Charles's Good Friend

After Divination class ended, the students hurried out of the classroom.

Harry felt as if he were walking on clouds. He drifted down the dizzying spiral staircase of the North Tower with his classmates, crossed the castle's chilly corridors, and headed for the Great Hall.

Professor Trelawney's trembling voice, pale face, and dazed state at the end kept replaying in his mind, impossible to shake.

"She sounded scarier than ever this time, Harry." Ron's voice was weak, and his face looked even worse than it had in Divination class. His freckles stood out starkly against his bloodless skin. "Those words sounded... too specific. They didn't sound like her usual vague 'omens.'"

Harry nodded silently. He wanted to say something, but the words would not come.

He tried to tell himself that Trelawney was incompetent, that she was only slacking off at work, that she predicted someone would die every year and everyone was still alive and well.

But this time was different. He could not forget her genuine panic, or the flash of unmistakable fear in her eyes.

It inevitably reminded him of several months ago, in the hall of the Department of Mysteries filled with Prophecy Orbs. Beside the label bearing his and Voldemort's names, he had secretly taken away an orb containing the prophecy that had truly determined his fate: "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and