Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Let's Try That Again, Shall We?
Seventh-Year Divination
7 reviewsTrelawney in the classroom. You didn't think I had forgotten about her, did you? 'R' for the chapter because I'm not sure what warnings to use for 'distressing Divination lessons'.
4Original
The Harry Potter universe is the creation of J.K. Rowling. This is fanfiction. The standard disclaimers apply.
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Chapter 15: Seventh-Year Divination
Tuesday, September 25, 1990
It was a nice day out, probably one of the last before the Scottish autumn would force her to use warming charms if she wanted the windows open. Sybill Trelawney watched her silk curtains billow and flap in the breeze, and the smoke from her censers swirl and disperse. Her seventh year class was coming in by ones and twos.
She liked this group of students, mostly. There were twenty-nine of them, which was a few more than usually went for a N.E.W.T. in her subject. A few of them had real gifts, a few others believed themselves to, and the rest just wanted an easy class. Fortunately the examiners weren't particularly gifted, either, so they would all probably muddle through. The topic she planned to cover over the next few weeks might show up in one or two short questions on the test; what she was about to do wasn't justifiable as exam prep.
She had been making a show of staring into space; normally this was not much of an act, but today she was trying not to look nervous. The potions she had drunk earlier were helping with that. So was the sherry, which she had taken up drinking as a necessary affectation. She tried not to take that past the point required for her image, but she knew that sometimes she was overdoing it, which depressed her.
She turned around on her stool to face the class, absentmindedly looking them over.
"It looks like you are all here. Good. Over the next four or five classes we will be doing something unusual, a subject which your books treat only in passing. N.E.W.T. examiners are permitted to ask about it, though, so you should all pay close attention and take careful notes." She stood up, making it easier to punctuate her speech with dramatic flourishes of her hands.
"Now, as you know, in the five short years we have together, sadly we can only scratch the surface—gaze, for a moment, into the fog!—of the full scope of the arts I introduce you to here." She took pride in sentences like that. "You should know I am touched that so many of you have chosen to stick with me all the way to the end, so to speak, and as a thank you, I like to give my seventh years a few tastes of something deeper than the day-to-day mysteries we are obligated by the curriculum to explore.
So! For those few of you who have remained because you think this is a lightweight, unserious class, perhaps today will leave you with a different impression. For those of you who have enjoyed our journeys into the mysteries of the future, but will go on and graduate, never to use what you learned, I'd like to give you something to look back on, and perhaps think fondly of me.
As I have told you, I believe a few of you have true gifts—yes! some of you in this class have been born with a talent in this noble art, and perhaps today will inspire you to cultivate it throughout your lives." She smiled lovingly, her gaze wandering over no-one in particular.
"Before we go any further, I must warn you that today's class might be unsettling to some of you, beyond the usual effects of contemplating the future. Professor Snape, understanding the value of what I am about to teach you, has graciously agreed to brew some potions which will make it easier for you. Could I get two volunteers to distribute these, please?"
She pulled from beneath her desk two potion cases, instructing her volunteers to pass one of each to everyone.
"The brown one is a calming draught, and the pink is an anti-emetic. You must drink the entire vial of each—I know they taste bad, but many of you will need the assistance to prevent distractions of mind and body. You might find that drinking the pink one first helps you with the taste of the brown one." Many students looked openly worried; Sybill avoided meeting their eyes. She sat and waited until they had all managed to get the potions down.
She then walked to the corner, moving a pile of silks and pillows from where they had covered a pile of boards, part of the materials she needed for the day. "Could I get a few more volunteers to help distribute things? Oh, thank you. Please put one on my desk, too.
I found these in the Divination storeroom, and recognized them immediately from my lessons with my grandmother. It has been over a century, I believe, since they were last used in this castle. Good, those are heavy and I didn't want us lugging them about later. I'll hand out everything else later, after you have watched my demonstration."
She went into the adjoining room, which connected the classroom with her personal quarters, and came back carrying a bird cage containing a pigeon. "Now, who can give me the definition of 'extispicy'?"
A girl in the front row tentatively raised her hand. Sybill nodded to her. "Uh, I think it's divination by examining the entrails of animals."
"Right! A point to Hufflepuff." Sybill proceeded to give a speech about death and respect for life, and about the relationship between humans and animals, and about pedagogical necessity. She had spent several weeks preparing it, and it was, she thought, thoroughly Dumbledorean in its glossing over of difficult topics.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nancy Miller had, in her six-years-and-change at Hogwarts, seen professors do some disturbing things. There were some fairly icky potions ingredients, and she hadn't been very comfortable with transfiguring a goblet into a living raven, whose entire existence spanned only the time it had taken her to transfigure it back again. She had occasionally witnessed the effects of healing potions on catastrophic injuries, and that had been pretty creepy.
But now she had just watched her crazy—but up to this point seemingly benign—Divination professor hold a pigeon above her head while incanting something in Greek, pin its wings to a cutting board with a sticking charm, and slit its throat, all the while acting as if this were a slightly more exciting variety of tea-leaf reading. Nancy took Professor Trelawney at her word that this had once been a major part of the Hogwarts curriculum, and she had seen a few pureblood witches nod their heads in recognition.
And now Trelawney was passing out pigeons, which she claimed to have found in Trafalgar Square that morning, from an enormous, squirming, flapping burlap sack that was labeled "POTATOES". The effects of the calming draught felt like stepping back from her emotions—she could see what they would have been, but she was free to act as if they weren't there. And so the ethical questions that were about to arise for her seemed like purely philosophical ones, without the familiar gut feeling of disgust that might have otherwise governed her judgment.
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Tonks was on her bunk, reading, when Nancy walked in.
"What happened? You look like you're in shock." Tonks had seen that look before, far too many times, in the aftermath of battles.
"Trelawney made me kill a pigeon."
"Huh? Here, have a seat." Tonks had the bunk below Nancy; they had been friends since fourth year. Nancy sat down, just staring.
"She made us take a calming draught first, and something to keep us from wanting to throw up, and so it seemed okay as I was doing it, but those potions are going to wear off. I wish I could be asleep when it happened, but Pomfrey won't give out sleeping potions unless something is seriously wrong with you."
"She has some firm ideas about how medicine ought to work. So, what was going on? This was in class?"
"Yeah, she said she wanted to do something special for us seventh-years, and so she decided to teach us to read entrails."
"Seriously?!"
"Yeah. And we have a bunch of classes left on it, too. She had us put the pigeons—after we had pinned them to a board and cut them open—in a stasis charm until the next class."
"What, left behind in the classroom?"
"On some shelves in the back room. She said she we could take them with us to study, or leave them there, and she actually made a joke about how dead birds weren't against the rules."
Tonks didn't remember this from her original timeline. It seemed out of character for Trelawney, who had always seemed batty but harmless enough. She didn't see how traveling back in time would make Trelawney any more likely to teach pigeon-dissection, though, so the simplest theory wouldn't work here. Maybe it had really happened and she hadn't been attentive enough to notice the first time? For pre-academy Tonks that was entirely possible.
"I could cast a sleeping charm on you—knock you out. It wouldn't be like a dreamless sleep, though—you could still have nightmares."
"That would be better than nothing. I think I might have something like half an hour left before it all wears off. Let me get into my pajamas."
"Okay. I could bring you some food from dinner, if you like—you'll probably wake up after it's over."
"Oh, Merlin, thank you. I'm not sure I'll have much appetite, though. Like, ever again."
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Chapter 15: Seventh-Year Divination
Tuesday, September 25, 1990
It was a nice day out, probably one of the last before the Scottish autumn would force her to use warming charms if she wanted the windows open. Sybill Trelawney watched her silk curtains billow and flap in the breeze, and the smoke from her censers swirl and disperse. Her seventh year class was coming in by ones and twos.
She liked this group of students, mostly. There were twenty-nine of them, which was a few more than usually went for a N.E.W.T. in her subject. A few of them had real gifts, a few others believed themselves to, and the rest just wanted an easy class. Fortunately the examiners weren't particularly gifted, either, so they would all probably muddle through. The topic she planned to cover over the next few weeks might show up in one or two short questions on the test; what she was about to do wasn't justifiable as exam prep.
She had been making a show of staring into space; normally this was not much of an act, but today she was trying not to look nervous. The potions she had drunk earlier were helping with that. So was the sherry, which she had taken up drinking as a necessary affectation. She tried not to take that past the point required for her image, but she knew that sometimes she was overdoing it, which depressed her.
She turned around on her stool to face the class, absentmindedly looking them over.
"It looks like you are all here. Good. Over the next four or five classes we will be doing something unusual, a subject which your books treat only in passing. N.E.W.T. examiners are permitted to ask about it, though, so you should all pay close attention and take careful notes." She stood up, making it easier to punctuate her speech with dramatic flourishes of her hands.
"Now, as you know, in the five short years we have together, sadly we can only scratch the surface—gaze, for a moment, into the fog!—of the full scope of the arts I introduce you to here." She took pride in sentences like that. "You should know I am touched that so many of you have chosen to stick with me all the way to the end, so to speak, and as a thank you, I like to give my seventh years a few tastes of something deeper than the day-to-day mysteries we are obligated by the curriculum to explore.
So! For those few of you who have remained because you think this is a lightweight, unserious class, perhaps today will leave you with a different impression. For those of you who have enjoyed our journeys into the mysteries of the future, but will go on and graduate, never to use what you learned, I'd like to give you something to look back on, and perhaps think fondly of me.
As I have told you, I believe a few of you have true gifts—yes! some of you in this class have been born with a talent in this noble art, and perhaps today will inspire you to cultivate it throughout your lives." She smiled lovingly, her gaze wandering over no-one in particular.
"Before we go any further, I must warn you that today's class might be unsettling to some of you, beyond the usual effects of contemplating the future. Professor Snape, understanding the value of what I am about to teach you, has graciously agreed to brew some potions which will make it easier for you. Could I get two volunteers to distribute these, please?"
She pulled from beneath her desk two potion cases, instructing her volunteers to pass one of each to everyone.
"The brown one is a calming draught, and the pink is an anti-emetic. You must drink the entire vial of each—I know they taste bad, but many of you will need the assistance to prevent distractions of mind and body. You might find that drinking the pink one first helps you with the taste of the brown one." Many students looked openly worried; Sybill avoided meeting their eyes. She sat and waited until they had all managed to get the potions down.
She then walked to the corner, moving a pile of silks and pillows from where they had covered a pile of boards, part of the materials she needed for the day. "Could I get a few more volunteers to help distribute things? Oh, thank you. Please put one on my desk, too.
I found these in the Divination storeroom, and recognized them immediately from my lessons with my grandmother. It has been over a century, I believe, since they were last used in this castle. Good, those are heavy and I didn't want us lugging them about later. I'll hand out everything else later, after you have watched my demonstration."
She went into the adjoining room, which connected the classroom with her personal quarters, and came back carrying a bird cage containing a pigeon. "Now, who can give me the definition of 'extispicy'?"
A girl in the front row tentatively raised her hand. Sybill nodded to her. "Uh, I think it's divination by examining the entrails of animals."
"Right! A point to Hufflepuff." Sybill proceeded to give a speech about death and respect for life, and about the relationship between humans and animals, and about pedagogical necessity. She had spent several weeks preparing it, and it was, she thought, thoroughly Dumbledorean in its glossing over of difficult topics.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nancy Miller had, in her six-years-and-change at Hogwarts, seen professors do some disturbing things. There were some fairly icky potions ingredients, and she hadn't been very comfortable with transfiguring a goblet into a living raven, whose entire existence spanned only the time it had taken her to transfigure it back again. She had occasionally witnessed the effects of healing potions on catastrophic injuries, and that had been pretty creepy.
But now she had just watched her crazy—but up to this point seemingly benign—Divination professor hold a pigeon above her head while incanting something in Greek, pin its wings to a cutting board with a sticking charm, and slit its throat, all the while acting as if this were a slightly more exciting variety of tea-leaf reading. Nancy took Professor Trelawney at her word that this had once been a major part of the Hogwarts curriculum, and she had seen a few pureblood witches nod their heads in recognition.
And now Trelawney was passing out pigeons, which she claimed to have found in Trafalgar Square that morning, from an enormous, squirming, flapping burlap sack that was labeled "POTATOES". The effects of the calming draught felt like stepping back from her emotions—she could see what they would have been, but she was free to act as if they weren't there. And so the ethical questions that were about to arise for her seemed like purely philosophical ones, without the familiar gut feeling of disgust that might have otherwise governed her judgment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tonks was on her bunk, reading, when Nancy walked in.
"What happened? You look like you're in shock." Tonks had seen that look before, far too many times, in the aftermath of battles.
"Trelawney made me kill a pigeon."
"Huh? Here, have a seat." Tonks had the bunk below Nancy; they had been friends since fourth year. Nancy sat down, just staring.
"She made us take a calming draught first, and something to keep us from wanting to throw up, and so it seemed okay as I was doing it, but those potions are going to wear off. I wish I could be asleep when it happened, but Pomfrey won't give out sleeping potions unless something is seriously wrong with you."
"She has some firm ideas about how medicine ought to work. So, what was going on? This was in class?"
"Yeah, she said she wanted to do something special for us seventh-years, and so she decided to teach us to read entrails."
"Seriously?!"
"Yeah. And we have a bunch of classes left on it, too. She had us put the pigeons—after we had pinned them to a board and cut them open—in a stasis charm until the next class."
"What, left behind in the classroom?"
"On some shelves in the back room. She said she we could take them with us to study, or leave them there, and she actually made a joke about how dead birds weren't against the rules."
Tonks didn't remember this from her original timeline. It seemed out of character for Trelawney, who had always seemed batty but harmless enough. She didn't see how traveling back in time would make Trelawney any more likely to teach pigeon-dissection, though, so the simplest theory wouldn't work here. Maybe it had really happened and she hadn't been attentive enough to notice the first time? For pre-academy Tonks that was entirely possible.
"I could cast a sleeping charm on you—knock you out. It wouldn't be like a dreamless sleep, though—you could still have nightmares."
"That would be better than nothing. I think I might have something like half an hour left before it all wears off. Let me get into my pajamas."
"Okay. I could bring you some food from dinner, if you like—you'll probably wake up after it's over."
"Oh, Merlin, thank you. I'm not sure I'll have much appetite, though. Like, ever again."
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