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"Fighting aliens?" Luna Lovegood's silvery eyes lit up instantly. She leaned closer to Hermione, a genuine, childlike excitement transforming her dreamy expression. "Truly? I want to go! Do they look like the Scimitar-Horned Snorlacks? Do they have rotating horns on their heads, or are they more like the Crumple-Horned variety?"
Hermione let out a small, quiet laugh. The absurdity of the question, delivered with such profound, earnest sincerity, was deeply disarming. "They look like ugly space zombies, Luna. But yes, I'll take you next time. You'd probably find them very fascinating."
Luna squinted her eyes happily, like a kitten having its favorite spot stroked. After a few more minutes of discussing the merits of theoretical alien warfare, she reluctantly said goodbye and skipped away, her mind clearly already drawing up intergalactic travel plans.
The air in the Divination classroom was heavy, hot, and thick with the cloying scent of incense, dust, and old curtains. The cluttered space, filled with brass tables, velvet cushions, and half-empty teacups, felt less like a sanctuary of prophecy and more like a stuffy, neglected attic.
Professor Sybill Trelawney, her enormous, magnified eyes peering out from behind thick lenses, spoke in a breathy, dramatic monotone that seemed calculated to induce immediate sleep. "Children, today we shall peer into the mists of the future through the sacred art of Tasseomancy—divination by tea leaves."
Hermione, who was already fully awake and entirely unimpressed, quickly drained the cold, weak tea from her cup. Her internal assessment of the course was simple: Useless. Not in the grimoire. Not as good as the Eye of Agamotto. Why bother reading tea leaves when she could look directly into the subject's soul or even manipulate the timeline itself?
She was about to dismiss the class from her mind when Ron leaned in. "She really hates your rat," he whispered.
Hermione looked to the corner of the table. Scabbers, the fat, mangy black rat, was huddled low, his breath coming in shallow bursts.
"He is just a rat, Hermione. Why do you always glare at him?" Ron asked, genuinely perplexed by her open hostility towards his pet.
Hermione's eyes narrowed, her expression turning cold and clinical as she focused on the repulsive creature. He's not a rat, she thought with a surge of contempt. He's a man. A traitor. A coward who sold out his friends and spent twelve years sleeping in a child's pocket, avoiding the consequences of his actions. Peter Pettigrew. The very sight of the man in his disgusting rat form made her stomach churn. And he's proud of it. He's proud of living in absolute moral degradation, just to survive. She looked away. He wasn't even worth the effort of a full Killing Curse.
Trelawney drifted over to Harry's table, peering into his teacup. As she examined the dregs, her large eyes snapped wide. She let out a sudden, high-pitched shriek, her body seizing in a violent, theatrical convulsion.
"The Grim!" she wailed, her voice thick and guttural, sounding suddenly ancient and terrifying. "I see the great, spectral dog! The sign of… death! It portends… your death, my dear!"
The students gasped, their heads whipping around. Harry flinched, his heart hammering against his ribs. He forced himself to remain calm, though a wave of icy dread washed over him. Not again. Is it another Voldemort curse?
Trelawney slowly emerged from her trance, looking dazed and weak. Harry seized the opportunity. "Professor, if that's a real prediction, you must tell me the details! Where? When? What does it mean?"
Trelawney blinked her magnified eyes, which were now glazed over and cloudy. "Ah, things like prophecy, my dear boy… they are too delicate. They cannot be forced. The future is veiled in mist…" She rambled on, quickly retreating into her usual mysterious fog.
Harry stared at her, profound skepticism written all over his face. She just scared me half to death, and now she can't tell me anything except that I'm going to die? This class was utterly useless.
Hermione broke the awkward silence. She looked at Trelawney with a look of severe academic judgment. "Professor," she said, her voice sharp and challenging, "I find it difficult to justify this course's existence if its sole product is ambiguous fear. If the vision was true, why can you not translate it accurately?"
Trelawney felt her professionalism being challenged. "It is not so simple, Miss Granger! The true gift cannot be forced!"
"That's because your methods are flawed," Hermione stated calmly. "You're relying on random chance and superstition. You are trying to read the future, but you are not looking at the source." She walked up to the Professor's podium, her expression unyielding. "Professor, may I borrow your crystal ball?"
Trelawney, still reeling from the challenge to her authority, nodded mutely.
Hermione took the massive, heavy crystal ball and held it in her hands. She closed her eyes, and a profound stillness settled over her. She was going to show them that real magic, real divination, was a matter of knowledge and power, not tea leaves and vague pronouncements.
She lightly tapped her own temple with her wand. A series of fine, silvery threads, glowing with the cool, ethereal light of moonlight, flowed out from her skin, connected to the tip of her wand. She directed the shimmering energy toward the crystal ball, and the silver light began to sink into the clear glass, charging it.
This was not Tasseomancy. This was Legilimency and Memory Projection. And she was about to show the entire class exactly what the future looked like.Of course. Here is Chapter 142, rewritten and significantly expanded to meet your requirements, with a deep focus on character, atmosphere, and a humanized narrative voice.