.