Professor Sybill Trelawney was incredibly anxious throughout this class.
Someone had discovered her little trick with the joke-shop teacups—what if he exposed her?
What if Minerva McGonagall found out? Or worse, Dumbledore?
How would she explain it? Pretend she didn't know?
Yes, that was it—play dumb!
Trelawney's eyes flickered nervously, but she quickly found a solution: she would feign complete ignorance. They were just a few cups—who could really prove anything?
And besides, she was the professor. McGonagall and Dumbledore would obviously believe her over a student.
Yes, exactly!
…
While Trelawney was mentally preparing her defense, Harold on the other hand hadn't given the matter a second thought. He had no intention of exposing her little act.
Unlike the total fraud Gilderoy Lockhart, Sybill Trelawney did have real prophetic ability.
The most famous prophecy in the magical world—the one about "the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord" being born at the end of July—had come from her.
Voldemort had fallen, and Harry had survived the Killing Curse, becoming the Boy Who Lived.
That prophecy was also the reason Dumbledore had given Trelawney the position of Divination Professor at Hogwarts.
However, her Seer's gift only worked on major, life-altering events. In everyday life, she was just a melodramatic faker... as they'd just seen.
When Harold returned to the table with his cup, Harry was trying hard to finish his scalding hot tea. Then, as instructed, he swirled the tea leaves three times.
Harold glanced at his own cup.
The soggy, sawdust-like tea dregs didn't look remotely drinkable. And the smell—a potent, heady fragrance—was strong enough to fog the brain and lull one to sleep.
Was this even real tea?
Harold decided to quietly pour his tea into another empty cup on the shelf. Then, he drained the dregs and swapped cups with Harry.
"All right," said Harry, opening his book and clearing his throat with a deliberate voice. "Tell me what you see in my cup."
They had, of course, planned this ahead of time.
Harold would "predict" a surprise for Harry that very day—and sure enough, after class Harry would "happen" to find a silver sickle at the doorway.
Naturally, that sickle had already been planted as part of the show.
Once Harold noticed several students looking their way, he lifted the cup and prepared to recite their rehearsed lines.
But the moment he turned the cup, Harold frowned.
The pattern left by the tea leaves was... too distinct, almost like someone had drawn it for him.
Should he still follow the script?
He hesitated too long.
Trelawney, who had been keeping an eye on them the whole time, noticed this and instantly sensed a chance to restore her authority.
She quickly walked over.
"If you're having difficulty interpreting it, allow me," she said, reaching out to take Harry's cup.
Harold smoothly raised his hand and avoided her grasp.
"No need, Professor. No trouble at all," he said, turning the cup counterclockwise.
"A key—it represents truth," he said. "But it's skewed. That suggests the truth is distorted... or not the truth you think it is."
Wait... a key? A twisted truth?
Harry blinked. This wasn't what they'd planned at all.
Trelawney instinctively opened her mouth to object, but when she looked into the cup, she said nothing.
Harold rotated the cup again.
"An open book... Knowledge will reveal the future. This suggests you'll soon have your understanding overturned."
"With all due respect," Trelawney said tightly, "Are you sure you see an open book?"
"Absolutely." Harold flipped the cup toward the others. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Not really," Ron muttered nearby. "Just looks like a pile of soggy brown mush to me."
"I see a hippopotamus," Neville squinted.
"It's clearly a top hat," said Hermione flatly.
Trelawney was just about to retort again when Harold pulled out his wand and gave the cup a casual flick.
A thread of golden light shimmered along the edges of the tea leaves, and in a flash, a clear pattern emerged.
"A book! It's a book!" someone gasped.
Hermione and Ron stared wide-eyed... the golden outline unmistakably formed the shape of an open book.
"That's incredible. I didn't see it at all just now."
Trelawney fell silent again, eyes fixed in disbelief.
"You... saw that right away?"
"Wasn't it obvious?" Harold asked.
He truly didn't understand—how could no one else see it when it was so clear?
"Go on, what else?" Trelawney murmured.
Harold rotated the cup again.
"A lighthouse... Someone will guide you through your confusion and help you find the truth."
"Where's a lighthouse?" someone muttered.
Harold nonchalantly flicked his wand.
"Ah! There it is... it's so clear now, just like a photo silhouette!"
"How come I couldn't see anything earlier?" Harry took off his glasses and rubbed them vigorously.
Harold turned the cup once more.
Before he could even speak, Trelawney gasped and shrieked.
"Ah!"
She looked utterly horrified, collapsing into a nearby armchair and clutching her chest with one hand.
"My dear child... my poor, dear child... No, I mustn't say it—don't ask me..."
Naturally, the more she refused, the more curious everyone became.
"What is it, Professor?" Dean Thomas called out. Everyone stood, leaning closer.
"My dear," Trelawney opened her bulging eyes, "you—"
"Two-tailed salamander," Harold said before she could continue, casually tracing another golden outline in the cup. "The divided and reunited flame—it represents a long-lost familial bond returned."
"Congrats, Harry," he added with a grin. "You might not love the idea, but according to the symbols, it looks like you're about to gain a new family member... probably a father."
The room erupted in laughter.
Ron and Hermione frowned slightly. They thought Harold's joke had gone too far. Everyone knew Harry's parents had been killed by Voldemort—saying something like that was cruel.
But to their surprise, Harry laughed too.
He didn't think Harold was mocking him at all. After all, every symbol had been clearly traced, and when they checked them against the meanings in Unfogging the Future, they matched exactly.
So how could it be mockery?
In fact, deep down, Harry hoped it was true. He was beyond sick of the Dursleys. A new family member didn't sound so bad.
Well... maybe not a father, that was too much. But a long-lost uncle or aunt? That'd be fine.
Everyone was laughing now—everyone except Trelawney, who was staring thoughtfully at Harold, muttering to herself about "the inner eye" and "prophetic vision."
…
(End of Chapter)