The Sybil's Oracle Book 1 - The Snakes' Den

THE SYBIL'S ORACLE

Talibus ex adyto dictis Cumaea Sibylla horrendas canit ambages antroque remugit, obscuris uera inuoluens

In these words, resounding in the cave, the Sybil of Cumae chanted terrible mysteries, interweaving the clear with the cryptic.

CHAPTER 1- PROLOGUE

The very last day of their very last year. Only one week ago, it had seemed both far away and desirable, like a distant oasis in the torrid desert of their N.E.W.T. exams. The last week had even lured them into the illusion of a small eternity stretching out before them--lazy hours, whiled away in idle pastimes. And then, suddenly, the day before, time had surreptitiously started to move at a quicker pace. The consciousness of things being done for the last time--for a very long while and, in some cases, even for their whole lives--had surfaced: Taking a book back to the library, to this library at least, for the last time. Their last lunch at Hogwarts. Packing their trunks for the last time. Before dinner--their last--a stroll down to the lake, to sit there together, feeding the Giant Squid for the last time, watching the last sunset at Hogwarts.

A figure in black robes strode towards them. Malfoy, shading his eyes with his right hand, squinted into the rays of the setting sun. "Oh, no!" he drawled, "If I weren't already glad to leave this... prison, I would at least be eternally grateful for not having to see her again."

As the figure came nearer, those who had been lazily lying on their backs in the grass rose slowly, until everybody was looking at her. She did not move very fast, although she was walking downhill, and it took her a couple of minutes until she stood before her nine housemates, who were peering up at her, their expressions covering the whole range from grinning to scowling. It was difficult to say how she did it, but even in the black school robes, she managed to look like a dragonfly. Maybe because of her glasses, which were not only thick, but also so big that they covered almost half her face. After the famous accident during her fifth year--she had nearly strangled herself with her various necklaces when they got caught in the banister of the grand staircase, so that what would have been a harmless fall down the last three steps almost resulted in her untimely demise--she had been forbidden to wear her usual paraphernalia of semiprecious stones. All that remained were her earrings, of which she possessed an impressive selection ranging from deepest lapis lazuli to brightest aquamarine, from the most delicate shade of jade to dark, intense emerald. Every possible shade of blue and green, never another colour. Born under the sign of Aquarius, she obviously regarded it as her duty to appear as watery as possible, and with success. She was used to the scathing comments of her fellow Slytherins; they never missed an occasion to ridicule her. It had been like this for seven years. Why should it change on their last day?

"Come here Sybil! Stay with us and do us the dubious honour of a last prediction!" Malfoy said, gazing up at her in his usual insolent way.

"Yes," Mathilda Reynolds chimed in. "Tell us what we should avoid at any cost, so we know what to do first thing tomorrow morning!"

The group laughed. Slowly, Sybil Trelawney looked from one to the other. They would never understand the true nature of Divination. How could they comprehend that unveiling people's destinies was like walking on a razorblade? More likely to hurt the one who told than the one who was told. A continuous struggle for balance, with the ever-present risk of falling. But they did not know. They found it funny, and maybe it was better like that. She sat down on a blanket beside Owen McNair.

"What do you want me to read from, then?" she asked, "Cards? Palms? Crystal ball?"

"How about frog's guts?" Clarissa Rosier's eyes were glinting with anticipation. "Lucius would like that, wouldn't you, Lucius? At least the preparatory part."

Amidst the general laughter, Lucius came slowly to his feet. "I'd be most glad to oblige. Sybil?"

She nodded. It didn't matter where she read their horrible fates. Whether tea leaves or star charts, Tarot cards or frog's guts, they would all show the same. Blurry images she had to interpret, vague impressions that refused to be translated into words, but which she had to force into the straitjacket of language, in order to communicate them. Sometimes she felt the truth escape her at the very moment she tried to clothe it in the deceitfully simple costume of articulate speech. But that was the eternal dilemma of the clairvoyant. She had sensed it from the beginning, ready to accept the reputation of charlatanism it brought about.

The others set to work, and soon nine frogs were caught, stunned and lined up in the grass. Malfoy took the first one into his left hand and, with the small knife he used to sharpen his quills, he slit up the bulging white belly. The animal's limbs were moving convulsively, eagerly watched by the group of Slytherins.

Sybil took the small corpse and began to scrutinize the intestines for any sign of Mathilda Reynolds's future fate. From the moment she got sorted until the present day, everybody had always been wondering why the Sorting Hat had identified the quiet, unobtrusive, mousy-haired girl as a Slytherin. Right now, she was watching Sybil with her big brown eyes that reminded of a good-natured, if simple-minded, cow.

"The man you love will lose his soul," Sybil said finally.

"How very appropriate," came Severus Snape's silky voice, "As a junior Ministry official, what other choice would there be for poor Barty Crouch but to give up his personality for a splendid career? Or is that too... er, extensive an interpretation?"

"Bartemius doesn't have to 'give up his personality'," Mathilda snapped back, visibly vexed, "He is ambitious, in case you didn't notice. Or have you already forgotten that he was prefect and Head Boy?"

"That certainly is not a relevant point," said Clarissa Rosier, "After all, Lucius is Head Boy, and are you seriously implying that the Ministry would hire him?"

Lucius's eyes were briefly lit by a dangerous glint when he commented "Nobody hires a Malfoy, my dear, we are the ones who hire, not the other way round. And, Mathilda, just out of curiosity: Do you always call him Bartemius, even in more, well, intimate situations?"

The girl blushed furiously. "You have no right to ask such personal questions, Lucius, just because you change your girlfriends so fast that names with more than one syllable would mean too much of a delay!"

Malfoy was about to retort when he saw, from the corner of his eye, that the frogs began to move again. He renewed the stunning spell and picked up the next victim. "Be that as it may, Mathilda... Who's next? Considering that this is a particularly ugly frog, it should be you, Nott."

"Not everybody is as fortunate as you," Cedric Nott replied crossly. "But okay, I'll be next."

The animal's belly was cut open and Sybil Trelawney concentrated on its contents. It was difficult, maybe because Nott was not only extremely ugly, but also exceptionally insensitive, so that establishing any kind of spiritual bond with him seemed hopeless. Knowing that she was not going to be taken seriously anyway, Sybil decided that Cedric Nott was not worth a more consequential effort. It was preferable, in his case, to invent a prediction.

"I see lots of money," she muttered, only to be interrupted by collective laughter.

"But Sybil, his family is rich!" Heather Avery said, still snorting.

"Thank you for stating the obvious. He will remain rich, then. But there is... wait, I'm not sure... an accident? No, it's a lethal illness. Sorry, Cedric."

Nott ran a large, square hand through his hair that resembled a toilet brush, and grunted "Never mind."

Sybil gave him an indulgent smile and turned to a girl with long, sleek black hair, white skin and heavy-lidded, dark eyes. "Tabitha? Care to be next?"

"I honestly don't mind whether I'm next or last," Tabitha Al Faruk said with a half-contemptuous, half-derisive scowl, "As long as you don't predict that St. John is going to dump me. Although," and she tossed back her hair "I certainly would not advise him to do so."

"I would by all means tell you if that was going to happen, my dear," Sybil retorted acidly, "But to judge from how he looks at you, I daresay that St. John Lestrange would rather give up his profession as teacher and Head of Slytherin than to even think of dumping you."

"Who knows," Tabitha said dreamily, "He might decide to resign anyway, if somebody--" she exchanged a meaningful look with Malfoy from under her half-closed lids "--made him a better offer. But pray, tell me what you see." And she gave Sybil an arctic smile.

There was a good reason why the clairvoyant had chosen the black-haired girl to be next: she always tended to get done with the nasty business first and keep the better stuff for the end. Since they had started school, the images and sensations assaulting her when she read Tabitha's future had always been the same. First, there was a skull with something that resembled a snake slithering out of the hole that was its mouth, then the skull seemed to explode in an incandescent jet of fire, and finally there was--nothingness, for the lack of a better word to describe the complete absence of colour, warmth, sound or emotion. It had always frightened Sybil, and she had never told the other girl the truth. Violent as the vision was, it was too vague for her to put it into words. It was not death, and neither was it life. She simply did not know what to say. Today was no exception, and so she settled for an airplane crash, to the great amusement of the group.

"What do you have in store for me, then?" asked Owen McNair, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Don't tell me I'm going to fly to the moon, like those crazy Muggles, to have a lethal encounter with a Moon Calf!"

Sybil looked into the fourth frog and slowly shook her head. "No, I don't see you with a Moon Calf, Owen. I see an axe, nothing else. So maybe it's death by beheading."

"Knowing Owen," Severus Snape interjected, "I'd say that he's the one who beheads the others."

McNair's moustache twitched slightly. "I would be glad beyond words. Thank you, Severus."

Heather Avery, a heavyset girl with a blonde ponytail, giggled. "You wouldn't chop off my head, though, would you, Owen?"

He gave her a contemptuous look. "I've seen your head serve many purposes, my dear, but perhaps being cut off would be what it does best."

She blushed, and tears shot into her eyes. She remained silent, though, for she was used to her boyfriend's cruel remarks. So were the others. Nobody seemed to mind her distress, Lucius even chuckled. "Tell her what is going to happen to her head, then," he drawled, handing Sybil another frog.

Examining it carefully, she said "You, Heather, will have a very long life. But you'll be lonely, and die a lonely death."

This was the last straw for the blonde girl. With a sob, she scrambled to her feet and ran towards the castle.

"Stupid slut!" McNair muttered.

"I agree," Lucius said, inclining his head, "But you were a little unjust with her. Her, uh, oral performance is well beyond average. Now, Sybil, I believe it is my turn. Give me your worst."

With Malfoy, it was like with Tabitha: the same image, since the very first time she had done a reading for him. Only she had fewer difficulties with his because it was much clearer. "Same as always, Lucius. No surprises there. You will be murdered by your best friend."

He smirked. "After seven years, even an obtuse old fraud like you should already have understood that I do not have any friends. But thank you all the same."

Three frogs left. "Ladies first then, I guess," said Stuart Wilkes. "No, I'll take that back. Females first, considering it's you we're talking about, Clarissa."

Clarissa Rosier only raised her eyebrows. Arrogance gave way to delight when Sybil predicted a passionate love affair, betrayal, and subsequently the lover's violent death by Clarissa's hands.

"Ah, l'amour! Le crime passionel!" Lucius sighed, theatrically putting his right hand where, at least anatomically, he had a heart.

Clarissa playfully smacked his other hand. "You're just envious!"

He caught her wrist and pulled, so that she keeled over and came to lie before him, looking up to him with a mix of fright and delight. "Maybe I'm the lover, little one," he purred. "In which case you might want to reconsider the second part of the prediction." He gave her arm a painful twist, releasing her only when she begged him to.

With a small wave towards Wilkes, Severus Snape indicated that it was the redhead's turn. Pushing his glasses up his freckled nose--a gesture he repeated about a hundred times a day--Wilkes listened to Sybil's words. He would marry soon and have many children, who in the end were all going to turn against him.

"Only turn against me or murder me?" he inquired earnestly.

"I don't see murder, but that of course doesn't exclude--"

"Thank you," he interrupted her hastily, "That will be enough. I'm fine. You were lenient with me today, Syb--Sybil?"

The clairvoyant's look had become strangely unfocused and her hands were convulsively opening and closing.

"Another powerful vision, I suppose," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "Gods, does she really think anyone still buys those little acts?"

After a few seconds, her look and posture returned to normal, but she avoided Severus Snape's eyes. "No," she said, holding back Malfoy who was just about to cut up the last frog, "You can let him go. I have something else for Severus."

Snape brushed back his long, black hair and stared angrily at her from narrowed eyes. "If you are trying to say that my future is worth less than a dead frog, thank you, I got the message."

She shook her head. "Definitely not. Don't be so touchy, Severus. I just don't need the frog, so why kill it? As to your future, I will let you know in due time."

There was an awkward pause, and Lucius glanced at his watch. "Dinner time, ladies and gentlemen, our last dinner at Hogwarts. Let us celebrate our freedom!"

They all got up, collected and folded their blankets and trudged towards the castle. Still visibly offended, Severus made up the rear. When he arrived at the entrance, he saw that Sybil was waiting there while the others already entered the Great Hall. She did not say anything and just gave his hand a small, reassuring squeeze before they joined the rest of the group.

The leaving feast lasted longer than the usual dinners, and afterwards, they stayed together in the Common Room for a last butterbeer. One by one, they went to their dormitories, until only Severus was left, staring into the dying flames of the fireplace. He sat there for a long time, lost in his thoughts.

A soft purring noise and a slight nudge at his leg made him jerk up his head in surprise, to see Sybil's white Kneazle stare at him out of big emerald eyes. Between its teeth, it was holding a sheet of parchment, folded into a small rectangle. Severus took and unfolded it.

Death and rebirth will be your fate

And you shall spend a life in hell.

Love holds the key to heaven's gate.

Her eyes with yours will meet and tell

You that your soul has found its mate.

This glimpse, this short relief from pain

Will leave its trace within your mind,

Her image, though, will not remain.

Then darkness claims its toll again.

She's yours if you leave it behind.

"Oh, Sybil," he muttered, "You outdid yourself with this piece of rubbish!" He was about to toss the parchment into the fire, but then thought better of it and, with a little smile, drew out his wand, shrunk the small rectangle to the size of a fingernail and put it into a medallion he wore under his robes on a long, thin silver chain. Then he slowly walked towards the dormitory to join his already sleeping housemates. For the last time.