Gradually, I began to understand how mental magic worked.
Occlumency was not merely the "art of closing one's mind," as the manuals stated. That was a simplified definition. In reality, it was the art of protecting and restructuring one's own consciousness from within.
My problem ran deeper than usual.
I didn't have one mind, but two. Not one memory, but two fragments and both were damaged, one even partially destroyed. When they collided, they struck each other like two crystals. Each held its own associative chains, emotions, memories, triggers. Upon contact, chaos erupted: images shattered, memories scrambled, consciousness filled with noise.
Sometimes, in these collisions, pieces would merge, but more often they would crumble, splinter, or disappear entirely. If I let this continue unchecked, the process would slowly but surely destroy my consciousness, and while the end might not be as bleak as I had initially imagined, I would lose a great deal. I would inevitably lose myself.
That was why my mood shifted so often, why I forgot obvious things, lost my train of thought, and dropped the thread of conversations. My short-term memory suffered the most, but long-term memory was also cracking. Much of it was vanishing without a trace and that was truly frightening.
The conclusion of my reflections was simple: I needed to continue stitching.
If two pieces cannot be joined by force without me losing myself, then they must be joined by hand. I called them "mental sutures."
In essence, I was carefully stitching together different pieces of memory, and if they didn't fit directly, I linked them with threads of associative chains. I didn't break or clash them; I wove one into the other. Layer by layer, as if weaving threads.
It resembled creating new neural pathways in an ordinary brain. Only here, I was literally weaving a net of personality, holding different memories and emotions together. This net became my salvation. There was simply no other way.
At first, it was like surgery without tools. I was exhausted psychologically and mentally; sometimes after practice, I would vomit, and my headaches were worse than ever. But after months, the results became noticeable: the noise in my head subsided. It didn't disappear completely, but it no longer tore me apart. The constant headaches vanished only rare pulsations remained. The main problem became the dissonance from perceiving two associations at once.
I had turned chaos into a lengthy and inefficient, yet functional, system. I had only connected about half of the large fragments so far, but I at least understood it was possible.
Some build barriers and labyrinths to hide thoughts. I, however, darned the tears, joined the fragments, stitched myself back together. The main thing was not to turn my own mind into a Frankenstein's monster.
Now, sitting in Transfiguration class, I could say for the first time in a long while: my situation was more or less stable. By my estimate, I would need another month, maybe two, to finish the main work. By May, I should manage to connect everything that was supposed to have fused on its own. But at least I was doing it gently and carefully. It was just a pity that in the first few months, I had let things run their course. I had probably lost far more of that "Self's" memories and personality than I should have.
But for now for now I could afford to listen to an interesting lesson. Especially since, according to McGonagall in the last class, today's would be particularly important.
***
For almost the entire semester, I hadn't taken a single step towards Blackmore.
The goal that had loomed before me after the winter holidays to move a chair with telekinesis, with the pure power of thought and magic remained out of reach.
My maximum was moving or levitating a book. But I had achieved something: I had stabilized my mind. For the first time in many months, I could think without the constant fear of being torn apart from the inside, that my two "selves" would clash again and turn my consciousness into mush.
The panicked terror for myself was gone. That was a victory in itself.
The problem was, there was catastrophically little time left until the end of the term. Almost all of it had gone into the struggle for integrity, not into ambition. Perhaps it was the right thing to do, but upon returning to more or less normal behavior, I was suddenly shocked at how much I had fallen out of school life.
It was as if I had been going with the flow all these months, repairing my mind, stitching my personality together patch by patch, and, looking back, I realized: much had changed in the world around me. The castle lived, buzzed with life, and I was merely a shadow. I wasn't the center of the world; the world had moved on without me.
And it was already May. Exams were in a month, and in June we would all go home for the summer. All the students were studying hard, especially the older years.
And all this time, I was supposed to be progressing in the main task uniting the Slytherin first years around me. Because next autumn, new blood would arrive, and then it would be too late: the older students would intervene, and my yearmates would join new alliances. If I didn't establish myself now, someone else would take my place.
So, I only had a month left. A month to push events in the right direction. And first of all to take a step towards Blackmore, that very Dexter, from a family of combat mages, stubborn, straightforward, and too proud. If he became my ally his friends and acquaintances, the last mini-group, would follow, and my authority among the yearmates would be undeniable.
As for the other houses it turned out that not everyone had started acting in the first semester, and only in the second did many stick their heads out, like in Gryffindor.
A new player had appeared on the board Marvin Burke from Gryffindor. Unlike the loud but empty Reid, this one acted differently: he didn't seek conflict but simply went about his business, for the time being. When he finally emerged from the shadows he struck hard.
Just recently, he had sent Blackmore to the hospital wing, and it was during an honest duel, one that Blackmore himself had initiated. Blackmore had literally smashed into a wall and was badly hurt, which was why he ended up in the hospital wing. When the news reached me, I understood: here was my chance to recruit Dexter.
The fact that it was a private duel made the defeat especially painful for Blackmore, and that was good for me.
The Burkes are from the "Sacred Twenty-Eight." Noble status, traditions, respect. Not some half-blood who just hates Slytherins. No. This was an equal. And an equal had proven to be stronger.
When I heard this news, it was like a light bulb went on in my head. Here was the chance. Here was my moment.
I even questioned Flint he often hung around Blackmore, even though Dexter didn't consider him a close friend. And I got everything I wanted: the details of the duel, the rumors spreading through the house.
That evening, I waited. The Slytherin dungeons were filled with spring humidity the air was heavy, warm, smelling of stone and dampness. Most students had dispersed: some to their dormitories, some to the library. The common room was emptying, the hum dying down. And only by the fireplace sat Dexter Blackmore.
He was staring into the fire as if he wanted to burn it with his gaze. His jaw was tense, lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers periodically clenching into fists. His face showed pure rage inside. He wanted to hit someone, tear someone apart, but there was no one around. He was left alone with his defeat.
A perfect moment.
I approached unhurriedly. Shadows from the flames danced on the walls, illuminating our figures from the semi-darkness. I leaned against the back of the armchair opposite, looking down at him, and spoke as if it were a trivial matter:
"So, did it hold up?"
His eyes snapped towards me.
"What are you on about, Malfoy?" His voice was hoarse with anger. "I'm not in the mood for your games."
I shrugged, allowing myself a slight smirk:
"About the walls of Hogwarts," I replied calmly, drawing out the words slightly. "I don't know why you were testing their strength, but it's good they held. So, you can consider that a thank you."
He growled something under his breath, already reaching for his wand. I sat down next to him in the same instant. Dexter froze. He hadn't expected that reaction from me.
"Understand one thing," I said quietly, evenly, as if sharing a secret. "Rumors in the castle always spread. Even with few witnesses, it will reach the ears of the whole school. You can't hide things like that."
"Let them just try," he hissed. "If I see Burke again he'll be dancing for me!"
I shook my head.
"That's precisely the problem. You already met him once. And the result was not in your favor."
He turned to me sharply, his eyes burning with fury:
"He caught me off guard! He just got lucky!"
"Of course," I nodded seriously. "Luck plays a role. But preparation is even more important. And Burke, it seems, had it."
Silence. Only the crackling of the fire. In his eyes, anger and wounded pride warred. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.
I leaned in a little closer, lowering my voice:
"The question isn't that you lost. The real question is what you do now. Will you sit and stew? Or will you show everyone that Blackmore can't be beaten with a couple of lucky moves?"
The words hung in the air. I saw them hit their mark.
His lips twitched, his breathing quickened. He was furious, but a spark of understanding flickered in his gaze.
"You think I need pity? I'll challenge him to another duel!"
"I'm not offering pity," I said calmly. "I'm talking about a rematch. But a rematch requires brains, not just stubbornness."
I paused, letting the words sink in, and added:
"Sometimes, to crush an enemy, you need not just a sword, but someone to point you where to strike. You only get to answer once, and a simple victory won't be enough to wash away the shame even if you win, of course."
His gaze lingered on me. A spark of understanding and a sea of anger flashed in his eyes if looks could kill
"Do you want a feud with me?! Stop making me angry," Blackmore snarled. "I can beat him "
He was still resisting, but I saw the hook was set. After a moment's thought, he finally said, more calmly.
"And who, in your opinion, can help?" he finally ground out, clearly understanding who I meant. "Just say it, don't drag it out like you're pulling Merlin's beard."
I allowed myself a slight smile:
"Let's just say I know how to make Burke regret ever beating you in that duel. But we need to act with intelligence. And you understand that better than most."
He was silent. But in that silence, I could already hear his agreement.
That's it, I thought, just a little more, and he'll be asking for help himself.
Dexter wasn't rushing to answer, just sat there, staring into the fire as if searching for the right words. Finally, he grumbled:
"Suppose you do know how to put Burke in his place. Why would you do it?"
I tilted my head slightly, as if surprised:
"Why? Firstly, I admire your approach to things, especially with that Incendio; secondly Dexter, you're from a pure-blood family of renowned battle mages. When even first-years gossip about your defeat, it's a blow not just to you, but to your family name. Slytherins must maintain face. It's in my interest for you to keep yours, as, in a way, I am responsible for our Slytherin year."
He narrowed his eyes, but less angrily now.
"Right and what's in it for you?" His voice was rough, but for the first time, there was a note of caution. He understood my previous words were just hot air.
I smiled my poisonous smile, but barely noticeably, almost lazily, as if it were a trivial matter:
"In return? Merely one favor. Not now, not tomorrow. But the day will come when I will ask you for a favor. And you will provide it."
He turned to me sharply, distrust mixing with displeasure:
"Too vague."
"Someday, though that day may never come, I will ask you for a favor. But, until that day, accept this assistance as a gift from a friend."
"But it's honest," I replied calmly. "I'm not asking for anything beyond your capabilities. Simply, one day, though that day may never come, I will ask you for a favor. But, until that day, accept my help as a gift from a friend."
I paused, then added, a little quieter:
"And remember, Dexter you already have a debt for that semester."
A mix of irritation flashed in his eyes. I saw his pride wrestling with cold calculation: agreeing meant acknowledging my authority. That was exactly what I needed.
He nodded slowly, as if swallowing a bitter potion:
"Fine, Malfoy. Consider me in your debt. But only if your words aren't empty and you actually help me settle the score with him."
I extended my hand, and Blackmore returned the handshake. After, I leaned back slightly, satisfied with the response:
"I never make promises I can't keep."
And in that moment, I knew: the deal was done. Blackmore, with his own words, had let me into his affairs and placed my seal upon his pride.
The next day, I could see that Dexter hadn't dismissed our conversation. His gaze held a strange combination proud stubbornness and hidden hope. He hated losing, and now, wounded, he was clinging to the slightest chance to restore his name.
"Well?" he asked during break, catching me near the staircase. "How exactly are you planning to help?"
I smiled slightly, as if I'd been expecting the question:
"To start with forget about a direct duel. A second one in a row is pointless."
"You think I'm weak?! I want to crush him in a duel, not scheme," he exploded, but I calmly raised a hand.
"I think you're a fighter, and if you want a duel so badly, you'll get it. But without preparation, any fighter looks like an idiot. Even the best lose if they charge in headfirst. You need time, a method, and the right approach."
He looked at me gloomily, but I could see it struck a chord. The words about "the best" soothed the bitterness, and "the right approach" rang in his ears like a promise.
"And what do you suggest?"
"Small steps," I said quietly. "We'll start by honing basic spells and gaining dueling experience."
"Gaining experience?"
"Of course. Have you had many duels?"
"Not really," Blackmore said dryly and joylessly, understanding my point.
"I don't have much dueling experience either, just like you. At home, they'll teach us the art of dueling later, but for now, I suggest we both gain some experience and skill. And you need to not just learn some spells, but drill them to a reflex level. So your wand moves with your thought. Then we'll play on Burke's weaknesses. Everyone has them. He's overconfident, and we can use that."
Dexter clenched his fists.
"I don't need games like that, I want to send him to the hospital wing for a week with my own skill!"
"And you think you can't achieve that through games? The strongest blows aren't the spells, Dexter. They are the enemy's mistakes that you force him to make."
He fell silent. This was the first step making him think in my terms.
"Alright," he said finally. "What next?"
I allowed myself a light, almost lazy smirk, as if all this were a game to me.
"Next, we start with training. In the evening, in one of the empty classrooms. Just you and me. No one will know. First, I'll show you how to maintain control over your wand steady, without trembling or pauses and then I'll teach you to knock away your opponent's. In a week, you won't be the same, Dexter. And neither will I. Everyone needs experience, and a good dueling partner is hard to find."
He lifted his head. The hunger I was waiting for flashed in his eyes the hunger to prove to himself and the world that he was worthy, that the defeat was a fluke. His pride surged, and in that moment, I knew the hook was set deep. It would be hard for him to back out now.
I leaned forward slightly and lowered my voice, as if sharing the most crucial knowledge:
"Remember, Dexter. A rematch isn't just a duel. It's a lesson for everyone. You must not just win you must make others fear you. So everyone understands that facing you has consequences. Physical and moral."
His eyes gleamed predatorily at my words. His lips twitched into a smirk. He gave a short nod, as if accepting the terms of the deal:
"Fine. But know this, Malfoy I can definitely beat you in a duel. And most importantly, don't you dare set me up!"
I met his gaze calmly, even a little mockingly, letting him know his threat was meaningless to me:
"You either overestimate yourself, or you don't fully understand who you're dealing with, Dexter. I only set up my enemies, and as for beating me try it. But my allies " I paused, letting the words settle, "I elevate."
We were silent for a few seconds, but I could already see he was in my power.
And from that moment, I began to weave the threads. From his pride. From his ambition. From his thirst for revenge. Thin but strong threads that would gradually turn into ropes. And ropes, as everyone knows, can always be tightened at the right moment.