Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing them.
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MUGGLE
Chapter Five: The Seers
There is nothing so likely to produce peace as to be well prepared to meet the enemy.
George Washington
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"Lord Voldemort?" squeaked Petunia. Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was the name itself—she didn't know. Either way, the words sent a shiver down her spine.
"Most wizards do not say his name," said the professor, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I believe that such a thing is foolish. Fear of a name only increases fear of a thing itself."
Petunia was disinclined to agree—if this Lord Voldemort was indeed killing Muggles, she'd rather not draw any attention to herself. But she only nodded, sensing a more pressing problem at hand. "And what does this all have to do with me?" she asked slowly.
Professor Augur drew in a sharp breath and glared off into the distance. "Divination, my dear, is a very imprecise art," he said, distantly. "Yet there are those who can focus it enough to gain control… to see what they wish to see in the future." Petunia shivered again, for she had noticed that the professor's hand was clenched into a fist so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.
In a matter of seconds he had gone from being the friendly, kind wizard of storybooks to a frightening sorcerer of nightmare. An icy-cold dribble of fear trickled through Petunia, though she could not have said quite why.
"I cannot control what I see," she said quietly, outwardly calm.
The professor shook his head. "I know, Miss Evans," he said. "I must ask if you would be willing to learn.
"You see," he went on, "those few who focus their talents have spent hours upon hours trying to gain an inkling of the plans laid by He Who Must Not Be Named. No one can see him, whether by some enchantment of his or some natural reason—no one, it seems, except you.
"You, Petunia Evans, are the only Seer to have glimpsed the Dark Lord. We must ask you to try and learn to focus your gift, my dear, and help us." The professor paused and gave her a deep, searching look that made Petunia feel very small. "I understand if you do not wish to do this. But remember what you have Seen already. Your sister may die—or we may be able to save her. And more, with your help."
A tear slid from the corner of Petunia's eye.
Barnabas Augur regarded her for a long moment, his black eyes flat in his wrinkled face. "There is a war coming," he said. "That much I have Seen already. It is a very difficult thing to realize, child, but you cannot rely on your safety in the Muggle world forever. When Lord Voldemort finishes with the wizarding folk, he will come after your world."
Anger, red-hot and fiery, swept through Petunia. "That's a terrible way to get someone to fight a war," she hissed.
"But it is true," replied the professor. "Can you ask more than that?"
"I wish all I had to worry about was gossip," snapped Petunia, more tears flowing down her cheeks in a hot flood. "And homework. And boys." I wish Lily had never brought home that dratted crystal ball, she added silently.
"May I take that as a yes?" asked Professor Augur, solemnly.
"If only for Lily's sake," Petunia shot back at him. Damn her!
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Saying she would fight in a war, and actually doing it, turned out to be two very different things. Petunia had to wait until the end of term to begin learning anything at all, and she had to make a number of rather complicated arrangements in order to be able to do anything.
Number One: Get a Job.
Or at least, pretend to get one in order to cover up large absences from home. Petunia half wished she were actually looking for some simple summer employment, because most of her friends from school did the same over the summer holiday. Her parents, however, were not too keen on the idea.
"I'm taking a job this summer," Petunia said simply.
Her mother, on the other end of the phone, gave a screech. Petunia held the phone away from her ear and grimaced. "Whatever for, darling? You have an allowance. Enjoy your time while you have it!" These were the opening lines of a ten-minute monologue, repeated in full by her just-as-supportive father.
This presented a considerable amount of difficulty, until Professor Augur suggested she tell her parents she was working in a museum in London through a program at school. Without being asked, he presented a load of pamphlets and sent them to her parents.
Thus, parents suitably convinced and somewhat agreeable, Petunia was free to proceed to Number Two—move into what her parents believed to be a student boarding house for the museum program.
It was actually a wizard-run headquarters that housed a number of somewhat suspicious folk, part of an elite secret force, Professor Augur told her, called the Order of the Phoenix.
On her first day Petunia skulked in corners, trying as hard as possible to be inconspicuous in the hustle and bustle that seemed to fill the old house. Wizards dressed in all manner of crazy get-up rushed to and fro, shouting about curious things like Aurors and Incantatems.
She explored for a little while, having woken up early that morning from nervousness. Past doors she went, hearing things like "Muggle-born" and "strategy" and "defensive spells" echo from inside. Though the house seemed crowded with people, none of them stopped to talk to her. It was, actually, quite easy to remain unnoticed. Finally, bored of exploring and being ignored, she went back to her room and waited until Augur came to fetch her. They went through a ridiculous number of twisting, turning corridors, dotted every so often with moving paintings that called out friendly hellos to Augur and gave Petunia curious looks. They went quite far, so that Petunia was completely mystified and sure that she would never be able to find her way back on her own.
"Is this building really this large?" she asked curiously. "It seemed smaller from outside."
"Wizard places usually do, Miss Evans," Professor Augur said. "Ah, here we are!"
He swung open a door onto a large, dim room filled with smoking braziers, teacups, and everywhere, shimmering crystal balls. "Is this her?" said a slinky, snotty voice from somewhere in the darkness. "Is this to be our little Spy?"
"Meet Madame Madeline Devin," said Professor Augur, "who thinks she is far more glamorous than she really is."
Madame Devin wore a silver robe that clung tight to her body, accented by glittering eye shadow and sparkles around her eyes. Petunia noted with jealousy that her black, shiny hair hung down below her waist; it was the sort she herself had always wished to have.
Another figure detached itself from the darkness and came forward—a man, not as old as Professor Augur but not young either, wearing overlarge spectacles and a patched brown robe. He bowed to Petunia solemnly but did not speak.
"This is Bernard Wahrsager," Professor Augur said. "He does not speak often, but when he does see that you listen to him."
And behind Bernard, one more shape slithered from the darkness—Petunia shivered. The figure, hooded cloaked in a sweeping dark cape, had glowing blue eyes that shone from the depths of the hood.
"And this," said Professor Augur, "is the Scryer."
"What is it?" whispered Petunia to the professor.
"Quiet, Miss Evans," said Augur sharply, below his breath.
But the Scryer had sharp hearing, whatever he—it—was. He glided over the floor towards them. "I, girl," the Scryer said in a voice like thunder twenty miles distant, "I am none of your concern." For a very long moment they locked eyes. An uneasy sense of déjà vu ran down Petunia's spine, though she knew she had never seen this strange being before. The blue eyes flashed at her.
"Have I Seen you before?" asked the Scryer softly. "No… I could not have. Muggles…"
And with that, leaving Petunia shaken, he disappeared again into the darkness.
"He helps us," said Madame Devin. "Heaven knows why, when none of us can really do anything, anyway."
"We see the peripherals," said Bernard softly. His voice sounded dusty, unused, like a library book left unread for years.
"Sometimes we can see things around the Dark Lord," said Augur. "None of us can see anything directly related to his activities, though. Maybe we can catch a glimpse of a Death Eater one day, or a spy the next, but never, never the Dark Lord himself."
"Can he see you?" asked Petunia curiously.
"If he tries," replied the professor. "There is no magic to block a proper Seer, none at all. But we have the advantage—the strongest Seers are on our side. You see, true Seers are very rare, Miss Evans, very rare indeed. Those you see in this room are the most skilled of our time. They can control their visions, seeing—sometimes—what they wish to see."
"That, child, is what you are here to learn," said Madame Devin. "We shall soon see if you have the proper aptitude for it… it will be apparently very quickly if you do not."
Petunia wished very much that she could run away now. Perhaps Lily was worth this—but perhaps not. After all, her sister hated her. She swallowed hard and said, "Right then. Where do we begin?"
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