The world is a wonderful place. But no matter how beautiful a world may be, it's never without its flaws, like the fact that some people just don't play by the rules.
Take, for example, a certain water goddess. She's not the same deity worshipped by a certain crowd of web novel authors, but she does share one rather infamous trait, being a magic user with absolutely dismal stats across the board.
In the same way, though her appearance might not be as flashy, a certain professor shares an uncanny resemblance to that goddess... in all the worst ways.
She was widely considered the most incompetent teacher employed at Hogwarts, and in many ways, her methods and skills mirrored those of the ever-infamous Gilderoy Lockhart. While Lockhart relied on flashy lies stolen from others to dazzle the crowd and mask his utter incompetence, this professor used ominous, empty threats to try to maintain her authority by mentally pressuring her students into submission.
Her name was Sybill Trelawney. And when faced with Umbridge's tyranny, she wore an innocent, wounded expression as if the entire world had wronged her. But even the most patient world eventually picks up the nearest axe when it's had enough.
From Allen's perspective, the harm she brought to Hogwarts wasn't far off from that of a Dementor. Her classroom was saturated with fear and anxiety. At least Dementors mostly stuck to Azkaban when the Ministry was in power, Trelawney, on the other hand, declared death sentences on students as casually as one might announce the weather.
And all of this… from just a handful of "prophecies." Those were apparently enough to grant her the authority to terrify the entire student body of Hogwarts.
The funniest part? She herself didn't even know which of her predictions were real and which were fake. So it was only natural that Allen held her in utter contempt.
Still, since Allen had shown up to the class with the intention of laying low and coasting through, he had no plans of openly opposing the professor. After all, it's hardly noble to burn bridges you haven't even crossed yet.
Unfortunately, life has a funny way of challenging your patience just when you're trying to be harmless and unbothered, like a docile kitten.
It was a sunny afternoon.
Allen and his dorm mates were making their way lazily toward the North Tower of Hogwarts.
Just like how people always seem to go to the bathroom in pairs, Allen and his roommates had all picked the same elective. It may sound unrelated, but there's a universal truth behind it.
Boys go to the bathroom together to sneak a smoke. Students go to class together to share notes or copy homework.
Attendance wasn't really a thing at Hogwarts, but assignments definitely were. And when it came to homework, sharing among friends was simply the scholarly way, right?
As they wandered lazily down the corridor, their conversation naturally drifted toward the upcoming class.
"Hey Allen, do you think Divination is actually useful?" asked Shane, a fifth-year-looking boy who was currently balancing his Divination textbook on the tip of his index finger, trying to spin it as he walked. Unfortunately, the book launched itself straight into the air and nearly took off Marshall's head. Clearly, Shane had tried to do a little magic trick and failed miserably.
"Alright, Shane, cut it out. There aren't any cute witches around to impress," Marshall said, snatching the book from the floor and tossing it back at him. "Even if you conjured a bouquet of flowers, no one's gonna suddenly agree to go on a Hogsmeade date with you. That Muggle trick isn't even interesting anymore. If you really want to impress someone, join the Quidditch team and score a winning goal or something."
Ouch. Direct hit.
Ever since third-years were allowed weekend visits to Hogsmeade, many of the younger students had been trying to show off their newfound feathers. Shane's face flushed slightly as he tucked the book back under his arm, thoroughly embarrassed.
That little side track completely derailed the conversation, which soon wandered off into another random topic.
While they were walking, they happened to bump into another group, Fred and George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, and Lee Jordan.
It was quite a contrast. Unlike Allen and his roommates, this bunch was enthusiastically debating which professional Quidditch team was the best this season. Not surprising, given that three of them were players and the other was a commentator. Passion was to be expected.
Once the groups merged, the topic naturally shifted to Quidditch. There was no way they could continue their earlier, more embarrassing conversation in front of girls. Judging by the innocent looks on those girls' faces, they had no idea what was really being discussed, and it would take them a lot of time, and effort, to figure it out.
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The Divination classroom was perhaps the most secluded classroom on the entire Hogwarts campus, only rivaled by the Astronomy Tower on Wednesday nights. The room's décor and the twisting corridors leading to it were a perfect match for Professor Sybill Trelawney's bizarre sense of aesthetics.
Then again, that was par for the course with all Seers. They seemed to believe the more mysterious and obscure something was, the better. Even finding the classroom felt like solving a riddle.
In short: if you didn't leave thoroughly confused, they weren't doing their job right.
After asking for directions several times, the students finally navigated the maze-like halls and found the "boss room", as Allen jokingly called it. The convoluted path reminded him of an old RPG he used to play, one written as "Chinese Paladin" but more accurately called "Maze Simulator."
The "party of adventurers" had already queued up outside the door. A small brass plaque labeled the classroom's occupant: Sybill Trelawney, Divination Professor, not "Antuen" like a dungeon boss, though it may as well have been.
Suddenly, the ceiling hatch swung open, and a silver ladder dropped down into the hallway. Allen mentally grumbled about how it was a shame Hogwarts uniforms didn't include skirts, wait, where did that thought come from?
Behind the ladder, in this bizarre attic-meets-teahouse setup, a thin silhouette slowly approached the brightest patch of light in the otherwise dim room. It was clear someone had gone to great effort to choreograph the scene.
Then came a wavering, ethereal voice.
"Welcome to the Delian League," wait, no, that was just Allen's imagination running wild again.
What the voice actually said was: "Welcome. It is a rare joy to see you all in the physical realm."
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