"Fighting aliens?"
Luna's eyes lit up instantly. She leaned closer to Hermione, voice bright with excitement and anticipation. "Really? I want to go too!"
"What do aliens look like? Do they have a spinning horn on their head, like a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"
Hermione looked at Luna's wide, earnest expression and couldn't help but laugh.
She'd known it. No matter how outrageous the claim, Luna would always believe her — and this time, it happened to be true.
"If the need arises, I'll definitely take you."
Hermione ruffled Luna's soft silver hair.
Luna happily narrowed her eyes, like a kitten being petted.
They chatted a while longer before Luna reluctantly said her goodbyes and went skipping off into the distance.
...
The next day. Third floor of Hogwarts Castle.
Divination classroom.
The air was thick with heavy incense. The lighting was dim, the whole room wrapped in an atmosphere that was equal parts mysterious and suffocating.
Professor Sybill Trelawney stood at the front of the class. Her enormous, slightly bulging eyes glittered behind thick lenses, and her voice drifted in and out like someone talking in their sleep.
Mystical. Vague. Utterly unhinged.
It shattered every fantasy Hermione had ever entertained about girls who wore glasses.
"Children, today we will be learning tea leaf reading — an ancient and sacred method of predicting the future."
"By observing the patterns left by the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup, we can glimpse the mysteries of fate..."
Trelawney's voice floated through the classroom. Half the students were already nodding off.
This class had one defining quality: pure, unadulterated nonsense.
"Now, please drink all the tea in your cups, then invert the cup onto the saucer and gently rotate it three times..."
The students mechanically complied.
Hermione picked up her teacup and drained it in one go.
She had absolutely zero interest in Divination.
Mostly because it wasn't in the magic book.
Her verdict: inferior to the Eye of Agamotto.
Why bother divining when you could just look?
"Ah, I really want it... Ancient One, when are you going to die already..." Hermione propped her chin on her hand, legs swinging idly back and forth under the table.
"Who's dying?" Ron leaned over and whispered. "Who did you kill this time?"
"Your rat." Hermione didn't even turn her head.
Ron startled and immediately checked his pocket. Scabbers was right there, perfectly fine. He let out a breath. "Hermione, stop scaring me."
He genuinely couldn't figure out why she disliked Scabbers so much.
And you're quite proud of sleeping with an old man for over a decade... Hermione glanced at the rat and kept the thought to herself.
What kind of normal person likes a big black rat?
After the flying car crash at the start of last year, Ron had gotten a letter from home. A Howler from Molly, naturally. The contents were mostly Molly screaming at Ron , but tucked in between the scolding was the news that Scabbers had found his own way back to the Burrow.
Ron had been delighted. Hermione wasn't surprised at all. She hadn't expected a fall like that to kill it. It wasn't a real rat, after all.
Scabbers seemed to have caught some of their conversation. His little black-bead eyes slid sideways toward Hermione, as if he were thinking something over.
Hermione's gaze went sharp. Cold.
What are you looking at? Keep it up and I'll hit you with a Goose warning.
Scabbers flinched, let out a tiny squeak, and dove back into Ron's pocket.
It wasn't that she disliked him because he was particularly evil.
How much worse could he be than her and Tom?
Mostly it was a matter of aesthetics. His true form was just genuinely ugly.
But she had to give him this: the creature would stop at absolutely nothing to survive. Cutting off his own finger. Spending twelve years as a rat without once shifting back. Sheer, grinding endurance.
Hermione had never met anyone so terrified of dying , and yet so utterly committed to not doing it. Clinging to existence by his fingernails. Honestly, that took a kind of iron will.
On the track of pure survival, his willpower crushed the vast majority of wizards.
"Alright, children, now please carefully observe the tea leaf residue at the bottom of your cups and see what patterns they form."
Trelawney's voice drifted through the room again.
"Then consult your textbooks for the interpretation, and read your fate..."
The students picked up their books, frowning as they compared.
"I see a... pattern that looks like a rat!" Ron announced excitedly.
"Oh, Ron." Trelawney's voice dropped into a dramatic hush. "That represents misfortune. You may encounter some trouble..."
Ron's face fell immediately.
Trelawney drifted over to Harry and peered down into his cup.
Her bulging eyes snapped shut.
"Ah!"
She let out a shriek. Her body shuddered violently, as if seized by a sudden fit, and the whole class jolted in alarm. Teacups rattled. Several students nearly dropped theirs entirely.
Harry practically levitated out of his chair.
He stared at Trelawney with complete bewilderment, wondering if the woman was having some kind of medical emergency.
Trelawney's gaze was locked on him. Her face had gone bone-white, like she was staring at something that shouldn't exist.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Something seemed to be strangling the words in her throat.
"You... you..."
She pointed at Harry. Her hand was shaking.
"You have... an omen of doom!"
She dragged in a sharp breath, like she'd finally forced the words past whatever was blocking them.
"I saw a Grim!"
Her voice cut through the classroom, high and piercing.
"It foretells... death!"
Harry went still.
A Grim.
Death.
Was this... something to do with Voldemort again?
Unease coiled in his chest.
He kept his voice steady. "Professor, could you... be more specific?"
Trelawney shook her head slowly, her eyes going glassy and distant.
"Prophecy... cannot be forced..."
Her voice floated, dreamlike.
"It comes as it will..."
"The future... cannot be precisely foretold..."
Harry stared at her.
So after all that , besides scaring me half to death , you've said absolutely nothing?
He looked at her with barely concealed disbelief.
This Divination class was exactly as useless as advertised.
After a moment, Trelawney seemed to come back to herself. She blinked, took in the ring of students staring at her, and appeared to register what had just happened.
Hermione let out a small laugh, cutting through the strange silence. "Actually, precise prophecy isn't impossible."
Trelawney stiffened. Her professional dignity, apparently, had limits. "No, no — impossible. Prophecy is not that simple..."
That's because you've never seen the movies. Hermione walked up to her, tone easy, faintly amused. "Professor, do you mind if I borrow your crystal ball?"
Trelawney was still mid-correction, still flustered. She nodded without quite registering what she'd agreed to.
Hermione drew her wand with calm, unhurried ease and pressed the tip gently to her own temple.
Thin strands of silver light slipped free, flowing like liquid moonlight, and drifted slowly toward the crystal ball.
➤ Next: Terrifying Prophecy
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