The loud pounding of her heartbeat was synchronized with her hurried stomps as she trudged along the memorized path toward Gryffindor Tower. She regretted walking out before her mind had thought up the countless rebuttals she wanted to yell at the prick. Outraged at the gall in his claim, she wondered just how long the Room would protect her secrets if she had enacted Ginny's special form of punishment…
His insistence that it was her feelings for him that stopped her from completing the cast correctly despite his radical correction was one thing. Him halting the lessons, because he believed it was insanity to reinforce her conviction that she had to be the one, was another. He'd refused to recognize the obvious liability there was in having an Order member with such sensitive information in constant close proximity to those who would do anything to please their master.
"They would be better off dead than the brainless husks you will turn them into and I will not be held responsible if you do not heed my advice. You will have to shoulder that blame yourself."
There was no way for her to properly articulate that it was fear, not love, that stayed her hand.
She had made phenomenal progress outside of their lessons. To the point that there was a poor adolescent buck who was thoroughly convinced he had birthed and raised three separate batches of pups. The difference was… She didn't have to worry about witnessing the horrific brutalization and execution of innocents within the confines of her parents' memories. She didn't have to worry about leaving some tell-tale sign of intrusion that would tip off Voldemort messing with the castle rats.
Draco's lack of confidence stung and reinforced her own doubts.
Tongue-tied from the degrading images his unwarranted words crafted of her parents, she had fled from the room. A hasty decision which left her alone with the inept fury that grew every time the conjured visions of their disfigured bodies resurfaced.
How could she argue with the unspoken truth woven into each letter of his callous frustration?
They would be better off dead than having her for a daughter.
A daughter who was willing to risk them becoming nothing but shells to avoid an additional reason for prolonged agony in the event the person who helped her was captured.
A daughter who chose Harry, despite the danger her affiliation put them in.
A daughter who understood, all too well, that they were doomed to be collateral damage the moment she had been conceived.
They would be better off if she had never existed.
Her macabre downward spiral was sharply cut short as she rounded a corner and slammed into a hunched form. Obscured by the shadows spawned by the late hour, Hermione wasn't able to discern the identity of the figure as their incoherent curse was covered by the sound of shattering glass.
"Who… Who's there?"
Trelawney whispered to the darkness of what appeared to be an empty corridor. The witch's words were slurred but she wasn't near drunk enough to be led to believe she had imagined the entire collision.
Any hope Hermione had of sneaking back the way she had come was dashed the second the strong aroma of sherry hit her nose. She audibly gagged and revealed her exact position to the suspicious teacher. Already queasy from the emotional bedlam of her night, she was unable to prevent the hot bile from spilling between her lips. There was barely time to pull the invisibility cloak aside before her sick splattered the stone floor.
"Lumos."
Bright light erupted from the tip of the professor's wand, but she couldn't move from her stooped posture or stop heaving until her stomach was completely emptied. Dripping with sweat, she felt as the rest of the coarse fabric was tugged from her body and landed in the mixing puddles of foul fluids. The thought of having to clean the mess from the contaminated wool had her retching again.
"Miss Granger? What are you… How did you…" Professor Trelawney's manufactured ethereal cadence was tarnished by her shocked concern. "Are you all right, child?"
Hermione groaned her conformation and wiped at the mess of spit and snot left on her face.
"There, there." The older witch comforted her as she searched the inner pockets of her robes. "Let it out. You will be better for it in the morning."
"I haven't been drinking." Her denial of the probable assumption was harsher than she had intended, every bit of her attention was dedicated to taking slow breaths through her mouth.
Sobered by the unexpected direction her evening had taken, Trelawney found what she had been looking for and plucked a silk handkerchief from the bottom of the deepest pocket. Without hesitation, she handed it over with a placating smile. "Certainly not, my dear! Prefects are much too responsible for such rubbish."
For a split second, Hermione debated on arguing. Her wounded pride demanded some kind of retribution but she didn't have a better excuse for her noteworthy behavior. Instead, she stayed quiet, grabbed the offering, and used the soft decorative rag to clean herself the best she could.
While she was busy, the other witch went about transfiguring the glow at the end of her wand into a small globe that floated above their heads. Under the pale luminescence, she magicked away the egregious evidence of the odd encounter. Once the floor, their shoes and the cloak were all sterilized and free of glass, Trelawney spoke. "It might be best if we both forgot this ever happened…"
"Yes." Hermione did not expound on her agreement, in no mood to dawdle longer than absolutely necessary.
"Good."
After the required half-hearted thanks and exchange of possessions to their rightful owners, Hermione tucked the bundle of folded fabric against her middle. Unsure how to politely withdraw from the dubious scene, she began to slowly inch around the other witch. "Have a good night, Professor Trelawney."
"May your dreams be a conduit to your inner eye, Miss Granger. Hecate knows…" Whatever mystical rambling of veiled insults that had commenced was choked off as the woman suddenly stiffened. Behind the thick lenses of her spectacles, her magnified emerald eyes rolled back and she seized Hermione's shoulder in a clawed grip to keep herself upright.
"...Professor?"
"IN DUE COURSE THE END IS COMING…" The jarring voice that emanated from the frail figure wasn't her own. No longer an embellished caricature of a modern fortune teller, Trelawney became a twisted vessel for Gaea's gift- a true prophetess. "A FATED DESTINY YET TO BE DARKENED BY ARCANE MAGIC… RISEN FROM THE ASHES OF BLOODSHED… INNOCENCE WILL DEMOLISH ALL, AIDED BY FLASHES OF UNRIVALED POWER UNTIL THE LAST SECRET IS REVEALED… PAST PERSEPHONE'S GARDEN IS WHERE THE ANSWER LIE… A FATED DESTINY… UNRIVALED POWER… THE ANSWERS… LIE…"
When the final syllable was uttered the living oracle slumped forward and Hermione had to scramble to drop the cloak in time to stop her from falling to the hard stone.
As quickly as the fit started, it ceased. The witch blinked a few times as she reoriented to corporeality and was clearly confused to be cradled awkwardly against the chest of a student. She jumped back and gave an embarrassed smile, "Apologies, I must have tripped."
Hermione stood frozen, attempting to process what had happened. She knew from Harry's past experience that there would be no memory of the apocalyptic proclamation for the eccentric medium, even if there wasn't an unknown amount of alcohol swirling in her veins.
"Did I overstep with my parting wishes for you? I can remember how easily-offended you are."
"No. I just… Need to go lay down."
"Alas, we all must surrender to the sweet em…"
Past the point of caring about pleasantries, Hermione snatched up the hastily discarded camouflage and ran from the melodramatic chatter. Focused on transcribing the omen, word for word, before she forgot and omitted anything important. She raced the rest of the way to Gryffindor Tower, hardly pausing to shout the password at a bewildered Fat Lady and wrench open the portrait.
Thankfully, the common room was empty.
Not having to worry about being seen in her disheveled state, she rushed over to where a fellow student had left their scattered belongings, too tired to pick up after a long night of studying for exams. Her hands shook as she flattened the first crumpled piece of parchment her hands came across. Each legible letter felt like a monumental task, eventually, she scratched the entire thing down using a borrowed quill and ink.
Following the inclusion of other required information, like the date and both of the present witches' names, she set off for her next destination.
-\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/-
Her left hand was clenched into a tight fist and banged against the weathered wood, while her right held the searing stitch in her side. Impatient, Hermione kept increasing the speed and volume of her knocks to convey her urgent need for assistance to the occupant within.
"So help me, Filch, if the school is not currently on fire…" Professor McGonagall snapped as she cracked open the door. Her harsh annoyance at having been roused from sleep sobered as the matron realized her miscalculation. "Is the Gryffindor common room on fire?"
"No, not exactly…"
"Then what reason could you possibly have for being at my door at one o'clock in the morning?"
"I need to get a copy of this to Dumbledore immediately!" Hermione explained, while simultaneously, offering up the wadded ball of parchment that had the valuable revelation on it. "Professor Trelawney has made another prediction!"
The elderly witch stared down at what looked like a piece of trash for a long moment before asking, "You are sure?"
"I've read all about the signs. Regardless, I listened to the roar of thousands of them at once. I am well-acquainted with the true voice of Delphi, Professor McGonagall…"
After another stretch of silence, the other woman took the battered chunk of text and ushered Hermione into the immaculate office. "Tell me precisely what happened."
"I was headed to bed after finishing rounds and quite literally bumped into her in the dark. Trelawney dropped the deck of tarot cards she was carrying." Weaving as much of the truth as she could with outright lies, Hermione crafted a believable story on the spot. "As we cleaned them up, she started having a fit… and…"
"...And?"
"All her muscles tightened and she spoke in a voice that wasn't hers. She said… It said…" She gestured at the hastily written record. Unsure where to begin to decode the endless clues in the few lines of cryptic warning.
When the Head of Gryffindor House finished reading the contents on the wrinkled page, she looked up with a solemn scowl, "Next year, please remind me to demand that your scheduled time is directly after dinner. That way we can cut down on these nocturnal visits."
Hermione balked. Embarrassed that her main concern was no longer the impending unknown date to the end of the world… But whether or not her recent behavior had cost her the spot of Head Girl…