(no subject)
Title: The Dark Prince
Author: apostrophe_ess
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR, I merely gain from playing these games in her playground.
Pairing/Character: Sybill Trelawney
Word Count: 934
Rating: G
Summary: Sybill Trelawney is at the Hogs Head for an interview with Albus Dumbledore.
Author's Notes: Thank you to chocolate_limes for the following suggestion in my plea for inspiration post: Sybill: The set up for her giving the Prophecy, perhaps? I've always wanted to see someone write that scene. It was supposed to be a drabble. Whoops!!
The Dark Prince
She supposed they were right. They knew best, didn’t they?
Hadn’t they always done? Wasn’t that their job?
Parents were wise, of course. It was their job. It was because of her parents being wise that she was here now, wasn’t it? Here in the small, pokey, dark room. Here where her leg itched, and her back itched, and she felt like she’d been half eaten alive when she woke this morning.
Carefully Sybill arranged the various shawls her mother had chosen for her to wear today around her shoulders. Careful that the fabrics and the colours all fell in the right order, just as her mother had told her.
Wearing three or four shawls didn’t feel right. It was something that very old ladies did when they were cold and their houses were too draughty to allow warming charms any efficiency.
The mirror in the room wasn’t much help, either. It was a stupid thing, and made most inappropriate comments. But that’s what happens, Sybill thought, when you don’t have enough money to stay in the more salubrious end of town. The Three Broomsticks would have been so much nicer.
Sybill let out a sigh as she looked at the clock. Just twenty minutes now and the meeting was due to start. At least she’d not have to venture forth again to the nasty room downstairs that was termed the bar. She’d done that last night, and once was surely more than enough. It had been like being in the middle of some sort of faceless horror display.
Sybill had felt quite odd ever since and had made the decision she’d not descend to that rather creepy and chilling room again. That the headmaster of the school was willing to meet her in her room was most gracious of him, she would be sure to let him know how appreciated it was.
If only the window would open. There was a slight odour in the room that was in danger of becoming overpowering with the heat and all of these shawls. Sybill removed one, slipped it into her suitcase, fastened another string of beads around her neck to take its place, straightened her glasses and sat on the edge of the bed to take some deep breaths.
It wouldn’t be too long now.
Precisely at the appointed time there was a light rap at the door and Sybill stood to smooth down her skirts as she tried a nervous “Enter, please.”
Whether or not the was interview going well, Sybill had no way of knowing. She’d answered all of Professor Dumbledore’s questions as well as she could. Why he’d wanted to know about her childhood, she had no idea. She’d told him however, of the lonely Cornish cottage and the long walk to the primary school that her mother accompanied her on each day for the few years she was allowed to attend. She told how her mother had waited by the school, and watched across the old stone wall as the children played in the breaks between their lessons. She explained how she’d called out to Sybill to behave if she’d appeared to be joining in with any of the games. It was important, her mother had told her repeatedly, to remain clear in thought, to keep her inner eye free of any taint or colouring. Her inner eye, so her mother reminded her often, was to be preserved at all cost, no matter what. Her inner eye was the key to her fortune.
Just as her great-great-grandmother’s had been.
Sybill had told Dumbledore of the cards that she’d read only that morning. The dark prince that had been bothering her for a little while, the appearance of the duplicitous stranger, the signs of decline. He’d not appeared terribly concerned, but she’d impressed upon him that the cards didn’t lie. If only they’d had tea, she’d have read his leaves. Though as she’d said to Dumbledore, the leaves would tell the same. He must be careful, he must watch out for the dark prince.
It was hard to tell whether he was being a little ignorant or not, Sybill remembered thinking. Either ignorant or rude. One or the other. It was always clear from their features. Either they were pleased to hear her words - grateful - and professed their thanks, or they tried hard to keep their expressions straight and made a comment about the information being interesting. Interesting, Sybill had learned, actually meant on those occasions bunkum. Total and utter bunkum. It was quite rude.
Dumbledore kept his expression straight, allowed his very blue eyes to twinkle slightly, and asked her more questions. So many questions she felt herself being easily overcome by the effects of not going downstairs to eat earlier.
And then the interview was over. There was a noise outside the door, it burst open, the rather odd pale face of a young man with greasy hair and the most dreadful teeth she had ever seen appeared at the crack of the door and it was closed again.
Now it was just a case of waiting. Waiting to see if they had been right, if her parents’ wish that she didn’t cloud her talents with the day to day mundane magic, as they’d called it, that others learned was right. Or waiting to see if the Headmaster was going to offer her a job, if she had convinced him that Divination was important to his students.
Sybill leaned back on the bed and scratched her leg. If she wasn’t wearing the ridiculous lenses right now, she’d look and see what was irritating it so. But for now, perhaps she’d sleep.
Author: apostrophe_ess
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR, I merely gain from playing these games in her playground.
Pairing/Character: Sybill Trelawney
Word Count: 934
Rating: G
Summary: Sybill Trelawney is at the Hogs Head for an interview with Albus Dumbledore.
Author's Notes: Thank you to chocolate_limes for the following suggestion in my plea for inspiration post: Sybill: The set up for her giving the Prophecy, perhaps? I've always wanted to see someone write that scene. It was supposed to be a drabble. Whoops!!
The Dark Prince
She supposed they were right. They knew best, didn’t they?
Hadn’t they always done? Wasn’t that their job?
Parents were wise, of course. It was their job. It was because of her parents being wise that she was here now, wasn’t it? Here in the small, pokey, dark room. Here where her leg itched, and her back itched, and she felt like she’d been half eaten alive when she woke this morning.
Carefully Sybill arranged the various shawls her mother had chosen for her to wear today around her shoulders. Careful that the fabrics and the colours all fell in the right order, just as her mother had told her.
Wearing three or four shawls didn’t feel right. It was something that very old ladies did when they were cold and their houses were too draughty to allow warming charms any efficiency.
The mirror in the room wasn’t much help, either. It was a stupid thing, and made most inappropriate comments. But that’s what happens, Sybill thought, when you don’t have enough money to stay in the more salubrious end of town. The Three Broomsticks would have been so much nicer.
Sybill let out a sigh as she looked at the clock. Just twenty minutes now and the meeting was due to start. At least she’d not have to venture forth again to the nasty room downstairs that was termed the bar. She’d done that last night, and once was surely more than enough. It had been like being in the middle of some sort of faceless horror display.
Sybill had felt quite odd ever since and had made the decision she’d not descend to that rather creepy and chilling room again. That the headmaster of the school was willing to meet her in her room was most gracious of him, she would be sure to let him know how appreciated it was.
If only the window would open. There was a slight odour in the room that was in danger of becoming overpowering with the heat and all of these shawls. Sybill removed one, slipped it into her suitcase, fastened another string of beads around her neck to take its place, straightened her glasses and sat on the edge of the bed to take some deep breaths.
It wouldn’t be too long now.
Precisely at the appointed time there was a light rap at the door and Sybill stood to smooth down her skirts as she tried a nervous “Enter, please.”
Whether or not the was interview going well, Sybill had no way of knowing. She’d answered all of Professor Dumbledore’s questions as well as she could. Why he’d wanted to know about her childhood, she had no idea. She’d told him however, of the lonely Cornish cottage and the long walk to the primary school that her mother accompanied her on each day for the few years she was allowed to attend. She told how her mother had waited by the school, and watched across the old stone wall as the children played in the breaks between their lessons. She explained how she’d called out to Sybill to behave if she’d appeared to be joining in with any of the games. It was important, her mother had told her repeatedly, to remain clear in thought, to keep her inner eye free of any taint or colouring. Her inner eye, so her mother reminded her often, was to be preserved at all cost, no matter what. Her inner eye was the key to her fortune.
Just as her great-great-grandmother’s had been.
Sybill had told Dumbledore of the cards that she’d read only that morning. The dark prince that had been bothering her for a little while, the appearance of the duplicitous stranger, the signs of decline. He’d not appeared terribly concerned, but she’d impressed upon him that the cards didn’t lie. If only they’d had tea, she’d have read his leaves. Though as she’d said to Dumbledore, the leaves would tell the same. He must be careful, he must watch out for the dark prince.
It was hard to tell whether he was being a little ignorant or not, Sybill remembered thinking. Either ignorant or rude. One or the other. It was always clear from their features. Either they were pleased to hear her words - grateful - and professed their thanks, or they tried hard to keep their expressions straight and made a comment about the information being interesting. Interesting, Sybill had learned, actually meant on those occasions bunkum. Total and utter bunkum. It was quite rude.
Dumbledore kept his expression straight, allowed his very blue eyes to twinkle slightly, and asked her more questions. So many questions she felt herself being easily overcome by the effects of not going downstairs to eat earlier.
And then the interview was over. There was a noise outside the door, it burst open, the rather odd pale face of a young man with greasy hair and the most dreadful teeth she had ever seen appeared at the crack of the door and it was closed again.
Now it was just a case of waiting. Waiting to see if they had been right, if her parents’ wish that she didn’t cloud her talents with the day to day mundane magic, as they’d called it, that others learned was right. Or waiting to see if the Headmaster was going to offer her a job, if she had convinced him that Divination was important to his students.
Sybill leaned back on the bed and scratched her leg. If she wasn’t wearing the ridiculous lenses right now, she’d look and see what was irritating it so. But for now, perhaps she’d sleep.