The Road to Godric's Hollow

June, 1980

It was a cold, rainy summer's night and the streets of Hogsmeade were fairly deserted. The shops had long closed for the day, and the downpour drove nearly every sane wizard indoors. Hardly anyone noticed the thin figure walking along the path that led from Hogwarts into the village. He was an old man with long silvery hair and an equally long beard to match. Water streamed down from his purple umbrella, soaking his long blue robes, which were made from the finest velvet and adorned with intricate patters of centaurs and nymphs. His half-moon spectacles, nestled on the bridge of his crooked nose, seemed impervious to the drizzle. Despite the rains and the slippery mud, he was walking quite briskly. He strode down the main street past Zonko's Joke Shop and the post office, and then turned into a side street that led to a small inn. A wooden sign hanging above the door was swaying dangerously due to the wind. Upon closer inspection, a picture of a severed boar's head could be discerned on the sign.

He entered the inn and immediately surveyed the bar. The Hog's Head was known for its more interesting clientele and its unusual goat-like scent. There were only a handful of customers inside. An old and shabby wizard was sleeping by the bar, surrounded by half a dozen empty firewhiskey bottles. A group of goblins was having dinner at a table in the corner. Another wizard was seated at a table by the stairs. An oversized balaclava hid his face, and he was nursing a bottle of butterbeer. Busy scrubbing by the side was an elderly barman, fruitlessly trying to clean the bar top with a rag that looked as old as him.

The old man went to the barman and asked him softly, "Is she here yet, Aberforth?"

Aberforth inclined his head and answered quietly, "She's waiting for you. Second floor, two doors down on the right."

The old man smiled and nodded his thanks, and slowly went his way up the old and creaking stairs.

I must be getting soft in my old age, he thought to himself. Or probably I'm just too nice for my own sake.

He did not want to be here tonight. In fact, he had quite a number of papers waiting for him back in his office, not to mention all the work he needed to do for the Order. Albus Dumbledore was a very busy man, but he was here tonight to interview an unemployed "Seer" who was looking to teach at Hogwarts. He had already made up his mind on this matter, and he doubted whether actually talking to her would change his decision not to hire her. Sybill Trelawney may have descended from the great Seer Cassandra Trelawney, but Albus knew that the gift of foresight is not one that is passed down from generation to generation.

He stopped outside the door and rapped upon it three times. "Miss Sybill Trelawney?"

"Yes Headmaster, come in," called out a slightly dreamy voice.

The door opened to reveal a very thin woman who was draped in shawls of various colours. Her long neck was bedecked with a number of colourful beads while various bracelets and rings adorned her hands. Her thick glasses, making her look like a grasshopper, unnaturally magnified her eyes.

"Good evening Headmaster. Would you care for something to eat or drink?" the young woman inquired.

"No, thank you, Miss Trelawney. If you don't mind, perhaps we could proceed with our interview?" Albus answered with a small smile.

She gave a small nod of affirmation. Albus gave her a few seconds to collect herself before asking her questions.

"Why do you think that Divination should be included in the school's curriculum?" he asked her gently.

With her eyes glazed, she responded in a dreamy voice, "Divination is one of the most complex and important areas of magic. Unfortunately, few people have the ability to use their Inner Eye to See. I believe that it is our duty to our children to educate them in this noble art..."

Albus fought to suppress the grin that breaking over his face. "What makes you think that you are a capable instructor? Aside from the fact that you are a descendant of one of the greatest Seers in history."

She looked taken aback for a brief moment, her eyes even losing their lustre for a few seconds. She quickly composed herself, and answered in an even mistier tone, "I have been practicing the art of Divination for a long time now, sir. I am well-versed in the practices of palmistry, crystal gazing..."

He tried to look interested in what she was saying. He gave her what he called his "amused Headmaster" smile accompanied by a few nods every now and then. Albus was actually trying to think of a way to tell her that he could not accept her. He contemplated on the merits of telling her that she did not have enough experience when she suddenly stopped talking.

"Sybill? Is there something wrong?" he asked worriedly. The woman has suddenly become rigid in her chair. He was just about to call his brother when she spoke up in a harsh tone.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."

***

Hiding from the barman, otherwise known as Aberforth Dumbledore, Mundungus Fletcher tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible under his balaclava. The old man has not forgiven him yet for trying to steal his goats four years ago. Although most sane people would have forgotten about an incident as minor as this, Aberforth seemed to have exceptionally keen memory (as well as questionable sanity). Until he either forgave Mundungus or forgot about the goats, the latter was banned from the pub's premises.

Right now, he did not have much of a choice. He did not have enough money (due to an unfortunate bet he made on the season's last Quidditch match) to buy Floo powder or to stay at the other local inn. He most certainly did not have any intention of walking home in the rain. But as the fates would have it, he did have enough money to stay at the Hog's Head. Thus, he was forced to don this old balaclava and hope that the old barman did not recognize him.

He was just about to nod off when the door opened to admit in a wizened wizard. Mundungus nearly fell off his seat when he realized whom the newcomer was.

Headmaster Dumbledore? Wonder what he's doin' 'ere, he thought to himself. He watched as the Headmaster went to speak briefly with his brother before turning and going up to the second floor.

Now Mundungus did not consider himself to be a nosy person. He believed in minding one's own business, unless of course there was a good reason (or a high enough amount of money to be gained) to get involved in another's affairs.

"And it seems me luck's abou' to turn..." he muttered to himself.

Augustus Rookwood has recently commissioned him for a job. Since his "business" always took him near Hogwarts, he was tasked to keep an eye on the school's professors and to report any unusual and suspicious activities. Apparently in these dark times, no one is above suspicion. Any information that may aid the Ministry in the war against Him would be greatly appreciated (and highly compensated). Or so Rookwood told him.

And nothing is more suspicious than seeing the great Albus Dumbledore visiting the Hog's Head. Not that he thinks that the Headmaster is involved with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, mind you. He just isn't the type to frequent establishments such as the Hog's Head.

He must be meetin' someone upstairs, he thought.

Mundungus waited a full minute after the Headmaster went upstairs before moving to follow him. He stole a quick glance to the barman and saw that Aberforth was busy tending to the goblins. Quiet as a mouse, Mundungus crept up the stairs. He held his breath with each step he took, certain that everyone in the pub had heard the creaks he made. After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the top of the stairs. There was no light shining under the first door on the second floor. Mundungus listened for a while, and came to the conclusion that this room was unoccupied. He moved to the second room and immediately saw that the light under the door. He squatted by the door and struggled to listen to the muffled voices from within.

"...I have been practicing the art of Divination for a long time now, sir. I am well-versed in the practices of palmistry, crystal gazing..." said a misty female voice.

Bloody hell, sounds like a bad lecture on Divination, he thought. The woman was droning on and on about her various "Gifts" and instances wherein she managed to "See" certain events. Just when his legs felt about to be permanently damaged and he was about to leave, the woman suddenly stopped talking.

"Sybill? Is there something wrong," inquired Albus.

A harsh voice, unlike the earlier misty and dreamy tone, declared loud enough that Mundungus heard every word clearly, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."

Mundungus felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and turn him around. He found himself looking into the gleaming eyes of very person he did not wish to see.

"Dropping eaves, are we?" said Aberforth. In an instant, the old man's eyes lost their gleam. "You!" he cried. "Mundungus Fletcher! What are you doing here, you thief? Didn't I specifically tell you that you are under no circumstances to enter my pub ever again?" shouted the old man.

"I... you see, the rain... and I," stuttered Mundungus. Aberforth, who was surprisingly strong and agile for his age, dragged the much younger man down the stairs and out the pub into the pouring rain.

"Get out and keep out you filthy goat-stealing bum!" said Aberforth, who promptly closed the door in Mundungus' face.

Mundungus sighed, pulled up his balaclava over his face, and started to walk home. "At least I have something to tell Rookwood..."