Chapter 330: Ominous Signs
Wade glanced around the room, then spotted the name Sybill Trelawney in the register by the Horn. The professor stood in a shadowed corner where the light from the lamp barely reached, draped in an elaborate tangle of ancient, ornate jewelry that made her seem almost invisible amid the cluttered chaos of the classroom. She wore thick glasses, her eyes bulging unnaturally, and radiated an aura of eerie mysticism that was impossible to ignore.
Wade suddenly thought she reminded him of Luna—not in appearance, but in that same sense of existing in another world entirely.
The students, unsure what to do, didn’t sit down. Instead, they stared in strange silence. Ron finally asked, “Where is she?”
“Welcome,” came a distant, ethereal voice. “It’s truly wonderful to see you all again in the physical world.”
Sybill Trelawney drifted forward like a ghost, her translucent shawl shimmering faintly in the dim light, bracelets clinking softly with each movement. Wade’s expression said it all—something between disbelief and reluctant amusement.
Trelawney clearly wanted to project an air of grand mystique, a figure capable of communing with the divine, meant to intimidate the first-time Divination students. But the truth was, her original pose—standing motionless in the dark, observing them like a prophetess—was already far more authentic than this performative act. The moment she started acting, she only came across as shallow and absurd.
She gestured for everyone to sit. After adjusting her shawl with theatrical precision, she settled into her armchair and resumed her lecture:
“…The relentless pace of school life has clouded my inner sight…”
“This is the most difficult of all magical disciplines…”
“Without true vision, there is little I can teach you…”
“…To pierce the veil and glimpse the future—this gift is rare. Only a few are born with it…”
She lifted her chin slightly, as if confirming her own exceptional status. But her eyes remained fixed on a point in midair, never meeting a single student’s gaze.
It had to be said—most of the first-years were utterly convinced. Wade watched Padma, who had initially regarded the professor with a skeptical eye, slowly begin to soften. Her expression grew more and more impressed with each passing moment.
Wade leafed through his Divination textbook out of boredom. The cover showed the sun, a giant’s eye, and the silhouette of a woman’s back. The author: Cassandra Vabraski.
The introduction was brief but dramatic: a famous seer in magical history, once a beautiful princess who had been granted the “Sight of Apollo”—the ability to see into the future. But she had angered the god, who cursed her. The curse ensured that no one would believe her words, even when she spoke truth.
Cassandra foresaw the fall of her kingdom, the deaths of her family, and her own fate—yet no one listened. While she lived, she was called mad. Only after her death did her prophecies come true. She was then hailed as history’s greatest seer.
Trelawney was her descendant. And yet, in class, she never mentioned her legendary bloodline. She played the role of a dramatic fraud—though Wade knew the truth.
Sybill Trelawney was a genuine prophet.
Her predictions had once driven Voldemort to hunt Harry himself, altering the course of history—though she had no idea she had done so.
As she had said: prophecy was an innate gift, a force flowing through her veins. It emerged without warning, tearing away the veil of peace to reveal the cruel, monstrous face of fate.
Those without the gift could only stare at their textbooks, making up nonsense about tea leaves.
Trelawney now announced, with a solemn tone: “During the days surrounding the Resurrection Festival, one among you will depart us forever.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, she calmly reached for the teapot and began pouring tea.
Wade found the whole thing pointless—but still, he got up, took a cup from the shelf, and approached her for a hot drink.
Sitting beside him was Neville, who accidentally knocked over his cup. Flustered, he retrieved a second one, cradling it like a live grenade as he returned to his seat.
The tea was scalding. Students blew on it, sipped carefully, and after finally finishing, gave it three gentle shakes, flipped it upside down, and placed it on the saucer.
As they waited for the liquid to drain, Neville nervously opened his textbook. The yellowed pages featured simple sketches of various tea leaf patterns, each labeled with interpretations.
Wade treated it like a dream interpretation—not because it was meaningful, but because it was oddly entertaining.
Soon, the tea had drained.
Wade lifted the cup, glanced inside, and froze.
The residue formed a shape unmistakably resembling a bat with wings fully spread.
In the textbook, bats were symbols of death—just like black dogs. They were also linked to evil, to vampires.
Neville hadn’t noticed. The broken cup had shaken him badly. He stared at his own cup, then asked, “Wade, why did you open it already? Uh… is my tea finished? Is it time?”
He looked up, uncertain, wanting to see how others were doing.
At that moment, Wade lifted his cup and gently tapped the rim against the saucer.
“Finished students, pass your cup to your partner for interpretation,” said Professor Trelawney. “I’ll guide you. I’ll help. Of course, those without talent may leave early. I’ve said it before—gift is everything.”
Wade handed his cup to Neville.
“Um… well…” Neville flipped through the book, trying hard. “Your leaves look like an umbrella… maybe it means it’ll rain tomorrow. You should take an umbrella out… but I know you don’t need one—your wand’s enough…”
He turned the cup.
“From this angle, it’s more like boats. Maybe you’ll go rowing on the Black Lake, Wade… or perhaps you’re about to travel far… um… with an umbrella…”
Wade gently shook Neville’s cup.
“Hmm… looks like a furious rabbit… good news, maybe? Or… a big cabbage…”
As he spoke, he suddenly felt a brief daze.
Neville waited a few seconds. “You hungry, Wade?”
“No,” Wade said, regaining focus. “Cabbage… symbolizes harvest… plenty of good things ahead…”
He muttered the textbook’s phrases, but a thought kept clawing at the back of his mind.
In that instant, he had seen it—the tea leaves looked unmistakably like a goat’s head.
And the more he looked, the more certain he became. It wasn’t just a coincidence. It was real.
A goat’s head—like a bat—was never a good omen.
But… really? A few leftover tea leaves, and this was supposed to foretell fate?
Wade dismissed the thought with a shrug, choosing to say something positive just to make Neville happy.
On the other side of the classroom, Professor Trelawney was staring intently at Harry, her voice rising in anguish:
“Portent… the worst possible portent… a death omen!”
(End of Chapter)
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