Perhaps now, unsettled by Aurora's vision, she sought reassurance in the one student whose predictions had aligned with her own theatrical taste for doom.
"My dear," She said, trying to sound composed, "What do you see in your teacup?"
It was a transparent attempt to change the subject. Trelawney was desperate to distract herself from the prophecy that had clearly struck a nerve.
"Ah?"
Ian blinked. He hadn't expected her to circle back so soon.
"I see… a nebula, glowing like starfire… a tower, vast, radiant, giants training atop it, endless rows of them. And something dark… something evil… a creature called Belial invading their realm," Ian murmured, adopting a tone of mystified awe. "Corpses litter the ground… chaos reigns… the giants turning to stone, tricking me, trying to steal my light…"
His mind was utterly blank. He had no idea what he was saying.
But years of mental discipline, especially from lessons he'd absorbed during his strange visits to the Twilight Realm, where long-departed wizards whispered strange truths, had taught him how to improvise when needed. He merely layered images upon images, following the pattern he'd learned to mimic during past classes.
"You can even see events beyond the Earth?" Professor Trelawney gasped, her eyes going wide. Without hesitation, she reached for Ian's teacup, only to discover that he'd covered it with his hand.
"Let me see," she insisted.
But when she finally pried the cup free and peered inside, she found it empty. Bone dry.
Raising her gaze in confusion, she noticed that Ian was still chewing on something.
"…"
Trelawney realised, with considerable displeasure, that Ian had eaten the tea leaves.
Her carefully cultivated pile of reused Divination supplies had just met a very inconvenient end.
She remained silent for a moment, struggling to formulate a response. Finally, she said in a hushed, ominous voice, "This… this is not a good omen. It signifies disappearance." Her face twisted into a serious expression, clearly attempting to spook him.
"Understood, Professor," Ian replied with a straight face. Of course, he didn't believe a word of it, he knew all too well that Trelawney had a habit of spouting exaggerated warnings when she was flustered or ignored.
His indifferent tone didn't go unnoticed. Trelawney frowned. Still unsettled by Aurora's earlier prediction, she tried once more to engage him.
"This is not something to take lightly," she said, this time with greater urgency. "What we're speaking of now… it's an omen, a herald of danger. You're approaching a moment in your life where real peril may strike."
Her high cheekbones drew attention to her narrow mouth, and her slightly clouded eyes bored into his.
"Oh no… something that bad? How dreadful," Ian said, putting on his best theatrical gasp.
His performance could have earned him a seat in the Wizarding Drama Society.
Finally satisfied with the appropriate response, Trelawney gave him a firm nod and began drifting between desks again, murmuring fortune-laced ramblings to other students as the class wound toward its end.
As they exited the tower after class, "She told me to beware men whose names contain the letter L. Said such a man would make me lose my one true love," said Cho Chang, known to some by her native name, Cho Chang, walking beside Ian with an uneasy expression. "It gave me chills, honestly."
"She's still using that one?" Ian replied, casually brushing lint from his robes. "That version of the prophecy's been around forever. She's just recycling old scripts."
Cho Chang gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean, 'version'? What scripts?"
"Ah, it's not important."
It was Aurora who interjected, her quiet voice drawing their attention.
Cho Chang turned toward her, curious. "Did you actually see anything? Honestly, I feel like I was just making things up."
Her frankness revealed what many of the other students felt but hadn't admitted.
Aurora offered a soft smile and said, "Sometimes, Divination is more about what you feel, and how you shape that into meaning. That's part of its mystery. One person's imagination might be another's revelation. And to be fair, our professor… she does have her moments."
It was a surprisingly kind statement about Professor Trelawney, especially after what had happened in class.
"I've just never taken to it," Cho Chang admitted with a sigh. "I prefer tangible spells, real wandwork. And besides, I'm hopeless at Divination."
Her sentiment struck a chord.
"Same here," Ian agreed without hesitation.
Cho Chang shot him a skeptical glance. "Right. And yet you were the one she called the most gifted Seer of the lot. Don't think you can stand in the Lost Causes queue with the rest of us."
Ian grinned sheepishly. "Honestly? I was making it all up too."
However, both Cho Chang and Aurora, who had long believed Ian possessed true prophetic gifts, stared at him in disbelief. Sometimes, speaking the truth does little to win someone's trust.
Seeing the doubtful looks from his friends, as though they'd caught him in a lie, "Alright, I won't pretend anymore," Ian sighed, smirking faintly. "No one understands prophecy and divination better than I do. I'm a genius."
It was said with the same tired sarcasm he often used to deflect. He thought it dull, but it worked.
Aurora and Cho Chang finally looked at ease.
To them, this was the Ian they knew. Of course he'd be brilliant at something most people found nonsense.
"…"
But Ian, fully aware of his own reality, could only sigh internally. Sometimes he wanted to be sincere, yet insincerity seemed to be what the world responded to best. Was this what it meant to feel powerless, even in a world full of magic?
With that quiet thought, Ian and the others made their way to the Great Hall for dinner.
Meanwhile, high above, in the now-empty Divination classroom, Professor Trelawney had slumped back in her chair, her shawls tangled, spectacles askew.
She was fast asleep.
Outside the tower, the clouds parted, allowing a lone beam of golden sunlight to pass through the stained glass window of the North Tower. The light struck the crystal ball on her desk, and within the interplay of light and shadow, a hazy figure began to take shape.
The threads of fate had begun to stir.
"Alright, professor."
"I can't believe I'm going to face such a thing!"
But what thing?
As the illusion shimmered and settled, it was as if some silent hand, the god of fate himself, was plucking at Ian's strings…
Dinner that evening was as whimsical as ever, courtesy of the house-elves.
Each bite of cake was charmed with a Memory Enchantment; as you ate, it gently summoned a pleasant memory linked to that flavour, like a birthday, or a day spent by the Black Lake.
Floating scoops of enchanted ice cream hovered just above the tables, bobbing like pastel-coloured balloons. They drifted lazily overhead, cool to the touch but never melting, waiting for a hand to reach up and catch them.
Despite the abundance, the flavours were delightfully refined.
"I just hope there's no more chili cake tonight," Ian mused as he nibbled his slice, still haunted by last week's fiery surprise.
But even as he enjoyed his meal, his mind was elsewhere, on potions, experiments, and an uneasy feeling in his gut.
(To Be Continued…)
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