MADAME FULCANELLI
In keeping with the centuries old tradition of Divination instructors choosing offices located away from the rest of the castle inhabitants, Professor Fulcanelli had picked an office that was about as far from the headmaster's office as it was possible to be, forcing Viridis to traipse through a maze of dimly lit corridors, climb several flights of stairs, and pass through no less than two secret doors before he stood outside her office.
He raised his hand to knock on her door, then hesitated. Much of his anger had dissipated during the ten-minute hike through the castle, and he was having second thoughts about facing Fulcanelli again. The hairs on the back of his neck were already standing on end, and the idea of returning to his office and answering the owls' messages no longer seemed quite so onerous.
Perhaps she was busy, he told himself. No need to bother her now. He could always come back tomorrow—or next week if necessary. Feeling a sense of relief, he turned to leave.
The unmistakable voice of Fulcanelli drifted out through the door. "Please do come in, headmaster."
He froze.
How had she known he was there? He turned back and searched the door and surrounding area, looking for some sort of peephole or other device that might have revealed his presence to her, but found nothing. Then it occurred to him that if she could somehow see him, he probably looked rather foolish standing out in the hallway. With an audible sigh, he opened the door and stepped inside.
Despite it being mid-afternoon on a bright, sunny day, the room was shrouded in darkness. No light filtered in through the windows. He wasn't even sure the room had windows. Other than the light which spilled in through the doorway, the only sources of illumination were four small candles flickering at the corners of the desk.
Fulcanelli sat behind the desk, her quill poised over a stack of papers. She wore her usual half smile, which Viridis found both irritating and worrisome. She returned the quill to the inkwell.
"Welcome, headmaster," she said, adding a strange inflection to the title. She gestured toward the chair in front of her desk. "Please make yourself comfortable." The door closed softly behind him, leaving the desk surrounded by a small island of light.
Both the tapestry hanging on the wall behind Fulcanelli's chair and the thick carpeting beneath his feet were a very deep purple, almost black, their purpose apparently to absorb as much light as possible. An ornate and expensive looking ceramic basin sat on a pedestal next to the desk, filled with what he assumed was water. A crystal ball rested on a carved ivory stand at the center of the desktop. Flames of orange light swirled in intricate patterns within the glass orb.
"I'm pleased you find Divination worthy of a visit, Headmaster Olwyn," Fulcanelli said after he had taken a seat. "There are those who would dismiss it as a useless branch of magic, unworthy of a place at a prestigious institution such as Hogwarts."
"Really?" Viridis replied, trying to sound as if the thought had never occurred to him.
Fulcanelli stared at him in silence, her eyes shining black diamonds in the dim light. The urge to look away was overwhelming, but Viridis forced himself to meet her gaze. Only when she looked away did he realize he'd been holding his breath.
The Divination instructor focused her attention on the crystal ball, and the patterns of colors began to whirl more quickly. She hummed a soft tune, one he didn't recognize, but which made his skin crawl.
He took the opportunity to examine her more closely. She wore the same star-covered robe as she had the previous night, but to his surprise, Orion was now located just below her neck instead of her right shoulder. Did she have more than one of these robes? Or did the stars—
"Yes, Headmaster," Fulcanelli said without looking up from the crystal ball, "the constellations move just as they do in the sky. It's important to know where the stars are at all times. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Er, yes, I guess." He shifted uneasily in his chair. It was becoming difficult to ignore the special emphasis she kept placing on the word "headmaster." Was she mocking him?
She continued to stare at the orb, humming once again, and Viridis wondered if she was waiting for him to do something. The sound of nails scratching against a wooden surface came from somewhere behind him. He peered into the darkness, but couldn't see more than ten feet away.
Fulcanelli looked up from the crystal ball and frowned. "I see you didn't care for Divination when you were a student and you don't think much of it now. Would that be a fair statement?"
Viridis sat there stunned, unable to do much more than glare at the crystal ball. What had she seen in the swirling colors? He tugged on the collar of his robe. "Well, I, er—I'll admit I've had my doubts. The previous divination instructor was rather loony, you see, and her classes were a waste of time."
"Perhaps that is because you do not understand the language of the birds."
Viridis blinked. "Birds?"
"Predicting the future is not an easy task, headmaster. The chances of success depend not only upon the skill of the diviner, but on factors often outside of a diviner's control. Perhaps you expected too much from her."
"I didn't expect anything from her. She couldn't predict anything—the weather, Quidditch matches, the volcanic eruption that ended her career—nothing! None of her predictions ever came true."
"The subtleties of predicting the future are often beyond the ability of most wizards to comprehend." Fulcanelli gave him a patronizing smile. "Perhaps you were just ignorant of the situation."
"Ignorant?" Viridis half rose from his chair, his hands clenching into fists. It was one thing to be ignored by the real instructors; no way was he going to let a divination instructor insult him.
"Please calm yourself, headmaster," Fulcanelli said, holding out her hands as if to placate a small child. "I was not attempting to insult you. My point is that the art of Divination is far more complex than you realize." She smiled. "It was nothing personal."
"Nothing personal? How can that not—"
"A thousand pardons, headmaster. Perhaps I should be spending my time preparing for my new career as assistant groundskeeper."
Viridis froze. How had she known about that? Surely Dawn wouldn't have told her. Blushing furiously, he sat back down and willed himself to relax.
"Perhaps you would allow me to instruct you in the practice of Divination," she said.
"I know the basics," Viridis replied. "I did take the class."
"Indeed." She tilted her head to one side as if she found this remark amusing. "How did I know you hated Divination as a student?"
Viridis paused. "I assume the crystal ball told you."
"Headmaster Olwyn, I can only assume you spent your time in Divination class either staring out the window or asleep."
Viridis blinked in surprise. "Now wait just a—"
"Even you should know," she continued as if he had not spoken, "that a crystal ball only shows events that will happen in the future. It does not see into the past or present."
Viridis opened his mouth to reply, then paused. Now that she mentioned it, he did vaguely recall that rule. "Okay, so how did you know?"
"I looked up your grades and read your instructor's notes on you, of course." Her irritating smile widened. "And as far as your present feelings are concerned, your body language told me everything I needed to know."
"Oh," was all Viridis could think of saying.
"If I might continue then? Without interruption?" Viridis reluctantly nodded and she continued. "A diviner has many tools, some more precise than others. Tea leaves, for example, or the reading of palms. When read by a person skilled in the art, they can provide valuable clues as to what the future might hold. Yet these are but hints of what might be, and the interpretation can be difficult. And even when correctly interpreted, the future is not fixed. It can be changed. Do you understand so far?"
"Yes," said Viridis. "You're saying it's not your fault if your predictions are wrong."
Fulcanelli's tone hardened. "That is not what I'm saying. Predicting the future is a complex task. You non-diviners think we should get everything one-hundred percent right. It doesn't work that way."
"I would have been impressed if my instructor had gotten even ten percent right," Viridis said.
"Perhaps she did but never told you about it."
Now it was Viridis's turn to smirk. "Why wouldn't she have mentioned it?"
Fulcanelli folded her arms across her chest. "Now we get to the heart of the problem, headmaster. Consider the crystal ball, one of our most powerful tools. It shows us glimpses of the future, but if there are many possible futures, the images it reveals are jumbled—difficult, if not impossible, to interpret. The more uncertain the future, the fuzzier the image. So much can happen between a divination and the event it foretells that the crystal ball can often be useless. We diviners gaze upon the orb, often for days at a time, in hopes that we may come upon an image clear enough to understand. Are you following me so far?"
"Yes," Viridis said. "You're saying that if you can't predict the future, it's the crystal ball's fault."
"You are being deliberately obtuse," said Fulcanelli, her eyes flashing with anger. The water in the basin next to the desk began bubbling ominously and the room seemed to darken further. Viridis's hand instinctively inched toward his wand. Fulcanelli closed her eyes for a moment and appeared to compose herself. The water in the basin lapsed back into silence.
"There is more to it than that, headmaster," she said, opening her eyes again. "Let us say I used the crystal ball this morning and saw that you will have an accident involving water later today. If I were to tell you about it, what would you do?"
Viridis narrowed his eyes, wondering if this was some sort of trick question. "I suppose I would try to avoid the accident."
"Exactly. And if you were successful?"
"I wouldn't get wet?" Viridis replied, unsure what Fulcanelli was driving at.
She rolled her eyes. "It means I wouldn't have seen the vision in the crystal ball in the first place."
"What?"
"As I said, the crystal ball only shows clear images of the future if that future is nearly certain. If you can avoid that future because you learned of it ahead of time, then the future was never certain to begin with, which means I wouldn't have seen it in the crystal ball in the first place. All I would have seen would be blurry images, which means I wouldn't have been able to warn you, which means the accident would have occurred after all."
Viridis mind whirled as he tried to follow her logic.
"And the same reasoning applies to my own actions," Fulcanelli continued. "If it were possible for me to change the future by acting on what I saw, then the images would have been too blurry for me to see.
"Wait a minute," Viridis said, a glimmer of understanding working its way through his head. "Are you saying the crystal ball only shows you the future if you don't tell anyone about it and don't try to change it?
She bowed her head. "There is hope for you yet, headmaster. The best gazers are those that do not reveal what they see." She raised her chin, pride radiating from her face. "And I am an excellent gazer."
"But if you can't tell anyone about the future, or do anything about it, what good is a crystal ball?"
"Even with those limitations, I assure you the technique can be quite powerful in the hands of an expert. I may not be able to stop an event from happening once I observe it in the crystal ball, but I can still prepare for it. If the crystal ball were to show you falling from the castle roof, for instance, then it is fated to happen and nothing I could do would stop it. But that doesn't mean I can't be waiting on the ground at the proper time, ready to cast a levitation spell."
Fulcanelli leaned back in her chair and steepled her hands. "Being able to see the future and deciding how best to shape it is a great responsibility—one far greater than you may ever understand. It is only for those of us who have the necessary strength to use it properly. It is not an easy life being a diviner, but it is a sacred trust. We must often work in subtle ways, ways not understood by others."
"This all sounds very convenient," Viridis said. "Have you actually predicted anything that came true?"
"I predicted Murmann would retire."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"Only Murmann."
"As I said, convenient. Any other predictions?"
"I told you that you would become headmaster, if you recall."
"As far as I know, you might have said the same thing to all four candidates in order to convince whoever won of your supposed prophetic abilities."
Irritation flashed across Fulcanelli's face. "I assure you I did not. The crystal ball clearly showed you winning the competition."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"
The two of them glowered at one another in silence for a bit, then Fulcanelli leaned forward, her eyes as piercing as a wyvern's talon. "I do not need a crystal ball to know your position here at Hogwarts is, shall we say, precarious. It would be to your advantage to accept me and heed my counsel."
Viridis bristled. "In other words, you want to tell me to do, don't you? You think I'm too young and inexperienced to be the headmaster."
Fulcanelli brushed the words away with a flick of her hand. "That is not for me to say. The stars told me you would become headmaster and I accepted their decision. Your age means nothing to the stars, therefore it means nothing to me."
"Not exactly a ringing endorsement."
Fulcanelli smiled. "Your path is your path. My path is my path. Hopefully, they will be the same path."
"And if they're not?"
She rose from her chair. "Murmann trusted me. I hope that in time you will come to do so too. Please feel free to come to me with any problems you might have. I may be able to help you." She gave a quick unpleasant laugh. "Perhaps."
Viridis accepted the obvious dismissal, more than happy to leave the woman's presence. After a curt goodbye, he stalked out of the office and headed back down the hall. It was as he'd suspected. Fulcanelli wasn't any better at predicting the future than her predecessor. She was just better at coming up with excuses. He let out a long slow breath and relaxed. At least the meeting was over.
As he neared a turn in the corridor, he spotted a white object hanging from one of the wall torches. Puzzled, he changed directions to check it out. The object was a towel draped over the torch's metal support. He was still staring at the towel when Digby rounded the corner carrying a pitcher of water. He collided with Viridis and the pitcher tipped over, dumping water on the both of them.
"My apologies, headmaster," Digby said, scrambling to his feet. "I didn't realize anyone else was in this part of the castle."
"What are you doing here?" Viridis asked, shaking water off his shoes.
"Madame Fulcanelli asked me to bring her water."
"Fulcanelli?"
A soft cackle of laughter drifted down the hall from Fulcanelli's office, and Viridis suddenly remembered what she had said about an accident involving water.
Viridis turned back to Digby and began drying himself with the towel. "My first priority as the new headmaster will be to avoid Madame Fulcanelli for the rest of the year."
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir," Digby said. "I understand completely.