Chapter 7: "The Orb of Madame Trelawney"

That night, Frodo dreamt that he was standing on a precipice. He had come here to do something important, but he could not remember what it was. Hermione was there, telling him he had finished his task. Still Frodo stood, frozen, unable to make a decision. Suddenly something pounced on his chest. Frodo awoke with a start. Two enormous eyes were shining at him in the moonlight. Frodo screamed.

"Frodo!" cried Sam and Harry, simultaneously jumping to either side of Frodo's bed.

"Gollum!" gasped Frodo.

"Purrrrrrr."

Harry magically lit a candle. A large, ginger cat was sitting on Frodo's chest, purring contentedly. "Crookshanks, scat!" cried Harry. The cat shot him a reproachful look, then delicately leapt off Frodo's chest. It padded away, waving its bottle-brush tail in the air.

"Hermione's wretched cat!" scowled Ron, sitting up in bed. "It likes to do that. Going to give someone a heart attack one of these days."

Frodo flopped back into bed, his heart racing. It took him a very long time to get to sleep again, so he slept well into the morning.

Harry and Ron did not have that luxury. Their first class was their least-favorite, Potions, taught by the ever-unpleasant Professor Severus Snape. He was particularly ill-tempered that morning, perhaps remembering the events of Saturday morning, two days ago, when Harry had had to disarm him so that Frodo could take back the Ring. Snape had taken one hundred fifty points from Gryffindor that day and given Harry a detention, which he had served all day Sunday. But Snape was not appeased. By the end of the class, Gryffindor had lost twenty more points, and Harry had another detention.

Divination, their second-least-favorite class was next. Harry climbed the rope ladder leading to the trap-door entrance to Madame Trelawney's classroom. As usual, it was dark, warm, and stifling with the scent of sweetly perfumed incense. Harry threw his schoolbooks down, still furious about Professor Snape. He very nearly knocked over the two crystal balls on his desk.

"Oh, Harry." The voice of Madame Trelawney floated across the classroom. "Do not yield to negative emotions like anger. Your time with us is so very short. You should enjoy what little life is left to you." She walked over to Harry, her face streaming with tears. "Oh, Harry, Harry. I have seen it in the signs. Your time is drawing near. You will leave us tonight!"

This made Harry even angrier. One of the reasons he disliked Divination was that Madame Trelawney had been predicting his imminent demise for years. "Right," he said. "What about last year? And the year before? You said I would die then, and I'm still here."

"You have avoided your fate, it is true. This can happen a few times, but not forever," she went on, in her usual, irritatingly dreamy way. "Harry, this time you will not escape. You will willingly seek out your doom! Oh!" She wrung her hands together, and wept as she wafted back to her desk.

It took her several minutes to compose herself. Then she said, "Class, today we shall be gazing into the crystal orbs. Free your minds and allow the portents of the future to enter in." Harry and Ron each looked at their orbs.

"I see a lot of fog," sniggered Ron. "This must be a weather-predicting orb."

"Mine's predicting wind, rain…and a lot of hot air," Harry said, glancing over at Madame Trelawney. Ron snorted.

Harry sighed and returned his gaze to the orb. He stared at the swirling fog within; it seemed to be beginning to take shape, although it remained maddeningly out of focus. He started to develop a slight headache. Still he looked harder, and then began to recognize a faint outline: a face. Presently he saw that it was his own face. He appeared to be asleep. He was lying on the floor. A tall man stood beside him. The man was holding something in his outstretched hand; Harry couldn't make out what it was.

Harry's headache grew stronger. His scar began to burn. But he continued to stare at the image of the man in the orb, continued to stare at what the man was holding. He felt himself drawn to it, unable to break away. The object in the tall man's hand seemed to be looking back out at him. It was…an eye! A lidless eye that seemed to burn. Likewise, the burning in Harry's forehead intensified, but still he could not look away. Harry then began to hear a voice; someone—or something was trying to speak to him.

"Who are you?" the voice said. It spoke with malice, with malevolence, and with great power.

Harry felt compelled to answer. But before he could, his scar exploded with pain, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

"Harry! Harry! Don't leave us! Come back. Come back into the light." Harry opened his eyes. Madame Trelawney was crouching beside him, stroking his face.

"I'm fine," he said, getting up quickly. He looked over to his desk. In a rare display of good sense, Madame Trelawney had picked up Harry's orb and shut it away in a cupboard.

"What did you see, child?" she asked, consolingly. "Did you see…did you see your…"

"No!" said Harry, angrily. "I didn't see anything. I just fainted. It's the heat and the incense. All I need is some fresh air."

Madame Trelawney dismissed her class then, and Harry and Ron headed for the Great Hall. They found Frodo and Sam there already. The Hobbits had apparently made it into the Hall for a late breakfast which had stretched into lunchtime. Hermione joined them all a short while later.

"How was your morning?" asked Hermione. She was by this time taking so many advanced classes that her schedule did not overlap with Harry's and Ron's very much.

"Rotten!" snapped Harry. "Snape gave me a detention for absolutely no reason. Said I wasn't paying attention."

"And then Harry passed out in Divination," added Ron.

"What?" cried Hermione.

"I don't want to talk about it," said Harry.

"Looking on the bright side," said Ron quickly, "I just heard that all of our afternoon classes are cancelled. Anyone know why?"

"There is to be a Wizard's council, I believe," said Frodo.

"It has to do with something Frodo and I discovered yesterday. Some changes in a…historical book. Frodo and Sam may not have to go back," said Hermione.

"Really?" said Ron. "That's great! But I guess you want to go home at some point, right?"

Frodo didn't say anything, but kept eating.

"You know, I continue to be amazed at how much Hobbits can eat," said Hermione. "It must have something to do with their large surface-to-area ratio, and heightened metabolism due to..."

"Hermione!" said Ron.