Dedicated to sarahsezlove

Prompt (theirs):

I've never read anything about her over and above her smallish role in the main story. At most, she makes further prophesies and then disappears in other stories. I've often wondered about her history, though, growing up with these huge expectations on abilities she doesn't possess. Whilst she cuts a comical figure in the classroom, there's a sense of the tragic about her as she strives to convince others of her talents. Does she still try to convince herself, I wonder, or has the fantasy truly taken over? That moment when she's being forced from Hogwarts and has nowhere to go is actually really moving. Of course, Emma Thompson is amazing, so …

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Note: This story is not going to be a one-shot. It'll be a multi-chapter. I have a few chapters written out on paper already and posting should speed up in one week's time, which is when I finish finals. I'd like to thank and also apologise to sarahsezlove. I deeply appreciate their readership and their reviews. I promise I meant to post this a while ago. Sorry! Hope you're not too upset/ disappointed.

I'm aware the focus of this story is unusual, in the beginning, but bear with me. This story does revolve around Sybill.

Beta-checked by Sunset Whispers.

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IN THE CARDS

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"Sybill," the mother crooned. "She'll be named Sybill. It's only right, of course." She pressed a tender kiss to her newborn's forehead.

"Oh?" the midwife prodded. "Why's that, dearie?"

"Well, my husband's great-grandmother was Cassandra Trelawney, you know."

The midwife was silent. If she had any reservations about a Muggle woman knowing so much about the Wizarding World, she was professional enough not to voice them.

"A great Seer, I'm sure you know …?"

"I do," the midwife assured her, and fussed with the bedsheets.

"As such, I bequeath unto my daughter the name Sybill, after the sibyls, who were female prophets of ancient Rome and Greece."

"A lovely name," Mr Trelawney assured his wife, coming forward to her bedside to peer down at his daughter — the first continuation of his line, and supposedly the last, according to the Mediwizard that had swung by earlier. "Complications," he'd said simply, as if magic was science and pigs never flew.

"Mr Trelawney," the midwife greeted, and offered him a smile. "You have a beautiful baby girl."

"I can see that," he grumbled, but he was smiling through his oiled, massive beard, and his eyes were bright — as were his wife's — and it was a gorgeous evening, despite "complications", despite the whispers of "Pureblood" and "muggle".

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"By God, I'm exhausted," his wife hissed. She was grey with exhaustion, and seemed to have lost a bit of weight.

"I know, love," he said. "I am too."

Sybill was a dramatic baby, it seemed, and whether that was in her nature or simply due to their (limited) capacity as parents had yet to be revealed.

Mrs Jennifer Trelawney gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "You take her," she said. The words came out mangled and rough. "I need sleep."

He leaned forward, and gently extricated his child. "Go on, then, Jen. I'll sort her out."

His wife stood from the rocking chair, patted his cheek, and toddled off.

He sat, readjusting the now-sleeping babe. "There, now. Just needed a bit of a cry, hm?" He was whispering — practically mouthing the words. He was desperate not to wake her.

Merlin, she's a pretty child, he thought proudly. The pad of his thumb brushed away a few lingering tears on her cheeks. He couldn't help but admire her chubby baby face, with those apple-red cheeks and the wispy hair on her head.

"My daughter." He paused. "By god," he tossed out, just as his wife did so often, "when did that happen?"

A baby. A real human.

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Jen rocked the baby wildly, almost desperately. "Sh, sh, sh," she spat out frequently, though not unkindly. "It's alright, my darling," she assured, but the baby was not calmed. Sybill wailed louder, screaming out her agitation.

"Are you hungry?" Jen wondered. She'd just fed her! And the diaper was alright.

"Sh, sh, sh." Tears of frustration began to gather at the corners of her eyes. She was so tired. So tired. And Sybill would not sleep. She would just scream. Scream and scream and scream as if her mother were not clutching her to her breast, rocking her, crooning, singing lullabies, begging, pleading, crying.

"Jen?" came floating through the house.

Jen choked on her next breath. "Louis," she called, "in here."

"I've returned from the Ministry. How was your day?" And there he was — in the doorway, with his briefcase still in hand.

She licked her chapped lips. Sybill's sobs had quietened the moment she'd heard her father's voice. Something acidic and bitter burned in her stomach at that realisation.

"Fine," she said. She walked forward and deposited Sybill in his arms. He dropped the briefcase quickly and adjusted his grasp.

"Yours?" Jen asked, and darted in to kiss his cheek. Away she fluttered, sinking into the rocking chair as if she were an old crone instead of a young lady.

"Good, good," he said happily. The smile weakened as he noticed the tears on Sybill's cheeks. He brushed them away. The smile regained strength. "Everyone at work was congratulating me."

Jen turned her face away. They were congratulating him. He was at work, showing off moving pictures of the daughter that was squalling in his wife's grasp. He was at work, loving his child while Jen just —

"I was thinking of making soup for dinner," she said abruptly.

Louis frowned slightly. "We had soup yesterday, my darling."

"I know. I'm a bit worn-out. If there were House-Elves to help me out with — "

"Oh, no," Louis cut her off. "I find that appalling." He tutted. "The poor things are modern slaves. It's not right."

"You've said. Perhaps just one. I'd really appreciate — " she persevered.

"You don't need help." He kissed Sybill's head.

"I don't need help," she echoed.

"Good." And then he smiled, because he was always fucking smiling.

Please tell me what you think. :)