The next morning, when Fanny and Anne entered the Great Hall for breakfast, Malfoy was still reenacting yesterday’s Dementor scene. A crowd of Slytherins had gathered around him, ughing loudly.

  Fanny rolled her eyes and ignored him, heading straight to her seat. Anne picked up a jar of jam and returned to her spot to spread it on her bread. A moment ter, the Golden Trio entered the Hall. Malfoy called out mockingly, “Hey, Potter! Potter! The Dementor's coming for you!”

  But the trio paid him no mind and went straight to the Gryffindor table.

  Anne didn’t even notice their entrance, she was staring intently at her css schedule.

  A moment ter, she groaned. “I have csses every morning and afternoon?! That’s awful!”

  Fanny gnced at Anne’s jam-packed schedule and pulled out her own. “Looks about the same. It’s normal in third year.”

  “Oh, right, we only skipped one elective each. I didn’t take Muggle Studies, and you didn’t take Arithmancy,” Anne muttered. Still, she looked miserable. “That just means we have four more subjects to write homework for every week.”

  “Three,” Fanny corrected her. “I doubt Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures css will have any homework. But that book is terrifying, I bought it over the summer and haven’t dared open it. Look, we’ve got that css this afternoon.”

  “Hopefully it’ll be interesting…” Anne said.

  They climbed to the top of the North Tower and reached a nding, where most of the css was already gathered. But there was no door.

  “There’s no cssroom here,” Fanny said, gncing around.

  Anne pointed up at the circur trapdoor in the ceiling and read the words engraved on it aloud: “Sybill Trewney, Divination Instructor.” Then she added, “Maybe we need a dder.”

  As if responding to her voice, the trapdoor suddenly creaked open, and a dder slid down until it touched the floor in front of Anne.

  Everyone fell silent.

  “I’ll go up first,” Anne volunteered and climbed the dder into one of the strangest rooms she had ever seen. It didn’t feel like a cssroom at all, more like a cross between an attic and a Victorian tearoom.

  At least twenty small round tables were squeezed into the space. Each table was surrounded by squashy armchairs covered in Indian-print fabric and plump cushions. The whole room was bathed in a dim reddish glow; the curtains were drawn, and deep red mpshades muffled the light. The air was stiflingly warm. A fire crackled in the hearth, with a copper kettle bubbling above it, releasing a heavy, sweet-smelling scent. The curved walls were lined with shelves cluttered with dusty feathers, stubby candle ends, battered tarot cards, dozens of crystal balls, and heaps of teacups.

  Students continued to climb up after Anne. The st to arrive were the Golden Trio, which made Fanny squeal in delight. She grabbed Anne and led her to a table next to theirs.

  Anne had wanted to sit farther away, but now they were right in front of Professor Trewney. She shot Fanny a helpless look; Fanny pretended not to notice.

  “Welcome to Divination,” said a soft, misty voice.

  Professor Trewney stepped into the firelight. She was exceptionally thin, with enormous gsses that magnified her eyes to the size of saucers. She wore a gauzy, shimmering shawl over her shoulders and was adorned with neckces, bangles, and rings on every finger.

  “Sit, my dears, sit,” she said, and everyone clumsily settled into the chairs or cushions. Harry, Ron, and Hermione took one table; Fanny and Anne sat at the next.

  “I am Professor Trewney,” she continued, sitting herself in a winged armchair by the fire. “You likely haven’t seen me before. The hustle and bustle of school life clouds my Inner Eye.”

  No one responded to that odd opening.

  “You have chosen to study Divination,” she said as she adjusted her shawl. “It is the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you now, if you do not possess the Sight, there is little I can teach you. Books can only take you so far…”

  At this, Harry, Ron, and Fanny all gnced at Hermione. Anne’s attention, meanwhile, wandered to the room’s cluttered decor. Hermione looked genuinely affronted that a css would be so dismissive of books.

  “Many witches and wizards, though gifted in jinxes, potions, and sudden vanishing, are quite hopeless when it comes to seeing the future,” Professor Trewney went on. “The Gift is rare. You, boy, ” she suddenly pointed to Neville, who jumped, “, how is your grandmother?”

  “I, I think she’s fine,” Neville stammered.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so sure, dear,” Trewney replied, her emerald earrings glinting in the firelight. Neville looked like he might faint.

  “This term, we will begin with tea leaf reading,” she announced. “Next term, palmistry. And come summer, we will study crystal gazing, provided we complete omens in fire. I must also warn you: in February, a nasty bout of flu will cancel csses. I will lose my voice. And before Easter… one among us will leave forever.”

  A nervous silence filled the room.

  Professor Trewney, unfazed, turned to Lavender Brown and asked, “Would you kindly fetch the rgest teapot, dear?”

  Lavender leapt up, relieved to have a task, and retrieved a massive teapot from the shelf, pcing it before the professor.

  “Thank you, dear. By the way, what you fear most will happen on Friday, October sixteenth.”

  Lavender trembled.

  “Now, divide into pairs,” Trewney instructed. “Take a teacup from the shelf and bring it to me. I will fill it with tea. Drink it down until only the leaves remain. Swirl the dregs three times with your left hand, then turn the cup upside-down on the saucer. When the st drop has drained away, pass the cup to your partner for interpretation. You may consult Unfogging the Future, pages five and six. I will walk among you to assist.”

  “Oh, and dear,” she added to Neville, pulling him up by the arm, “after you break your first cup, please use one of the blue-patterned ones, I’m rather fond of the pink ones.”

  Sure enough, as Neville approached the shelves, the sound of breaking china rang out. Trewney hurried over with a dustpan and broom.

  “Blue ones, dear, thank you…”

  Once Anne and Fanny had their cups filled, they returned to their table. Anne didn’t touch her scalding tea right away; instead, she flipped through the book.

  Divination in the magical world is just as unreliable as astrology back home, she thought.

  When her tea cooled, Anne followed the instructions, swirled the leaves, and flipped the cup. Fanny, who had already finished her tea, handed over her cup. Anne idly turned it in her hands, skimming the book, while Fanny earnestly studied the patterns.

  “Hm… I see a circle? An oval? Is that a moon or a sun…?” Fanny rotated the cup. “Probably the sun. The sun means great happiness. Wait, no, it could be the moon. The moon means constant change…”

  Anne couldn’t help but ugh.

  “What are you ughing at?” Fanny asked, puzzled.

  “Have you heard the saying, ‘The only constant in life is change’?”

  Hermione, nearby, let out a ugh too, clearly having overheard and agreed.

  “I think I’ve heard that. A philosopher said it, right?” Fanny asked. At that, Harry burst into ughter, and Ron started making vague jokes that had Harry cracking up.

  Trewney, hearing the ughter, seemed to take offense. She spun around and snatched Ron’s cup. Peering into it, she began turning it slowly.

  “A falcon… dear boy, you have an enemy.”

  “Well, everyone knows that,” Hermione muttered loudly.

  Trewney gred at her.

  “I mean,” Hermione added, “everyone knows Harry and You-Know-Who, ”

  The others stared at her, shocked and slightly impressed, Hermione had never spoken to a teacher that way before.

  Trewney ignored her. She continued to rotate the cup.

  “A club… danger is approaching… a skull… a threat to your life, dear boy…”

  Then she gasped dramatically and colpsed into an armchair, clutching her chest. “Oh, my poor, dear child, no, it’s better not to say, it’s too dreadful, don’t ask me…”

  “What is it, Professor?” Dean Thomas asked.

  Everyone had gathered around Harry and Ron’s table, leaning in to see.

  “You are in grave danger,” she whispered. “A grim omen. The Grim, a rge, spectral dog that haunts graveyards. The worst omen of death!”

  Everyone stared at Harry.

  Except for Hermione and Anne, Anne was still flipping through the book.

  Hermione, however, marched behind Trewney’s chair. “That doesn’t look like a Grim to me,” she said ftly.

  Trewney looked at her coldly. “I’m sorry, dear, but your aura is very faint. You ck the sensitivity to resonate with the future.”

  “I believe that concludes our lesson,” Trewney said dreamily. “Please tidy up…”

  Everyone silently returned their cups, closed their books, and packed their bags.

  As they descended the dder, people quickened their pace when passing Harry, not saying a word.

  “I don’t think she’s right,” Hermione said, breaking the silence.

  “But the Grim is real!” Ron argued. “My Uncle Bilius saw one, and died twenty-four hours ter!”

  Behind them, Anne and Fanny walked quietly. Fanny tugged on Anne’s sleeve and whispered, “Anne, do you think Harry saw the Grim?”

  The trio all turned to Anne, clearly pcing weight on her answer.

  “Hm… Don’t worry, Harry. I’m sure you’ll live through the next twenty-four hours, probably for a long time after that.”

  Harry let out a sigh of relief. Hermione looked vindicated. Ron, however, grumbled, “But Grim omens do exist in our world!”

  “I never said they didn’t,” Anne replied. “I just said Harry probably wasn’t one. And honestly, real seers are extremely rare. Divination is mostly guesswork.”

  Ron still looked unconvinced.

  Anne suddenly remembered a fun story about a fake prophecy from her past life. She grinned. “Speaking of predictions, let’s py a game.”

  “What game?” the three asked in unison, except Hermione, who frowned.

  “We’ve got Transfiguration in ten minutes,” she reminded them.

  “This won’t make you te,” Anne promised, pulling a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag.

  “Turn around, no peeking.”

  When they did, she quickly scribbled something on the parchment and cast an invisibility charm. Then she tore it into four equal pieces.

  “Okay, you can turn back around.” She handed each of them a folded scrap.

  “I’ve written a prophecy on these. Don’t open it yet. You must wait until a rainy day. If you peek early or cheat, the magic will fail.”

  They nodded, taking the parchment.

  “This is the game?” Fanny asked, puzzled. “Doesn’t seem like much.”

  “It’s a prophecy game! You’ll see. Just follow the rules, okay?” Anne said seriously, though she was suppressing a ugh.

  Harry and Ron tucked theirs into their books solemnly. Hermione hesitated but eventually accepted hers.

  “Now hurry to Transfiguration. You don’t want Professor McGonagall mad.”

  The three of them ran off.

  Once they were gone, Anne finally burst out ughing. Fanny eyed her suspiciously, pulling out her wand. “What did you write on these?”

  Anne blocked her with a grin. “Come on, Fanny. You agreed to the rules. September’s weather is unpredictable, just wait. You’ll see.”

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  A/N: I actually quite like Professor Sybill Trewney, haha. Even though the plot didn’t require it, I just had to give her more scenes…

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