(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
The rain poured down on the Hog's Head that night. He could still remember it well. It was foggy, and a quiet rushing of water could be heard throughout the streets. Hogsmeade was completely deserted, overtaken by war and fear. Who knew if a dementor was lurking in a corner of the street, or a Death Eater in an alley or doorway. And yet an older man ventured forth into the storm to meet his appointment at the run down inn that only could be described as sickening.
Sibyll, she called herself. Sibyll Trelawney. Some sort of relation to a true Seer, and the old man was very interested in possibly maybe saving the art of Divination at Hogwarts. He was the Headmaster after all, and school had to be taken care of, no matter what his other obligations called for him to do. The next generation was their only hope, and therefore, they must prepare them for what lay ahead.
Divination had been a disappointment to Albus all of these years, and he thought it was quite clear that there was no possible way that the class could continue without a true Seer. Their last teacher had been a complete fraud, and now . . . if this Sibyll woman was . . . he was tired of the entire program.
"I've heard of Trelawney," Minerva had warned him, "And she's the crackpot to top them all, I assure you."
But Dumbledore wanted to give this woman ample chance. Therefore, he was meeting here in this God-forsaken inn.
Opening the door, he stepped into the warm, dry air of tobacco and liquor, and made his way up the stairs without stopping to say hello to anyone or smile a warm smile to the barmaids. He was here on business, and wanted to leave as soon as possible.
Up the stairs, and into the dark, dank corridor of the second floor. Inn doors surrounded him on either side, and he felt somewhat light headed from the tobacco drifting through the air above his head. She had told him in her last owl that she would be found in room four. Room four would be off to his right, he realized, as he made his way through the hall.
He had a meeting with Moody and Frank after this. They had to speak about certain matters that pertained to certain subjects. Very quiet.
Only one other person in this corridor. A hooded man that stepped into room three. He had a key. He belonged in this place easily enough. Still, he gave Dumbledore a shiver up his spine. It took much to make that happen, seeing that Albus was not the type to be frightened easily.
Room four. Albus sighed, hearing Minerva's voice in his ear ("It is a waste of your time and energy, Albus"). But he would never know if he didn't see this woman. So he rapped on the door.
It was a moment before he heard any sorts of noise from within. Finally, a whispy and magical voice came from behind the oak wood door. It sounded sweet and sour at the same time, and he could almost make out a faded Cockney accent from behind the upperclass and mystical tone of the woman.
"Who calls to me from behind the door? Is it a spirit, or is it the living?"
"It is Albus Dumbledore, my good woman," Albus answered back, adjusting his half-moon glasses, "We have an interview."
"Ah," the voice came again, and then he heard the quiet patter of bare feet on the wooden floor beyond the number 4 hanging on the oak in front of his eyes. The woman fumbled with the knob, and the door opened to reveal one of the oddest sights Albus had ever seen.
Standing in front of him, was a woman that could have passed for a medieval gypsy. She was younger, possibly in her late twenties, and donned with ever color scarf imaginable. Her curly black hair flew wildly around her face, and her deep eyes were magnified by her gigantic glasses. Shawls covered her shoulders, and her dress swept the dirt-ridden floor, covering her bare feet. Necklaces and bracelets and large hoop earrings were sported as jewelry as her mistified voice bid a "hello" to Albus.
"Sibyll Trelawney, I presume?" Albus asked, extending his hand.
"Ah, yes," Sibyll said, shaking his hand flirtingly, "It seems that you too have the Eye, my good sir. To know my name before it was given is a sign of a true Seer."
"We talked through owl mail, Miss Trelawney," Albus said, letting himself in, "We have a meeting this evening, I presume that you did not forget?"
"A . . ." Sibyll caught herself as she shut the door, "Ah, of course not! A true Seer does not forget a single memory. Our minds are sharp, and always aware of everything. You must excuse me. I was having a vision of an older man in the rain, walking into the Hog's Head, just before you arrived. After my visions, I am always a little . . . light headed. The spirits and powers take their toll on my mind every time that I use them."
The inn room smelled of inscence, and Dumbledore took a seat on an old wooden chair, covered in more scarves. Candles burned from every corner of the room, and a glass ball was set in front of a rug, in which Sibyll sat herself upon, looking directly into Albus's eyes. She seductively pushed her hair out of her face, and then in her low and whispy voice, said, "You are in dire need of a new professor at your school of witchcraft and wizardry, I believe. Yes, that is why you have come."
"Yes," Albus said, knowing perfectly well that it had all been written out in their exchange of owls, "I was hoping that I could witness a vision tonight. How many visions have you Seen that have become true, may I ask?"
"Visions?" Trelawney said, faltering, and then blinked, "Ah! Yes! Visions! Well, too many to count! The Eye is a curse, I tell you. Every night I cannot stand laying myself down to rest, in fear that I may see an impending death or a possible crime . . . Oh, it is a test of my wits every time that the Eye Sees."
"Who was your last employer?" Albus asked.
"Well," Trelawney said, "Seers are not always taken for the gifts that they are to this world. In fact, many Muggles fear us more than wizards . . ."
"Could you answer my question, Miss Trelawney?" Albus asked, growing impatient. Trelawney jumped, and gave a sheepish grin.
"Well, actually, Albus, I am currently employed here," Sibyll said, "I am a waitress, and they give me free room and board. But sadly they're letting me go . . . Actually, they have already let me go . . . About a month ago . . . But they still don't know I'm living here. I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it to them when you left the bar . . ."
"Were you ever employed as a Seer?" Albus asked quietly, and Trelawney didn't have to answer his question for him to know the answer.
"Would you care for me to read you palm?" Trelawney asked, floundering, "Or tarot cards? Or . . . even gaze into my crystal ball and tell you of your past, present, and future?"
Albus didn't answer, and the woman coughed, and leaned over her ball. Dramatically, she thrust her hands into the air, and cleared her throat as she waved them above the crystal orb.
"Oh, spirits of time," she whispered, "Come to me. Tell me what you see! Tell me of this man's past."
The ball did not respond to her, and still stood, unmistified, and untouched. Albus raised a brow, but did not comment on her lack of success. Trelawney turned a bright red as she waved her hands over the ball again, and then faked a grin.
"Ah, yes!" she whispered, "I see a little boy! He has a dog, which he is playing with in his backyard. But where are his parents? Ah, his parents are dead . . . Alas, this little boy only has the dog for affection. You had a very troubled childhood. You are an orphan, are you not?"
"My childhood was quite happy," Albus said truthfully, "And no. My mother will be turning one hundred sixty next month."
"Ah, or will she?" Trelawney said in her misty and glassy tone, and Albus did not move. Trelawney cleared her throat and went back to the ball, "But you had a dog? And his name was . . . Rover . . ."
"Sadly, I did not," Albus said, his eyes sparkling now with amusement. Oh, how Minerva would have enjoyed this little display.
"The present is coming in clearer than the past," Trelawney said, bringing a hand to stroke the glass orb, "The present . . . An older man . . . weighed down by this war that has taken its toll on him. He feels helpless. There is nothing that he can do. He has tried, but failed. He is alone with this unknown evil that names himself . . . well, you know what he names himself . . . he has never met this evil before face to face . . . and never will . . ."
"I think I've seen enough, Miss Trelawney," Albus said, completely aware that she was now reaching, "I will send you an owl within a week's time. Thank you for your evening."
He stood, and Trelawney's face grew panicked. She looked up from the ball, and stood, "Wait!" she said, trying to keep her composure, "Please, wait! I . . . I will tell of your fate! Tea leaves are more accurate than a crystal ball any day . . ."
"It is late, and I still have to finish my dinner with the Headmistress," Albus said, tying his purple cloak in the front, "So if you don't mind . . ."
"Please!" Trelawney said, falling to her knees, and hands clutched together. All of the mistiness had faded away from her voice, and the roughness and desperation came out as she lost all of her magical tone, "Please take mercy, Dumbledore! You don't know how it is in the work force now! No one will hire anyone that isn't someone! Everyone thinking that you're shady just because of your last name! They're dark times, Dumbledore! I haven't eaten for two days! They're going to kick me out of here as soon as they find out where I am! You don't understand . . ."
"Miss Trelawney, I am very sorry to hear of your misfortunes," Dumbledore said, taking the doorknob in his brittle old hands, "But everyone has had their share in these past years. The war will be over, and you will be able to find a more respectable job. Good day, Miss Trelawney."
And the door opened, and the inscence escaped from his nose and into the hallway. He sighed a tired sigh and he walked into the hallway, rubbing his temples. As much as he wanted to laugh, he couldn't. It was the most pathetic display that he had ever seen. Minerva would never let him live it down. She would always remind him of this incident, and how he had not taken her advice.
"IT IS COMING."
Dumbledore stopped. A low, dark voice had come from behind him. It couldn't have been Trelawney. It sounded nothing like her. It was low, almost low enough to be a man's voice.
"Excuse me?" Albus asked, turning around. His eyes grew wide, and that same shiver flew up his spine as he took in the sight in front of him.
There was Sibyll Trelawney, on the floor, facing him. Her eyes had rolled back into her sockets, and her mouth drooped open. Her face was dark, and her nails driving into the sides of her scarves. She swayed slightly, as if she was drunk.
"IT IS COMING," she repeated.
The rain poured down on the Hog's Head that night. He could still remember it well. It was foggy, and a quiet rushing of water could be heard throughout the streets. Hogsmeade was completely deserted, overtaken by war and fear. Who knew if a dementor was lurking in a corner of the street, or a Death Eater in an alley or doorway. And yet an older man ventured forth into the storm to meet his appointment at the run down inn that only could be described as sickening.
Sibyll, she called herself. Sibyll Trelawney. Some sort of relation to a true Seer, and the old man was very interested in possibly maybe saving the art of Divination at Hogwarts. He was the Headmaster after all, and school had to be taken care of, no matter what his other obligations called for him to do. The next generation was their only hope, and therefore, they must prepare them for what lay ahead.
Divination had been a disappointment to Albus all of these years, and he thought it was quite clear that there was no possible way that the class could continue without a true Seer. Their last teacher had been a complete fraud, and now . . . if this Sibyll woman was . . . he was tired of the entire program.
"I've heard of Trelawney," Minerva had warned him, "And she's the crackpot to top them all, I assure you."
But Dumbledore wanted to give this woman ample chance. Therefore, he was meeting here in this God-forsaken inn.
Opening the door, he stepped into the warm, dry air of tobacco and liquor, and made his way up the stairs without stopping to say hello to anyone or smile a warm smile to the barmaids. He was here on business, and wanted to leave as soon as possible.
Up the stairs, and into the dark, dank corridor of the second floor. Inn doors surrounded him on either side, and he felt somewhat light headed from the tobacco drifting through the air above his head. She had told him in her last owl that she would be found in room four. Room four would be off to his right, he realized, as he made his way through the hall.
He had a meeting with Moody and Frank after this. They had to speak about certain matters that pertained to certain subjects. Very quiet.
Only one other person in this corridor. A hooded man that stepped into room three. He had a key. He belonged in this place easily enough. Still, he gave Dumbledore a shiver up his spine. It took much to make that happen, seeing that Albus was not the type to be frightened easily.
Room four. Albus sighed, hearing Minerva's voice in his ear ("It is a waste of your time and energy, Albus"). But he would never know if he didn't see this woman. So he rapped on the door.
It was a moment before he heard any sorts of noise from within. Finally, a whispy and magical voice came from behind the oak wood door. It sounded sweet and sour at the same time, and he could almost make out a faded Cockney accent from behind the upperclass and mystical tone of the woman.
"Who calls to me from behind the door? Is it a spirit, or is it the living?"
"It is Albus Dumbledore, my good woman," Albus answered back, adjusting his half-moon glasses, "We have an interview."
"Ah," the voice came again, and then he heard the quiet patter of bare feet on the wooden floor beyond the number 4 hanging on the oak in front of his eyes. The woman fumbled with the knob, and the door opened to reveal one of the oddest sights Albus had ever seen.
Standing in front of him, was a woman that could have passed for a medieval gypsy. She was younger, possibly in her late twenties, and donned with ever color scarf imaginable. Her curly black hair flew wildly around her face, and her deep eyes were magnified by her gigantic glasses. Shawls covered her shoulders, and her dress swept the dirt-ridden floor, covering her bare feet. Necklaces and bracelets and large hoop earrings were sported as jewelry as her mistified voice bid a "hello" to Albus.
"Sibyll Trelawney, I presume?" Albus asked, extending his hand.
"Ah, yes," Sibyll said, shaking his hand flirtingly, "It seems that you too have the Eye, my good sir. To know my name before it was given is a sign of a true Seer."
"We talked through owl mail, Miss Trelawney," Albus said, letting himself in, "We have a meeting this evening, I presume that you did not forget?"
"A . . ." Sibyll caught herself as she shut the door, "Ah, of course not! A true Seer does not forget a single memory. Our minds are sharp, and always aware of everything. You must excuse me. I was having a vision of an older man in the rain, walking into the Hog's Head, just before you arrived. After my visions, I am always a little . . . light headed. The spirits and powers take their toll on my mind every time that I use them."
The inn room smelled of inscence, and Dumbledore took a seat on an old wooden chair, covered in more scarves. Candles burned from every corner of the room, and a glass ball was set in front of a rug, in which Sibyll sat herself upon, looking directly into Albus's eyes. She seductively pushed her hair out of her face, and then in her low and whispy voice, said, "You are in dire need of a new professor at your school of witchcraft and wizardry, I believe. Yes, that is why you have come."
"Yes," Albus said, knowing perfectly well that it had all been written out in their exchange of owls, "I was hoping that I could witness a vision tonight. How many visions have you Seen that have become true, may I ask?"
"Visions?" Trelawney said, faltering, and then blinked, "Ah! Yes! Visions! Well, too many to count! The Eye is a curse, I tell you. Every night I cannot stand laying myself down to rest, in fear that I may see an impending death or a possible crime . . . Oh, it is a test of my wits every time that the Eye Sees."
"Who was your last employer?" Albus asked.
"Well," Trelawney said, "Seers are not always taken for the gifts that they are to this world. In fact, many Muggles fear us more than wizards . . ."
"Could you answer my question, Miss Trelawney?" Albus asked, growing impatient. Trelawney jumped, and gave a sheepish grin.
"Well, actually, Albus, I am currently employed here," Sibyll said, "I am a waitress, and they give me free room and board. But sadly they're letting me go . . . Actually, they have already let me go . . . About a month ago . . . But they still don't know I'm living here. I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it to them when you left the bar . . ."
"Were you ever employed as a Seer?" Albus asked quietly, and Trelawney didn't have to answer his question for him to know the answer.
"Would you care for me to read you palm?" Trelawney asked, floundering, "Or tarot cards? Or . . . even gaze into my crystal ball and tell you of your past, present, and future?"
Albus didn't answer, and the woman coughed, and leaned over her ball. Dramatically, she thrust her hands into the air, and cleared her throat as she waved them above the crystal orb.
"Oh, spirits of time," she whispered, "Come to me. Tell me what you see! Tell me of this man's past."
The ball did not respond to her, and still stood, unmistified, and untouched. Albus raised a brow, but did not comment on her lack of success. Trelawney turned a bright red as she waved her hands over the ball again, and then faked a grin.
"Ah, yes!" she whispered, "I see a little boy! He has a dog, which he is playing with in his backyard. But where are his parents? Ah, his parents are dead . . . Alas, this little boy only has the dog for affection. You had a very troubled childhood. You are an orphan, are you not?"
"My childhood was quite happy," Albus said truthfully, "And no. My mother will be turning one hundred sixty next month."
"Ah, or will she?" Trelawney said in her misty and glassy tone, and Albus did not move. Trelawney cleared her throat and went back to the ball, "But you had a dog? And his name was . . . Rover . . ."
"Sadly, I did not," Albus said, his eyes sparkling now with amusement. Oh, how Minerva would have enjoyed this little display.
"The present is coming in clearer than the past," Trelawney said, bringing a hand to stroke the glass orb, "The present . . . An older man . . . weighed down by this war that has taken its toll on him. He feels helpless. There is nothing that he can do. He has tried, but failed. He is alone with this unknown evil that names himself . . . well, you know what he names himself . . . he has never met this evil before face to face . . . and never will . . ."
"I think I've seen enough, Miss Trelawney," Albus said, completely aware that she was now reaching, "I will send you an owl within a week's time. Thank you for your evening."
He stood, and Trelawney's face grew panicked. She looked up from the ball, and stood, "Wait!" she said, trying to keep her composure, "Please, wait! I . . . I will tell of your fate! Tea leaves are more accurate than a crystal ball any day . . ."
"It is late, and I still have to finish my dinner with the Headmistress," Albus said, tying his purple cloak in the front, "So if you don't mind . . ."
"Please!" Trelawney said, falling to her knees, and hands clutched together. All of the mistiness had faded away from her voice, and the roughness and desperation came out as she lost all of her magical tone, "Please take mercy, Dumbledore! You don't know how it is in the work force now! No one will hire anyone that isn't someone! Everyone thinking that you're shady just because of your last name! They're dark times, Dumbledore! I haven't eaten for two days! They're going to kick me out of here as soon as they find out where I am! You don't understand . . ."
"Miss Trelawney, I am very sorry to hear of your misfortunes," Dumbledore said, taking the doorknob in his brittle old hands, "But everyone has had their share in these past years. The war will be over, and you will be able to find a more respectable job. Good day, Miss Trelawney."
And the door opened, and the inscence escaped from his nose and into the hallway. He sighed a tired sigh and he walked into the hallway, rubbing his temples. As much as he wanted to laugh, he couldn't. It was the most pathetic display that he had ever seen. Minerva would never let him live it down. She would always remind him of this incident, and how he had not taken her advice.
"IT IS COMING."
Dumbledore stopped. A low, dark voice had come from behind him. It couldn't have been Trelawney. It sounded nothing like her. It was low, almost low enough to be a man's voice.
"Excuse me?" Albus asked, turning around. His eyes grew wide, and that same shiver flew up his spine as he took in the sight in front of him.
There was Sibyll Trelawney, on the floor, facing him. Her eyes had rolled back into her sockets, and her mouth drooped open. Her face was dark, and her nails driving into the sides of her scarves. She swayed slightly, as if she was drunk.
"IT IS COMING," she repeated.