Harry couldn't talk to Remus immediately as he had classes. His first class was Divination. Harry had always been fascinated with Divination ever since he learned about the prophecy about Voldemort and him, even though Sirius and Remus had admitted they didn't know the words to the prophecy.
There are very few true Seers in the world, Sirius had told him, though if the class is any good you'll be learning a lot besides attempting Seeing. I still wouldn't recommend the class, but if you're sure.
I'm sure, he'd replied, I need to know all I can about prophecies. Not because of the future so much as … it was the reason, Sirius had nodded, besides, he had said with a grin, Ron and Hermione will be in the class so it's bound to be fun.
…
Hermione, it seemed, had decided to take everything. Which was, of course, impossible, but that hadn't seemed to stop Hermione. Hermione refused to answer any questions on the subject.
After giving up questioning Hermione about her impossible timetable they headed to Divination. Well, at least, Harry had had given up questioning Hermione. Ron and Hermione were, as usual, arguing. Harry tuned out the round about argument of "So what if my timetable's a little full, I've told you, I've sorted it out with Professor McGonagall,"
"A little full! Hermione, it's impossible. You're doing three classes at once at some times!"
"Don't be silly, of course I won't be in three classes at once."
"But there isn't enough time."
…
The journey through the castle to the North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn't taught them everything about the castle, and they had never been to the North Tower before, well, at least not deliberately. Harry thought he might have been one night time wandering under the Invisibility Cloak.
There's – got – to – be – a – short – cut," Ron panted, as they climbed their seventh long staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging from the stone wall.
Harry was watching the painting. A fat dapple-grey pony had just ambled onto the grass and was grazing nonchalantly. A moment later a short, squat knight in a suit of armour clanked into the picture after his pony. By the look of the grass stains on his metal knees, he had just fallen off.
"Aha!" he yelled, seeing Harry, Ron and Hermione. "What villains are these that trespass upon my private lands! Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!"
They watched as the little knight tugged his sword out of his scabbard and started brandishing it about violently, hopping up and down with rage. But the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed face down in the grass.
"Are you all right?" asked Harry, moving closer to the picture.
"Get back you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!"
Harry began to grin, "Hey, I think I know you," he said. "They told me about you. You're Sir Cadogan aren't you? The ma – er, brave knight of the North Tower."
The knight paused in his wild flailing, "You have heard of me, sir?"
Harry, catching on, answered, "Indeed, good sir, I have heard of your many brave and noble deeds, and we have a quest that perchance you could help us with. We are searching for the Divination classroom."
"A quest!" Sir Cadogan seemed to brighten considerably at the thought of a quest. "Well follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or perish bravely in the attempt!" And he ran out of the left hand side of the frame and out of sight.
They hurried after him along the corridor, following the sound of his armour. Every now and then they spotted him in a picture ahead. "Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!" the knight yelled when they saw him reappear in front of a alarmed (and one very angry) group of nuns, whose picture hung on the wall of a narrow, spiral staircase.
Puffing loudly Harry, Ron and Hermione climbed up the tightly spiralling staircase, getting dizzier and dizzier until at last they heard the class above them.
"Farewell!" the knight cried as he popped his head into a picture of some sinister looking monks. "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If you should ever have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call, once again, upon Sir Cadogan!"
"Yeah, we'll call you," muttered Ron as the knight disappeared, "if we ever need someone mental."
They climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing where most of the class was already assembled. There were no doors of this landing; Ron nudged Harry and pointed at the at the ceiling where there was a circular trap door with a brass plaque on it.
"Sybill Trelawney, Divination Teacher," Harry read. "How're we supposed to get up there?"
As though in answer to his question, the trap door suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended right at Harry's feet. Everybody went quiet.
"After you," said Ron, grinning, so Harry climbed the ladder first. He emerged in the strangest looking classroom he had ever seen. In fact, it didn't look like a classroom at all; more like a cross between an attic and an old fashioned teashop. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little pouffes. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed. It was stiflingly warm, and the fire which was burning under the crowded mantelpiece was giving off a heavy, sickly perfume.
Harry knew he shouldn't judge too soon, but it didn't look like the sort of place where he could learn the theories, background and intricacies of Divination that he had wanted to learn.
Ron appeared at Harry's shoulder, "Where is she,"
A voice came out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice, despite which sounded rather pleased at the confusion it had created.
"Welcome," it said, "how nice to see you all at last."
Harry's immediate impression was of a large, glittering insect, covered in bangles and beads.
"Sit my children, sit," she said, and they all climbed awkwardly into the chairs and onto the pouffes. "Welcome to Divination. My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before, I find that descending into the hustle and bustle of school life clouds my Inner Eye." There was a pause as everybody took in this proclamation. "So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all the magical arts. I must warn you from the outset that if you do not possess the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can only take you so far in this field …"
Harry's heart sank. So Trelawney would just be trying to get them to See and not teaching them anything else. Ron, however, was grinning at Hermione, who looked startled that books wouldn't be much help with the subject. Trelawney then went on to make a series of impressive sounding predictions as Harry's interest rapidly waned.
Hermione had a curious expression on her face as she listened to Trelawney. Of course, Hermione paying absolute attention to a teacher was hardly unusual, but this was different. Almost … calculating. Eventually she turned to Ron and Harry and whispered, "Have you heard of Cold Reading?" Ron shook his head and Harry nodded. "There's a trick some Muggle performers do to sound like they're predicting the future or reading your mind when they're not really, obviously. Some are extraordinarily good at it."
"And you think that's what Trelawney is doing?" Harry whispered back. Hermione nodded uneasily. They were both thinking the same thing – a fraud on the staff was not a comfortable thought. It had happened before, of course, but Lockhart had been found out within the year. Trelawney had been there for just over a decade.
Eventually they paired up to read tea leaves, although Harry found, not his great surprise, that he could only see 'A load of soggy brown stuff' in Ron's cup. He was now half asleep, due to the incense. However, when Ron mentioned seeing an animal he couldn't identify in Harry's cup, Trelawney was by their table faster than would have been thought possible. She snatched the cup, gasped, dropped it and her, now familiar, dramatic fashion, pronounced that she had seen the Grim, the Omen of Death, in Harry's cup and that he was going to die.
…
Brilliant, Harry thought as he descended the ladder and the winding staircase. Wonderful. He was being stared at more than usual as they walked to Transfiguration, some of then seemingly expecting him to drop dead any minute, some of them dismissive.
He wondered if it was too late to change an elective. He would have to talk to Professor McGonagall.
…
A/N – Nothing to say, except please review. It's the best feeling and the best encouragement to a writer.