Professor Trelawney began moving among the tables, pouring hot tea into everyone's cups with a dreamy little hum.
For the first time all class, Sean ignored the instructions. He sat perfectly still, turning her words over and over in his mind.
A real prophecy. One that spoke of a future already rushing toward them.
And fate, in this story, was the thread that ran through everything.
It had all started with that famous prophecy—the one spoken by the very woman standing in front of them.
So…
An unrecognized ending… a path that has strayed from its track…
Sean's hand tightened around his teacup. While the rest of the class gulped down their scalding tea, a preserved photograph slipped out of his black satchel and floated in front of him.
He stared at it.
The image began to fade.
Dumbledore's gray eyes stopped twinkling. Snape's cold face lost its sharpness. Lupin held a goblet, the red liquid stark against his pale cheek…
Could the ending really be rewritten?
Sean tucked the photo away.
The students' cups were full now. They hurried back to their tables, gulped the tea as fast as they could, swirled the dregs three times with their left hands, tipped the cups upside down on their saucers, and traded them with their partners.
"Concentrate, dears…" Trelawney murmured, drifting toward Ron's table.
"Right," Ron said quickly, flipping open Unfogging the Future to pages five and six. "What do you see in mine?"
"A load of wet brown stuff," Harry answered.
The heavy, sweet smoke in the room was making his head fuzzy, but with Trelawney hovering right above him, there was no chance of dozing off.
"Broaden your minds, my dears! Look beyond the mundane!" Trelawney's voice floated through the dim room.
Harry jumped. So did half the class.
Sean even heard another teacup shatter—Neville's third one of the hour.
Harry forced himself to focus. "Okay… there's a sort of crooked cross in yours. That means 'trials and suffering'—sorry—but there's also something that looks like the sun. Wait… that means 'great happiness'… So you're going to suffer, but you'll be very happy…"
"They're just making it up," Hermione muttered, clearly still rattled by Trelawney's dramatic faint-and-recover routine. "I've seen this exact scam outside my dad's dental office…"
"Maybe…" Sean said softly.
"Oh, Harry, how can I be miserable and happy at the same time?" Ron grinned. "You need to get your Inner Eye checked."
Trelawney's head snapped toward them. They clamped their mouths shut.
"My turn…" Ron studied Harry's cup, forehead wrinkled in concentration. "This bit looks like a top hat. Maybe you'll work at the Ministry…"
He turned the cup. "But now it looks more like an acorn… What's that? 'A windfall, unexpected gold.' Brilliant—you can lend me some. And there's something that looks like an animal. Yeah, if that's the head… kind of like a hippo… no, a sheep…"
"Of course they can't tell the difference…" Hermione slammed her book down, turning to Sean. "You don't actually believe any of this, do you?"
"Well…" Sean said, "Ron might be right."
Ron was right. Completely.
Harry would one day become head of the Auror Office at the Ministry. And the "unexpected gold"? Sirius was already planning that one—the Firebolt.
So maybe Ron actually had the gift?
"Sean… you're acting strange today," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes. "Don't tell me she's rubbed off on you…"
On the other side of the room, Harry gave a sarcastic snort at Ron's reading—right as Trelawney whirled around.
"Dear, let me see that," she said, snatching Harry's cup from Ron's hand.
The whole class went quiet. Trelawney stared into the cup, turning it slowly counterclockwise.
"An eagle… my dear, you have a deadly enemy."
"Everyone knows that," Hermione said loudly.
Trelawney glared at her.
"Yes," Hermione continued, "everyone knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."
Harry and Ron stared at her in open admiration. They had never heard Hermione speak to a teacher like that before.
Trelawney didn't reply. She kept turning the cup, her enormous eyes fixed on the leaves.
"A club… an attack. Oh dear, oh dear, this is not a pleasant cup…"
The Whomping Willow? Sean wondered if he was reading too much into it.
But the centaur teacher had once told him: in prophetic magic, there are no coincidences.
"I thought it was a top hat," Ron said uneasily.
"A skull… danger on your path, my dear…"
Everyone stared. Trelawney gave the cup one final twist, gasped, and screamed.
Another teacup shattered—Neville's fourth.
Trelawney collapsed into an empty armchair, one glittering hand pressed to her heart, eyes closed.
"My dear boy—my poor, dear boy—no—it is better not to say—do not ask me…"
"What is it, Professor?" Dean Thomas asked at once.
The class crowded around. Trelawney opened her huge eyes again.
"My dear… you have the Grim."
"What?" Harry asked.
He wasn't the only one who didn't understand. Dean shrugged. Lavender looked confused. But most of the others clapped hands over their mouths in horror.
"The Grim, my dear! The Grim!" Trelawney cried, shocked that Harry didn't know. "The spectral dog that haunts graveyards! It is an omen—the worst of omens—the omen of death!"
Harry's stomach twisted.
The dog on the cover of Death Omens at Flourish and Blotts. Lavender had her hand over her mouth again.
Everyone was staring at Harry—except Hermione, who had walked around behind Trelawney's chair.
"I don't think it looks like the Grim," she said coolly.
Trelawney gave her a withering look. "Forgive me, dear, but I see very little aura around you. You have almost no perception of the future."
Seamus Finnigan tilted his head behind them. "From this angle it does look like the Grim," he said, squinting. "But from here it looks more like a donkey."
"When are you lot going to decide whether I'm going to die or not?" Harry burst out—then looked startled at his own voice.
Now no one wanted to meet his eyes.
Sean's quiet voice came from the corner.
"Prophetic magic is an imprecise art…"
Hermione's head snapped toward him in relief.
"What?" Harry's voice cracked.
"Everyone dies, Harry," Sean said, a rare note of humor in his tone.
"Oh. Right." Harry suddenly felt his soul slide back into his body.
But the rest of the class didn't look comforted. Trelawney had just made at least one accurate prophecy, and the eerie atmosphere had infected everyone.
"Child, how did I not notice you before…" Trelawney suddenly turned to Sean. Her already enormous eyes looked even bigger behind the glasses. "You have studied some of this… oh no… your teacher… a wizard who is not a wizard…"
"What does 'a wizard who is not a wizard' mean?" Hermione demanded.
She had had enough of this nonsense.
"Hermione…" Sean gently tugged her back.
"Before I took your class, my Divination teacher told me something," he said quietly. "Nothing is ever completely certain. Even the grand movements of the stars show error when observed from the ground. That is why prophetic magic is never perfectly precise…"
Like the "Grim" just now.
Did Harry have the Grim?
In a way, yes. Harry would one day walk willingly to his own death. Strictly speaking, he had already died once.
But prophecies were always fuzzy. Just like the centaur teacher's earlier warning:
—Harry will die in the Forbidden Forest.
The centaur had thought it meant right then. He hadn't foreseen it would be five years later.
That was the imprecision of prophetic magic.
"You had another Divination teacher?" Hermione whispered, stunned.
She never would have guessed Sean had studied this ridiculous subject twice.
"A centaur teacher… He asked me not to say his name," Sean said softly.
"You had a centaur teacher?! How did Dumbledore even allow you in the Forest…"
Hermione knew exactly what that meant—Sean had definitely been up to something in the Forest.
Last time she'd seen him riding some magical creature through the air.
"Oh, Mr… Green, come closer…" Trelawney suddenly spoke again. Her round, shining eyes fixed on Sean in a way that made the whole class shiver.
"I did not notice you earlier—probably because I fainted—look!"
Trelawney's voice rose several octaves. She traced a line across Sean's forehead with one finger.
"Your Inner Eye is opening… a rare gift possessed by only a few…
I think that will be all for today," she said in an especially misty voice. "Yes… I have found him. Everyone else may pack up your things…"
Sean mulled over Trelawney's second sudden prophecy.
The rest of the class silently returned their teacups, gathered their books, and closed their bags.
"What's an 'Inner Eye'?" Ron whispered, leaning toward Sean.
But Hermione was between them, so it looked like he was asking her.
"I—don't—know—" Hermione stomped down the ladder.
"Before we meet again," Trelawney said, glancing at Hermione with faint disapproval, "I wish you all good luck.
Oh, dear—" she pointed at Neville, "you will be late to your next class, so you must work especially hard to catch up."
The students filed silently down the silver ladder and the spiral staircase, heading to McGonagall's Transfiguration class.
Sean lingered at the back, a few steps behind the still-fuming Hermione.
"Don't tell me you believe her…" Hermione bit her lip.
"Prophetic magic is imprecise," Sean said with a small smile.
Hermione gave an indignant huff and marched into McGonagall's classroom.
Sean chose a seat near the back. Two rows away, Harry was already tense—everyone kept sneaking glances at him like he might drop dead at any second.
McGonagall was explaining Animagi—wizards who could turn into animals. Sean listened intently. Harry barely heard a word.
When McGonagall transformed into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around its eyes, Sean watched with fascination. Harry couldn't even focus.
"I say, what is the matter with you all today?" McGonagall asked, changing back. "It's not every day my Transfiguration fails to earn applause."
The class glanced at Harry again… then at Sean. No one spoke.
Hermione's hand shot up.
"Professor, we just had our first Divination lesson. We read tea leaves, and Professor Trelawney said—"
"Ah, I see," McGonagall said, frowning. "No need to say more, Miss Granger. Tell me—who among you is going to die this year?"
Everyone stared.
Then their eyes slid back to Harry… and to Sean.
Harry was understandable. But Sean…
The younger students wondered if Mr. Green was about to grow a third eye in the middle of his forehead.
McGonagall gave Harry a look of faint pity. When the class turned their gazes to Sean instead, her expression went completely blank.