A/N I do not own anything here except the plots… There is something specific I am talking about but if I say it here I might give away the story!
Sybill adjusted the shawl over her shoulders.
“Great-great grandmother Cassandra? I- I am leaving now!” stuttered Sybill in her mystic voice.
“Go, child!” screeched Cassandra Trelawney.
Sybill nodded and exited her great-great grandmother’s house in Wiltshire. She Disapparated.
She landed on the ground outside of the Hogs Head pub. Sybill realized the man who held her career in the palm of his hand was standing above her. She looked up. “Great gods of the m-moon,” she stuttered. “Professor Dumbledore… It’s an honor…”
“Please, do call me Albus. After all, Sybill, we are all friends here, are we not?”
“Of course, Albus,” said Sybill.
Dumbledore extended his hand to Trelawney, she took it and stood, rather clumsily.
They entered the Hogs Head. The grumpy bartender was wiping the counter. Inside the Hogs Head smelled of goats. The floor was rather filthy. Dumbledore and the bartender shared a glance. It was a long glance, noted Trelawney. The kind of glance that…
“One butterbeer,” said Dumbledore, drawing Trelawney from her thoughts. Dumbledore knew that the bartender did not like people loitering around his pub if they were not going to buy anything. He dropped a few Galleons on the counter. The bartender grunted at Dumbledore and muttered something under his breath, “You’re still the same… always in your shadow, am I? Serving you like a House-elf. Humph!”
Dumbledore gave the bartender a sharp glare.
“I- I’ll have sherry,” said Sybill. She wondered what the bartender meant by his remark.
The two went into the back of the pub and sat down.
“So, Sybill,” said Dumbledore looking down at her behind his half-moon spectacles, “how is your great-great grandmother Cassandra?”
“Oh, she’s fine… yes, very well.”
“And you have, er, inherited her talent?”
“Yes, Albus,” said Trelawney, irritated.
“You might know, Sybill, that I’ve never cared much for Divination.”
“Oh, but Divination is an art, everything is written in the stars!”
Dumbledore ignored her. “Can you make a prediction for me, Sybill?”
“Uh… ah… Well…”
“It is a simple question, Sybill. Are you incapable of answering it?”
Sybill’s nostrils flared, but she immediately calmed herself. “I cannot make predictions with you pestering me, Albus, let alone upon request!”
“Are you implying that you are not able to make a prediction?”
“I’ve got a prediction for you, Albus,” said the bartender as he wiped the table behind Sybill with the same dirty cloth. “The woman’s mad!”
Trelawney turned around in her seat. “You are not doing yourself any favors, doubting my ability. Oh, yes, I see karma… I see… a terrible event in your near future!”
The bartender stopped cleaning the table and pinned Trelawney with his blue eyes, eyes that matched Dumbledore’s… could they possibly be…
“Is that all you’ve got for me, mad woman?” he asked flatly.
“Humph!” She turned back to Dumbledore as the bartender gave him a nasty grin.
“Did we ask for you Ab- bartender?” asked Dumbledore angrily.
The bartender switched from almost triumphant to grumpy again. “I won’t kill you, because she wouldn’t have wanted me to, not that you would’ve cared if she was killed. Oh, wait, she was killed, wasn’t she?”
“THAT IS ENOUGH!” roared Dumbledore.
The tension in the pub was practically visible.
“Oi! You there, if you’re not going to buy anything then GET OUT OF MY PUB!” screeched the bartender running outside to a man in a dark cloak.
“Did you know him?” asked Sybill.
“Ah… I’ve been here many times before,” said Dumbledore vaguely.
“Sybill, I must be leaving now. It was a pleasure meeting you again, but I do not think I will require your services at Hogwarts… Sybill?”
She spoke in a raspy voice, gasping for air and clutched Dumbledore…
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… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… 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 will be born as the seventh month dies…
The man in the dark cloak had stopped running from the bartender to listen but was soon chased away before Sybill had finished.
Sybill released Dumbledore as the bartender walked in, grumpy as ever, muttering under his breath.
“Oh… I thought you were leaving, Albus,” said Sybill gloomily.
“On second thought, Sybill, your… talents are much-needed at Hogwarts, and I’d be honored to have you as a professor at Hogwarts.”
“Really? Do you mean that?”
“Of course, Sybill. Please pack your belongings from the home in which you currently reside. You’ll be living in Hogwarts, if you do not mind,” said Albus.
“Yes, Albus!” She Disapparated on the spot.
“Yes… Perhaps everything is written in the stars.” Dumbledore glanced wistfully at the bartender and Disapparated.
A/N I just noticed as I was reading this over that there are two plots in this story. Plot 1: Sybill, the prophecy, Snape, Dumbledore, yadda yadda yadda. Plot 2: Sybill has a funny feeling that the bartender and Dumbledore have met before. Tee hee hee. Can you guess where they’ve met before? Also, I wanted to clarify that the thing I really, really, and truly disclaimed was the prophecy, y’know, the thing that is totally italicized.