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Chapter 947: A Failed Performance

If interested, one could easily find books on this subject, with almost every year having a prediction of the end of the world.

Just like omens of misfortune and death, they were everywhere, widely seen. If one believed in them, they would drive themselves crazy with fear.

“Yes, Cassandra Trelawney was my great-great-grandmother,” said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher.

“But I think — correct me if I am mistaken — that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of second sight?” said Umbridge, adding another note on the clipboard.

“These things often skip — er — three generations,” said Professor Trelawney.

“Of course, of course!” said Umbridge sweetly, making yet another note; and her toadlike smile widened. “This is a very precious talent. Since that’s the case, I wonder if you could just predict something for me, eh?”

She looked up inquiringly, still smiling.

Professor Trelawney had stiffened as though unable to believe her ears.

“I don’t understand you,” she said, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.

“I’d like you to make a prediction for me,” said Professor Umbridge very clearly.

That was undoubtedly a challenge, soon to be verified if it came true.

That would indeed be a catastrophic act, something no fortune teller would do.

If every prophecy, every divination, every word came true, then it wouldn’t be Divination. Perhaps only ancient Seers could achieve that.

Now, everyone in the classroom was staring transfixed at Professor Trelawney.

She drew herself up to her full height, her beads and bangles clinking.

“The Inner Eye does not See upon command!” she said in scandalized tones.

“I see,” said Umbridge softly, seeming disappointed, and made another note on her clipboard.

“I, I, but, but, wait!” said Professor Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. “I, I think I do see something … something that concerns you … Why, I sense something …  something dark … some grave peril …”

Professor Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Professor Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised.

“I am afraid … I am afraid that you are in grave danger!” Professor Trelawney finished dramatically.

There was a pause. Professor Umbridge’s eyebrows were still raised.

“Right!” she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. “Well, if that’s really the best you can do …”

She turned away, leaving Professor Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving.

It was a failed performance, and Umbridge didn’t believe any of it.

In Evan’s opinion, it would have been more effective if Trelawney had predicted Professor Umbridge’s own success, achieving significant reforms at Hogwarts and eventually becoming the Minister of Magic after returning. But that was just a thought.

Everyone sympathized with Professor Trelawney at first. Although they all knew that she was an old fraud, compared with her, they obviously loathed Umbridge much more, but this trace of sympathy quickly disappeared without a trace. The ensuing Divination class was a terrible nightmare. Stimulated by Umbridge, Professor Trelawney became a little hysterical. She kept making all kinds of terrible predictions. In this class, Evan was the main one. He was the student shrouded in death.

In fact, Umbridge’s teaching evaluation caused every professor in the school to feel uneasy and anxious.

After the Divination class, Evan saw Umbridge again in Professor Sprout’s Herbology class on Thursday, but she only showed up once.

Evan suspected it had to do with the environment in the greenhouse. This year, fourth-year students were studying bubotubers.

These plants were kept in the hazardous Greenhouse Three. They looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each squirmed slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

The students were required to collect the pus; and the process of squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting.

As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, smelling strongly of petrol that pervaded the greenhouse.

Umbridge observed for a while, asked a few simple questions, and then left with a frown!

Hermione also told Evan that Umbridge had inspected the Transfiguration class and Care of Magical Creatures class in the fifth year. Hagrid hadn’t returned, but the substitute Professor Grubbly-Plank didn’t seem to have any problems. After all, she had been teaching for so many years.

But Umbridge seemed displeased with Professor Grubbly-Plank’s support for Dumbledore, and rightly so.

The only good thing was that Malfoy didn’t say that he had been attacked by the hippogriff Buckbeak.

Although he was still dissatisfied with Hagrid, he often sent food to the hippogriff, which was kind of repaying him.

Another noteworthy point was that Umbridge seemed to have not inspected Snape’s classes.

In Evan’s opinion, she probably thought Snape was someone she could win over and was attempting to establish communication with him. However, Umbridge would soon be disappointed.

The others didn’t think too deeply about it. Ron simply believed that they were both birds of a feather, colluding together.

And Harry said that he had naively thought there would never be a teacher he hated as much as Severus Snape, but he now found Umbridge to be a strong contender.

Umbridge’s heart was undoubtedly malevolent; she was a wicked, perverted, crazy old woman.

Harry’s detention continued, and Professor McGonagall’s intervention had no effect.

She took out the black quill again on Tuesday night, but Harry was pleasantly surprised to find it had lost its power.

Immediately, Harry thought about Evan’s statement that he would find a way, and he suspected that he had somehow rendered the quill powerless. Although it might not have a decisive impact since Umbridge could quickly replace it, at least during this period of detention, he wouldn’t have to endure that dreadful punishment.

Umbridge soon discovered this, and amidst disappointment and suspicion, she didn’t spare Harry. She made him repeatedly write ‘I must not tell lies,’ and forced him to fill three large rolls of parchment. It was nearly midnight before she allowed him to leave.

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