Sybil Trelawny needed to learn when to shut up.

Granted, the whole of the wizarding world was on its ear—and bending the other for gossip—and talking… always talking.

Minerva sat patiently at the head of the staff table, eyes heavy with ire; brow furrowed in irritation. "Now, Sybil-"

"—and I have seen just what will help the boy turned man turned hero!" Both of Sybil's arms were waving, beads and gems clattering together, the folded fabric of her shawl billowing myrrh-soaked air in all directions.

"Sybil, please…" The headmistress took her glasses from the bridge of her nose and huffed.

"It is as it has always been," large, owlish eyes blinked from behind the Seers spectacles as the witch covered her heart with both hands. "True loves first kiss."

The table broke out in various snorts, sighs and guffaws. Severus Snape sat in the shadows at the far of the room, he caught Minerva's gaze and screwed up his face in distaste. The headmistress pinched the bridge of her nose and held up a hand for silence.

"Sybil, though divination is not my profession, I can most assuredly claim that Harry Potter's magically induced coma will not be cured by some lackluster liplock."

Lip quaking, Professor Trelawny made to object but the headmistress glared sharply and continued.

"Not only is there lacking proof of any scenario outside of storybooks, we cannot allow every charlatan access into Potter's room! Much less to- to snog the poor defenseless boy!" Minerva sputtered, gasped for breath and sat back in her chair to calm herself. "That is all I will hear on the matter. Now, we will move on to the reconstruction of the west tower…"

And it would have seemed to the outside viewer that the matter had been well disabused and forgotten. Unfortunately for those remaining staff, and the wizarding world at large, Sybil Trelawny would not be denied.