A/n: I've got a little behind with my reposting - so two fics in one day! This was written as a birthday gift for birdsofshore. Thanks to ICMezzo for the crazy twitter chat about Trelawney that grew into this fic. I wrote and posted this all in a rush, so it is unbetad - do forgive any silly errors (or pm me and I will fix them). And do forgive the silliness in general of this little piece.

Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This ficlet was written for fun, not for profit.

The Depths of Mystery

The first-years climbed down, leaving Sybill alone in her tower. She hoped that her talk had impressed them, and that she would find some more bright souls to nurture in the ways of her art.

Lighting a new coil of incense, she sat back on her favourite purple bean bag. It was always such a challenge, to get anyone to believe in what she did. She knew that some of the students laughed at her, or made jokes behind her back, but she loved her subject, she really did. What could be more wonderful, than delving into the mysteries of time itself? The universe was a collection of unknowns, and dipping even a toe into it was exhilarating. Firenze and the other centaurs were too rigid, looking into the skies for their answers. Didn't they know that life wasn't as simple as lights in the sky? It was fluid and dangerous and always almost out of their grasp.

Almost. She, Sybill Trelawney, knew how to bend the corners of reality to show some of the truths within. She ran a finger over the crystal ball in front of her. The things she had seen! Why, only the other day she had predicted that Mrs Norris would knock over a statue whilst chasing a student, and it had happened! No one valued her insights though, so over the years Sybil had learned to keep them to herself. Certainly, now that Albus had gone, the last sympathetic ear in the castle had disappeared too. Minerva was a sceptic, through and through.

As Sybil's finger drew slow circles over the cold crystal, a soft mist grew within. She drew forward, pleased at this sign of her prowess just as she was thinking of her greatest doubter.

Sybil's eyesight wasn't what it had once been, so she fetched her pince nez from her pocket before peering into the depths of the crystal. The mist began to take on more recognisable shapes, patches of dark and light. She opened her mind, willing herself to see.

With each breath she took, the images became sharper. She was looking, she realised, at two figures. Something about them seemed familiar, and she tilted her head as she tried to work out what. Slim, long bodies, with that hint of muscle so common in active teenagers; one head of dark hair, one of light. It took a few moments more for Sybil to see that they were sitting together, under a tree. Hogwarts was in the distance. Did she recognise, then, these students? Or was she seeing a vision of the past, or the far future?

The heads drew together, and she saw that they were kissing. Sybil still couldn't see their faces, or even which was the girl and which the boy, but she could see the hand threaded through the pale hair, the fingers pulling the other closer. She was witnessing a private moment, but with the sky and the leaves of the tree above, it felt so open, so one with nature that it barely felt like trespassing at all. Why, this was just a celebration of youth, of nature, of love! Besides, she didn't know who it was; to her, they were merely two figure, symbols, nothing more.

Except then they pulled apart, and she saw a face that was, after all, startingly familiar. A sharpness to the cheeks and chin, a lightness to the eye betrayed his identity: Draco Malfoy. She hadn't approved of his return to Hogwarts to complete his studies, but of course she had had been over-ruled by Minerva and Horace and the others. She didn't teach the Malfoy boy – hadn't for years – but had seen him skulking around the castle, head down, shoulders dipped. He might have been released after the trials, but she wasn't happy with him being there. She'd never met a Malfoy she could trust.

In the crystal ball, she could see that his lips were pink and shiny. They parted slightly, and his eyes were wide. She watched as he held forth a trembling hand, and reached for the other student's shirt. Before she quite knew what was happening, the shirt was being unbuttoned, Draco never taking his eyes off his partner. Sybil leant closer to the ball, until her nose was near enough pressed up against it, but she still couldn't see who the dark-haired one was. As the shirt was removed though, she saw broad shoulders and realised with a shock that it wasn't a girl Draco was with, it was a boy. She sat back, and watched as the boy pulled Draco to him, bringing him tight for another kiss. This wasn't like the last kiss – it was rough, and Draco was pushed back into the ridged bark of the tree.

Sybil's breath was coming a little faster now, and her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip at the sight of the two young men, locked together. Their passion to rise up out of the ground; they were two trees, entwined reaching for the sky. Draco's shirt now, was being tugged on. In fact, his partner pulled it so hard that the buttons sprang off as it pulled apart. A lean, pale chest came into view, but then the two were close, so close it was almost impossible to see if they were kissing, or fighting, or growing into one expanse of skin and freckles, scars and fingers.

She knew that she should look away now, but the universe never revealed its mysteries for no reason. It was her duty to keep looking. Sybil raised one finger to her mouth, biting down on the soft pad, meeting the resistance of her knuckle; the small jolt of pain kept her present, kept her focused on what she saw.

More flesh was on show now, as trousers joined the discarded pile of robes and shirts beside the two. There was a rhythm to how the two moved, a rhythm as old as the moon or the sea. It was hypnotising, and Sybil found herself swaying slightly, in sympathy. She could feel a warmth, rising up from within her, swirling and circling her body until it reached her cheeks. She radiated heat; she could feel her face burning. In the crystal ball, the bodies were moving one against the other, Draco still pressed up against the tree, as firm round buttocks thrust up into him, again and again. Pale legs were held high, swaying with each thrust. Draco's cheeks were as fiery as her own, and as he threw his head back and opened his mouth in a cry she did not hear, Sybil could not help the soft moan that broke through her lips.

She watched as the thrusting grew faster, more erratic, until the dark head buried itself into Draco's shoulder. Then she watched them slide down, each bump and scratch of the rough bark measured in the slight shudders that passed through Draco on his way down.

And only then, as the couple lay back, replete, their skin flushed with their pleasure, did she see the green eyes and lightning scar of Harry Potter.

She blinked, then gasped, and the image faded, leaving swirling mist in its wake. She didn't need to see it though, to remember the look of pure joy on Harry's face, the look of tenderness as he threaded his fingers through Draco's.

With trembling fingers, Sybil reached to the small velvet pouch hanging at her waist. She pulled from within it a flimsy cardboard box, filled with what had, until then, been her only true secret: cigarettes. Her hand shook so badly she was barely able to light one, but as she took her first, long drag, Sybil began to calm.

She sat back, letting the bean bag envelope her body, and focused on each burning inhale. The smoke whirled around her and she closed her eyes. She saw again the slow slide of bodies, and took another puff.

Outside, the sun set, casting a glorious spread of pink and red and gold over the castle and grounds. The sky flamed, then faded to darkness, as it had done so many times in the past, and as it would do over the two lovers under the tree, whenever that moment came to pass.

When she next saw Draco scurry across the courtyards and corridors of Hogwarts again, Sybil no longer felt pity or scorn. When she saw Harry, fawned over by staff and students alike, she saw past his air of annoyance to the faint mark of a hard kiss at his throat. A warmth would grow each time, until it reached her cheeks, until it filled her body with a nervous thrum, and she retreated to the safety of her tower.

It didn't matter who mocked her. The universe was wide and mysterious. It was dangerous too, and she was privy to its secrets.