Sybill Trelawney
"Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney," said Professor Umbridge, her saccharine smile stretched so wide it looked painful. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?"
Professor Trelawney gave a stiff nod, her lips pursed like she had just swallowed a rotten Fizzing Whizzbee. Without another word, she turned away, handing out books with the air of a woman delivering fates rather than lesson materials.
Still grinning, Umbridge seized the back of a nearby armchair and dragged it—loudly—to the front of the class. She plopped down right behind Trelawney’s seat, her clipboard balanced on her lap, quill poised like a tiny, eager dagger.
Trelawney adjusted her shawls, her spindly fingers trembling slightly—whether with nerves or unbridled loathing was unclear. She surveyed the class through her enormous magnifying glasses, her voice attempting its usual ethereal float.
"Today, we shall continue our exploration of prophetic dreams," she announced, though the shake in her tone betrayed her unease. "Divide into pairs and interpret each other’s latest nighttime visions using The Dream Oracle."
She turned to sweep majestically back to her seat—only to freeze mid-motion.
Umbridge was right there. Sitting. Smiling. Clipboard at the ready.
With an elegant pivot, Trelawney altered course and drifted toward Parvati and Lavender instead, as though this had been her plan all along. Meanwhile, Harry hastily opened The Dream Oracle, casting wary glances toward Umbridge.
"Think of a dream, quick," he muttered to Ron. "In case the old toad comes our way."
"I did it last time," Ron muttered. "Your turn."
"I dunno . . . Let’s say I dreamed I was drowning Snape in my cauldron. Yeah, that’ll do."
Ron snorted. "Alright, so we add your age to the date of the dream, the number of letters in—wait, do we count ‘drowning,’ ‘cauldron,’ or ‘Snape’?"
"Doesn’t matter, pick one," Harry said absently, watching as Umbridge loomed closer, her pudgy fingers tightening on the clipboard.
She had reached Trelawney now.
"Now," Umbridge said, voice sweet as poisoned honey, "how long have you been in this post?"
Trelawney bristled. Her arms folded tightly, shoulders hunched as though shielding herself from Umbridge’s very presence.
"Nearly sixteen years," she said, each syllable drenched in resentment.
"Quite a period," Umbridge trilled, scribbling furiously. "So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?"
"That’s right," Trelawney snapped.
More scribbling.
"And you are the great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?"
Trelawney lifted her chin. "Yes."
Scribble.
"But you are the first in your family since Cassandra to possess the Inner Eye?"
Trelawney’s nostrils flared. "These gifts often skip—er—three generations."
Umbridge’s smirk widened, her beady eyes glinting. "Of course," she said, scribbling yet again. Then, leaning forward slightly, she said, with unbearable sweetness:
"Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?"
Trelawney froze, then pulled back slightly, blinking as though she had misheard.
"I beg your pardon?"
"A prediction," Umbridge repeated, the smugness in her voice now so thick it could be cut with a knife. "Just a little demonstration. You are a Seer, after all."
The room went silent. Even Neville had stopped pretending to read.
Trelawney straightened, and for a moment, there was true fury in her expression. Then, quite suddenly, her eyes widened. She gasped, clutching at her throat.
Theatrics took over.
Her hands trembled. Her lips quivered. And then—
"Ohhhh," she moaned, voice dripping with doom. "Oh, dear me! Oh, what an unfortunate sight I see before me!"
Umbridge blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sudden dramatics.
Trelawney shuddered, her hands fluttering as if trying to dispel an awful vision.
"Oh, the origins," she wailed, fixing Umbridge with a wide-eyed, horrified stare. "Why . . . why, I see an unusual birth! A transformation most unnatural! I see—" she gasped, clutching at her many beads "—a toad!"
A few students choked on their laughter. Umbridge’s quill stopped mid-scratch.
Trelawney pressed on, as if helpless to stop the ‘vision’ unfolding before her.
"Yes, a squat little creature, waddling about in the mud! Oh, I see it now—it was meant to remain in its natural state, oh yes, but then . . . oh, then! A meddling wizard interfered! A curse! A cruel, irreversible spell!"
She shook her head dramatically, hands trembling in faux despair.
"And lo, the toad was forced into human shape! Trapped in a form so unnatural, so ill-fitting, that even now, the truth cannot be concealed! Behold!" She gestured wildly at Umbridge. "The roundness, the pinkish hue, the wide mouth made for endless, ceaseless croaking—oh, the signs are undeniable! The toad still lingers within!"
Ron was now fully doubled over, making strangled wheezing noises. Seamus had stuffed his fist in his mouth. Lavender had turned positively purple.
Umbridge’s entire body had gone rigid.
"That is quite enough, Professor Trelawney," she said in a dangerously quiet voice.
But Trelawney was not done.
She clutched at her shawls, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Alas . . . alas, the curse is weakening!" She peered closer at Umbridge, eyes widening in exaggerated horror. "Oh, the prophecy is clear! The magic will fade . . . the transformation will reverse! Any day now—oh yes!—any moment, and POOF! Back to the pond! Back to the mud! Back to the life of a simple, warty—"
"THAT IS ENOUGH!"
Umbridge had risen so suddenly that the clipboard nearly flew from her hands. Her face was no longer pink but a deep, blotchy red.
Trelawney gave a deep, tragic sigh, shaking her head. "I do not choose what the Inner Eye reveals, dear lady," she said, voice dripping with regret. "I merely see what is destined to be . . . and alas . . . it is not flattering."
A deadly silence followed. Then, with stiff, jerky movements, Umbridge snatched up her clipboard and stormed out of the room.
The second the door slammed shut, the entire class erupted.
Ron collapsed onto the table, howling. Seamus had fallen off his chair. Even Harry was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.
Trelawney, meanwhile, delicately adjusted her shawl and sniffed.
"A most unfortunate reading," she murmured. Then, after a pause—
"I shall require a very large sherry after this."
And with that, she turned back to her lesson, the most smug she had ever looked in her entire life.