A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. :)
History of Magic Task 2: Write about somebody with a magical illness.
Back to School September Event: Sybill Trelawney
Please note: I checked on Pottermore. Her name is spelled "Sybill". Just to avoid any confusion. :)
Word Count: 580
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.
Enjoy!
A Gift
Twelve-year-old Sybill Trelawney was standing with her ear pressed up against her parents' bedroom door. Her large glasses slid down her nose as she tried to make sense of what the muffled voices from within the room. She scrambled away when she heard footsteps approaching, composing herself just before the door opened.
Her mother, tired and worn, smiled fondly down at her. Sybill tilted her head to the side, silently asking the question she both wished for and feared the answer to. Sybill's mother's eyes watered, and the smile dropped from her face. She seemed to age ten years before her daughter's eyes.
"Sybill, love… it's time to say goodbye."
Sybill's stomach dropped at the whispered words. "No," she gasped, then louder, "No! Mum, he can't be—"
Mrs. Trelawney's shoulders shook, and her carefully constructed walls came crashing down. She engulfed her daughter in a hug, so crushing it was as though she was starved for human contact. "Love, I'm so sorry. But they can't… no one can save h-him."
Sybill felt the tears pooling in her large green eyes, and she roughly shoved her mother away. "He's not, he's not—" She ran into the bedroom and collapsed at her father's bedside. Some time ago he had contracted Dragon Pox, and Sybil and her Muggle mother had watched his body slowly succumb to the disease. Mr. Trelawney, once so proud and tall, was now a shadow of the man he'd once been; his fingers were thin, his skin pale with a green hue, and there was a tiredness in his brown eyes that seemed impossible to chase away. Still, despite his obvious fever, he smiled at his daughter when she came in.
"Dad," she mumbled, gripping his hand, uncaring that she was putting herself at risk. "Dad, Mum said—"
Mr. Trelawney lifted a shaking hand and clumsily pushed a strand of blonde hair away from her face. "Sybill," he rasped, not sounding at all like himself. "Sybill, I… I won't be long for this world; it's time to… to say goodbye."
Tears sprang into her eyes, and she ripped off her glasses and scrubbed furiously at her face. "Dad, no! No, you can't…"
His smile was strained, but as full as love as always. "You're my special girl," he whispered. "Just like your great-great grandmother."
A flare of hope erupted within her, despite the circumstance. "Really?"
He nodded slowly. "I've seen it," he whispered proudly. "You'll foretell… you'll foretell great things someday, Sybill."
She clutched his hand tightly, as though she could anchor his spirit to the earth herself. "But I want you to be there."
His eyelids were fluttering, and fear ate away at Sybill's insides. She heard her mother come up behind her, crying softly, but didn't turn around when she felt her hand on her shoulder. Her father tried once more to smile at them both.
"I know," he murmured, "and I will be. You just won't… you won't be able to see me."
"It's not the same!" Sybill protested. "Dad, it—"
He coughed violently, the pock marks on his face a hideous contrast to his green-tinted skin. "I love you," he croaked. "I love you both." He locked eyes with Sybill, and the young girl suddenly grasped her mother's hand, craving her touch. "Sybill, practice… practice your gift. You will do… great things. Great… things."
His chest fell, and it wasn't until Sybill's mother's knees gave out that she realized it wasn't going to rise again.