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They sat at Michael's kitchen table after an elaborate breakfast. While they ate, Zelda had explained everything she knew about Occlumency

"So you think I can learn to read other people's thoughts and memories, and block people from doing it to me?" asked Michael incredulously. "Zelda, there aren't wizards around here. Why bother?"

"Severus wants me to know it, because there's a slight chance the bad guys can find me," she explained. "I don't want to give him away, so I'm learning to put my memory of him away if I need to." She added; "I don't know if I'll ever need to block someone from my mind, but I'm learning a lot about myself, and I'm not scared of my ability any longer. I wish I'd known about it earlier."

"If I'd known about it a long time ago, maybe I would've been smarter about some things," Michael mused, "...and maybe we'd have understood each other better."

"I think we've always understood each other much too well," said Zelda wryly. "Part of what I'm learning is how to stop myself from looking sometimes. I can't force you, but in case we run into evil wizards, do you want to learn this?

Michael sat thoughtfully staring at her, and she looked back, seeing him as if for the first time. His brown hair was showing a touch of grey at the temples, and his tanned skin looked his fifty-one years. But he was also solid and fit, and his brown eyes were bright and twinkled with amusement.

"It's good to learn new things, isn't it?" he said sanctimoniously. "Let's do it - but on one condition. You have to come shooting with me again. If I have to learn something from a girl, then you have to learn something from lil old me."

He held out his hand, but she got up and hugged his neck, kissing his cheek. "Always guns," she said with a sigh. "But for you babe, I'll do it."

She began cleaning his kitchen, and said, "Don't you have to work tonight?"

"I called and took a couple of vacation days, thinking maybe I'd have something better to do. Maybe I'm psychic too - do you think?" he asked, hopefully.

Zelda chuckled, "I think sometimes you don't seem as old as Elijah, you overgrown child."

"Youth is oh so very wasted on young people, isn't it?" he replied, rolling his eyes. "Listen, Melissa's in town, let's ask her to tend the livestock and we'll go up north overnight. That way we can have both lessons at once. A change of scene'll do you good, Zel."

She had to admit she'd rather not face her house all alone yet, so they made their call, packed a few things - and within the hour were on their way out of town.

It was soothing to be on the road, leaving everything behind. Michael drove, and Zelda actually slept for most of the trip. As they drew close to the turnoff to Michael's property, she woke up, remembering that she had driven this road recently.

"I found Severus about thirty miles from here, you know. I wonder why that woman brought him there, or if she just thought she was bringing him to someplace like the North Pole," Zelda mused. "Can we go there, Michael?"

He didn't see the point, but he was also curious. "Okay, tell me where we're going."

"Stay on Highway 2 until I tell you to turn off," she said.

They drove miles past Michael's private road and then left the main highway. The trees became older and bigger as they drove on, and the road narrower. There were deer by the roadside, but no other cars. When they reached the parking area at the foot of the trail, they were alone. Cool air and silence enveloped them as they stepped out of the car.

Michael took a look around him, and said, "Wait." He reached into his bag, and pulled out a gun, saying, "I'm sure there are no wicked witches hanging out here, but why not be ready?"

Zelda remembered heading up the trail that day. She'd felt relaxed and happy in her temporary freedom. As they climbed, she wondered where the bear was. She smiled a little as she told Michael about screaming at the bear to scare it away.

"If you carried a gun, Zel, you wouldn't have been so terrified, you know," he said, chuckling at her ridiculous description.

"I was startled," she explained, "but black bears really aren't very aggressive. In retrospect, it didn't seem hungry, just curious."

"The way you just stroll through life as though nothing bad can happen to you shocks the hell out of me," he said. "You never... What if... Oh, forget it. You know already, don't you?"

"I know," she replied, "but I'm going on instinct, Michael. Or maybe it's not instinct; maybe it's the Occlumency-Legilimency thing... I'm not sure." She pointed to a spot ahead of them, and said. "Here's where I found him."

She led him to the scrubby plants next to the small stream, and she knelt to feel the water. It was icy cold, even in summer. "No wonder he had hypothermia, being dumped in this would do it."

There was no sign that anything that happened there, but they sat down on the log to rest before heading down the trail.

"There's nothing special about this spot that I can see, can you figure out why she brought him here?" asked Zelda.

"No. Why here instead of Outer Mongolia?" Michael said, looking around. "There should be a logical reason; would anyone be so random?"

"From the way Sev described her, she sounds like a raging psychopath," Zelda said, "She's tortured and killed people, and she was in a wizard prison called Azkaban, that seems to be a hellhole." She looked ironically at him. "It seems wizards don't place the same emphasis on human rights that some of us do. The place is guarded by Dementors, creatures who feed on human emotions."

"I can't believe any of this that you're telling me," Michael said. "Magical monsters called Dementors and a mad witch."

"Did you ever read old stories and myths?" she asked, her eyes becoming dreamy. "Sev told me that lots of creatures I thought were imaginary are real. There are monsters, and elves and unicorns, all kinds of things are living in the forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. I'd love to see them, Michael."

"I would too," he said. "For so long I've felt like there's nothing that can surprise me any more, Zel. My life's good, and I'm grateful for it, but I've felt like there's nothing new left for me to discover."

"We must be officially middle-aged, Michael. I know exactly what you mean. There was nothing new under the sun, for me," she replied thoughtfully. "It's funny... that morning... it was dazzling, I felt so... I don't know, so open to whatever would come. When it happened... the bear, finding Severus, it all seemed inevitable. I was scared, but I knew I could help him... and all I needed was the will to make it happen."

Their eyes met as she spoke, and Michael saw something... a spark that he had rarely seen in her. This past week had changed her somehow, he thought, intrigued.

"I'm glad you showed me this place, babe, but before you mess with my head, you owe me some serious practice. Let's get going," he said, tousling her hair condescendingly.

"Okay, let's go!" she replied, irritated. "I'll make you a brilliant Occlumens if it's the last thing I do, buddy. Although you'll never be as good as me."

"Well if you practice for about ten lifetimes, you still won't be a better shot than me," he said, grinning back at her

They headed down, and it seemed their solitary time was over. They were passed by five groups of chattering vacationers heading up the trail - reeking of bug repellent and sunscreen, and weighed down by cameras and plastic coolers.

"I never went to the lookout at the top," Zelda mused, rolling her eyes, "and who knows now if I ever will. But if I can't be alone up there, why bother?"

The drive back to Michael's was short, and they practiced for almost two hours before he allowed her to take a break. During that time she cleaned guns, loaded and unloaded guns, and shot until her arms ached. She preferred the handguns, but he made her practice with a shotgun too. She was exhausted.

"I'm whining, Michael.... Can I stop now?" she asked, smiling hopefully at him.

"No," he said sternly. But we'll go in and have some lunch," he added, heading for the cabin.

Zelda looked at him pitifully and complained, "The recoil from the shotgun hurts."

"Baby," He sneered, "Good thing you're not a soldier. You're soft."

She grinned, "Soft, that's me. How 'bout I crochet you an afghan this afternoon instead?"

He threw back his head, laughing. "Forget it. That Dark Lord's not going to care if you throw a sweater at him." He relented, saying, "Okay, you're not at your best with the shotgun. You can use the Glock. It's light, it's precise, and you're not bad with it..." He smirked, "...For a girl."

"Shut up, gay boy," she said, smiling fondly. "It's silly, isn't it? You play your stupid games, and act like you're a girl yourself, most of the time. But you're actually Super Testosterone Guy, Prince of Machismo. You must've been the hottest prospect in Nam, babe."

"Awww... Now I'm blushing," he said, chuckling reminiscently. "I was pretty hot, though... haven't I shown you pictures? And I could tell you some stories... No one messed with me either. One of the benefits of being a sniper - and always ready for action, I guess."

She grinned at him affectionately, knowing perfectly well how wretched his life had been at times, and loving his courage and open heart. "Spare my tender womanly ears, Michael. I want to hear a funny story with a happy ending."

"Yeah, me too," he said ironically. "But for now you can make lunch, woman. And I, the manly man, will get a beer and put my feet up."

"I'll make lunch, but real men wash the dishes, you know," she snickered.

"This one doesn't! I'll take the damn dishes out and shoot 'em," he replied, mockingly.

"That's all you know, Sev always washed the dishes. Harry and Ron did too." She smiled sadly as she spoke, hoping they were all okay.

"Kids don't count, and if you put out the way I think you did," Michael snickered, "I'm surprised Severus didn't clean the garage and paint the living room too."

"Yeah..." she said wistfully, remembering how much fun it had been to put out for Severus. She began unpacking the cooler and got their lunch ready. She was still feeling a little shaky and sad at being alone, but Michael made it bearable. It seemed unlikely that a day of target practice would help anything, but he was having fun. Zelda wished Michael would find someone and live happily ever after. He was such a generous, loving guy - and life had been damned unfair to him.

"Think fast!" Michael shouted, throwing a cold, wet bottle of beer at her.

She caught the slippery thing, laughing, and handed it to him to open over the sink. "Let's eat. I'll go shoot some more, but this evening, you'll be all mine!"

As he watched her, Michael reflected that Zelda actually had good reflexes and her aim was good, but her unwillingness to shoot anyone, even a bad guy, was disappointing. He worried that if she were dragged into this mad wizard war, she'd be an easy mark. He watched her practice, and was pleased that even if she lacked a warrior's spirit, she was technically very good.

Zelda loved to watch Michael shoot, because he was superb. She hated the fact that he had killed people - even in war, but he was so precise and so graceful that his performance always thrilled her. The sun was low in the sky before they quit, and headed companionably for the cabin.

"Okay, I worked with the kids on this, and I expect a little respect, mister," she said sternly. "I think you must know what you can do if you choose, when I open my mind to you. I think I trust you, babe, but this isn't a joke."

They sat at the table facing each other, after eating a hasty sandwich. Michael nodded abruptly. He was rather nervous, but as she had deferred to his expertise earlier, he would offer her the same respect.

"I'm opening my mind Michael, and I want you to watch how I do it. Then I'll close it, as slowly as I can," she said, smiling, "Then you're going to try it."

She began, and Michael was incredulous. He watched closely and realized that she was controlling what he saw in her mind. When she closed off most of her thoughts she left one part open, the memory of watching his performance that afternoon. Then, there was nothing.

"God, Zel... I can't believe you did that," he said, watching her get up and bring a large chocolate bar to the table. She broke off a piece and smiled at him.

"It still makes me tired to do it, " she said, "Harry was the one who suggested chocolate." She munched down a bite, and then continued, "He says it's a basic magical remedy, something to take after exposure to a Dementor. It's good after things like this too."

"Let me try it," he said thoughtfully.

*

An hour later, they were both exhausted and amazed. Michael had shown both an amazing ability to grasp the theory, and immense powers of concentration.

"This isn't like working with the kids, babe. You're awesome," Zelda said. "I think you'll be almost as good at this as Severus, and Harry says he's one of the best. It's an obscure area of magic, and not many wizards and witches bother to learn it. The wand stuff's flashier and more useful, I guess." She continued thoughtfully, "But Severus is a spy, and his Occlumency has kept him alive. The Dark Lord's a powerful Legilimens who can turn most people's minds inside out easily."

"What does it mean that we're able to do this?" Michael mused.

"Severus and the kids kept saying 'Muggles shouldn't be able to do that' to me, but magical thinking isn't something I'll ever really understand," she said, shaking her head. "It's the way they're educated, like we learn to use technology and science to get things done. But I think they're missing some stuff."

"Muggles are missing what magic really means, aren't we?" he asked.

"Yeah. Most wizards seem pretty clueless about us, and dismissive too. They think we're pathetic." She chuckled. "Maybe we are."

"Maybe they are too, and maybe none of it matters," he replied cynically.

"There's a creepy attitude too. Sev brought this genealogy book for me to look at... well; he brought a bunch of books. But a wizard fascist who traces the ancestry of 'pureblood' families writes this one. It's creepy, like the Nazis." She shuddered and continued, "Some witches and wizards marry Muggles, you know. Severus's mom married one, so I guess he's a mongrel in their eyes. Hermione's a Muggle-born, meaning both her parents are Muggles like us. I wonder where her magic came from..."

"Do they know about DNA?" Michael asked curiously.

"I don't believe they think that way, but I don't know," she said, standing up and stretching. "I have just enough strength to brush my teeth, and then I need sleep."

"Last one up in the morning cooks breakfast," said Michael with a smirk.

"Michael, how boring would life be without pointless contests?" she giggled. "And last one to bed has to turn off the lights." She ran to the bathroom, stuck her tongue out at him, and locked the bathroom door.

Michael laughed, locked the door, turned off the lights - and then went to bed.