A/N: Thank you for everyone that reviewed or PMed me kind words! If you can't tell, I'm having entirely too much fun with this one.
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Antagonizing
Morning light stretched long across the floor, slanting through the windows she had flung open in the night. The air was still crisp with lingering summer, carrying the scent of dew and the distant rustle of trees.
Sybill sat curled on the floor, lesson plans spread out before her, red ink bleeding like fresh wounds across the parchment.
Palmistry. Ridiculous. A year wasn't long enough to make a true chiromancer out of anyone, let alone the scattered teenagers she would be given.
Tea leaves. Absurd. A proper understanding required intuition, not rushed lectures and halfhearted guesswork.
Tarot. Now that had potential, but the students would need patience, discipline. Could she make them care?
She wrote with fervor, striking through old notes, rewriting, reorganizing. She wasn't even tired. Her mind churned, fueled by a restless energy, plans and visions tangling together.
She had seen the future. Or a future.
Sybill exhaled sharply, forcing herself to refocus.
The ink-stained plans before her were proof enough that the past Sybill Trelawney had been a disaster. She couldn't afford to be that woman. She would not be that woman.
But then a more immediate concern arose—food.
What did professors do for meals over the summer? Did the house-elves still prepare food? Or was she expected to fend for herself?
Scowling, she stood, rolling out the stiffness in her shoulders. She needed answers. And the Great Hall seemed as good a place as any to find them.
As she stepped into the corridors, the air cooled against her skin, stone walls humming with quiet magic.
The portraits noticed her immediately.
Tittering whispers followed her, painted figures leaning out of their frames, watching her with curiosity. Some murmured amongst themselves, while others openly gawked. A few dared to laugh.
Sybill glared at them, daring them to say something aloud.
One particularly plump wizard in a ruffled collar snickered behind his hand.
"Not so mad-looking today, are we?" he mused.
Her nostrils flared, but she said nothing. She simply stared him down, her silence heavy—a promise, a warning.
The wizard's smirk faltered. He ducked back into his frame.
Good.
With sharp, purposeful steps, Sybill continued on, winding her way through the castle, toward the Great Hall.
The Great Hall was eerily empty, its vast ceiling reflecting the soft, pale blue of the morning sky. The four long House tables stood bare, polished wood gleaming under the enchanted candlelight. But the High Table—where the professors sat—held a modest spread of food. Toast, eggs, fresh fruit, tea, and coffee. Enough for a handful of people, but only one seat was occupied.
Sybill stifled an internal groan.
Severus Snape.
The dream had painted him as a wretched, cruel man. She could still recall the sharp, scathing sneers, the way he spat insults at students—especially Harry Potter. He had been petty, vindictive, cruel for the sake of cruelty. And now, here he was, alive and real, sipping his tea like some dark gargoyle hunched over the High Table.
For a fleeting moment, she considered turning around, avoiding the conversation altogether.
But that would be weak.
Instead, she schooled her face into practiced indifference and strode forward, her boots clicking against the stone floor. Without hesitation, she dropped into the chair beside him and reached for food, casually piling toast and fruit onto her plate.
From the corner of her eye, she caught his reaction.
Snape froze mid-sip, his black eyes flicking toward her, brows knitting together in confusion.
A double take.
For a man so composed, so calculated, it was almost comical.
She continued as if she hadn't noticed, lifting a piece of toast to her lips and taking a slow bite.
Finally, his voice cut through the quiet.
"…Trelawney?"
She turned her head, meeting his gaze with the most unimpressed look she could manage. "What?"
He stared, dark eyes flickering over her, taking her in. No wild frizz, no clattering bangles, no overwhelming scent of incense and sherry. Instead, loose curls framed her face, and her sharp, alert gaze held none of the hazy dreaminess she had once affected.
"You look…" He trailed off, narrowing his eyes.
She lifted a brow. "Less like a walking catastrophe?"
He made a quiet, unimpressed noise. "Your words, not mine."
Sybill smirked and turned back to her food, acting as though his scrutiny meant nothing.
Snape didn't stop watching her, suspicion written in every sharp line of his face.
She took her time, spreading marmalade onto her toast, keeping her hands steady. She needed information. And this man—this bitter, acerbic shell of a human—was a source of it. He had been there at the beginning, supposedly her beginning. He had heard her first prophecy. He had run off to tell Voldemort, setting the entire chain of events into motion.
And yet, by the end, he had been Dumbledore's man. Even an adult Harry Potter had admitted he had been the bravest of them all.
She needed to test the waters.
She took a casual sip of tea before speaking. "So, Severus…" she said airily, "when you first see Harry Potter, do you still plan to quiz him on lilies as a poor excuse for a potions exam?"
His entire body went rigid.
She didn't flinch under the force of his glare, though she felt it like a blade pressed to her throat.
"Excuse me?" His voice was dangerously low.
She hummed, pretending to consider. "I suppose you could always give him a dramatic, sweeping monologue about how much he looks like his father—"
The clatter of his teacup against the saucer cut her off.
"Careful, Severus," she chided lightly, "you'll shatter the poor thing."
His fingers had curled into tight fists. Good. He was off-balance.
"You will explain yourself," he said at last, voice slow and measured, though his eyes burned.
Sybill gave him an almost pitying look. "Oh, Severus, please. As if you don't know exactly what I'm talking about." She gestured vaguely. "The boy arrives in mere days, and you'll take one look at him and see only James Potter. A perfect little replica, save for Lily's eyes. And then, as if he were a personal affront to your existence, you'll dedicate yourself to making his life miserable."
Silence.
A long, dangerous silence.
She could practically see his mind working, his suspicions shifting into place like puzzle pieces.
"…You speak as though you have foreknowledge," he said at last.
She took another bite of toast. "Do I?"
Snape's gaze sharpened. "Did you have a vision?"
Ah, now that was interesting. There was no scoffing, no sneering at her gift. If anything, he seemed to take the possibility seriously. Perhaps it was because he alone knew her to have spoken the truth once before.
She tilted her head mockingly. "Would anyone believe me if I said I did?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He was still watching her closely, calculating.
"You are a Seer," he said carefully. "Allegedly."
Sybill hummed, noncommittally. "And you are a spy, allegedly."
His fingers twitched. She smiled.
She had him.
She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice just enough to make him lean in, listening. "We both know what's coming," she murmured. "And if I were you, Severus, I'd reconsider my strategy before I go sneering at a boy who will one day hold the fate of the world in his hands. Not because I think that he's anything more than a boy who was lucky once, but for your own peace of mind."
His expression was unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes.
Sybill sat back, taking another sip of tea.
Yes. Severus Snape could be useful.
The door opened, another figure seemingly attending to breakfast.
Minerva McGonagall was not a woman prone to clumsiness, which was why it was so very satisfying when she stumbled mid-step, her usually sharp gaze going wide as she took in the sight before her.
Sybill Trelawney, unrecognizable.
Snape made a barely audible noise behind the rim of his teacup, and Sybill had to fight the smirk threatening to curl at her lips. Oh, this was fun.
"Good morning, Minerva," Sybill said breezily, as though nothing were amiss. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
McGonagall recovered quickly, straightening and composing herself. Her lips pursed. "You—" she hesitated, then tried again, stepping closer. "You look… different."
Sybill tilted her head. "Do I?" She batted her lashes. "I hadn't noticed."
McGonagall's mouth thinned. Behind her teacup, Sybill could see the ghost of a smirk flicker across Snape's face.
McGonagall turned her attention to him, gaze flicking between them suspiciously. "I take it you had something to do with this, Severus?"
Snape raised a brow, as if offended. "I have better things to do than dictate Sybill's wardrobe."
McGonagall didn't look convinced. She pulled out a chair at the table, still eyeing Sybill as though she might sprout extra heads at any moment. The movement made her want to test things further.
Sybill took a sip of tea, waiting until the older woman had taken her first bite of breakfast before casually remarking, "You know, Minerva, I've been thinking about the Statute of Secrecy."
McGonagall barely looked up from her plate. "Have you."
"Mmm," Sybill hummed, twirling her spoon between her fingers. "It's an awful thing, isn't it? Keeping us separate from the Muggles. Making sure they never know about us."
McGonagall's brow furrowed. "It exists for a reason."
"Oh, I'm sure it does," Sybill agreed, waving a hand airily. "Still, imagine how different things might be if we weren't bound by it. Imagine—" she gave McGonagall an almost thoughtful look, "—how many lives it's kept apart, how many loves it's separated…"
Something flickered across McGonagall's face. A momentary crack in her otherwise unreadable expression. It was subtle—so subtle it might have gone unnoticed by anyone who hadn't seen her heartbreak laid bare in a dream.
Sybill smiled into her tea.
McGonagall's posture went rigid. "You're being ridiculous."
Sybill merely hummed, watching as McGonagall stabbed her fork into her eggs with a little more force than strictly necessary.
Beside her, Snape's shoulders twitched ever so slightly in what could almost be mistaken for laughter.
Yes. This was going to be fun.
McGonagall's fork clattered against her plate.
"Really, Minerva," Sybill said with an airy sigh, as though McGonagall were being entirely unreasonable. "What is so ridiculous about anything I just said? Heartbreak is rather universal, isn't it? Why, just think of all the poor souls torn apart by the absurdities of blood status. Muggle-borns and half-bloods caught between two worlds, unable to belong fully to either. Muggles and witches, bound to secrecy, to distance, no matter how much they care for one another."
She took a delicate sip of tea, then, as if just struck by another thought, added, "Not to mention those unfortunate enough to fall for someone of the same gender. The world is so very cruel, don't you think?"
McGonagall stiffened, her knuckles whitening around her utensils. Across from her, Snape's glower deepened, his grip tightening around his cup.
Ah. There it was.
They said nothing—could say nothing—without giving themselves away. McGonagall, ever the pragmatist, would not allow herself to react further. And Snape? He had buried his grief in rage and coldness long ago.
Sybill just smiled sweetly at them both.
McGonagall was the first to recover. She straightened, smoothing out the front of her robes. "And what, may I ask, even has you up and disturbing what has always been a peaceful breakfast tradition, at this ungodly hour?"
Sybill laughed, light and lilting, and waved a hand in the air. "Oh, Minerva, I haven't slept since I woke up last night!"
McGonagall actually bristled. "That is highly inadvisable, Sybill. You need rest—"
"Oh, I feel perfectly fine," Sybill interrupted breezily, delighting in the affronted look on McGonagall's face. "You won't mention it to Poppy, would you? She'd likely have my head if she knew… I did bugger off without her permission last night, anyway."
McGonagall opened her mouth, probably to scold her further, but Snape—still scowling, still brooding—cut in smoothly, "Frankly, I don't care if you collapse in this very hall, Trelawney."
Sybill flashed him a saccharine smile. "You do care, though, don't you?"
Snape's glare was positively murderous.
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, looking more unnerved than anything else, at the fact that one of her most ditzy professors had grown a pair. "Merlin help me," she muttered.
Sybill simply sipped her tea, watching with amusement as her two new favorite targets simmered in barely contained irritation.
An owl dropped a copy of the Daily prophet for Minerva, who began to leaf through it delicately. If she recalled correctly, that rag was full of propaganda as often as it was not.
The silence between the three of them was guarded, but not entirely uncomfortable. Snape and McGonagall seemed to be determining what to make of her, sitting stiffly on either side of her. She didn't begrudge them for their curiosity.
But after a few minutes, she realised that Severus Snape seemed to be staring past her, having an entire conversation with Minerva using only his eyes. Their friendship may be built on competition and argument, but it was clearly a friendship, nonetheless. She supposed that years trapped at a castle with immature students did that to all the professors here.
Still. She had better things to do than be ignored.
Sybill set down her teacup with a delicate clink, brushing nonexistent crumbs from her robes as she rose from her seat. "Well," she said lightly, "as delightful as this has been, I'll leave you two to gossip. I really must be going, anyhow. I've just realized how dreadfully behind I am on my lesson plans, and the start of term waits for no one."
McGonagall gave a pointed sniff. "You actually use lesson plans? That's a surprise."
Sybill merely laughed, the sound rich with amusement. "Oh, Minerva, you do wound me." She pressed a hand to her chest as if deeply affronted, then flicked her gaze between them both. "I have a feeling our esteemed headmaster's machinations will be dreadfully inconvenient this year. Do watch out for trolls, won't you?"
Snape frowned. "Trolls?"
McGonagall's expression just darkened further. "Pay it no mind. She's been on about them since last night."
Sybill just smiled, enjoying the joke that only she understood, and swept away, her steps light as air.