Although anyone with normal intelligence already knew that the impoverished woman mentioned by Professor White had to be Professor Trelawney's ancestor—there was simply no other possibility—the moment the name "Pythia Trelawney" came out of her mouth, everyone still drew in a sharp breath at the same time.
A wave of suppressed exclamations spread along the table.
Among everyone present, Rhys was the only one not paying attention to Professor White. The reason was simple: everything she was recounting was something he had personally experienced.
Hearing old memories brought up not only lacked novelty but also made him irritated whenever she inserted her own "creative adjustments."
He picked up some food, prepared to eat it while it was still hot—if he waited until Helga finished her story, the roast turkey would be as cold as stone.
"After the four of them brought the woman away from the ruins of the village, they escorted her all the way to the nearest town. Well, 'town'—it was actually a viscount's territory…..."
Helga continued her storytelling vividly, taking sips of her cocktail now and then.
...
[Ravenclaw prepared a new linen robe for her, Hufflepuff made her a warm, hearty meal, Slytherin fetched water, and Gryffindor built the fire—her bath was ready.
After washing up, Madam Pythia thanked the four kind wandering wizards. As a gesture of gratitude, she decided to perform a divination for them.
But before she could begin, Salazar suddenly stood up and interrupted her.
"Madam Pythia, please explain why the Normans spared you at first, only to later plan to throw you into a burning pyre?"
Salazar questioned her in a slow, deliberate tone. Ever suspicious, he doubted everything.
The moment he sensed something amiss, he would strike like a viper at the slightest flaw.]
...
Seeing Helga describe him this way made Rhys quite pleased. If not for his vigilance, they would have been wiped out several times over.
Whether figuratively or literally, Helga wasn't wrong at all.
...
[Pythia froze for a moment, then began stammering, her expression shifting—she actually didn't know why she had suddenly been tied to a pyre.
Slytherin grew increasingly suspicious. In his eyes, this so-called Seer was starting to seem truly questionable.
Without hesitation, he took matters into his own hands. Afterward, Salazar learned what had really happened and gradually understood everything.
Originally, the Normans had respected her. Seers were a revered profession among them.
Their chieftain had politely invited her over, hoping this foreign diviner could foretell whether he would successfully ascend to Valhalla and serve the king of the gods.
Pythia agreed.
After an elaborate ritual, she truly saw the future.
The sky stained red with blood. The ocean roiled and boiled. A grand city in the heavens crashed down into the mortal world. Once-glorious palaces crumbled into dust.
The gods either roared, wept, or screamed. Some wailed. Some knelt in despair. Some fled in terror. And some charged toward death without a single word.
Seers of the Trelawney line had a fatal flaw: once they entered a true divination state, they had no control over what they said. Otherwise, why would she ever utter such words right in front of the Normans? Did she have a death wish?
After watching the scene Salazar reconstructed through Pythia's memories, all five of them fell silent.
One could only say that Pythia's treatment—tragic as it was—was not entirely undeserved.
"I really couldn't control myself…" Pythia said, her voice trembling on the verge of tears.
"That's good news, isn't it?" Gryffindor burst into hearty laughter.
He had despised those Normans for a long time. All of Britain hated and feared them. Starting a hundred years earlier, they had rowed their dragon-headed ships to the coasts of the British Isles in large numbers. Wherever they went, villages turned to ashes, and even monasteries weren't spared.
Under the protection of their gods, the Normans acted without restraint.
And now a Seer had proclaimed that the gods would fall—what wonderful news! Though he did wonder who had done such a beautiful deed.
Gryffindor's words were met with unanimous agreement from his three friends.
After this brief interlude, Madam Pythia's divination continued. She took out several herbs, dropped them into a basin, and set them on fire.
As smoke billowed upward, Madam Pythia seemed to fall asleep. In that dreamlike haze, she murmured as though reciting ancient poetry:
"You four will eventually reach the end of your journey, and by then, the goal you set out with will have long been accomplished;
Yet like the mushrooms beneath the forest canopy after rain, you will have already found new goals;
A journey is like Sisyphus's stone—each time it seems you are approaching the end, you will find yourselves at a new beginning;
As you pursue your goals, you will slowly grow old, quarrel, and part ways.
Some of you will age, some will leave and never return, some will become weary and find a place to nap, and some will die.
Perhaps, on the paths of the future, you will meet again. As you pass by each other, you may exchange a smile, and then, just like in your youth, continue traveling together once more.
Everything is like the moon reflected in water, like flowers seen through mist—but one thing is certain: the traces you leave along your journey will stand there like the great stones on Salisbury Plain, for future generations to behold."]
...
Imitating Pythia's tone, half chanting and half reciting, Helga finished the prophecy, then closed her mouth, filled her empty cup with port wine, and drank it all in one go.
Everyone around the table fell into silence, carefully savoring the story Professor White had told.
"Professor White, what happened next?" Daphne took a big sip of her Tequila Sunrise and immediately pressed for the ending.
"Next? There is no next," Helga said with a cheerful smile, looking at the very-Gryffindor-like Slytherin girl.
"The four helped Madam Pythia bathe, left her some money, and the next morning, those young wizards continued their journey. Madam Pythia, meanwhile, stayed in that small town and continued working as a Seer—back then, the Statute of Secrecy didn't exist yet, so the boundary between wizards and Muggles wasn't very clear."
A thoughtful expression appeared on Dumbledore's face.
In the "story," Pythia had made two remarkable prophecies. One accurately foretold the fall of the Norse gods, and the other predicted the future awaiting the four founders.
"Traces like the great stones on Salisbury Plain" clearly referred to Hogwarts. As expected of a Seer—two terrifyingly accurate prophecies.... But the last one...
_____
12 Chaps ahead at Patreon.com/HornyFBI