History

XXXIV. HIPPOGRIFFS

chapter thirty-four; the prisoner of azkaban

1993

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Everyone had got to their feet, and slowly they crowded around Harry and Ron's table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good look at Harry's cup. 

"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically, "you have the Grim." 

"The what?" said Harry. Zoe could tell that she wasn't the only one who didn't understand; Dean Thomas shrugged at him and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but nearly everybody else clapped their hands to their mouths in horror. 

"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" cried Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked that Harry hadn't understood. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen, the worst omen. . . . of death!" 

Lavender Brown clapped her hands to her mouth too. Everyone was looking at Harry, everyone except Zoe and Hermione, who had gotten up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney's chair. 

"I don't think it looks like a Grim," she said flatly. 

"It looks like a blob of tea," Zoe added, unimpressed. Professor Trelawney surveyed Alyssa and Hermione with mounting dislike. 

"You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."

Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side. 

"It looks like a Grim if you do this," he said, with his eyes almost shut, "but it looks more like a donkey from here," he said, leaning to the left.

"When you've all finished deciding whether I'm going to die or not!" said Harry. Now nobody seemed to want to look at him. 

"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice. "Yes, please pack away your things. . . ."

Silently the class took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away their books, and closed their bags. Even Ron was avoiding Harry's eyes. 

"Until we meet again," said Professor Trelawney faintly, "fair fortune be yours. Oh, and dear," she pointed at Neville, "you'll be late next time, so mind you work extra-hard to catch up." 

Harry, Ron, Zoe and Hermione descended Professor Trelawney's ladder and the winding stair in silence, then set off for Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration lesson. It took them so long to find her classroom that, early as they had left Divination, they were only just in time. Harry chose a seat right at the back of the room and Cassie sat next to him. The rest of the class kept shooting furtive glances at him, as though he were about to drop dead at any moment. 

"Really, what has got into you all today?" said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at them all. "Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's not got applause from a class."

Everybody's heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Zoe raised her hand. 

"Please, Professor, we've just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and. . . ." 

"Ah, of course," said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. "There is no need to say any more, Miss. Wilson. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?" Everyone stared at her. 

"Me," said Harry, finally. 

"I see," said Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. "Then you should know, Potter, that Sibyll Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None oft hem has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favourite way of greeting anew class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues. . . ."