Chapter Text
“Why did he try and kill me as a baby?” asked Harry. “He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then—”
“That might, indeed, have been the more practical course,” said Dumbledore, “except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete.
“He heard only the first part, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait or to learn more. He did not know that you would have 'power the Dark Lord knows not'—”
– Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, chapter thirty-seven, The Lost Prophecy
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It was a cold and wet night, storms brewing on the horizon, droplets of water pattering the rooftops of the village of Hogsmeade. Enchanted candles levitated behind the glass of the shop windows, casting flickering shadows on the cobbled streets. The wind howled and thrashed against the buildings, splattering icy rain across the brick walls and targeting any lost souls that dared to travel in such terrible conditions.
A lone figure crossed the road, muttering curses under her breath. A long cloak clung to her body, adorned with various pendants and colorful straps. A hood covered her face, shielding it from the rain and prying eyes, while a glittering necklace wrapped around it a few times kept it secure. In a rush, she ducked into a nearby doorway to avoid a harsh gust of wind before continuing on her journey toward a rather unfriendly-looking back alley.
At the alley's end stood a small, shady-looking establishment. Its wooden sign depicted a severed wild boar's head leaking blood onto the white cloth – 'Hog's Head' the inscription under the animal's snout proudly stated. The woman tightened her hood and quickened her pace, her boots splashing through puddles as she neared the entrance. She hesitated at the door, trying to glance inside the building through its opaque windows. The thick layer of dust and the complete darkness inside wouldn't allow her to catch a glimpse of the bar.
With a shaky breath, she pushed the door open. It croaked terribly in the complete stillness of the inn. The pub was void of people, and its steady calmness bordered on disturbing – the Hog's Head was well-known for its recurring fights, interesting clientele, and overall wild atmosphere. A few candles laid on the bar, marking a path toward the staircase at the back of the room. The unusual lack of customers and the more than alarming absence of the bartender didn't stop the hooded woman from climbing the staircase to reach the sitting room upstairs.
The first floor was almost as dark as the bar, with the exception of the fire burning in the hearth. The hooded woman saw the backs of two armchairs surrounding the source of light, and a youthful face of a girl who stared at her curiously from the portrait hung above the mantelpiece.
She unwrapped the necklace from around her head and pulled the hood over her saturated form, revealing a head of flaky hair and huge spectacles covering large, owlish eyes. The eyes that swept frantically around the room in search of another living being.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Miss Trelawney," a smooth, low voice said.
She nearly jumped, startled, her shoulders tensing, hand reaching under her cloak to draw her wand. She adjusted her fogged glasses and saw the outline of a man sitting in one of the armchairs. Long, spidery fingers were spread out above the crackling fire as if he were trying to warm them.
"Don't try it, silly girl," he said, dropping his hands to his sides, the long sleeves of his black robe obscuring them from view. He rose from his seat and turned to face her. "Or do you truly believe that you are a match for Lord Voldemort?"
A thunderbolt struck outside, its sharp crack splitting the air. Trelawney gasped, eyes widened, hand trembling as it fell from her pocket, empty.
Another quick exhale escaped her lips as she glimpsed the scarlet eyes peering out from beneath the man's hood. The rest of his face was masked by shadows, but the woman could still make out the unnaturally white blur of his skin, a strongly pronounced jaw, and a pair of thin lips. Tall and slender, he wore a simple, unassuming cloak, yet his towering presence exuded an authority that made her knees shake.
"Congratulations on your new teaching position," Lord Voldemort said, as if the two of them were just old friends reunited. "I've never had the pleasure of studying divination myself, but I'm certain it's a most engaging subject..."
Trelawney could do nothing but stare, afraid of looking at the man and terrified of what he would do if she took her gaze off him.
"Will you take a seat?" Voldemort gestured courtly towards the opposite armchair. "I'm afraid we're lacking on staff, so I'm unable to offer you refreshment."
A fierce blade of fear stabbed her in the chest. She didn't move. "What did you do?" she whispered.
"I made sure there would be no interruptions today. Take a seat." His eyes narrowed slightly. She knew she had no choice but to comply.
A few wobbly steps and she sank into the nearest armchair. "What... do you want... with me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "I've no information for you, I know nothing—"
"You're wrong, Miss Trelawney," Voldemort stated calmly as he settled back into his seat. "You do have information that is of interest to me. If you cooperate, we'll both be able to get what we want from this encounter."
He crossed his legs, maintaining the same rigid posture as when he stood. Trelawney looked anywhere but at his face. She caught they eye of the girl who peered at the two over the frames of her portrait.
"You needn't get hurt if you answer my questions," Voldemort continued, "truthfully and to your best knowledge. You see, I've heard of your gift—"
"I'm not some Muggle fortune-teller!" Trelawney burst out, her head snapping toward him in offense. "The second sight can't be forced! It—"
He silenced her with one look.
"I don't need your questionable powers," he said impatiently, his fingers clenching around the arms of the chair. "I need your memories. I need to know what you told Albus Dumbledore on the night he interviewed you: what did you prophesy about the boy who shall have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord?"
She blinked in confusion.
"I've never!" she blurted out, feeling sweat trickling down her spine from a mixture of fear and the heat of the fire. "I've never said anything like that!"
Voldemort stared at her, the fierce focus of his crimson gaze making her shudder. Slowly, he averted his eyes, turning his attention to the flickering flames that mirrored back in his pupils, casting a glow across his face. With a flicker of light, Trelawney noticed the reptilian shape of his features, a face that seemed more like a mask than flesh. She trembled.
"I thought that a meeting at the same place you made the prophecy might help your memory. We'll try a different method, shall we?" Voldemort continued, sounding deceptively calm again. The spidery hand traveled under his robe and reappeared with a wand.
The shadows closed in around them, binding Trelawney to her armchair with a grip of pure fear. She shivered and tried to reach to adjust her cloak, but halted midway at the silent threat of the Dark Lord's wand aimed at her. Eyes wide, she had frozen.
"What was the prophecy about?"
"I don't—"
"Crucio!"
A horrid scream ripped from her throat as she fell from her armchair, body writhing uncontrollably on the carpet. The searing agony shot through every nerve, as if her very flesh was being torn apart from the inside out. She thrashed desperately, her mind a blur of pure torment, while Voldemort watched her with mild interest. "Stop! STOP!" she begged.
After what seemed like hours to the witch, and barely a dozen seconds for the Dark Lord, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing, and the effects of the spell vanished.
"I don't know!" Trelawney cried, covering her face as her whole body trembled with sobs.
"You don't know..." Voldemort repeated so quietly that it could have been the murmur of the flame itself.
A few seconds of an almost-silence passed. Trelawney wheezed with her legs drawn to her chest, while Voldemort towered over her pitiful figure, seemingly lost in thoughts.
"You don't know..." he murmured to himself, petting his wand in wonder. "You're not lying, certainly... a pathetic coward like yourself... Did Severus lie to me?"
Voldemort's voice gained a strange, hissing quality. Trelawney's only answer was a loud sniff.
"No, he wouldn't dare," his hands stilled. The weight of his attention returned to the witch. "You don't remember?" he asked. "Let me see if I can make you," he raised his wand and she curled into herself, looking like a bundle of colourful necklaces, trying to appear as small as possible. "Legilimens!"
Image after image raced through both their minds like a flickering film – the Dark Lord tore through Trelawney's memories with a force nearly as painful as the Cruciatus curse. She screamed in agony again, wriggling wildly as if caught in invisible restraints. Suddenly, the pain stopped.
A fogged, blurry memory rose to the surface of her mind.
Albus Dumbledore's bearded face, a good-natured twinkle in his eye, the half-spectacles covering his clear blue gaze. Yet his expression held a certain brand of firmness as he initially declined Trelawney the position of a teacher at Hogwarts. He turned around to leave, and then...
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..." Trelawney said, her voice thick and hoarse. The words blended together, nearly unintelligible as her memories struggled to repress the prophecy. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..." the words were growing more firm with each second, each harsh dig of the Dark Lord's magic into her mind. "...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."
The foreign presence in her mind withdrew. A breath of a pin-drop silence followed.
"Ah, I see," Voldemort said softly, almost amusedly. "You forgot..."
She panted heavily, drained by the onslaught, yet summoned enough strength to prop herself up on her forearms, gazing up at the Dark Lord.
"Are you going to kill me now?" she whispered.
A cold smile twisted Lord Voldemort's features into something ugly, inhuman. Such expression that would have made anyone else's face more appealing only served to further distance him from their kind.
"It would be impossibly foolish of me to end your life when it's just proven to be of any value, wouldn't it?"
He raised his wand for the last time and she closed her eyes, distrusting and petrified.
"Obliviate."
. . .
When Sybil Trelawney woke up the next morning in her warm bed at the Hogwarts castle, it took her a few long moments to calm her rapidly beating heart.
When she finally managed to leave the safety of her duvet, covered in a cold sweat, she wrote down in her Dream Diary about a terrible nightmare she had of the Dark Lord.
By a cruel twist of fate, a few months later, when the two families of prophesied children would mourn their loss, she wouldn't be able to recall any of it.