Randall hummed tunelessly as his knee bounced restlessly, already impatient to get off at his stop. The novelty of the Knight Bus had worn off a few miles back, and know all he wanted to do was go home and see his family, along with one other very important person. Cormac. Randall hadn't seen the other male since the trial, and he wasn't even all there for that, with how weak he'd been after losing so much blood. But now he had officially graduated from Hogwarts, was going home to see his boyfriend, and he couldn't wait. So when the bus pulled up outside his house and he saw a familiar figure bent over on his front lawn, Randall flew down the steps and out the bus door - nearly forgetting his bags and owl - to greet him. "Cormac!"
Cormac McLaggen did not believe in any of that Divination shite.
That's his disclaimer, because somehow he finds himself sitting in front of the crystal ball belonging to that quacked lady from Professor Slughorn's party. Yeah, maybe he's going to look into it, but none of it will be real. Because things like fate make him uncomfortable and he'd rather believe in a world where he gets to decide for himself. Or at least one where he has the illusion of choice; that's still infinitely better than one where he doesn't, where the future is set in stone and there's not a single thing he can do about it.
If that's true -- if fate and immutable futures are true -- then Cormac is pretty much doomed. Doomed to be his father or his Uncle Tiberius, two things which terrify him but he doesn't quite know how to escape. He knows exactly what that future should look like. It involves a respectable, boring Ministry job unless he can make it in Quidditch, and then involves marrying an equally respectable girl who is preferably pureblood like him. Merlin only knows what kind of reaction most of his family would have if he married "below him." The truth of where Cormac comes from cannot be denied no matter how many facades of neutrality his family might put on, regardless of the words they whisper in the ear of each type of person...and that truth is this. McLaggens are pureblood supremacists, death eaters or not, because they are too proud of their legacy and the blood which runs through their veins not to be. From there, he will raise his own children by the same standards, rules, and regulations that suffocate him, becoming another in a long line of the ill-fated elite who become that which they never want to be: their parents. His life will be dull and full of unfilled questions and passions never to be explored or acknowledged and one day he'll go six feet under like everybody else.
That is why Cormac sits in front of the crystal ball without being able to really look at it. What will he do if he looks and sees that? He might as well just throw in the fucking towel and give up, all hopes crushed beneath fate's giant combat boot. Freedom, independence, dreams and shit won't matter anymore and those are things he clings to stubbornly -- like a tiny but rugged cairn terrier who won't give you your sock back, not without a proper fight -- even if people don't see it in him.
And yet, he eventually has to look down. What he sees? Well, it surprises him. In a good way.
Inside the little crystal ball, which seems to suck him right into it, he can make out a figure zooming around on a broom. It's a quidditch match, and of course he's in front of the goals because he's a Keeper. The colors he wears indicate his team is the Pride of Portree -- well, that's a bit bollocks, he thinks, because why wouldn't he be playing for the Magpies? Either way, he's doing an exceptional job defending the goal posts. Obviously.
The crowd is at fever pitch -- a glance at the scoreboard shows the game is close enough that one more goal with the seeker's success would catapult the other team to victory. Off in the corner of the view, two seekers fly past him as they dive after the snitch. There's a chaser rushing at him, but he blocks their attempt. So they go at it again in a last ditch efforts to push themselves far enough ahead, but Cormac is consistent. So when the Pride's seeker fails to catch the snitch, it doesn't matter, because they've won anyway.
The victory tastes pretty damn sweet, even if Cormac's only watching as the whole team and the crowd goes wild. On the ground, they slap each other on the back and his own chest is puffed with pride. There's somebody waiting for him in front of the locker rooms -- well there's a lot of reporters too but this somebody seems to be special because he's only got eyes for them. All Cormac can make out before the picture goes fuzzy and then black is a head of bushy brown hair.
Afterwards, he tries to push away the images. Because as much as they invigorate him and give him hope, he still doesn't believe in that shit. He can't let himself get comfortable just because some batty old seer's crystal ball told him everything would be all fine and dandy in the end.
