welcome, my children. in this room, you shall explore the mysterious art of divination. in this room, you shall discover if you possess.  a crimson scrim flutters and sybil trelawney, divination professor, glides dramatically into view, eyes huge and bug-like behind enormous glasses.
 the sight. hello. i am professor trelawney. together, we shall cast ourselves into the future. but know this. one either has the gift or not. it cannot be divined from the pages of a book. books only cloud one's inner eye.
you, boy! is your grandmother well?
i wouldn't be so sure of that. the first term will be devoted to the reading of tea leaves. if all goes well, we will proceed to palmistry, fire omens, and finally.  the crystal ball. by the way, dear, beware a red- haired man.
unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in february by a nasty bout of flu. i myself will lose my voice. and in late spring, one of our number will.  leave us forever. as the class exchanges uneasy glances, trelawney smiles brightly.
well then. shall we?
broaden your minds, my dears. and allow your eyes to see.  beyond. trelawney takes lavender brown's cup, peers inside.
a five-leaf clover.  you can expect to wake with a horrible rash tomorrow morning, dear. mr. longbottom, after you've broken your first cup.  ca-chink! neville fumbles the cup in his hands and the brittle crash of china is heard.
 would you be so kind as to select one of the blue ones? i'm rather partial to the pink. what do you see in mr. potter's cup, mr. weasley?
ahhh!
my dear boy.  you have the grim.
relax.  let your mind.  go.
crystal-gazing requires that you clear the inner eye. only then, will you.  see. oh my, what do we have here? as trelawney eyes harry's crystal, hermione rolls her eyes.
my dear, from the moment you first arrived in my class, i sensed that you did not possess the proper spirit for the noble art of divination. you may be young in years, but the heart that beats beneath your bosom is as shriveled as an old maid's, your soul as dry as the pages of the books to which you so desperately cleave. stung, hermione starts to reply, but -- remarkably -- seems incapable of a single word. rising gracelessly, she exits, knocking her crystal ball to the floor. harry watches curiously as the ball rolls slowly out the doorway.
on these occasions, i take no joy in my gift, miss brown.
he will return tonight.  harry stiffens. trelawney's voice is eerily hollow.
tonight, when the clock strikes twelve, the servant shall break free. he and his master shall be reunited. it cannot be prevented. trelawney smiles savagely.  then her head falls forward. when it rises, she blinks, eyes the hand that lies upon harry's shoulder. her hand.
so sorry, dear boy. did you say something? her voice is normal once more. harry shakes his head.