Lucius Malfoy sat in the middle of a dark room across from an even darker woman. He stared back at her face. He had paid too much money for her to waste his time. He needed to know what to do.
The useless woman stared at her crystal ball, stroking her chin. "I see a drought of riches. Your family will be poor beggars for generations to come, perhaps forever. There is little hope for you all. Unless…for an additional fee, I will try to speak with the spirits. I will ask them to change the course of fate. Of course, that is terribly dangerous."
Lucius Malfoy couldn't stop his eyes from rolling around in his head. She was such a fake. He was so tired of this. She probably wasn't even a Seer, or if she was, didn't deserve to be one. But then she spoke again.
"Ah, I see maybe there is hope. A strong hope." She looked at him. "Your grandson. I see in him a hope."
Lucius leaned forward, intrigued. "What kind of a hope?" he wanted to know.
"I do not know." She answered. "The spirits are secretive today. Perhaps, for another few hundred pounds…?"
Mr. Malfoy slumped back in his chair. This was going nowhere. Then he stood up. "Thank you for your time." he drawled. However, I already know all that I need." He turned to the door, opened it and called to the Malfoy house-elves. "Elf, show our guest out the door."
The Seer looked outraged. "But the spirits command-"
Mr. Malfoy cut her off. "I hope you will have a pleasant day." He began to turn around when he heard a sharp intake of breath. Then, her eyes glazed over as she stared unblinkingly, mercilessly, into his own. He watched in horrid fascination as her shoulders slumped and she collapsed onto the floor in what could barely even be called a sitting position, her legs spewed awkwardly around her. He knew what this was. Snape, Dumbledore's loyal and courageous double agent, had told his all about this, and what had happened the only time he ever heard one being made…
"On the day which the light is brought to vanquish its reflection, the beloved daughter of the Chosen One, with blood nearly as dirty as her mother's, will cleanse the most wretched of pure bloods with the ultimate sacrifice." she gasped as her eyes clouded. Then her eyes readjusted. "Did I say something?" she asked.
Mr. Malfoy was sure his face was as white as a sheet. But then again, it always was. "No. You just passed out," he lied. "I will have the house elves bring you some refreshment." He turned again. "Elf!" Then he strode out to find his son.