"How do I resist it?" Sean asked, his curiosity piqued.
He hadn't forgotten that spells like Legilimency could be interrupted. Harry Potter, for instance, had famously used a Shield Charm to bounce Professor Snape's Legilimency spell right back at him.
Legilimency, the Memory Charm, the Confundus Charm—even the Imperius Curse—all had counter-measures. Furthermore, the caster remained vulnerable to attack while channeling the spell.
It made sense. After all, it's the wizard channeling the magic, and wizards are known for having phenomenal cosmic power but physically fragile bodies.
"You agreed to it... Mr. Grindelwald. I hope you understand," Quirrell began, choosing his words carefully. "I will use a very weak Legilimency spell to probe your memories of today's lunch. That way, you will understand what the intrusion feels like. Identifying that sensation is the first step in mastering Occlumency."
Sean nodded. He understood that magic often required a certain level of visualization to work effectively. Or rather, concrete imagery made the abstract easier to control.
It was like trying to conjure a storm; it was hard to imagine rain and snow from nothing, but if you visualized a single cloud first, the rest followed. Similarly, casting a boundary spell was difficult in a void, but if you mentally erected a signpost and planted a hedge around it, the magic flowed much more naturally.
"Alright, Professor," Sean agreed immediately.
"Ah... ah, yes. If you feel any discomfort, I will stop immediately," Quirrell said, standing stiffly in front of the fireplace. His knuckles were white from gripping his wand too tightly.
"Shall we begin?" Sean looked up, meeting Quirrell's gaze directly.
Eye contact was crucial for Legilimency. In fact, most magic required the wizard to have a clear line of sight on their target. A classic example was Harry's first year at the Quidditch match: both Quirrell and Snape had to maintain an unbroken stare at Harry to work their respective counter-curses.
"Yes... if that is your wish."
Quirrell forced himself not to look away. He raised his wand and gave a slight nod toward Sean. "Legilimens!"
In that instant, Sean felt a sensation in his mind, like the light sting of a bee. But almost immediately, he pushed the feeling outward.
One second, two seconds, three seconds... a dozen seconds passed.
"Did you see it?" Sean asked, keeping his voice perfectly level, suppressing any flicker of emotion.
"Ah... ah... very fast, Mr. Grindelwald," Quirrell murmured. He paused for a moment, the look of awe in his eyes solidifying into something deeper.
Then, Sean felt the sting again.
This time, the bee's stinger was sharper. It tried to puncture the defensive wall he had built by clearing his mind.
Time seemed to slow down.
> [You have practiced Occlumency at a proficient standard. Proficiency +10]
> [Occlumency: Locked (10/30)]
He didn't know how long it lasted—perhaps two or three minutes—before his mental cover was finally popped like a balloon.
Quirrell finally broke through to the images:
Eating lamb chops... drinking pumpkin porridge... chewing on toffee... sipping pumpkin juice... the evening feast... waiting for the porridge to cool...
The corners of Quirrell's mouth twitched upward involuntarily.
He quickly lowered his head, fixing his gaze on the pumpkin juice on the table, avoiding Sean's green eyes. It was a strange irony: he served two masters, and he didn't dare look either of them in the eye—though, thankfully, for very different reasons.
Sean could see the images, too—memories of dining at Ilvermorny.
He had grasped the technique. In theory, it was simple: don't recall memories, and don't show emotional fluctuation. But in practice, it was incredibly difficult.
A wizard couldn't control their every thought every second of the day, nor keep their emotions and senses in perfect alignment. Thoughts were like birds—flighty and active.
"Professor, I slipped up," Sean said, sounding a bit frustrated. He felt he could have done better. If he hadn't focused on the pumpkin juice on the table, revealing a crack in his defense, he might have held out longer.
"Oh... oh, slipped up, you say..." Quirrell trailed off. He found the boy's talent terrifying, though perhaps for the esteemed Mr. Grindelwald, this performance was barely passing.
"Professor, I have a question," Sean asked, staring at the pumpkin juice. "A wizard's resistance is tiring and finite. If they are constantly subjected to Legilimency, will their memories inevitably be read? Or is an Occlumens different?"
"Legilimency is difficult. Very few wizards learn it, and even fewer become masters," Quirrell explained earnestly. "An Occlumens can generate resistance at any moment. Just as some wizards are naturally sensitive to certain branches of magic, an Occlumens is hypersensitive to the feeling of 'being watched.' They can react in a split second.
"As for whether memories will inevitably be read... respected Mr. Grindelwald, counter-curses aren't the only way to break a spell. Sometimes, the best defense is to attack."
"I understand," Sean nodded.
Magical power varied from person to person; naturally, a skilled Occlumens could hold their own against a Legilimency master. In a battle of attrition, it would come down to who had the superior magical capability.
Furthermore, if a wizard didn't have the capacity to resist—either mentally or by casting an offensive spell—then it made no difference whether they were hit with Legilimency or force-fed Veritaserum.
"Occlumency shields you from external magical forces," Quirrell continued, his explanation becoming more detailed. "Once you find that sensation, you might try to recall things you think you've forgotten. Often, they are just hidden in a deeper place."
Sean's eyes lit up with understanding.
He looked out the window. The multicolored glass of the storefront was frosted over with ice. Down in Diagon Alley, wizards were bundled up in scarves.
He thought back to his memories of Hogwarts. He had never encountered a mystery like this before.
The snow was falling heavily now, thick and silent.
It was said that if you stared at the snow while sitting by a warm fire, the things you couldn't say or couldn't remember would slowly settle to the bottom of your heart, becoming clear as the snow piled up.
Being rescued from the orphanage by Professor McGonagall... boarding the Hogwarts Express... meeting Justin and Hermione... arriving at the castle...
The scenes reconstructed themselves in his mind. Even the system notifications about his proficiency rising couldn't break his concentration.
The things that had been buried began to surface.
Until the memory froze on a specific night.
It was when Sean and his two friends had first entered Hogwarts. They had stumbled upon a hidden room.
On the wall of that room hung a portrait. The canvas was yellowed and cracked with age, but the subject wasn't some majestic wizard. It was a snowy white owl, wearing a velvet vest and a small pair of pince-nez glasses.
It was using one claw to laboriously adjust the glasses on its beak, while the other claw clutched a roll of old parchment.
And its eyes... its eyes were staring right at them.