Okay… This is kind of a companion fic to Little Miss Perfect, but really they have almost nothing to do with each other. Everyone who's read Little Miss Perfect seems to like it, so… I'm making it into a series. The inner thoughts of the people of Hogwarts. Let me know what you think. I have no idea who I'm doing next. Give me suggestions in your reviews.
I am a fraud.
Yes, that's right. I'm a complete and utter fraud. What's more, I'm a bad fraud. Because everyone knows I'm a fraud. Well, almost everyone. Patil and Brown haven't figured it out. There are a few others. But that's not the point. If you're going to be a fraud, you should be able to fool the majority. I can't even fool myself.
Oh, I've tried. Merlin knows I've tried. I'm the descendant of Cassandra, for crying out loud! My mother was one of the greatest seers of her day! All of my family have been seers… Why can't I See anything? I've done everything right. Everything by the book. The right incense, the right equipment, the right frame of mind, the right style of living. But still my Inner Eye won't open… and I've forsaken my outer eyes for it. I'm blind, and nobody realizes it. And I'm teaching others to be just as blind.
Sometimes I hope. Hope that I'm wrong, and that I'm not a fraud. Dumbledore hired me, for one thing. Sure, he needed a teacher, and he's hired incompetents before, but… but. But he's never hired a long-term professor who wasn't competent, and I've been here for… oh, my… almost seventeen years.
So perhaps I'm not a fraud? Or perhaps I'm an example of that old adage 'those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.' I still hope, though. I have episodes… I'll black out, and when I come to, people act strange around me. And my throat hurts. But I don't have those episodes often. I'm not sure they're not just imagination.
Maybe they are just imagination. Merlin knows I've got a vivid one. Grims in teacups. Honestly. Some predictions are easy to make, though. Just listen to the gossip going around school, et voila! You know all you need to predict that Neville Longbottom will break teacups. Add the power of suggestion, make him think it's inevitable, and you have your very own self-fulfilling prophecy. Which I suppose makes me even more of a fraud.
I wonder what would happen if I admitted it. Admitted that I'm a fraud. It's lonely when everyone laughs at you. Lonely to defend yourself when you don't even believe your defense. Who would I tell, though? Certainly not Minerva! All the other professors think I'm a fraud, too. A student? No. The ones who believe in me would be shattered, and the others would just laugh. Perhaps… with my next batch of third years I can just tone down the act?
Is it an act anymore? Or is it me? I don't know. I have nowhere to go for help. The ones who listen are blind, and the ones who have their eyes open have better things to do. I'm stuck in the image I've made for myself.
My name is Sibyll Trelawney, and I am a hopeless fraud.