"In Divination, Professor Trelawney made an ominous prediction and left quite a few people badly shaken."
"Ah, I see." Professor McGonagall frowned. "No need to say any more, Mr. Behrens. Tell me, which of you is supposed to die this year?"
Everyone looked at Harry and Will.
"Me, and Will," Harry said at last. Thanks to Will, he was no longer particularly nervous, but Ron kept talking about his uncle, and the other students' reactions had unsettled him again.
"I see." Professor McGonagall looked from Harry to Will through her bright glasses. "Behrens doesn't seem to have been affected by that prediction at all. Good.
"After all, Divination is the least rigorous branch of magic. True seers and prophets are rare; most diviners are rather vague-minded. I have no patience for the subject.
"And you should know that Trelawney loves frightening young witches and wizards, but not one of the students whose deaths she has predicted has ever come to harm. So don't worry, Harry."
Will had never intended to have much to do with Trelawney. If she hadn't come up to him insisting on talking about silver, danger, and death, he would hardly have spoken to her.
There were two reasons. For one thing, Trelawney could make genuine predictions only when she fell into a trance she wouldn't remember afterward.
For another... what part of learning magic wasn't dangerous?
Behind Gamp's laws of Transfiguration lay experience bought with wizards' lives. The development of Potions rested on countless deaths and countless experiments.
How much human experimentation had gone into inventing spells? And Dark Magic hardly needed mentioning.
Even the Animagus Ritual, established as far back as ancient Greece, had killed thousands upon thousands of wizards.
Magizoology had grown out of years of dealings between people and Fantastic Beasts. Just