1845 hours


Yavin Morgenthau stepped through the archway of one of the three windows in his office, scattering rust coloured sand across the gleaming white floors. He shook his feet as he brushed more of the desert off his sleeves. That had been a most interesting walk. It might have even been pleasant if he had known about the sand storm! That was, of course, the risk you ran in trying to converse with the unpredictable noma--

A bell rang, the sound cleanly cutting through the room and emanating from no visible source. Aha. His appointment. No doubt the double doors would have appeared in the foyer to allow Miranda access.

He tousled his own hair to dislodge more sand, crossing towards his workshop table where a series of instruments had been neatly laid out by one of the Brain Room Unspeakables earlier today. Virgil had dropped by as well, to hassle him about his new pupil ('you're joking, how could anyone be that stupid?' and more petulantly, 'she can't possibly be as awful to teach as I was') but he fortunately happened to be preoccupied by other personal dramatics at this moment.

They should, Yavin reasoned, have a perfectly uninterrupted first lesson. Using both hands, he carefully picked up what looked like a crystal barometer, and heard his office doors creak open behind him.

The old wizard glanced over his shoulder with a smile. "Miranda. Do, ah, do take a seat," he nodded at one of the three chairs across his desk by the windows - one of the chairs was occupied by a skeleton with a cigarette between its teeth and a sky blue cravat around its neck. "We can get started, hm, started right away."

Today had been one of the rare days when Miranda hadn’t been at St Mungo’s. Following on from an intense and difficult week, she’d taken Monday as a day to remain at home and relax. Sundays were almost always spent at home with Ignan, a regular routine where the couple were able to allocate some time to really spend with one another. It had, however, been nice to extend this time off and enjoy a day at home. One might be forgiven for assuming Miranda might work herself to death one day. Work, unsurprisingly, never really vanished from Miranda’s mind, and after an hour spent pottering around their small home and tending to the garden, Miranda could be found in the cottage’s small office at the typewriter.

It was Gerda that had had to break her mistress from her concentration, reminding her of her meeting with Morgenthau.

The doors to Yavin’s office opened before her and Miranda couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the stark contrast it held to other areas of the Ministry for Magic. With white marbled floors and furniture that looked far more likely to be found in a garden or conservatory, Miranda found herself further questioning his mental state.

“I wasn’t aware we’d have company…” The healer commented on the skeleton, a smirk twisting her lips as she moved towards the seats. However, before sitting, she placed her handbag on the chair and opened it. From the bag, she withdrew a folded piece of parchment which she offered to the wizard.
“A contract of confidentiality.” Explained the witch who once more closed her bag. “I sit on the Wizengamot. I need to know that what happens in this room stays in your head only.”

Careful not to drop the instrument, he returned to his desk and laughed as the skeleton cheerfully jabbered its jaws at Miranda's comment. His compatriots across the room, as always without fail, did the same, and the rattling of bones provided a welcome background noise to their exchange for a little while.

Yavin took the third chair across the desk instead of his regular seat - he didn't like having a physical barrier between them if they were going to be practicing mind magic. The crystal object was placed on the edge of the desk.

            "A contract of confidentiality."

"Of course, ah, of course -" he adjusted his spectacles and reached for the parchment with interest, "- but I must confess that, hm, that some of my professional acquaintances have been informed of these lessons."

In addition to Virgil, Yavin had brought it up amongst the Legilimens who worked in level nine's Brain Room, which was a generally aggressive environment if you didn't train in either art. They had all been interested to know that Miranda wasn't already an Occlumens; it had sparked an interesting debate about which ability was best to first acquire.

The contract was a straightforward magical document - it had nothing on the confidentiality nightmares required by the Department of Mysteries. A visible hex if he broke the conditions, etc etc.

"Hm. This looks just, hah, just dandy." Yavin procured a very thin Hoatzin feather quill from his pocket and signed his full name with great flourish, resting the contract on his thigh. "There's no reason for you to, that is, to do the same."

Luckily for him, teaching Occlumency didn't mean having to let Miranda into his mindscape or any parts of the department that a visitor wasn't typically allowed. His office held surprisingly few secrets to the naked eye. He handed over the signed parchment with a quicksilver smile. "How would you like to, um, like to proceed?"

He’d discussed their lessons with colleagues. Miranda wasn’t sure how she felt about it, but barely reacted. Her polite and calm smile simply lingered before she shook her head. “That’s not a secret.” She could handle that, but would be furious and very possibly in trouble if details were shared. The Head of the Department of Mysteries would surely understand such necessity for safeguarding information.

The tiniest twitch of her eyebrow revealed slight disagreement at her not being required to sign something similar. Did the wizard mean that he trusted her to not attempt anything to breach his own mind, or was it, to him, a fact that she wouldn’t be able to? Nonetheless, she’d never wish to try. Miranda’s skill had always been utilised to aid healing, nothing more.

A cursory glance was cast over the rather flamboyant signature before the healer folded the document in half and deposited it back in her bag. Now, she sat back in the seat, crossing her legs at the ankles.

“How would you advise?” Miranda would honestly admit that these lessons were about to throw her out of her depth. For years, he’d been an expert, her own knowledge in certain healing aspects being unrivalled. It was a strange thing to be sat opposite her idol with him about to breach her mind. “I understand the theory behind the skill, I must have read every book and paper published. It’s just never something I’ve put into practice. I confess I’m not certain how to even start.”

He had spent some time pondering how to teach a person like Miranda Storm. A majority of Yavin's students were instinctive learners who knew very little about theoretical Occlumency: they required layman's terms or emotionally descriptive contexts, as you might use if trying to teach a young muggleborn. And experience with natural Legilimens was completely useless in this case.

The wizard crossed his legs and leaned back in the rattan chair, gesturing at the crystal instrument before them.

"We can begin with, ah, with visual representation. This is an Occlumentic Barometer," the orb was cloudy at the moment but he drew his wand and carefully directed the tip between  it and Miranda. The crystal turned abruptly clear. "It measures the pellucidity of your thoughts. You may or, hah, may not find it helpful."

Having sought input from his Unspeakables, Yavin had come to a conclusion about how to approach lessons with Miranda. He intended to be as methodical as possible. It wouldn't do to begin by testing her strengths and putting her on guard.

Occlumency wasn't emotional defensiveness, after all, it was stringent compartmentalisation.

"Do you, I mean, do you utilise visual analogies? As Angkatell does?" Yavin tucked his wand behind his ear and interlaced his fingers of his lap, and the skeleton in the spare chair mirrored this pose with a clattering of its bones.

In his own book, he had recommended for beginners to invest in the idea of a Mind Palace and visualise a structure as the conscious base of their mindscape. But Yavin knew that his writing was only a starting point and that there were many varied ways to manipulate one's interior manifestations. "Either way you can, hm, you can begin in the most elementary position. Clearing your mind."

Miranda shook her head, the wavy hair in her ponytail bouncing. “My husband has that book.” She’d reread it back at Ignan’s old house in the hopes of something clicking. It hadn’t. “Angkatell seems rather too preoccupied with these images in your mind and the language threw me off.” Miranda appreciated things to be in black and white, crisp and clear. While there had been ideas to draw from the researcher, she’d come away from the book feeling more confused than before she’d read the first page.

 "Either way you can, hm, you can begin in the most elementary position. Clearing your mind."

“Can I?” An eyebrow rose and Miranda shuffled slightly in the seat. The odd skeleton certainly wasn’t going to help her mind to clear itself.

Regardless, the witch considered a blank space, stark white, clear. The contraption between them remained clear.  But she continued to think of nothing, to try and imagine nothing. Until thoughts crept in of why she was thinking of nothing and how ridiculous it was and how thinking of nothing would do nothing. It was only a few moments before the healer sighed and rolled her eyes.

“This is pointless. The only thing that clears my mind is a strong sleeping potion.”

Not a visual learner then, Yavin thought dryly, nor a natural meditator. That only meant having to try other methods. It was rare to meet anyone who voluntarily read Angkatell and connected with the text but he stopped himself from enquiring further about Miranda's husband, sensing that it would not be a welcome turn of subject in what limited time they had for lessons.

"I, hm, I see. A point of focus, maybe?" he tilted his head to the side and considered their options. "A sound. Or an object, if you, aha, if you prefer tactile points to auditory ones."

Busy heads were the minds that stood to benefit the most from Occlumency so even if Miranda was not inclined to the art, she was on the path to a healthier mental state.

It didn't matter if Miranda had to rely on something else to get her foot in the door - they could deal with that later, when necessary. What mattered was that she had something innocuous to concentrate on so that her thoughts didn't wander away on their own volition.

"Customary sounds are, for example, ringing bells or, hm, or a single flute note." Yavin explained, blinking slowly and wiggling his fingers to indicate his ears. "But it might be more convenient to use a, um, a coin or an adder stone?" he frowned to himself - holding on to an item was more feasible than a sound, if you were treating patients.

Something to hold was required. The witch was reminded of certain techniques she’d used with patients in the past, having an object to focus on. Sometimes it had the desired effect, sometimes it ended in a strange obsession like Daniel Pratt and his fixation on socks. Once more, Miranda found her mind drifting even when not trying to focus. She frowned and dipped her hand into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out the shiny golden healer’s badge. The badge was small and circular shaped. Engraved in the centre was the hospital’s logo; a cross, made from a bone and a wand. In small lettering beneath the logo were the words Head Healer.

“Will this work?” Such an item was always on her person making her easily contactable at any time by the hospital or the ministry. Some might find such availability to be incredibly invasive of their personal life while Miranda simply accepted it as a responsibility that came with her role. “Or need it be an object that I have no association with?”

It was strange, to be thrust into the position of student after so long. With someone that had caused her such discomfort several weeks ago, it felt even more strange. However, while she could have asked Ignan for help with this, that would have been too weird. With a fondness, Miranda clearly remembered the last time her husband had tried to teach her and he’d nearly had his back broken over a tumbling sofa. It would be best to keep the teaching to those outside of her inner circle.

"There's no reason why it shouldn't, ah, shouldn't work." Yavin observed the hospital badge and supposed that it was a suitable size, in addition to being a familiar object in her possession. "Just remember it's going to be an integral part of your Occlumency until we, aha, until we can work around your dependency."

Most people needed a crutch - a memory or an item or a sound or a scent or a secret place inside themselves that could help them to clear their minds. Some were gifted enough not to need these things and they were always the ones who found it trickier to empathise with learning difficulties.

Yavin himself had found certain noises to be conducive, when he was younger, but now he took pleasure in not requiring any tools; either for Occlumency or its more intrusive partner.

"Let's try that, um, try that again. Would you like me to attempt an infiltration?" he tapped his forehead, raising his eyebrows at Miranda in a pointed manner. "It might give you, I mean, it might give you an incentive."

Yavin labelled it dependency and, despite knowing how it was meant, Miranda found her teeth gritting together and she bit the inside of her cheek. Dependency sounded pathetic, like a weak-willed person reliant on something pointless. At the moment, the healer had clearly forgotten her dependency on cigarettes or sleeping potions. For those, it wasn’t simply a matter of being weak willed. She relied on them for stress relief. Without her cigarettes, a few more staff at St Mungo’s would probably have been sacked by now.

No, Miranda would not like Yavin to attempt an infiltration. She was there to learn how to prevent them. The idea of someone in her mind was deeply unpleasant.

“Okay.” The witch begrudgingly responded, shuffling in her seat and grasping the small badge between her fingers. once more she tried to clear current thoughts in her mind, closing her eyes. Instead, as her fingers rubbed against the smooth edges of the badge, she found herself thinking over the relevance of the badge and when she’d been given it the year before.

He uncrossed his legs and sat straighter in the chair, assuming a more neutral position once Miranda acquiesced to having her Occlumency tested via infiltration. Her experience with Legilimency had mostly to do with healing - as much as an expert as she had become, the Head Healer did not have many confrontational interactions with other Legilimens or Occlumens. Hopefully, that would change following these sessions.

Their chairs weren't directly across from one another so he decided not to utilise eye contact. Yavin stared out of one of his windows, at the lone lighthouse glowing in the surrounding darkness. Its gentle illumination sat in greater obscurity than Miranda's thoughts.

A great vocation, Healing, but not much of a defense to linger on it.... he smiled dryly as he spoke into her mind. I'll withdraw. Try it again. If you can't, we'll find another focus.

She would be slow to start, he reasoned, unable to help drawing comparisons with past pupils. Yavin was spoiled by quick learners and people less worried about keeping their minds open. He had spent so much time amongst the Legilimens of level nine and had to make an effort to return to less instinctive basics.

Remember, the old wizard added, it is foremost defensive art. Feel for the borders of your mind, you cannot protect something if you aren't aware of it.

One would need to use an oxymoron when describing Miranda’s mind. It was chaotic organisation. Too much going on yet clearly structured, a methodical pandemonium. As such, it was almost impossible for her to become away of the edges of her mind because, as far as she could see and feel, such edges didn’t exist. Yet, she clearly sensed Yavin somewhere, his voice breaking through the lack of defences. He could see her thoughts. But she didn’t want him to see such thoughts, her mind was private. It angered her, frustrated her.

There are no edges her mind considered. Audibly, she cursed and closed her eyes, fingers gripping the badge. She felt his presence, giving her the uncomfortable feeling of how she affected her patients. But she couldn’t see past the frustration to seek the invasion.

“Feel for what, exactly?” Miranda’s eyes shot open to stare at the wizard before her. “You are unclear.” She wanted, needed specific directions and instructions. It needed to be step by step, clear and concise. This tutoring did not currently fit such specifications.

It was clear from their exchange that Miranda had spent the lion's share of her interest on the sections of his book dedicated to Legilimency rather than Occlumency - she didn't appear comfortable with the terms he used to casually describe the experience of raising mental defences. Yavin tried to consider the disarray of her mind.

Not entirely disorganised but far from ideal.

"Feel for what?" he repeated, laughing a little in amusement. "Feel for the same, hah, the same thing you overcome when you enter another mind. The natural barrier."

Everyone had one, or else everybody's thoughts would be floating around and bumping into each other like overly polite Englishmen on Oxford street. He avoided speaking into her mind this time, now aware of her intensely uncomfortable it made her. Hopefully that would provide Miranda with incentive.

"You may not find, hm, analogies useful, but constructs like a Mind Palace is how most visualise their barrier." Yavin shrugged - he had been able to help even a novice like Tamzin grasp the concept. "Feel for what separates you from me. If you, that is, if you want, you can feel for my barrier -" he wiggled his fingers at his own forehead, "- to gauge where yours might be in relation to it."

It was immensely frustrating to not be the most knowledgeable in the room but Miranda was finding herself growing used to it. Of course, her lips pursed at his amusement, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she continued to breath calmly, slowly, and closed her eyes. Barrier…barrier. She knew others, moved past most with great ease. Some presented a challenge, but she’d not failed yet. So why was this not easy even if she knew of the mind palace, she’d studied the theory and practice behind it.

Miranda started to visual her own ‘mind palace’; something she’d tried before. Some might comment on how her own imagined visual of such a location was of an ice palace, crystal blue and cold. The ice palace for the ice queen. Or would people expect the place to be burning, like Satan in hell?

Her ice palace was somewhat organised and clear but with hundreds of tunnels leading off from a single central location.

She selected a tunnel which she imagined moving down until there was no more ground, only a drop.
Now what, genius?

He watched from the outside as Miranda attempted to utilise visualisation. It was not difficult to watch her, as she'd of course chosen a palace in which the walls were more or less transparent - at least morse so than traditional ones, usually based on actual rooms or homes with which people associated great familiarity. This was dramatic.

Which made sense. Miranda was dramatic. Ice queen? Or drama queen?

Yavin smirked outwardly and then, in the blink of an eye, asserted himself into her palace. He manifested as he appeared in corporeal form, standing in the middle of a tunnel that ended in a sheer drop. The old wizard glanced down into the darkness and then around him.

We're not in the right place. We need the entrance hall, to examine the walls between outside and inside, Yav turned around and began to make his way down the tunnel. If Miranda complied, he'd eventually find himself in the foyer.Once there, I'll step outside and attempt to re-enter. Try to think of literal defences for an ice palace.

In his office, the barometer on the desk had gone from entirely clear to slightly cloudy.