It had to be said—Professor Trelawney was indeed a bit... mystical. She loved being cryptic, deliberately creating an air of tension to capture everyone's attention.
She was especially good at saying things that sounded profound but were really vague and ambiguous.
For example, she told Parvati Patil to beware of a red-haired man.
Harold clearly saw that when she said this, her eyes casually flicked to someone sitting just behind Parvati—Ron, whose most distinct feature was his Weasley-red hair.
Parvati was visibly spooked, scooting her chair as far away as she could.
"Harold, do you think what Professor Trelawney said is true?" Harry asked in a low voice beside him.
"Yes... and no," Harold replied.
That answer was interesting on its own.
Parvati and Ron were classmates and would continue to be together for five more years. In a magical school , anything could happen—exploding cauldrons in Potions, misfiring spells in Charms, biting plants in Herbology...
If any incident occurred and Ron just happened to be nearby, it'd be all too easy for Parvati to connect it to what Trelawney had said today.
Which was almost inevitable. Even with the addition of electives, Parvati and Ron still shared about 90% of their classes. Something was bound to happen.
If Harry had been the one sitting behind Parvati, Trelawney probably would've told her to watch out for someone with black hair.
Or she might've said the same line to someone else sitting beside Ron.
After all, black-haired students weren't rare, but red hair was much more distinctive—an obvious choice. She might as well have shouted Ron's name outright.
Then there was her prediction about classes being canceled in February due to a flu outbreak because she would "lose her voice."
That one was even easier. Hogwarts always had a flu outbreak in February. No prophecy needed.
And whether class was held or not depended entirely on her. Even if her voice was fine, she could just pretend she'd lost it. No student was going to force her to take Veritaserum.
Still, with all this showmanship—and the added authority of her being a Hogwarts professor—she did manage to pick up a few loyal followers.
Like Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, two girls with little experience and big imaginations. They were already treating her like some all-knowing seer.
Incidentally, these two had also been die-hard fans of Gilderoy Lockhart last year—literally begging for his autograph.
After the theatrical warm-up, Professor Trelawney finally remembered they were actually supposed to be in class.
She moved over to the large brass kettle that was spewing steam like mad, and told everyone:
"Pair up. Each of you, take a teacup from the shelf and come to me for tea. You need to drink until only the dregs are left, then swirl the tea leaves three times with your left hand..."
As she spoke, she suddenly looked at Neville.
"Oh, dear," she said gently. "When you break the first cup, could you please pick a blue one? I'm ever so fond of the pink ones."
Sure enough, as soon as Neville got to the shelf—crash.
"I—I didn't even touch it..." Neville stammered, stunned.
No one paid him much attention. They were too amazed by Professor Trelawney's stunning "prophetic" accuracy.
The broken pieces were swiftly swept up by a self-moving dustpan and broom.
That strange choice of cleanup made Harold raise an eyebrow.
They were wizards. One basic Reparo would fix a broken cup in seconds. Why go through the trouble of sweeping?
And her comment to Neville... It was oddly specific, like she wanted to highlight that he'd break a cup.
Practically everyone in the room could cast Reparo. Even if that pink cup broke a hundred times, it could always be fixed.
Harold, curious, walked over to a different shelf while Trelawney was busy pouring tea for the others, and quickly examined the cups.
Soon, he spotted something odd under a yellow teacup in the corner.
A tiny "Z"-shaped mark.
Zonko's. The prank shop in Hogsmeade known for its joke items. Harold had seen that logo plenty of times—Fred and George were regulars. Their dungbombs and Filibuster Fireworks all came from there.
A shop that sold dungbombs clearly wasn't producing serious teacups.
Harold reached for the cup—when it suddenly rolled forward on its own and toppled off the shelf.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Harold, already prepared, flicked his wand and caught the cup mid-air.
Now the truth was clear: Neville hadn't broken the cup. It had dropped on its own.
It seemed like Trelawney wanted to emulate Professor McGonagall—who had stunned everyone with Animagus transformation during her first Transfiguration class.
Trelawney, lacking that kind of magic, had probably bought a batch of "falling cups" from Zonko's. Cups that would jump off the shelf when someone got close.
She probably swept the shards away to prevent anyone from noticing something strange—since Reparo could easily reveal tampered or false materials.
By now, most students had gotten their tea.
Urged on by Harry, Harold walked over too and handed his cup to Professor Trelawney.
"You're the last one, my dear," she said dreamily. "By the way, you—"
Her voice stopped abruptly.
Her mouth hung open in a vague gurgle, as if something had seized her throat. Her enormous bug-like eyes stared at Harold in shock.
"Where did you—how did you get this cup?"
"Just took it off the shelf," Harold said calmly. "Is there a problem, Professor?"
"N-No, not at all," Trelawney forced a composed smile and poured tea into his cup.
It must be coincidence, she thought, trying to calm herself. Yes, I recognize that cup—it's one of the Zonko props—but this student doesn't necessarily know that. Dıscover more novels at 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮•𝘯𝘦𝘵
After all, third-years could go to Hogsmeade, but they hadn't been yet. School had only just started.
If they hadn't visited Hogsmeade, they wouldn't know about Zonko's—right?
That made her feel much better.
Probably the cup had simply fallen, and he'd caught it. The props weren't that sensitive—students could intercept them if they were quick enough.
Still, better put those away after class. You never know...
"Professor, you like Zonko's joke-shop cups too?" Harold said with a smile. "A friend of mine loves those. They got the biting kind though."
Oh no. He knows Zonko's.
Trelawney stood frozen, dumbstruck, her face pale as the tea kettle behind her continued to pour water into Harold's cup.
"Careful, Professor. You're overfilling it," Harold said, smoothly stepping back before the hot water could scald his hand.
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