Tried to put together a proper ritual, tell me how I did.
(Word Count: 2,875)
Together, they had made their way down to the infirmary. They entered, and found Hannah awake in bed, surrounded by Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Susan. Everyone had red eyes and damp cheeks from crying. Madam Pompfrey hustled past them carrying a tray with various potions on it.
"Give her space! There's no need to be crowding around her!" She said sternly.
She set the tray down on the bedside table, and began shooing them away. "Off you go! She needs rest! She'll be here in the morning!"
Dumbledore and Harry approached. "How are you feeling, Miss Abbot?" Dumbledore said kindly.
Hannah panicked, "Headmaster! I didn't mean to, I swear!" Now she looked like she was about to cry all over again. "I didn't know! It was Riddle, he made me do it, you have to believe me!"
Madam Pompfrey jumped in, "Albus, don't cause her any more stress, you hear me! She needs her rest right now. Surely these questions can wait for the morning?"
Dumbledore held up his hands placatingly, "It's alright, Miss Abbot. Harry here filled me in on everything. I know it wasn't your fault. On the contrary, it is I that should be apologizing to you. As the headmaster it is my job to keep my students safe, and I have failed in that regard. I am sorry. You should never have suffered as you did for these past few months."
Hannah squirmed. "N-no, it's not your fault."
"Hannah, I'd like to apologize as well. I knew the diary would be coming to Hogwarts, but I had no idea who had it. I was looking everywhere for it, and yet I couldn't see my own friend struggling. I am truly sorry." Harry bowed his head in shame.
Hannah squirmed even more. "N-no, p-please. I was the one who… I'm the one that should have…" She could no longer hold back the tears and began sobbing again. "I'm always so useless!" She wailed, clutching at her blankets in frustration. "I'm always getting in everyone's way!"
"Hannah, no! That's not true at all!" Susan cried, grabbing her hand.
"Hannah, you—" Neville started but was interrupted.
Madam Pompfrey had quickly poured a dose of calming draught and handed it to Hannah, "Here, drink this."
Hannah sobbed, but drank it down. Immediately, she stopped crying and relaxed, sinking down into her pillow. "I want to be left alone, please," she said without emotion.
"You heard the girl! Everyone out! Let her rest!" Madam Pompfrey firmly shooed everyone out of the infirmary, including the Headmaster.
"We'll come check on you in the morning! Okay, Hannah?" Susan called behind them as the doors closed.
As soon as the doors were closed she whirled on Harry, fury in her eyes. "Why didn't you bring me along! She's my best friend!"
"Susan, I didn't know it was Hannah. If I did, I would have brought you," Harry said calmly.
"She's my best friend and I… and I…" Susan's lips wobbled and she sank to the floor, sobbing. "And I should have helped her! I'm the worst friend ever!"
"Miss Bones," Dumbledore said gently, "The dark artifact was very powerful and very cunning. It is not impossible for it to have manipulated you as well to push you away. Do not blame yourself too harshly. Instead, use these feelings to support your friend. You will both need each other in the weeks to come."
Susan sniffled, fighting back more tears, and let out a strangled, "Okay."
"I think it would be best if we all went to bed. It has been an emotional night tonight, and some rest would do us good. Curfew is in a few minutes anyway, so you should be off to your dormitories." With that, Dumbledore returned to his office, leaving the kids alone.
Unfortunately for Harry, his night wasn't done yet. He had already arranged for a divination ritual with Professor Trelawney. So he said goodbye and made his way to the divination tower.
Climbing the stairs, Harry couldn't help but groan tiredly. A part of him wanted to just go back to his bed and sleep. But tonight was Samhain. It was one of the best nights for divination and other rituals. He couldn't miss it. He had the gift of foresight, so he needed to use it to its fullest.
He entered the class room and found Professor Trelawney clearing the main floor for room to give enough space for their ritual. Luckily most of the room's clutter was up in the stands with the chairs and round tables.
When Harry came in, the professor looked up. "Ah, Harry! You are just in time. I was just about to set up our ritual!" She spoke giddily.
Ever since their last Samhain divination, Trelawney had become far less theatrical, and far more confident in herself. Having finally seen a true vision, not just reading signs from cards, tea leaves, or candle flames, she had stopped feeling like she needed to prove herself as a seer through the over-the-top theatrics.
Not just that, but she had started taking care of her appearance. Her hair was no longer the wild frizzy mess, but now she kept it in a bun. She still had the gipsy vibes for clothes, but she was far more put together. She actually looked like a professor now.
Now, with Samhain once more upon them, she was ecstatic at the thought of experiencing another vision. As for why they were doing the ritual past curfew instead of as the sun went down like last time, this time they were trying out a different ritual. This one involved several black candles and a large white candle, more based off of the practices of lychnomancy instead of crystal gazing. This requires the timing to be the witching hour, at midnight.
They still had some time before then, but it was better to get everything prepped so they could start the ritual precisely on the hour.
"I'm just in time to help then," Harry said. "However, before we get to work, I have a gift for you. I really should have given it to you sooner, but I felt like giving it to you on Halloween would be somewhat appropriate."
Trelawney blinked in surprise and pointed to herself. "Me? You brought a gift for me?" She sounded genuinely touched. This was the first time any student had thought to give her anything.
"Of course. You've been a great teacher in helping me with my divination," Harry said. Of course, he did plenty of studying on his own for divination spells and rituals that were largely forgotten about Or unused, but that didn't take away her teachings for the more popularized methods. "Besides, she should really be with you, not me. Here, let me go fetch her."
Harry enlarged his trunk and climbed in. He could have summoned Cassandra's painting, but that would have been really rude considering she's sapient. Harry had hung her painting up in his study room, next to his desk.
"Hey, Cassandra, it's Halloween, so I'm going to finally give you back to your descendant as I promised," Harry said, lifting the portrait off the wall.
"Oh, dear!" Cassandra wobbled in the painting, bracing herself against the wall painted inside. She cleared her throat and smoothed her dress. "Thank you, Harry. I can't tell you how much this means to me."
He brought her painting out and presented it to Trelawney. She took the portrait, examining it curiously. "A portrait? And who might you be? You look familiar."
"I am your great-great-grandmother, Cassandra Trelawney," Cassandra introduced herself.
Yes, unfortunately this Cassandra wasn't the mythological Cassandra of Troy. That at around 1,200 BC, and wands weren't even invented yet, much less animated portraits of oneself. However, this Cassandra was still a renowned seer, said to have the same gift of perfect foresight as her namesake.
However, despite not having the curse that no one believes her, she faced an entirely different problem. Everyone in her hometown became dependent on her visions, and wouldn't do anything before they asked her about how it would turn out.
It didn't take long before the people started blaming her for their misfortune.
Because no matter what she saw, even the bad, she could do nothing to change the future.
She took on a nihilistic viewpoint that there was no true free will and nothing mattered. After facing constant threats and harassment, she moved away and stopped telling people about their futures. She viewed her gift of prophecy as a curse, knowing what bad things will happen, and being unable to do anything about it.
She was quite shocked to find out Harry could alter the outcome of his visions. While Fate didn't make it easy for him, he could still do it.
Talking with her about his own problems with managing his foreknowledge and friendships was pretty helpful. First, is to not be so forthcoming about what he did or didn't know to avoid them gaining a dependance on his visions, as well as to curb any potential fights and blame. He was trying to be better about that, but it was still a bit difficult to know what to say and what not to, or when to say it for that matter. One thing he got right was to not say anything about what he saw if it wasn't life threatening, such as love lives.
Professor Trelawney gaped at Cassandra. "Cassandra? You're my great great grandmother?"
"A portrait of her, yes. I've heard from Harry that you've inherited the curse of foresight?" Cassandra said, a hint of pity in her tone.
"W-well, I'm nowhere near as powerful a seer as you were, grandmother, or Harry here. I've only managed one proper vision, and that was with Harry's help," Trelawney said.
"That's not true though," Harry said. "You've given a true prophecy years ago."
"I did?" Trelawney blinked. "I don't remember it."
"Not many seers are able to recall giving any prophecy they make," Cassandra clarified. "Certain incense and other plants can help maintain some clarity, but even then it would be like recalling a dream that's slipping away. It stays in your subconscious, and doesn't like coming to your waking mind."
"I knew that, I just didn't think it would apply to me," Trelawney sighed, feeling a bit foolish. "All the stories I've heard and read about you, they said you could give a prophecy on demand, fully awake."
She had felt like it should have worked the same way for her.
"I'd wager that you had given many prophecies, you just wouldn't remember them. Not to mention, you're quite skilled at the subtler arts of divination you teach in class. They may not be full-on prophecies and visions, but they still give insights into the future," Harry comforted. "If you want to find out how many prophecies you've given, you should head down to the Hall of Prophecies in the Ministry. You have that right."
Trelawney smiled excitedly. "I shall head there this weekend!"
"One thing though. I wouldn't listen to the prophecy you made about me. It would put you in danger if anyone found out you know the contents," Harry warned.
"Eh? Why would I be in danger?" Trelawney asked, confused.
"Because it's the prophecy that concerns me defeating Voldemort, and it still hasn't been completed yet," Harry said.
Trelawney paled. "H-H-He-who-must-not-be-named? I prophesied his defeat?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, during your interview for this teaching position you gave the prophecy to Dumbledore. One of the students that followed Voldemort overheard the first bit of it and told him. This led to Voldemort targeting me, killing my parents, then the destruction of his physical body when he tried to kill me 11 years ago this same night," Harry said calmly.
Cassandra's painting slipped out of Trelawney's hands as she stumbled back. She clutched her stomach, suddenly sick. "Your parents died… because of me?"
Inside the painting, Cassandra picked herself off the ground. "Do not blame yourself, granddaughter! You had no control over yourself at that moment! That was the machinations of Fate. You are innocent in this!"
"Cassandra's right, Professor," Harry said gently. "It was Fate, not you."
The words didn't comfort her. She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and whispered out hoarsely, "How can you say that so easily?"
"Because I met with Fate personally. Fate isn't just some nebulous concept. She is a personified being. The Three Crones, if you will, in one. She has arranged this world centered around this prophecy, this conflict between me and Voldemort. Things needed to play out the way they did, so that her prophecy—given through you—could be fulfilled. You were merely the mouthpiece, not the cause. I do not blame you, Professor, so please do not blame yourself either," Harry said.
"This is something all seers must come to terms with, granddaughter," Cassandra said. "Simply because we see misfortune, does not mean we have caused it. As Harry has said, we seers are the mouthpiece of Fate, not its movers. That is our great burden."
Trelawney sniffed and wiped her tears away. "Okay," she said shakily, though Harry could tell she wasn't over it. "A mouthpiece… right. Um… Harry? You said the prophecy wasn't fulfilled yet. I thought he had died, but doesn't that mean You-Know-Who is still out there?"
Harry nodded. "That's right. That night, his body was destroyed, but he didn't die completely. He evaded death somehow and he will return eventually. That's why you mustn't view the contents of that prophecy. Voldemort wants to know its full content so he can learn more on how to defeat me."
"Oh dear," Trelawney whispered.
Harry coughed. Eager to change the topic, he said "Why don't we set up our ritual? We need to get it set up before we miss our window."
Trelawney picked up Cassandra's painting, and set it leaning against a nearby table so that she could still see them.
Together, they quickly set up the ritual, with seven black candles set around in a circle around them, with one large white candle in the center between them. Incense was now burning, the smoke slowly filling up the room. The rest of the lights were turned off, leaving the room in an ominous state, only lit up by the faint lights of the candles.
For any divination ritual, they needed a clear idea of what they wanted to see or it wouldn't work. If they tried thinking too broadly, they could see some random flashes of inconsequential events strung together at random to make it completely nonsensical. Make the question too narrow, and there was a good chance that Fate may just refuse to answer. It had to be just broad enough to give Fate room to work with, yet narrow enough that she couldn't just give them anything.
While this may be a working of Magic, Fate still held authority over what they saw.
"Considering everything I have just learned tonight, I think we should divine more information about this coming conflict," Trelawney said. "We should learn everything we can about You-Know-Who's return."
"Sure," he agreed. He could never have too much information.
When the hour struck midnight, they began.
Together they intoned:
"Nox sancta, limen aperi, velum remove,
hac nocte mundus mortuorum vivis propinquat.
Umbrae transire iubentur; fatum loquatur.
Nos hic stamus, in limine saeculi, vigiles."
Holy Night, open the threshold, draw back the veil. On this night, the world of the dead draws near to the living. The shades are called to cross over; let fate speak. We stand here, on the threshold of an age, keeping watch.
The shadows in the room deepened around them, the candle light seemed to glare more harshly.
"Parcae, vos precamur: Nona, Decima, Morta.
Vos quae stamina vitae nectitis et solvitis,
ostendite futura quae in tenebris latent,
quae vincula, quae pericula ventura sint.
Flamma surgit; fata nostra pendent."
Fates, we beseech you: Nona, Decima, Morta. You who weave and unravel the threads of life: show us the things to come that lie hidden in darkness, what chains, what dangers are on their way. The flame rises; our fates hang.
The flames of all of the candles began growing larger, flickering wildly. Together, Harry and Trelawney picked up the central white candle at its base and held it up so the flame was eye level. In the candle flame, faint aberrations could be seen moving about.
"Per hanc flammam ostende quod futurum est,
aperiat se lumen; umbrae, transite ad me.
Video. Sum vigil. Fatum, loquere!"
Through this flame, show what is to come, let the light open itself; shades, cross over to me. I see. I am awake. Fate, speak!
The candle flame grew in their vision, until it all went white.
Slowly, the white faded into a dark scenery. Harry found himself floating in the middle of a violent storm. The ocean raged beneath him, and a torrent of rain fell around him. Through the dark stormy night, a bright flash of light and a thunderous boom drew his attention. There, in the distance, Azkaban prison had just exploded and the cackle of a mad witch hung in the air.