i see bad times today

sybill trelawney. 38. seer. —i stare at the fire that is their head and then i wake.

[bepeu-deactivated20171202]

me: it was just a dream

me (internally): .. or prophecy ..

[aluracein]

[sybtrelawney]

aluracein:

Very true!

[sybtrelawney]

billieweasley:

She started to respond to what the wix had said, about dangers other than Death Eaters – what had they meant? Billie wanted to know. What other dangers did this stranger see facing them, and where they the same ones Alastor was doing his best to protect against? Ever since she’d spoken with him, it was like she was seeing potential allies everywhere, in every offhand word about the state of the world. And, in the same breath, seeing potential  enemies  everywhere, people who might have wanted to align themselves with the likes of Ted Tonks rather than take a real stand. 

But then the wix said their name, and Billie paused, for a moment, recognizing it, and trying to place why, or how, they knew this person, and why they hadn’t recognized them–

     ‘Oh! You used to teach Divination, didn’t you? At Hogwarts? I remember you, now, when I was a first year. Merlin, it’s been ages since then–’

Billie had taken Divination in her third and fourth years, before giving it up for the subjects she really needed her OWLs in, but only because the teacher who had replaced Trelawney was a rather handsome centaur who spent most of their classes letting them lie on their backs in a room charmed to look like the night sky and discussing what they saw in the stars. Not exactly the most academically rigorous of subjects, but she’d enjoyed it nonetheless. 

     ‘I’m Billie. Billie Weasley.’

For a moment Sybill fooled themself into hoping the recognition in the woman’s eyes would be caused by Sybill’s current work, or at least their great-great-grandmother’s. But, of course, of course, it had to be connected with the particular period of Sybill’s life that they weren’t least interested in. They stiffled a disappointed sigh and kept a friendly smile on their face, but there wasn’t as much feeling behind it as before.

During their short time at Hogwarts Sybill had met perhaps a handful of students who had made a memorable impression for their particular talent for interpreting signs and symbols. This witch surely wasn’t among them, though, she was way too young to even attend Sybill’s classes, a fact she confirmed. And if she had been a first year, when Sybill had still taught, that meant Sybill had zero chances to remember her. They’d hardly paid attention to the students, particularly the youngest ones, as they’d spent most of their time in their classroom or their chambers. At least, they hadn’t foretold this witch’s death at school, that seemed to always sit wrong with people for a long time.

“Yes, I used to be a teacher,” Sybill admitted. “I’m surprised you would remember me, I worked at Hogwarts for a very short time, mostly out of necessity...” They let themself trail off as they recognised the witch’s last name and eagerly took the perfect opportunity to steer the conversation slightly away from Hogwarts. It wasn’t a particularly interesting topic to begin with, anyway.

“Nice to meet you, Billie,” they grinned. “But, sorry, did you say Weasley? Are you by any chance the daughter of Arthur Weasley? He left quite an impression on me back when we were both students,” they said, remembering the tall boy they used to see in the library, in the Muggle Studies aisle which was opposite to the Divination one. It’d been reassuring, then, to know that Sybill wasn’t the only one with specific interests.

[sybtrelawney]

mvmckinnon:

Marlene always appreciated the seer’s willingness to provide physical comfort, and their ability to know when it was needed. Even a simple touch on the hand did wonders for their frayed nerves, calming the rapid fire of interconnected anxieties and intrusive thoughts that had stemmed from their nightmares. They’d been a mess like this all morning, even around Regulus who they tried to shield from the worst of it when they could… no matter how they’d tried to shrug it off it had seeped through the cracks in their demeanor and flooded the space between them. Perhaps it was because he was a little closer to the issue than he normally was… because his face had been one of those mangled beyond recognition in the night. In any case, they’d burned breakfast once, had broken a plate, and cut open the sensitive flesh of their hands as they’d tried to clean it up. It was part of the reason they were wearing the gloves today, although the chill was enough of an excuse. As much as they wanted their advice, they also didn’t want to worry Sybill any more than they had to. They certainly had enough on their own plate, these days. Everyone did, it seemed.

The soothing tea helped encourage a warmth deep in Marlene’s belly that the brief grip of their hand only strengthened, and they couldn’t help but offer a small flicker of a smile in gratitude for the gesture. However, it was short lived as they tried to blearily piece together their dreams from the horrifically memorable moments to the vague shapes of context surrounding them. It distracted them, for a moment, from Sybill’s response, and as they shook the lingering darkness off again with a visible shrug of their shoulders, it took them a moment to absorb what they’d said. It seemed that the seer’s powers were more in tune to their predicament than they’d thought they might be, as Sybill saw beyond the face value of their experience, the aftermath that was tainting Marlene’s aura with negative wisps of despair and hopelessness. They saw them using their dreams as a refuge, as an escape… and that sentiment began to clarify some things.

Perhaps their world in dreams was beginning to fail them because there was no escape… Maybe their mind was trying to subconsciously remind them of that… but what Marlene couldn’t figure out was what the intention was behind it… They’d grown accustomed to being tormented by their own thoughts and imagination… it was far crueler to them than reality had ever been; after all in the real world their family could only be taken away from them once, whereas in their mind they were taken again and again and again, along with anyone else they dared to care for. But Marlene wasn’t entirely convinced anymore that their own head meant to torture them further, when they were already so weakened by the exhaustion of enduring it for so many years. Maybe there was something else going on, something they couldn’t see because they were too close to it.

Sipping their tea deeply, Marlene decided to answer their questions first before clarifying their concerns. Their hands were still shaking, and although they willed them to stop, they found it impossible to do so when they couldn’t shake one particular image out of their head that threatened to send them into a fit of tears all over again just thinking about it fleetingly. “I think perhaps the reason I try to craft my own dreams like I do is so that I can be sure of what’s coming… so that my mind won’t wander to somewhere unexpected… to somewhere too dark… I feel very… uncertain, about my natural dreams… I can’t trust my own head not to hurt me, so I’d rather know what I’m about to experience, I suppose…” They paused to take another sip, a distraction from how they were feeling just as much as it was a way to stall before the dark confession that was coming. “B-But… it hasn’t been working, lately… As it is, it’s dangerous to use potions like these every night, and on my off days, there are always nightmares seeping through… I- I’ve been trying new mixtures lately…” And they took another sip to avoid admitting just how potent some of those brews were. “But they all seem to be… wearing off during the night… Now no matter how pleasantly a dream begins, they all end badly… L- Last night… I… I dreamed of someone I care for dying… and… You k-know as well as I do… I can’t live through that again… I w-won’t be strong enough to… to-”

They cut themself off with a gasp that makes them realize they’re about to cry, that is the ugly intake of breathe that comes before the complete breakdown. They manage to stifle their sobs, but the tears fall regardless, and they’re reduced to a shriveling mess, curling in on themselves and dripping a salty puddle into their teacup.

Sybill felt the familiar pang of helplessness as they listened to Marlene’s answer. Now matter how much effort they put in fighting for a better future, wrestling it out inch by inch from the universe’s grasp daily, there was nothing they could do to make Marlene’s pain go away forever. They could not guard their dreams and their mind from wandering off into the dark, scary places. They couldn’t wipe away years, soon decades of guilt and sorrow. They knew from their own experience that there was no magic, no potion that could heal your heart. But again a shifty, small voice whispered in their mind, Oh, but you are so lucky, aren’t you? And sure enough, what Sybill really knew about healing this kind of grief? Their family hadn’t died tragically, after all. Grandma Dione had passed away in her favourite armchair a couple of years before the end of the war. Mother had said she had been found smiling, sitting right opposite Cassandra Trelawney’s portrait. Sybill’s mother, on the other hand, was alive and well, living now in a little town in Wales and terrorising the local arts and crafts shop. Every now and then she would send Sybill a knitted scarf or a sweater in very practical colours, and she always called them on Sundays. Sybill didn’t even want to think of the day when their gift would reveal to them their mother’s death. What words of comfort they could offer Marlene, then?

There was Hellen, of course. Radiant, pragmatic, beautiful Hellen. Though the wound she’d left in Sybill’s heart had been long healed, Sybill found their thoughts returning to her, catching them off-guard. Fortunately, more often than not they were reminded of the happy days, right before the war, when it had still seemed that they could live this way forever—enjoying the little things together, waking up to each other’s smiles, finding comfort at the end of the day in kisses and hugs. But sometimes, usually when Sybill lingered in that space between full consciousness and visions, they remembered the weight of Hellen’s half-dead body as they’d carried her to their cottage, the deafening silence, all that blood. It came to them in flashes, like a swift punch to the gut, just when they thought the fight was over. But they’d learned how to talk themself out of that. They couldn’t live in the past. They could live with a ghost—a figurative one, thank Morgana for that—but they couldn’t live in their memories. To do that would be to reject their gift, and that was unthinkable.

Marlene’s tears sobered them. Perhaps Sybill couldn’t heal their mind with one tea or even a reading, but they could be there for them when they needed it. They set down their cup on the small table nearby and moved to Marlene’s side to embrace them with one arm, placing their other hand on their side of their head. “I know it’s difficult, I know,” Sybill murmured after a moment. “But, look, that person isn’t dead and I’m sure they’re not going to die anytime soon. I am sure.” Their tone was confident in this assertion, though Sybill couldn’t find it in themself to fully believe it. They’d seen too many visions of death, they were seeing too many visions of death even now, regularly. Not to mention their prophecy and all the killings it foretold. But it wasn’t the right time and place to talk about that. Sybill’s mission would not suffer if they’d failed to even hint at it for a moment, and, anyway, what they were dealing with here now was a struggle of a completely different kind.

“I understand you’re afraid of another heartbreak,” they said carefully, smoothing down Marlene’s hair. “You’re afraid to lose more loved ones, it’s natural, and your mind seems to be telling you just that. The times we’re living in...” they hesitated. They couldn’t bring themself to wax poetic about the world, not with the executions and the manhunts, and the general sense of something sinister hanging in the air. Finally, they settled on, “We’re on the verge of change. It doesn’t necessary have to bring more sorrow or danger, or grief. It can be a good change, but we have to work for it. We can still turn the world into a good place, and the future can still hold love and happiness for you, but this won’t happen if we don’t act.” 

They paused again, wondering how much they were allowed to say. They did not want to push Marlene; certainly, they did not want to offend them, either. But a treacherous yet persuasive thought had been blooming in their mind already. “Perhaps your dreams are so severe because your mind has tired of stillness. Perhaps it is urging you to move forward in the only way it knows how to reach you, and that’s through your emotions.”

[sybtrelawney]

beastlyremus:

In school, Remus had found divination to be an amusing subject to say the least. He had never exactly believed that reading the various shapes of tea leaf clumps to be an insight to one’s future, or that staring into a glass orb for long enough could give you any useful information besides what it felt like to watch paint dry. But he got his occasional kick out of it, just as he did when cracking open a fortune cookie, or reading his horoscope. It was a fun little game, seeing what your “future” will hold, and getting a kick out of the utter nonsense of it. 

That was until the world decided to go to crap anyway. 

After seeing everything you’d once held dear crumble apart, it was a bit hard to look at a fortune teller in the eye anymore. Especially one’s whose fortunes only seemed to do more damage than actual good. 

“I’m sure it was definitely the book,” he replies gruffly, not quite meeting their gaze as he thrusts the book in their direction. Although he’d never had the pleasure of meeting the wix beside him, the mixture of incense that was radiating off of them, and the simple mention of “visions” gave him a pretty clear clue just who had happened upon him. “Unless you can think of some cosmic reason as to why I can’t seem to go anywhere undisturbed as of late.” 

Sybill was not going to dispute his assertion that there wasn't more to this meeting, even though their first instinct was to argue that. They had learned their lesson, though, and they knew that some people required a proof. Whatever would come from this, Sybill had to wait and let the events convince Remus that Sybill was right. They grew used to the fact that to the non-believers the value of their visions lay in the tangible outcome, but it still annoyed them sometimes.

In the meantime they accepted the book, their gaze still fixed on the man's face. It was as difficult to read him in person as it had been from his photo in the paper, but there was certainly something certain to his energy. There must have been, Sybill supposed, otherwise he wouldn't be able to do the things he did. After all, not anyone could take what others feared for so long and wear it proudly.

“Oh, I don't think you need the stars to tell you what you already know,” Sybill pointed out. They weren't surprised to be given a test, except it wasn't a test at all. Not for someone who tried to stay as up-to-date with everything happening around them as they did. “You're one of the few people brave enough to be vocal about your plight. People aren't really used to that, but I suppose once the novelty wears off, the crowds shall dwindle away,” they assured.

[sybtrelawney]

tmtonks:

It felt a little wrong to ask something so personal, to put that on Sybill, but they had been telling the truth when they had said their mind was too full of that to think of anything else. Maybe it was unfair, but they genuinely wanted to know, even if the answer was something less than ideal. They had to know if it was worth it to even try, or if all that trying would do would be to give them both more pain than they had already felt somehow. And they trusted Sybill enough to hope they would tell them the truth, even if it was difficult to bear. They knew that their skill was beyond anyone else they had met, a true seer, not just an enthusiast with a skill for tea leaf reading and tarot cards, like them, and they knew that if anyone might be able to offer even a glimpse into what was to come, it would be Sybill.

Of course, they were also well aware that signs and visions were rarely so clear, and if they saw anything at all, the chances of it being something that was easy to interpret were low, but Ted was curious nonetheless. And they were right, after all, that asking about Crouch felt a little pointless, given the way things had been going, even if their paranoia was telling them otherwise, so of course they had to mention the past, to ask the question. Sybill’s point about the broadness of their question was also correct, of course, but still they hesitated for a moment, taking a deep sip of tea before they answered. The mention of Andromeda, asked with a hint of uncertainty, frailness, made them feel a dozen of things they hated to feel in relation to Andromeda, all too complicated and still so strong even after ten years.

“No, no… Andromeda, she’s…it’s been so long, I try not to let myself believe she might come back, no matter how much hope I still have. She made her choice a long time ago to abandon all of us,” they said, trying to keep their voice even, and failing. It was impossible for the emotion not to creep into their voice when they spoke of Andromeda, especially just now. Part of them felt guilty that it wasn’t Andromeda they were speaking of, that even now it was somehow a betrayal, even after her betrayal, to dream of going on without her. Another part of them felt angry that they still cared so much, that they still did hope that one day she might come back, despite all that she did. But mostly they just felt nothing when they thought of her in that moment.

Their thoughts were too fully occupied by someone else. Admitting that out loud felt harder than it should have, though. They had a feeling it was because they had spend the past five years trying not to think of her.

“I’m, er… I’m actually wondering about Alice,” Ted said tentatively. It took a second before they managed to go on, explain the situation. “I know that I can’t have what we had then; Andromeda chose to leave us and Frank is all but gone, which makes it impossible for the four of us to have that love. But Alice is still here, and who else understands what she feels like I do? She showed up at my house the other night… she stayed, and it felt like we were back there again. The intimacy, remnants of the love we shared, we had it again even just for a night. And I want that again, but I’m afraid I’m not capable of a happy ending anymore…”

Sybill tried to balance between curiosity and genuine worry. It had always been a problem for them, but lately the problem seemed to exacerbate. It wasn’t enough that they could learn about someone’s future, that often someone would allow them to look so far; Sybill wanted to learn as much as they could about the person asking them do so. It wasn’t enough to know what was lying in their path, Sybill needed to know why they would stumble upon it in the first place. Why were people making the decision they made? And what were they doing exactly that would lead them onto the path Sybill saw? Now that they were obsessing more than ever over the relation between the present actions and their future outcomes, they found themself scrutinising other people’s motives and actions. But it was one thing to pick apart a stranger’s life, and completely another to do this to a friend.

But try though they might, they couldn’t help but analyse Ted’s tone as they uttered their wife’s name. There were layers of emotions to it, a twisted, ever-changing thing. At least Sybill was right about this: whatever Ted said, they still cared about her to some extent. Perhaps it was impossible for them to forget about Andromeda completely, even after all this time, but at least they weren’t fooling themself that she would come back. Sybill was glad about that. There was nothing worse than a false hope you could cultivate. “That’s good,” Sybill said. “I mean, it’s good you’re not only waiting around for her.”

They listened to Ted’s explanation intently, a small smile blooming on their face. For years now they wished better times would finally come Ted’s way, that their life could use a bit more sunshine. They deserved it. And here it was, possibly, hopefully. Sybill’s gaze softened slightly, hearing the hesitancy and vulnerability in Ted’s voice. Of cours, nothing of importance could be easily earned, Sybill knew that. And as much as they wished, they could do something to help their friend, in reality there was nothing to be done outright. Some things had to unfold on their own, and the most a seer could do was to nudge everything around it to form a straight path. Or as straight as it could get.

“But what you’re talking about doesn’t sound like an ending at all,” they countered, still smiling. “It’s a beginning and who is to say it can’t be a happy one? I think you’re right to say you can’t have what you had before. So much has changed for you, for Alice, for the world around you, but,” they leaned forward and gently placed their hand over Ted’s, “it doesn’t mean you can’t build something new with her. You’ve already built a new life for yourself, you’re capable of that. I’m sure you can take what you have with Alice now and make something beautiful from it.”

[sybtrelawney]

billieweasley:

     ‘I’ve got to be heading back to work, soon, but…’ She thought, for a moment, about the oppressive gloom of Gringotts, of the stack of paperwork on her desk; it was a rare sunny day outside, the big glass windows of the cafe let the light in, just perfectly, and her sandwich would be cold again by the time she got back if she waited to eat it… ‘Well, if you don’t mind– just for a minute or two, while I finish my lunch.’

She dropped into the chair across from them, pulling her food out of its take away packaging, taking a bite, making sure to swallow before going on.

     ‘I hadn’t thought about it that way,’ she admitted. ‘Death Eaters, you know, they’re like the bogeyman, you don’t think about them actually existing until– well, er, well I don’t, at least–’ she added, realizing that the wix across from her, at least ten years older than her, had probably met plenty of Death Eaters in their time. ‘You know, they’re just stories to me. Figures in a history book. You think of them all as having been rounded up and carted off to Azkaban already…’

She trailed off, realizing she sounded silly, naive, to someone who had probably lived through it all. Of course there were still Death Eaters – everything that had happened with the Rookwoods was proof enough that there were still Death Eaters masquerading as normal, reasonable people, hiding from the punishment their views and actions had wrought. They didn’t even need to be in hiding, just good enough at pretending they’d never been involved. 

The woman had a point to some extent. Caught up in fighting for a better future, Sybill forgot that there was already a generation out there who didn’t have to live with the burden of memories of the First War. It made sense that to them the Death Eaters, even Voldemort himself, would seem like some historical Big Bad Wolf. A terrible story your parents might tell you once in a while, a semi-mythical beast Minister Evans might warn everyone against. Still, it seemed odd that with all the executions going around one could think of Death Eaters as just that.

Perhaps the woman realised her mistake because she left the last sentence unfinished. And even if she hadn’t, Sybill wasn’t going to make any fuss about it. They didn’t come here to preach about Death Eaters and purebloods, and what have you. The war had been terrifying, a lesson to be learned and never repeated, that much should be clear to anyone.

“I can imagine how that period of our history is just a cautionary tale for you and your peers,” Sybill said with a small smile. “You’re lucky, this isn’t the kind of thing you want to experience first-hand.” Even experiencing the war from afar, only observing the battlefields from their hiding spot had marred Sybill’s dreams for years after. “That is not to say, of course, that the danger has passed. While our government seems to be taking care of one possible threat, it is not unlikely that our peace and order will be destroyed by some other forces.”

Now that they hinted at the subject more dear to their heart, they realised it might be the right moment to introduce themself. Not that it would probably make much difference, Sybill thought. The younger generation was usually only vaguely aware of Sybill’s great ancestors and their legacy. Well, either way, at least Sybill would learn the name of their new companion. “By the way,” they said, “I’m Sybill Trelawney.”

[sybtrelawney]

atticusrookwood:

“Yeah, they sure are,” he said, shaking his head. Atticus accepted the notebooks from them, and quickly charmed them clean again, grateful for the help. “Cheers, though. I appreciate it.”

He glanced the person stood in front of him, and realized that he recognized them, if only vaguely. They had been a professor during his first few years of Hogwarts, but not someone he had ever encountered considering he had never been interested in divination, and couldn’t have even taken it if he was at that point, given how young he was then. But he recognized them all the same, given just how recognizable they were. And then, he glanced at the flyer they had been putting up on a lamp post right as Atticus had lost all of his books.

There were stories, of course, about Sybill Trelawney, and he had heard a lot of rumors. Whether they were true, or not, though, he wasn’t certain; since his father’s death, he had gotten pretty good at not listening to rumors about anyone, especially himself. It was hard to know what was true about anyone nowadays. But he had heard that they were a seer, one who had actually predicted truths before.

And seeing what the flyers said was a little worrying, considering who was hanging them up.

He didn’t know a whole lot about divination, but he had enough fear in his bloody heart not to entertain the idea that maybe the end of the world was near, and that things were just going to get worse. He’d seen too much death and hatred in the past year not to realize that that was a very real possibility, even if he still didn’t know how he felt about prophecies and all of that.

“Interesting flyers you’ve got there… didn’t realize the end was nigh…”

They waved their hand dismissively. “No problem,” they said. Merlin knew this world needed as many small acts of kindness as possible. It was already so full of fear, hatred, suspicion, and, if Sybill’s vision should prove to be true, there was much more of it all yet to come. Of course, Sybill would fight tooth and nail to prevent it, but there was always this shadow of doubt that all their efforts would not be enough in the end, that they might put everything they have to give on the line and, still, one day they would have to stand face to face with the terrifying figure from their vision. But they didn’t let themself to ponder such a scenario for too long. Whatever the outcome, they had to do their job each day and hope with all their heart it would be enough this time.

They glanced at the fliers they were holding. That was a part of fulfilling their duty, one that they actually enjoyed. It wasn’t all that easy to steer a casual conversation to the topic of an approaching semi-apocalyptic event, but the fliers and leaflets provided the perfect starting point. Plus, that way Sybill could reach much more people at once, even if most of them wouldn’t even fully read the text and toss the paper into the garbage bin. At some point, Sybill hoped, the message would still seep into their minds.

“I’m afraid I have to confirm the end is indeed coming, and sooner rather than later,” they said, offering one of the fliers to Atticus with an apologetic smile. On the one hand, Sybill was surprised that he hadn’t heard about the prophecy before—they visited Diagon Alley with their leaflets regularly—but on the other hand, it was rather understandable that such news could slip his mind, considering everything that Atticus had been dealing with lately. Even Sybill had to admit that certain events in the present were meaningful enough that they could completely shut out the mere idea of the future.

“I have seen our world lost to chaos and conflict many times,” Sybill explained, their voice soft but serious. This was the crucial part. If they let themself sound too zealous or be too pushy, they could easily scare away the other person and be written off as bonkers, as usual. It took all their control to keep their emotions and facial expressions in check, as it seemed that intense eye contact worked far better than wild gestures.

“People will march out on the streets and fight each other to death, using any tools available. There will be endless suffering and death, so much death. And all of it orchestrated by one person, I believe.”

[mvmckinnon-blog]

location: the Magickal Library date: 6 november, 1991 time: late morning, just before lunchtime @sybtrelawney

To say that Marlene had slept restlessly would have been something of an understatement. They’d spent more time fighting off the demons in their dreams than getting any semblance of rest lately, but last night had been particularly bad. Everything had felt too raw, too real… the detail of each suffering face had stood out just a bit too clearly. Perhaps it was because they’d allowed themself to want something again, to give in to pleasure and desire when it wasn’t something they were meant to have. But it hardly mattered why they were being punished, just that they were struggling to reconcile their recent choices with the discreet and withdrawn nature that had protected them for the past ten years. 

Their anxieties were palpable when they came in, as well as a distinctive sorrow that came from having been briefly joyful only to have the feeling immediately snatched away. It was clear in their face and especially their eyes that they hadn’t been able to fall asleep without dreaming of something dark, and so when Marlene first greeted Sybill, it was only with a momentary composure before they were shaking; before it suddenly felt as if their legs would no longer hold them. They had crumpled to their knees just before where the older wix was already seated, and buried their face into their robes, unable to do anything else for a moment, unable to articulate their grief with real words. And then, the next thing Marlene knew, they were seated in one of the plush chairs of the Library with a steaming cup of tea in their palms.

That was part of the magic of Sybill, their ability to pass the time spent in grief mercifully fast, to relieve them of the burden of so many feelings without acknowledging or demanding more of them than they could manage to give. They somehow knew when it was time to comfort silently and when it was time to speak; and Marlene couldn’t help but be grateful for that, as they sat across the table watching them patiently sip their own tea, a pair of knitted gloves without fingertips insulating their delicately scarred fingers from the heat of their own teacup. They weren’t sure how long the two of them had been sitting like that, how long it had taken them to recover exactly, but the silence between them that would have otherwise been heavy with emotions was blissfully clear. They weren’t quite sure how Sybill managed it, but they felt better already than they had felt all morning, although there was still a lingering suggestion of a tremor… just enough to turn their insides to jelly, to make them feel as if they might phase through anything they touched, as if they weren’t quite connected to this world right now.

“I feel like my dreams have been getting more real lately,” they said abruptly, although nothing in particular had prompted them to speak. “But I can’t tell if it’s because I’m seeing something real, or because I’m losing myself more and more to a world inside my head…” They paused to sip their tea, which was a slightly floral calming blend with a blue tint to it. “I- I think I’m beginning to lose touch with reality, Syb… Or… or maybe that happened a long time ago but- more often now I find myself… drifting out of my own body, if that makes sense… Not like astral projecting I mean, I don’t feel like I’m going anywhere I’m just.. phasing out of reality… And I’m worried it’s because I’ve been so withdrawn for so long… I think I’ve forgotten how to interact with people… without letting every little thing they do affect me…”

[sybtrelawney]

Sybill wasn’t exactly surprised to see Marlene enter the shop, but the state of the other wix was rather unexpected. You didn’t even have to particularly attuned to other people’s energies to notice the air of sadness and apprehension that surrounded Marlene, which was different from their usual wistfulness, Sybill noted in passing, replying to the greeting absently.  They were still partly thinking about the flock of birds they’d seen on their way to work and if it meant anything, but they were quickly grounded by the sight of Marlene kneeling down in front of them. Sybill’s hands instinctively reached out for Marlene’s arms as if they could hold the other wix together and prevent them from unraveling. Sybill could not imagine what might have driven Marlene to such a state; they racked their brains for a moment, trying to recall any event that could trigger such reaction, but, to their knowledge, there was nothing. Sybill hated not knowing, but it was too soon to ask Marlene directly—it was obvious the wix was in no condition to talk. Sybill let them take some comfort in the physical touch for a few moments, then gently pulled them to their feet and steered them to the other armchair.

Sybill hurried to the storeroom to make tea, for once opting out of boiling the water traditionally in favour of the much quicker warming spell. A calming herbal blend might not be the ultimate solution to any problem, but in Sybill’s experience it always helped. And Marlene looked like they needed all the help they could get. Sybill tried not to let them out of their sight as if any moment Marlene could break down. Sybill was used to people coming to the shop for a reading in all kinds of states, from anxious to absolutely panicked, but it was different when it came to someone Sybill knew and cared about. There was this urge to help them, to make sure that Sybill would do everything possible to give them what they needed, whether it was just a piece of advice or shelter from the world outside. However, Sybill wasn’t quite sure if such an impulse was motivated by feelings of friendship or the eternal echo of their past. Perhaps it didn’t matter in the end as long as both they and the friend would walk out of the shop a little bit happier. Perhaps it was just easier not to wonder about this kind of things.

When it was ready, Sybill placed the cup of tea in Marlene’s hands and sat back in their armchair, sipping gingerly on their own tea. All they could do now was to wait; there was no point in pushing for answers. It was like scrying in a crystal ball—the more you tried to make sense of the shapes, the more they eluded you, but once you stepped back and let everything run in its own pace, the message would eventually reveal itself clearer than ever. And so Sybill drank their tea, from time to time regarding Marlene, their gaze soft the way it would be if Sybill had been looking into their crystal ball. They could see the gradual change in Marlene’s demeanor, the slight loosening of muscles, the slowing cadence of their shivers. Still, Sybill remained silent, constantly clearing their mind, so that their own curiosity and worry would not show in any way, not even in the twitching of their fingers or the tilt of their head.

When Marlene finally spoke, Sybill didn’t even flinch at the sudden sound. Instead they gave their words all their attention and halfway through Marlene’s confession they reached out to put a comforting hand over theirs. “It is understandable,” they pointed out once they were sure Marlene wouldn’t elaborate any more, “that someone as sensitive as you might have difficulty staying present in a world such as ours. Here you can never know where the next blow will come from, what intentions anyone truly has. Dreams, on the other hand, give certainty and there’s a sense of safety in that.” They paused, patting Marlene’s hand lightly and leaning back into the armchair. “Do you think there might be any reason that you need to have that sense of safety more than before?” they asked, tilting their head a bit to the right. “Of course, your mind might want to escape because the reality where something is constantly happening is too overwhelming, too much to take in, but perhaps there is more to that, still?”

[beastlyremus-blog]

location: junk shop in diagon alley  date/time: november 10th, 6pm  availability: open

It had been over a year since Lily Evans had stepped into office, a year since he’d taken on the impossible task of rebuilding the new Werewolf Support Services, and in turn revealing his dark secret to all the world. No more did he need to fabricate stories of his suspicious monthly  disappearances, or the array of thin faded scars that littered his body, the last remnants of a time when hiding meant surviving. There were many things he enjoyed about finally having that bit of freedom, although there were just as many things he’d come to detest about it. The main one being the newfound attention it had garnered him. 

Being one of the few publicly known werewolves, meant there were few places he could go where he didn’t attract stares of curiosity and fear. And while it had been some time since he’d found himself caring what humans had thought of him, the utter nuisance of his celebrity had become quite annoying as time wore on. Eventually he’d come to find ways around it, often going out at odd hours, avoiding popular hot-spots, and the muggle world almost entirely. For instance, that evening, when he felt the sudden desire to dive back into his old reading habits, it was not the doors of the ever lively Flourish and Blotts he graced, but instead the quiet dwellings of the junk shop that lay further down the street. Tucked away from the busier parts of the shopping district, the shop was thankfully almost completely empty when Remus first enters it, the only dwellers being the elderly shop keeper and a young couple debating over how much they wanted an old curio cabinet. 

Climbing the rickety steps to the shop’s second floor, Remus finds himself smiling faintly as he looks on at the welcoming scene of a room filled to the brim with a vast assortment of leather-bound books, each title more peculiar and odd than the last. It was some time later, as he was skimming through the autobiography of a witch who claimed to be Godric Gryffindor’s chambermaid and third cousin, when Remus’s heightened senses pick up the presence of another. When he can hear their footsteps stop short he holds still, hoping they’ll move on, but finds no such luck. Letting out a sigh, he snaps the book shut before turning towards the intruder.  

“Did you want through here?”

[sybtrelawney]

There was one piece of wisdom which none of the many divination textbooks Sybill had read bothered to mention: it wasn’t the vague visions that would give a seer a headache, it was the very, very specific ones that could drive the best of seers mad. Symbols Sybill could work with—they were flexible, provided a lot of material for interpretation and more often than not they eventually revealed its intended meaning. A vision of a book cover and a half of a title, on the other hand? That could truly mean anything at all and the only way to make anything of it was to find the book. Which was why Sybill had spent the last two days calling or owling all second-hand shops they found in the directory. Fortunately, this time they were lucky and succeeded in their search in record time when just this morning a little shop in the Diagon Alley confirmed they had such a book in stock. Usually, it took at least a week to locate such an item—Sybill was still on the lookout for a white T-shirt with five young women and the phrase spice behind them that they’d seen last year.

Since receiving the message from the shop, Sybill had been waiting impatiently for the end of their shift and when that time came, they almost ran out on the street. As with everything, there must have been a reason why the universe wanted Sybill to find the book and why it allowed them to find it so quickly. Perhaps it contained some message that might aid them with their mission, or it could be used for a reading and reveal another clue. It was unclear what Gryffindor had to do with the universe’s plans, but Sybill was ready to dig deeper here, too. Nothing was too silly or too banal when it came to foreseeing.

They opened the door to the junk shop a bit too forcefully, startling the shop keeper, who took their time to explain to Sybill where they might find the book. Apparently, while the shop keeper knew exactly what was in the shop, they had difficulty remembering where it was placed. After listening to an elaborate story about the ever-changing layout of the shop, Sybill was free to go upstairs and collect their price. They were mentally preparing themself for another dozen minutes of rifling through the shelves, when they spotted a lone figure. As they walked closer, they recognised the familiar face of Remus Lupin, or rather as familiar as seeing him in the paper made it. It felt odd to see him now in person; for one thing he seemed even sterner than in the photos.

“Actually, I was looking for this,” Sybill said, pointing at the book in Remus’ hands. “Saw it in a vision two days ago and I have been searching for it since then,” they explained, dragging their gaze away from the book and up to Remus’ face. “But now I’m starting to wonder,” Sybill paused, gazing thoughtfully, “if it was really the book I was supposed to find.”

[sybtrelawney]

billieweasley:

     ‘Yeah, cheers,’ she said, setting down her drink and food on the empty table behind them and reaching out to take it, only halfway skimming through the headline and the first few words of the article over the stranger’s incomprehensibly colorful scribbles and underlines before she was talking again.

It might have been out of some kind of nerves that she started to babble a little – a sudden grip of panic at the realization that there were more Death Eaters left to be caught, that there was still evil hiding out there in the world, just waiting to be uprooted and brought into the light. Things had been looking up, since Minster Evans took over, strangely; it hadn’t occurred to Billie that there was still all that much to worry about.

     ‘Bloody hell, another one? You’d’ve though they’d caught them all, by now, it’s been bloody long enough. I didn’t realize there were any still out there who hadn’t been rounded up and locked away or executed already.’

She let her eyes pass over the rest of the article, not taking all that much of it in, before handing the paper back over to the wix in front of her and picking up her coffee agin, taking a sip of the too-hot beverage just for something to do.

     ‘Barty Crouch Junior, huh… Merlin’s beard, no wonder there’s been such a fuss.’

Now that their thoughts weren’t solely focused on unpacking the news, Sybill could look closer at the woman. She was young, they’d noticed it before but it truly struck them only now. Her slightly nervous chatter just strengthened this impression, and Sybill watched her talk with curiosity. She must have been a child, when the war had broken out, no wonder she thought of Death Eaters as a thing of the past. It was endearing, in a way, this kind of youthful naivety which let someone assume the danger was long gone.

“If there hadn’t been any left,” Sybill pointed out gently, “there probably would be no need for Minister Evans to implement all those policies and to encourage all those hunts.” They’d been following the news closely for months now, and it was easier to think there was a good reason for all those accusations and killings, that it was really keeping everyone safe, because the alternative... But Sybill did not let their thoughts wander too far. There was enough bad blood between them and Lily Evans; announcing that the Minister’s decisions didn’t sit right with Sybill wouldn’t be the best course of action at this point. “A lot of Death Eaters went into hiding back when their master died, and it is quite astonishing how good people can be at hiding long-term,” they added, a bit of bitterness seeping into their voice.

They could still remember spending most of the war squatting in abandoned buildings, sleeping with one eye open, dreaming visions of someone watching them through the keyhole. They could still smell the dust that had covered everything wherever Sybill had gone to. They’d been handling all of this better than their fiancée had before her death, but perhaps their grief had clouded their perception, dampened the unbearable until it’d become routine. They wondered if those they’d been hiding from back then had to live like this right now. Wondered how they felt about it, too, but it was difficult to figure out in the short moment it took for the woman to skim through the article.

Sybill accepted the newspaper and nodded. “Yeah, well, imagine how it’s going to get when his trial starts,” they said, folding the newspaper and frowning slightly. They didn’t exactly trust all that noise made by journalists around a story like that; when you focused on one event, it was easy to let something less sensational yet as important slip your attention.

Sybill looked up again. “Would you like to join me?” they gestured towards the empty chair in front of them. In their experience, discussions about Death Eaters usually took some time.

[sybtrelawney]

mssrxsblack:

It was a hardly a secret that Sirius had no love harbored for Sybill Trelawney.  Ever since the news had reached them of Sybill’s involvement in the prophecy that had ended in Harry’s death and the shattering of everything Sirius held dear, the seer had joined the list of people Sirius blamed for their pain.  It was a Death Eater who had bore the news to them.  Rotting away in a cell in Azkaban, a Death Eater had been brought in three years into Sirius’ sentence and had been placed in the cell beside theirs.  Realizing the identity of their neighbor, the Death Eater had wasted no time in filling his lonely days taunting Sirius and one of the tidbits he’d used was the newly released information that it had been a prophecy that led to Voldemort’s attack of the Potter boy.  And that the prophecy had been uttered by Sybill Trelawney.  

It was five more years before Sirius left Azkaban, five years of mulling that information over in their mind and harboring a grudge the size of the Black family estates.  More than once it had crossed their mind to add Sybill’s name to the list of names they steadily crossed out of existence but while the Seer was a coward, they weren’t a criminal.  And Sirius wasn’t yet that far gone.

They didn’t recognize the voice as it drifted into their hearing, but all it took was one look up for Sirius to register who it was sitting beside them.  Their already sullen expression darkened and they looked away, momentarily debating whether to answer at all.  “For me?  No.  Crouch didn’t orchestrate the destruction of my family.  I know plenty of people who are angry though.  Too bad no one saw his plans before he made them.”  Their words were bitter and not a little juvenile but they honestly didn’t care.  

For a moment they actually regretted not staying home. Their flatmates might be annoying, but at least they didn’t spur the fight or flight response in Sybill the way Sirius Black did. There was something about the energy surrounding them that made Sybill’s blood run cold. Every conversation with them felt like walking through a dark alley fraught with traps—one wrong step, wrong word and Sybill was sure Sirius might finally snap. And Sybill couldn’t even resent them for that, the same way they wouldn’t resent Lily Evans for putting some blame on Sybill for her son’s death. That was the price you paid for silence, Sybill had already learned that. They’d also learned there was nothing they could do about their past decisions other than face the consequences and do better when a similar situation arose in the future. And wasn’t that exactly what they were doing? They did not run from a conversation with Sirius, even though they didn’t expect to hear anything kind from them. And they refused to be silenced about this new prophecy of theirs.

Still, they had to suppress a flinch when Sirius spoke. There was a sullen quality to their voice, the accusation somehow harsher in their mouth, even though Sybill had heard it many times before. It felt like a test, it always did, and there was no proper way for Sybill to defend themself. After all, it always came down to how good of a seer Sybill really was. If Sybill claimed they were so great, they should have seen each atrocious act ever committed and reported it before it happened. Otherwise, perhaps Sybill wasn’t as good as they claimed. Or worse, what if they’d been hiding something? Were they withholding information? Of course not, but apparently it wasn’t obvious to everyone. And no amount of explaining how visions worked ever helped.

They cleared their throat softly before speaking up. “What I meant was that it’s another Death Eater caught, and possibly soon executed, that seems like good news, right?” They hated how their voice sounded so uncertain, but they worried that anything too insistent might spark an argument. “From what I understand, it is not confirmed whether Crouch was involved in the attack, so perhaps—I mean, it might be the case that—” they paused, taking a gulp of their sherry and hoping the words might be easier to utter with some liquid courage. “There was nothing to foresee if he didn’t take part in the attack,” they blurted out, not meeting Sirius’ eyes.

[sybtrelawney]

tmtonks:

In the chaos that their life had been since they had been released from Azkaban, Ted had come to appreciate routine in a way they never did before. Ted still preferred some spontaneity to the rigid schedule that they usually had to keep thanks to working for the bloody government now, but in their personal life the lack of confines left them at a loss now. With no wife around, with Dora at Hogwarts more months out of the year than not, and barely anyone left who they could call a friend without a but at the end of the sentence, they felt like a wanderer, lost when they weren’t busy working. Too much time left alone meant too much time to think about everything, and that was something they hated having the time for. So those moments of scheduled peace helped immensely And the regular meeting they shared with Sybill were something that they had come to rely on to feel at least a bit normal.

Not only did they enjoy going to visit Sybill because of the quaintness of the shop she worked in, but they appreciated having someone who they could indulge in their interest in divination in, without knowing that the other person was just humoring them and nothing more. Andromeda had always let them go on and on about tea leaves and star charts when they had been together, but they had been well aware that she didn’t believe in most of it, but mostly just liked how happy it had made them to speculate and try to interpret signs. And now, there was no one left to do even that with. So Sybill’s standing invitation to come by and it and think with another like-minded individual was one that they would have appreciated even back then. Now, though, it felt even more vital; a little slice of their old life, their old interests they were allowed to indulge in again only with them. It made them feel more like the old Ted, if only for an hour or two every few weeks. And now more than ever they needed something grounding.

They came into the shop, already feeling a little more relaxed just from the vibes that came off from the smells and sights. Easily enough, they found their way to the little sitting area Sybill had created, and sat down with little more than a small smile of acknowledgement, for once enjoying the ability to just be without having to put up a show of what they were supposed to come off as. Tea in hand, the calming aroma filling up their nose, easing them into something that felt a lot closer to peace than they had had since the Crouch news broke, they already knew exactly the thought on their mind. It felt a little selfish, to jump right into it, without asking too what Sybill was looking for today, but after the night with Alice, and everything they had said to each other, Ted was left confused in a way they hadn’t been in a long time. It felt like the past was coming up again, and they were terrified, even beyond the Crouch trial. It was impossible to know what to do, and they thought that Sybill might be able to offer a little bit of comfort. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the past since I got the news on Crouch. The predictable thing would be to look towards the outcome of the trial, but… I have something else on my mind, I guess,” they admitted, voice softer than usual, an effect of the atmosphere, barely able to make themself speak above a whisper. “I’m wondering if it’s possible for me to have any of the love I did then again. Such a big question, I know, but I can’t focus on anything else, it’d be useless to try.”

Sybill nodded. Personally, they rarely thought of their past. There was nothing do with it, once you figured out the lesson you were supposed to learn and for now Sybill believed they knew all the lessons they needed. Perhaps they would think differently, had they not dwelled on the future all their life. There was never any point in looking back when there was so much happening right in front of you, or just about to happen. Perhaps Sybill was privileged to perceive life this way. The scars they carried as reminders of ill-advised decisions and paths mistakenly taken were mostly scratches compared to the wounds others had been healing after the first war. And, of course, Sybill knew better than to compare people’s tragedies—fates weren’t quanitfiable and who were to judge how much a death was worth? But sometimes Sybill could see the resentment when they dared to comment on the war, like they hadn’t lost enough to have the right to talk about it in the first place.

And perhaps those people were right. Look at Ted, Sybill thought. They’d lost so many of their friends, their family was now broken with the disappearance of their wife, and to top it all off, they’d served time in Azkaban. Sybill could not imagine the horror of surviving that, but they could sometimes notice its shadow in Ted’s eyes. Seeing death and disaster everywhere could get on anyone’s nerves, but spending a few years in the company of Dementors could damage someone beyond repair. Not that Sybill would think of Ted in terms of being damaged, but still. Some things couldn’t, shouldn’t be ignored, and Sybill wasn’t as naive as they seemed. Azkaban must have changed Ted and while Sybill wasn’t exactly sure to what extent—enough that now Ted didn’t hesitate to serve as a weapon—they couldn’t let themself forget about it altogether. They wouldn’t allow that fact to colour their interactions with Ted, but that didn’t mean they didn’t observe them more closely.

Love. Sybill did their best for their smile to remain peaceful rather than become pitiful. Once again they thought vaguely that perhaps they couldn’t truly imagine the depth of Ted’s loss. Not for the first time in their life Sybill wondered whether they really had any right to help people look for some answers. They could ask the universe all sorts of things and hope it would answer in one way or another, but sometimes the questions felt too heavy and Sybill worried that this time they wouldn’t be let in on the secret. Other times, though, they thought they knew the answer before the tea was drunk or the cards revealed, and they hated it. They learned not to despise their ability to see the worst outcome; you did not despise such a generous gift, just because it didn’t work the way you wanted it to. But when the stakes were personal, when Sybill wished to see something good in their friend’s future and knew they would probably only see pain, they couldn’t help but secretly wish they’d been more ordinary or resembled their grandma who had been an expert at readings concerning relationships. They just didn’t want to be the person who always had to break the news.

“Well, I doubt the outcome of this trial should be very much surprising. You would be wasting your question,” Sybill said. Alleged or not, once the phrase Death Eater had been thrown next to someone’s name, they were as good as dead in the current climate. While Sybill had yet to see anything pointing at Crouch’s imminent death, they were convinced that was where it all was heading. “And what a serious question you have instead,” they added. They kept smiling, their voice unwavering. You can never return to what you once had, they wanted to say, the love you might get now will never be like the love you had. Instead they said, “But I have to point out it might be a bit too broad. What is the love you’re speaking of? Are you wondering whether,” they paused, unsure if they could be this direct, “whether Andromeda might come back?”

[atticusrookwood]

5 november 1991, evening, diagon alley    ( open )

All Atticus really wanted to do was go home, have a drink, and sleep for about twelve hours, but the world wasn’t really into giving him even the smallest of mercies lately. Instead, here he was in Diagon Alley, just coming out of Amanuensis Quills with a stack of too-expensive leather notebooks for the members of the Wizengamot, which was annoying in and of itself, given the number of supply closets he himself had found in the Ministry stocked with perfectly acceptable notebooks. But the Wizengamot was full of a bunch of pricks, and of course they wanted nothing but the most beautiful and expensive leather-bound notebooks for their notes, especially for the Crouch trial.

The Crouch trial. On one hand, it was a good thing they kept sending him on ridiculous errands, because it was a good distraction from listening to all of the information, but on the other hand, the work he was doing was for the very thing that was worrying him the most at the moment, so no amount of distraction was really helpful. He had known Barty, he’d spent his first year at Hogwarts looking up to him, had heard his father talk about how much promise he had, and now he was going to have to watch him get executed. At least he wasn’t naive enough anymore to think that wasn’t what was coming for Barty. It felt a lot like a warning, though, especially with how keen everyone seemed on forcing him to do work for the case.

He was so distracted with his thoughts that he didn’t notice the person very deliberately walking in his path. Someone forcibly knocked into his shoulder, sending the notebooks flying across the cobblestone street.

“Really cool, mate. Maybe at least try to make it seem like an accident next time,” he sighed, bending down to pick up the stack of notebooks that had been scattered to the wind in the collision. 

[sybtrelawney]

While they were still unsure whether the impending trial of Barty Crouch Jr. was in any way related to their vision, Sybill refused to be stopped by this temporary lack of signs. A more optimistic seer, or not as experienced, would perhaps take the lack of signs as a sign itself: the world is back on the right tracks and your work is complete here, but Sybill wasn’t fooled so easily. They would know, if things had changed. They would surely be able to sense the almost imperceptible shift in the air.

But just this morning they had woken up with a heavy feeling in their heart, a shadow of a dream that only strengthened their resolve. Which was why the evening found them sticking fliers to lamp posts down the Diagon Alley. The fliers’ design was simplistic, big black letters on a white background. Visions and readings rarely gave Sybill the opportunity to express themself candidly, some messages couldn’t be contained in a sentence or two. But the prophecy required straightforwardness from Sybill, so it could reach as many people as possible.

Sybill was patting down the paper, making sure it stuck, the words What are YOU doing to stop the end of the world? obscured for a moment by Sybill’s hand, when the notebooks thudding on the pavement behind them drew Sybill’s attention. They turned abruptly and without thinking started gathering the notebooks near them, only glancing at the unfortunate person who dropped them after their hands were full. Sybill recognised the man’s face after a moment, remembered seeing him in the Prophet a while ago and wondering what it took to turn against your family, what it took for him to turn against his family, since every story was complicated in its own way.

“People are so quick to be unnecessarily cruel these days, don’t you think?” Sybill asked, holding out the few notebooks they could pick up with one arm full of the fliers.

[billieweasley]

location: a muggle coffee shop, just outside Diagon Alley date: 4 november, 1991 time: lunchtime      ( open )

The coffee shop was always busy at lunch, and most days she tried her best to avoid it – packing a lunch that she could eat somewhere nice, on the steps of Gringotts or in a park somewhere – but she needed another coffee today if she was going to make it through the stack of paperwork that had somehow accumulated on her desk.

She hadn’t signed up to be a curse breaker to do paperwork, but right now it felt like nothing in her life was going to plan, so it was no real surprise that this wasn’t, either.  And neither was the get in-get out strategy for picking up a drink and a toastie at her favorite coffee shop and still having time on her lunch break to have a nice walk outside and get a bit of fresh air. 

She was in a rush, headed out, once her drink was finally in hand, her sandwich between her teeth, but the sight of the headline on the Daily Prophet in someone’s hands as she passed distracted her, for just a moment, stalling her on her way out the door.

     ‘Sorry, is that–’ she paused, taking the sandwich out of her mouth and trying again. ‘Is that today’s Prophet? Everyone’s talking about it and I’ve not been able to get my hands on a copy all day–’

[sybtrelawney]

Sybill wasn’t one to go out for lunch unless they had a meeting with someone. The job at the esoteric shop and the readings they would do on the side were enough for Sybill to pay their bills and afford groceries, but it didn’t mean they could splurge too often. Out of necessity, Sybill got into a habit of going for the most economic solutions and so they usually prepared and packed their lunch at home.

This morning, however, they woke up to find their sandwiches gone and anything that could be used to make new ones devoured. They had a very strong inkling who was behind all of this, but both suspects were nowhere in sight and Sybill didn’t even have enough time to leave another scathing note for their flatmates. They did, however, contemplate whether the low rent truly compensated for their flatmates’ ‘charming’ personalities, and not for the first time they concluded that perhaps it was time to look for a different flat. But by the time they arrived at work, they were so engrossed in the new Prophet that they completely forgot that dilemma.

Work was surprisingly busy, though, and Sybill only managed to skim the articles. They hoped that at least their lunchbreak would give them ample time to analyse the newspaper. They ended up in the muggle coffee shop, mostly because they couldn’t readily come up with any other place that had reasonable prices andw as relatively close to Magickal Library. The quality of the service or food didn’t matter that much; Sybill barely tasted the sandwich they were nibbling on, they were so focused on their search for clues. Similarly, they barely registered the voice addressing them, only looking away from the newspaper after a beat.

They blinked at the young woman, then glanced absent-mindedly at the newspaper, already half-covered with Sybill’s colour-coded notes. “Yes, right, they caught a Death Eater,” Sybill explained. “Do you want to have a look?” they asked, angling the newspaper towards the woman.

[sybtrelawney]

location: at the back of Magickal Library date: 6 november, 1991 time: afternoon

( @tmtonks​ )

Sybill loved the little nook at the back of Magickal Library. For one, they had come up with it themself, suggesting to Curtis, their boss, that they needed a separate space to do their readings. They needed atmosphere and quiet. The corner they’d picked could be easily obstructed by the bookshelf housing the Miscellaneous section and with a few sneaky spells the bookshelf could block out the noise of the traffic outside or from the other patrons inside the shop. The two comfortable albeit mismatched armchairs and a coffee table that Sybill had found in a charity shop fit perfectly and over the months Sybill would add a trinket or two to create the perfect divination environment. There was everything they might need: candles, incense, dim light, and a variety of crystals. In the magical bag hidden under their armchair they kept their tarot decks, teas, and cups.

As the bell above the door rang, announcing the arrival of a new guest, Sybill had already had the water, tea pot and cups ready for themself and Ted. Sybill didn’t have many friends; they suspected their current crusade wasn’t exactly helping them to make new ones, so whenever someone who didn’t disparage their theories wanted to meet with them, it felt like a little celebration. It wasn’t that Sybill even needed validation at this point—they knew their worth, everyone else would catch up soon—it just happened too rarely that their ramblings were met with understanding, rather than a sneer. And anyway, they loved the whole ritual of anticipating a visit. The slow process of heating up the water, measuring out the tea leaves, placing the cups perfectly opposite each other on the mahogany table.

With Ted settled in the armchair opposite Sybill, a cup of Earl Grey in their hand, Sybill let out a contented sigh. There were several questions on their mind today, and they wondered which one should be considered of the utmost importance. Sometimes the world seemed to be drowning in chaos already and one question was not enough to clear out all the confusion. They inhaled the calming aroma of the tea. Their thoughts were constantly rushing from one topic to another, one sign to another, but here, in this little corner, Sybill could relax, stand back, and reconsider. Besides, it was always good to have someone else to peek at your fate from time to time, and Sybill trusted Ted’s abilities in this respect. Finally, Sybill dragged their eyes away from their tea and for a moment carefully examined Ted’s expression. They could imagine, vaguely but with a lot of feeling, how they must have felt about the Crouch news. Still, it was difficult to imagine them with a gun pointed squarely at the Death Eater’s face. Sybill had seen many things, but here their imagination was failing them. “So, what is the big question of the day?” they finally asked Ted, smiling serenely at them.

[mssrxsblack-deactivated20191227]

location: the leaky cauldron date: 4 november, 1991 time: early afternoon

They’d never had a habit of starting the day with a routine.  They didn’t sit at the table with coffee and the paper, didn’t find it best to keep informed and abreast of the news as the day began.  Before, the news had only angered them.  There wasn’t much room for news in Azkaban.  And now, they really just didn’t care.  What they needed to know, they knew from Lily or James, if somehow that weren’t enough they could be sure Alex would fill them in at the shop.  Otherwise, they didn’t need to know. 

The news about Crouch fell into the ‘important to know, Lily will tell me’ category, or so they’d thought.  And yet the story had gotten to the paper and they had gotten through the morning, the walk to the shop, and even about an hour of work before Alex came to work with a folded up copy of the Prophet under his arm.  He left it on the front table, going to his station to set up for the day, and the headline had caught Sirius’ eye.  it was a day late, but talk about a birthday present.

There hadn’t been much hope of focus after that.  Every time they tried to zero in on work or distraction, telling themselves that if Crouch was already in custody then it didn’t concern them in the slightest, they found themselves drawn back to the article and the picture accompanying the headline.  By lunch, they knew that it was useless to pretend to be useful and they left the shop in Alex’s relatively capable hands.  They’d walked for a bit, hands shoved into pockets, until they found themselves at the Leaky Cauldron.  It was early but they were far from caring as they slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered a fire whiskey, barely looking up as someone occupied the stool beside them.

[sybtrelawney]

The key to preventing the end of the world was consistency, Sybill believed. They weren’t sure if that was the actual key, but it sounded like something their grandma would say, so, potentially, it was true. Which was why Sybill bought the Daily Prophet and a couple of muggle newspapers every day on their walk to work and, once settled at the counter with some white tea and almond shortbread, they would examine the newspapers page by page, their vision journal by their elbow. The shop was quiet in the mornings, providing Sybill with the perfect environment to look for clues like some kind of New Age 90s version of Sherlock Holmes.

The Crouch story took Sybill by complete surprise. They realised they did not see it coming, the moment they skimmed the story, only barely avoiding walking into some other pedestrians. It did not make sense, though, that they wouldn’t have seen it. It was a huge story, Sybill saw huge stories. Well, most of them, anyway. Their frustration only grew as they kept rereading the article, failing to spot even just one hint that would correspond with one of their recent visions. When Celeste, an older muggle woman, arrived to take charge of the shop for her biweekly tarot seminar, Sybill had never been happier to see her. They quickly packed their things and hurried out of the shop.

They didn’t exactly plan to end up in the Leaky Cauldron, but the ambience of the bar seemed to feel better than the noises generated by Sybill’s roommates. Sybill only grabbed two of the older vision journals and was out to the bar before the roommates could acknowledge them. Once in the Leaky Cauldron, they dumped the Prophet along with the journals on the counter and promptly ordered a sherry. “It must be somewhere in here, it must be,” they muttered, paging nervously through the first journal. It took them a moment to register the gloomy presence next to them and when they did, they immediately ceased their muttering and directed their next words at Sirius, aiming at a reasonably cheerful tone, “That must be good news for you, huh?” They pointed at Crouch’s face peering at them from the newspaper.