On one of many streets in Britain laid a fantastic travelling tent full to the brim of the enlightened, who followed the works of the famous prophet Cassandra Trewlawny. The leader of this branch was Cassandra's Great-Granddaughter, Felicia Trelawney, or as The Trelawneyites referred to her, "Madame Trelawney." To them, she was the chosen one, the keeper of her great-grandmother's legacy, the lone speaker of truth in a deceptive world.
"Dear sir," Madame Trelawney began. "Do you want to see your naked, unchanging destiny exposed- OOF!"
Mind, the rest of the world didn't exactly see it that way.
"OUT-OF-MY-RUDDY-WAY!" growled the heavyset, mustached man, rudely pushing past to the chagrin of the seer's assembled crowd. "Such nonsense… crystal balls, palm reading, chakra, bird entrails, tarot cards, tea leaves… you lot would be better off buying some soap with those pounds you're wasting on this fraud!"
"You better not talk to her like that!" A woman with a pierced lip and puce mohawk ordered, her modern fashion offending the man's eyes immensely. "Madame Trelawney sees all, and all see her!"
"That last part doesn't even make any sense!" Vernon Dursley scoffed, eyes darting spitefully at the aghast men and women on the block. "You're not just wrong, you're stupid! If she really did see all, how come she wasn't able to see me coming through? If she really is 'all-knowing' why didn't she know better than to leave me be?"
"You are an oppressor!" The mohawked woman growled, finger pointed accusingly at the man to the cheers and egging-on of her peers. "A non-believer! A lazy, self-righteous, establishment-"
"I notice you didn't answer my question." Vernon observed wryly.
"Enough, Morgana." The woman requested in the same sort of wispy, mystical tone she had addressed Vernon with earlier. "Your fire will lead you down the wrong path if you don't tend to it."
"Sorry, Madame Trelawney." Morgana muttered, her head hanging low.
"Nothing to apologize for, my dear, for we are all humans and humans all." Madame Trelawney intoned. "And that includes Vernon Dursley as well, he is probably concerned with tending to his drills."
"Don't you involve ME in any of your mumbo-jumbo!" Vernon said, teeth gritting at the prospect of being involved in such… such… impropriety. What would the neighbors think?
"If it's such mumbo-jumbo, how did she know your name when you didn't give it?" Another follower from the crowd asked.
Vernon rolled his eyes and pointed to his name tag. He was notoriously poor with names, and as a show of good faith to his employees wore one as well.
"Well - ah - how did she know you worked in drills?" Yet another asked, a flash of doubt crossing her eyes.
Vernon yet again found little need to speak and simply pointed above the building Madame Trelawney was soliciting under. Turning around, The Trelawneyites were dismayed to see a giant billboard which declared in large yellow letters, "Grunnings: Far Above Average Drills For The Far Above Average Man" and had Vernon wearing a tuxedo and holding a drill in a fashion clearly paying homage to James Bond. Underneath it very clearly stated in silver cursive letters, "Vernon Dursley, Director Of Grunnings, License To Drill".
He had thought it a bit much, but Petunia had loved it. He even bought that tuxedo from the agency and had brought it back home for "her eyes only."
Vernon grinned maliciously at Madame Trelawney, he held no sympathy for confidence men like her, peddling their malarky for the sake of attention and preying on people's superstitions. However, she seemed unperturbed by his accusations.
"You know, Mr. Dursley, for a man who doesn't ascribe a lot of value to the inner eye, you did seem to be able to name an awful lot of sources for mediums to utilize earlier." She pointed out amusedly, stroking her chin and raising her left eyebrow.
Vernon opened his mouth to rebutt this, but realized that she had actually made a good point and decided to close it again. Madame Trelawney's followers chose to apply selective memory and sang her praises, casting triumphant glances at the nonbeliever as if she had completely destroyed his credibility entirely.
Perhaps an… example is required to open your eye?" Madame Trelawney suggested innocently. "How about a cup of tea, on me? No charge."
Vernon checked his watch. He still had a few minutes before he had to head back, and desired very greatly to make a fool of this quack.
"Sure, I suppose I could be open to that." He shrugged. "Brew away."
And so, Vernon and her most loyal of Trewlanyites in wake, Madame Trelawney marched over to a tent covered with posters saying things such as "Cassandra Trewlawny's Prophecy Of Doom", "Do I Have The Inner Eye" or "October 31st, 1981: The Last Day" and withdrew from the pockets in her robes two packets of tea and her sleeves two ready-made steaming cups of hot water.
"Apologies, my friends, but only the most enlightened may aid me in this delicate process." Madame Trelawney said to her followers outside of the tent. They all looked positively heartbroken.
A heavily perfumed odor and scented incense wafted from every corner, causing his eyes to water and sweat to drip down his scalp. Everything had been bloody cold for the past two weeks, how was this rinky-dink little tent so stuffy in the middle of a city block? And for that matter, how were the insides so large when the outside looked no more than nine feet across? The symbols across the tent were sketchy and vicious-looking, depicting shadowy figures and mysterious objects, hastily scratched notes questioning over and over again why, why, why?
"Forgive the lack of sugar and milk, my child, but I am afraid such additives dilute the process of Tessomancy." Madame Trelawney sighed dreamily, seating herself after Vernon plopped down on the chintzy cushion.
"Think nothing of it." Vernon grunted, miffed at being referred to as a woman not ten years older than him as a "child" and uneasily eyeing the tea bags she was lowering into the steaming pots.
"To your good health, Vernon Dursley." Madame Trelawney drawled, holding out her cup to toast him.
"Hmm." Vernon nodded, returning her toast, and satisfied to see that she had taken a sip from her cup did so as well until there was nothing left but dregs.
"Now, to exchange cups." Madame Trelawney said, two of her followers switching the cups around.
"What is it you see, Vernon Dursley?" She requested, her followers hanging onto her every word.
"A crack at the bottom of my cup." Vernon said. "Perhaps you should invest in better china."
"No, no, beyond the physical realm." Madame Trelawney intoned. "In the tea leaves, Vernon, what is it you sense?"
"Well, I guess, perhaps if I look at it in a certain light, mine does look a bit like a dog." Vernon said evasively, squinting his watery eyes and turning his head.
The Trelawneyites all whispered excitedly, pointing to Vernon and the soggy contents within his cup much to the satisfaction of Madame Trelawney and the utter befuddlement of Vernon.
"The Grim." Morgana whispered, eyes full of wonder. "He sees! Even with his voluntary blindness, he sees. There can be no doubt, the end of the world is upon us, my children."
"Er, what is it I'm seeing exactly?" Vernon said, tilting his head curiously.
Madame Trelawney smiled smugly. "The moment I encountered your spirit, I sensed something different about you, Vernon." Madame Trelawney declared vaguely. "Something… 'above average' as you'd put it. Something… mystical in your bloodline, perhaps? It would explain how surprisingly well versed you are in the art of Divination."
Vernon turned rather red at this. How dare she imply he, or any of his family for that matter be unnatural!
"No, can't say I do." He said through gritted teeth.
"Pity." Madame Trelawney remarked sadly. "So often, these types of gifts are unappreciated by those who wield them. You wouldn't happen to be-"
"No." Vernon said flatly. "I'm not."
"Oh yes, of course not." Madame Trelawney muttered. "All the magic in the air on All Hallows Eve is getting my signals all crossed."
"No, your 'signals' are just fine, I'd imagine." Vernon growled. "You're just a lying con artist who's taking advantage of these hooligans, that's all."
All of The Trelawneyites in the room gasped.
"BUT-BUT-BUT YOU SAW THE GRIM!-" Morgana sputtered. "You're a logical man, surely, even you-"
"Oh yes, I did see." Vernon grinned. "Mind, it's a good trick. The incense was a nice touch. But still, a trick nonetheless."
"What is it you think makes this a trick, Vernon Dursley?" Madame Trelawney questioned.
"Glad you asked." Vernon explained. "Have any of you heard of "cold reading?" I presume the answer is no. Basically, what your leader did was ask very general questions based on observations on my character, assuming because of my knowledge of your methods of fortune-telling I had immediate family that was mystical. Notice, she didn't say "you're mystical" or "your parents are mystical", she left just enough wiggle room for me to fill in my confirmation biases."
Was it just Vernon, or did he see a flash of fear go through Madame Trelawney's eyes?
"Well, divination is a difficult thing to pin down," Morgana insisted. "It often varies depending on the weather, and the positions of the stars. Only we open enough to accept her gift are blessed with her sight."
"I thought you said something to the effect of "She sees all, and all see her." Vernon said innocently.
"But you saw The Grim!" Another follower protested. "You have to have some inkling of the inner eye!"
"And what exactly is this "grin?" I think I'm experiencing it now." Vernon teased, propping his elbows on the table and his chin on his outstretched hands.
"Not the grin, you idiot, The Grim!" Morgana offered desperately. "The Grim is a giant, black spectral dog that haunts churchyards and mutilates livestock! It is the hound of death itself!"
"Ah, I was hoping you'd get to that." Vernon explained. "I only said 'looks like a dog.' Aren't there any other omens in your text that resemble a canine?"
"Well, there is the daschund which represents stubborness." One follower pointed out.
"The bulldog often is associated with tenacity." Another offered.
"German shepherds-"
"Enough, Ally, Michael, Geoffrey." Madame Trelawney interrupted testily. "Enough on my unfortunate fate, how about we examine YOUR future, Vernon Dursley?"
"Go ahead." He shrugged.
Snatching Vernon's teacup, Madame Trelawney examined his tea leaves intensely, turning the cup around in her hands as she did. The Trelawneyites stayed silent and waiting with bated breath.
"The Club… an attack. The Moon… surely great sadness will come as a direct response from this attack, or will motivate it to begin with. That's unusual, The Acorn… an unexpected treasure, right after? Curious. But what's this?!"
Madame Trelawney sucked in a great deal of smoke, which made her already bulging eyes pop even more and trails of smoke to exit her nose and mouth as though she were a dragon.
"I see THE FALCON!" She yelped. "Oh dear, Vernon, you are in grave danger! Someone wishes your death very much, and I am afraid they will succeed!"
"Oh no, I see it now too!" Vernon gulped, looking between both teacups in a panic. "As a matter of fact, I'm beginning to see something else in your cup!"
"Yes, Vernon, what is it?" Madame Trelawney asked anxiously.
"I see…" Vernon gulped. "I see… I see…"
"Don't keep it inside, spit it out!" Morgana cried out.
"In addition to The Grim, I see two birds…" Vernon trembled, hands shaking in front of him. "As a matter of fact, I also see The Cicada, symbolizing that- oh no, it can't be -"
Vernon threw up two remarkably rude hand gestures on each hand at the same time, causing the inner circle of the Trelawneyites to explode in disbelief and fury.
"THEY'RE HERE - RIGHT NOW!" Vernon bellowed triumphantly. "Great scott, I'm a genius!"
Madame Trelawney was utterly speechless.
"And as for how I knew all of this, Miss Trelawney?" Vernon concluded nastily. "For your information, I received a copy of Unfogging The Future last Christmas from a so-called 'mystical relative.' I keep it in the loo - but not for reading."
"GET OUT OF MY TENT, NONBELIEVER!" bellowed Madame Trelawney, her pale face flush with rage, positively vibrating with passion.
"But Madame Trelawney, how will I ever understand why I got a prophecy other than The Grim when your grandmother predicted we'd never get past today?" Vernon asked innocently.
"WHY DON'T YOU ASK YOUR FATHER OR MOTHER OR UNCLE OR AUNT OR BROTHER OR SISTER WHY, YOU BLOODY IMPOSSIBLE MAN?!" Madame Trelawney screamed at the top of her lungs, shooting spittle everywhere.
"Very well," Vernon shrugged nonchalantly. "Bye, Felicia."
Vernon exited the tent with a satisfied smirk on his face, leaving an infuriated soothsayer and her consoling followers in his wake. It had been a good day.
What do you think was meant by Vernon's prophecy? Do you think as of December 24th, 2019, it's a little strange the world hasn't ended by now? And will Madame Trelawney be proven a true seer, or hemorrhage followers come November First? All this and more next time, next year, next decade if not sooner, on "The Magician!"
Riddle Of The Day: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Cheery Kwanzaa, dear viewers. Be sure to let me know who you want to see in the new year. It's my gift to you all, I wouldn't be anything without my fans. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to finish my Grinch parody. Feliz navidad!