The classroom was quiet except for the soft scratching of quills on parchment. Professor Babbling stood at the front, her warm smile lighting up her face as she surveyed the room. The students had been studying the Elder Futhark—the oldest runic alphabet—for nearly two months now, and today's lesson would build on the foundations they'd already laid.
"Good morning, everyone," she began, her voice bright and clear. "We've spent the last two months learning the Elder Futhark, examining each rune's meaning and basic magical application. Today, we're going to focus on the Berkano rune."
She gestured to the enchanted blackboard, where a stylized B-shape rune—tall and elegant—glowed softly. "Berkano symbolizes growth, rebirth, and healing. It's often associated with nurturing energy, fertility, and the cycles of nature—birth, death, and renewal," she explained.
Hermione's quill was already moving furiously across her parchment, and Harry watched as the rune pulsed gently, radiating a comforting green light.
"Berkano was traditionally carved on cradles to bless newborns or on amulets to promote recovery from illness," Professor Babbling continued. "Today, we'll practice channeling magic into the Berkano rune in three ways: First, to encourage personal growth, second, to stabilize emotional energy, and third, to create a small healing charm—nothing too advanced, but enough to soothe small cuts or bruises."
She handed out parchment strips marked with the Berkano rune and gestured for them to begin.
Harry traced the rune with his finger, feeling a subtle warmth as he focused on the first exercise. The rune glowed faintly green, a soft, encouraging glow.
A seat or two down, Susan Bones frowned at her parchment. "Harry," she whispered, "mine's not glowing at all. Am I doing something wrong?"
Harry leaned over, giving her a reassuring smile. "You might be pushing too much magic into it too quickly," he said softly. "Try slowing down, focusing on the rune's shape first, and then let the magic flow naturally like you're breathing it out. Think of growth as a gentle process—no need to force it."
Susan brightened. "Okay, I'll try that. Thanks, Harry!"
Nearby, Terry Boot from Ravenclaw glanced over, his brow furrowed. "Hey, Potter," he asked quietly, "does it matter which direction you trace the rune? Mine keeps going from green to a weird muddy color."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, actually it does. You want to trace it from top to bottom and then the branches—like this," he demonstrated with his finger. "That keeps the energy flow smooth. Otherwise, it can get tangled, and you'll lose the focus."
Terry grinned. "Ah, that explains it. Thanks!"
After a few minutes, Harry raised his hand. "Professor," he asked, "how does the Berkano rune differ from other healing spells? Is it more about the energy behind the spell than the actual incantation?"
Professor Babbling beamed at him. "Excellent question, Mr. Potter! Yes, indeed—it's less about a direct incantation and more about the symbolic energybehind the rune. Traditional spells like Episkey are immediate and focused. Runes, however, tap into ancient energies that work with the natural flow of magic. Berkano encourages the body or mind to heal itself rather than forcing it. It's a more holistic approach."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, his mind already working through the possibilities.
Professor Babbling continued walking between the rows, offering quiet encouragement. "Remember, the key to mastering runes isn't just in the symbol but in the understanding and intent you bring to it."
As the bell rang and students began packing up, Harry gave Susan and Terry a final thumbs-up. "You did great, see you later."
Once the classroom had emptied, Harry slipped out into the corridor, his mind already focused on his next destination. The lesson on Berkano had been fascinating, but it was the secret studies he'd been conducting in the Room of Requirement that called to him now. Over the past weeks, he'd been pushing himself harder than ever—driven by a need for control, for power, and for answers.
He made his way through the corridors, slipping past a few straggling students. The castle felt alive, as though the very walls were watching him. He paused outside the familiar stretch of wall on the seventh floor, closed his eyes, and focused: I need a place to study magic, I need a place to study magic, I need a place to study magic.
A door appeared, shifting from the stone wall as though it had always been there. Harry stepped inside, and the air changed immediately—quiet, focused, tinged with a sense of purpose. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with tomes on curses, defensive spells, and the hidden arts most wizards would rather forget. In the center of the room, an open space with worn wooden floors awaited his practice.
Once inside the Room of Requirement, Harry set his bag down and crossed to the worn wooden floor in the center. The familiar tome—Advanced Mental Defenses: A Study of Legilimency and Occlumency—lay open on a small reading stand. Its pages were yellowed with age, but the words felt more alive than anything he'd read at Hogwarts.
He flipped to the chapter on Occlumency, a discipline he'd been grappling with for weeks now. Despite Snape's earlier "lessons," Harry had found those sessions more about humiliation than actual learning. The book's approach was different—clinical, and logical, but also grounded in the art's true purpose.
"Occlumency," the text read, "is not simply about erecting walls within the mind, nor is it a mere act of brute resistance. It is a subtle craft of misdirection—a mental sleight of hand. A skilled Occlumens need not build an impenetrable fortress; instead, they craft illusions, feints, and mirrors to fool the Legilimens seeking entry."
Harry read on, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. The key, according to the text, was layering false memories—placing them at the forefront of the mind, weaving them so seamlessly into his surface thoughts that a probing mind would accept them as truth. A good Occlumens could fill their mind with harmless memories: a boring Quidditch practice, a half-remembered Potions lesson, the weather at breakfast—anything to distract an intruder.
But there was more. For an Occlumens to actively expel a Legilimens required a delicate, practiced technique. It wasn't about brute force, but about focusing their magic—channeling it with the same precision as casting a spell—and pushing the intruding presence out. It was a mental push, a subtle but powerful wave of will that dislodged the probing mind. Done correctly, it was seamless. Done poorly, it could leave both parties disoriented or even cause a backlash.
Harry set the book aside, his mind buzzing. He'd practiced the basics—breathing exercises, focusing on calm, creating mental noise—but he was still far away from achieving it.
Legilimency itself, according to his reading, was not simple mind-reading. Rather, it was like sending out a fishing line, seeking to catch specific memories hidden within a person's mind. A skilled Legilimens could even implant false memories—convincing illusions designed to mislead or control. But even then, the risk remained that the victim would sense the falsehood, that the fake memory would clash with their own sense of self, or simply feel wrong in some intangible way.
Harry had yet to try Legilimency himself, though curiosity burned at the edges of his mind. For now, he was content to focus on Occlumency—layering his thoughts with small, harmless memories, trying to project the illusion of innocence even as he felt the strain of the effort.