Chapter 64: Another Interpretation
Just to be safe, Ryan decided to pay a visit to Sybill Trelawney. As the descendant of a true Seer, perhaps she could offer some insight. He first made a quick stop at the Room of Requirement and retrieved a few bottles of high-end sherry. If Professor Trelawney hadn't foreseen his visit and was not, in fact, actively hiding from him, the sherry would make a nice peace offering.
As he was heading to the Divination classroom in the North Tower, an owl swooped down and unceremoniously dropped a letter on his head. It shot past him like an arrow. He dodged it just in time, and could have sworn he saw a look of pure, unadulterated resentment in the owl's eyes. What a pain, the owl seemed to be thinking. Why me? Doesn't this whole owlery know he's the hardest person to find in the entire castle? The life of a working owl is a hard one! I've been flying for hours!
Ah, Ryan thought, a disgruntled delivery person. "Don't worry," he said to the owl with sincere empathy. "Your long watch is almost over. Soon, you won't have to deliver letters at all." The owl, utterly bewildered, hooted in confusion and flew away, completely unaware that it was on the verge of being made redundant, a pampered pet with no purpose in life, a true "useless member of society."
This, Ryan decided, was a fitting punishment for its earlier impertinence. His internal dark lord monologue, however, failed to make him smile.
Outside the Divination classroom, the air was thick with the smell of sherry. I suppose, Ryan thought, her greatest talents are alcoholism and melodrama. But I'm already here. He knocked. "Professor Trelawney? It's Ryan Welles. I've come to ask for your assistance."
Silence.
Did she actually foresee my visit? Ryan didn't believe it. According to Dumbledore, Sybill had made very few true prophecies in her life, and she never remembered them afterwards. He knocked again, more forcefully this time.
Finally, he heard a loud thud from inside, followed by the sound of breaking glass and a low groan. It sounded as if she had just woken up from a long night of drinking, and had promptly fallen out of bed. "Professor?" he called out. "Are you alright? Do you need help?"
"Ryan Welles," a misty, ethereal voice drifted through the door, "the most… gifted… Seer… of our time." The voice was dripping with a sour, envious tone. "What… do you… want?"
"I have encountered a small problem," Ryan said, his voice now full of a practiced deference. "And I was hoping that you, as the esteemed Professor of Divination at Hogwarts, would be able to assist me."
"How can I help you?"
"It is a matter concerning a prophecy. I was at a complete loss, and I immediately thought of you. After all," he continued, his voice now a perfect blend of sincerity and flattery, "in my mind, Professor Trelawney has always been the most capable Seer."
"Really?!" The misty voice was suddenly sharp and eager.
"Of course! It is the absolute truth! If I am lying, may I be sent to Azkaban!"
The door flew open. Sybill Trelawney stood there, a tall, thin woman with enormous spectacles, draped in countless shawls and strings of beads. Her various accessories were in a state of disarray. She was clearly still drunk, but her eyes were bright. She, the most insecure of Seers, had just received the highest praise from the one person she both admired and envied.
"Please, come in," she said, her voice now much more normal. "I will do everything in my power to help you."
As he followed her into the cluttered, stuffy room, Ryan saw her surreptitiously kicking bottles and clothes under her bed and desk. Now is my chance to win her over, he thought, and with a silent, wandless wave of his hand, he cast a Scouring Charm. The room instantly neatened itself, and the smell of stale sherry vanished.
Professor Trelawney spun around, her eyes wide. Ryan just smiled, as if nothing had happened.
"Now then," she said, slowly sitting down at her now-immaculate desk, a new air of professorial dignity about her. "What is this problem you need help with?"
"This morning, Professor," Ryan began, "I received a prophecy, but I am unable to interpret it. I was hoping you could lend me your insight." He then recounted his vision, and the cryptic message. "I simply cannot make sense of it. I had no other choice but to come and trouble you." It was the truth, in a way. He had come to her as a last resort, to see if the charlatan could, by some miracle, be of use.
If it had been any other professor, they might have seen through his flattery. But Sybill was different. She knew she was not as gifted as her colleagues. Most of the time, she was alone in her stuffy, overheated office, her only companions her sherry bottles. This was the first time since Dumbledore had hired her that she had received such validation. Her eyes welled up with tears. "Of course, of course," she said, her misty voice completely gone. "I will help you. Anything you need, you can always come to me."
She began to arrange a variety of strange and arcane-looking objects on her desk, chanting under her breath and making strange gestures. Ryan watched, a polite, noncommittal smile on his face, wondering if this was all just part of her act.
And then, his own smile froze.
Sybill Trelawney suddenly collapsed onto her desk, her divinatory tools clattering to the floor. She began to speak, but her voice was different now, a deep, raspy, guttural sound, a voice he had heard before. In Dumbledore's memory. On the night the prophecy about Voldemort and Harry had been made.
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