 led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling, and the room where Professor
Trelawney lived.
The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met their nostrils as they
emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the
circular room was bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which
were all draped with scarves and shawls. Harry and Ron walked through the mass
of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room, and sat down at the
same small circular table.
"Good day," said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind Harry,
making him jump.
A very thin woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear far too large
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for her face, Professor Trelawney was peering down at Harry with the tragic
expression she always wore whenever she saw him. The usual large amount of
beads, chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight.
"You are preoccupied, my dear," she said mournfully to Harry. "My inner eye sees
past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your
worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas. . . most difficult..
. I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass. . . and perhaps sooner than
you think..."
Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who looked
stonily back. Professor Trelawney swept past them and seated herself in a large
winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown and Parvati
Patil, who deeply admired Professor Trelawney, were sitting on poufs very close
to her.
"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars," she said. "The movements of the
planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the
steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary
rays, which intermingle. . ."
But Harry's thoughts had drifted. The perfumed fire always made him feel sleepy
and dull-witted, and Professor Trelawney's rambling talks on fortune-telling never
held him exactly spellbound - though he couldn't help thinking about what she had
just said to him. "I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass...'"
But Hermione was right, Harry thought irritably, Professor Trelawney really was
an old fraud. He wasn't dreading anything at the moment at all. . . well, unless you
counted his fears that Sirius had been caught. . . but what did Professor Trelawney
know? He had long since come to the conclusion that her brand of fortunetelling
was really no more than lucky guesswork and a spooky manner.
Except, of course, for that time at the end of last term, when she had made the
prediction about Voldemort rising again. . . and Dumbledore himself had said that
he thought that trance had been genuine, when Harry had described it to him.
"Harry!" Ron muttered.
"What?"
Harry looked around; the whole class was staring at him. He sat up straight; he had
been almost dozing off, lost in the heat and his thoughts.
"I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of
Saturn," said Professor Trelawney, a faint note of resentment in her voice at the
fact that he had obviously not been hanging on her words.
"Born under - what, sorry?" said Harry.
"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" said Professor Trelawney, sounding definitely
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irritated that he wasn't riveted by this news. "I was saying that Saturn was surely in
a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth. . . . Your dark hair.
. . your mean stature...tragic losses so young in life. . . I think I am right in saying,
my dear, that you were born in midwinter?"
"No," said Harry, "I was born in July."
Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough.
Half an hour later, each of them had been given a complicated circular chart, and
was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at their moment of birth. It was
dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles.
"I've got two Neptunes here," said Harry after a while, frowning down at his piece
of parchment, "that can't be right, can it?"
"Aaaaah," said Ron, imitating Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, "when two
Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born,
Harry. . . ."
Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly
enough to mask the excited squeals from Lavender Brown - "Oh Professor, look! I
think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"
"It is Uranus, my dear," said Professor Trelawney, peering down at the chart.
"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" said Ron.
Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney heard him, and it was this, perhaps, that
made her give them so much homework at the end of the class.
"A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will
affect you, with reference to your personal chart," she snapped, sounding much
more like Professor McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. "I want it ready to
hand in next Monday, and no excuses!"
"Miserable old bat," said Ron bitterly as they joined the crowds descending the
staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will. .
."
"Lots of homework?" said Hermione brightly, catching up with them. "Professor
Vector didn't give us any at all!"
"Well, bully for Professor Vector," said Ron moodily.
They reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner.
They had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind them.
"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing
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there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.
"What?" said Ron shortly.
"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily
Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall
could hear. "Listen to this!
FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes
Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor
crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the
disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh
embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of
Muggle Artifacts Office."
Malfoy looked up.
"Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's
a complete nonentity, isn't it?" he crowed.
Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper
with a flourish and read on:
Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago,
was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen")
over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed
to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry
when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted
murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily
guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley
was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the
policemen, but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had
involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.
"And there's a picture, Weasley!" said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding
it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house!
Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"
Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him.
"Get stuffed, Malfoy," said Harry. "C'mon, Ron. . ."
"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered
Malfoy. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"
"You know your mother, Malfoy?" said Harry - both he and Hermione had
grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy -
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"that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always
looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"
Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink.
"Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."
"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," said Harry, turning away.
BANG!
Several people screamed - Harry felt something white-hot graze the side of his
face - he plunged his hand into his robes for his wand, but before he'd even
touched it, he heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the
entrance hall.
"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"
Harry spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His
wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering
on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.
There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving
a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry -- at least, his normal eye was looking at
Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.
"Did he get you?" Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.
"No," said Harry, "missed."
"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.
"Leave - what?" Harry said, bewildered.
"Not you - him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe,
who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's
rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head.
Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified
squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.
"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again - it flew ten
feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once
more.
"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's