A hush of mixed emotions stirred among the young witches and wizards.
After lavishing Ian with praise, Professor Trelawney grew even more animated. His casual ntion of a "great disaster" had utterly convinced her that he must surely possess an extraordinary gift for Divination.
Surely this boy was cut from the sa rare cloth as herself, a true Seer in the making! With such lofty expectations swelling in her heart, Professor Trelawney felt it only proper to "impart" so advanced knowledge to her class, well ahead of schedule.
"According to my original syllabus, we were to begin reading tea leaves in next month's practical lesson. However, I just consulted my Inner Eye and, alas, I have foreseen a most dreadful cold sweeping upon with the sudden shift in weather. I may be forced to cancel classes for one to two months…" She trailed off with a dramatic sigh. "Naturally, I can't allow your Divination progress to falter due to such misfortune."
Professor Trelawney bustled toward a nearby shelf, where a bronze censer released curling threads of pale smoke. The haze didn't slow her in the slightest as she plucked a dog-eared book from the clutter.
"Unfogging the Future."
This was the standard text for third-years who had chosen Divination as an elective. Of course, the second-year students sitting the practical today had not yet purchased it, not that she seed concerned.
Perfectly aware of this, Professor Trelawney handed her own well-worn copy to Ian, encouraging him to study it at his leisure.
"I do hope it sets you upon the sa noble path I walk. Believe , I'd rather not cancel class either, but such a cold may very well steal my voice entirely… Yes, a grave condition indeed." Her tone was all regret, though the repeated insistence on her impending illness made Ian feel she was rather neatly laying the groundwork for a prolonged absence.
If mory served, she had suffered a suspiciously similar "cold" around the sa ti last year, lasting precisely one to two months. The regularity of her seasonal disappearances had long made the students wonder if sothing more than illness was at play.
After all, one's salary wasn't docked during a properly filed sick leave.
Perhaps this was the true benefit of being a Seer: with a single well-placed prediction, even the most transparent excuse could be frad as an unavoidable act of fate. And let's face it, who would dare challenge a prophecy?
Just as she often reminded them, Divination was a sacred art, accessible only to the rare few. Who among the uninitiated could possibly question one who walks among visions?
"What a charming profession," Ian mused aloud, visibly impressed as he accepted 'Unfogging the Future' Just then, Professor Trelawney turned back to him and placed a teacup gently into his hand.
"You've already demonstrated considerable promise with the crystal ball," She said, almost reverently. "So for the remainder of today's lesson, you may delve into the art of tea leaf reading. Should you stumble upon any complexities, you may of course consult , the absolute authority on such matters."
"And before any of those complexities arise," she added, as though bestowing a great secret, "you'll find instructions for interpreting leaf formations and their floating patterns on page six of Unfogging the Future."
Her self-importance practically shimred in the air around her. Having bestowed her wisdom, she swept off to attend to the other students. But before she could take three steps, a cluster of raised hands stopped her in her tracks.
"Professor, do we actually have to drink the tea first?"
Ian eyed the teapot and loose leaves before him, his expression doubtful.
"But of course, dear," She answered, almost scandalised by the question. "Had you opened the book, you'd know! The very taste of the tea holds subtle truths; it resonates with one's magical essence. And it's essential that you finish every drop if you wish to truly glimpse your destined path."
She delivered the final line with such solemnity that Ian couldn't help but suppress a laugh.
Turning around once more, Professor Trelawney surveyed the classroom, convinced there were still a few poor, wayward lambs andering blindly down the treacherous path of prophecy, souls who had yet to be guided by her enlightened hand across the threshold of true Seerhood.
"But your tea leaves have gone mouldy," Ian pointed out calmly, prodding the soggy leaves in his cup with a long birch stirrer. A patch of red-tinged mould clung stubbornly to the surface, giving the whole thing an ominous look, not exactly the kind of thing one wanted to ingest.
"Nonsense!" Professor Trelawney snapped reflexively. "I specifically applied for increased teaching funds this year to purchase premium-quality leaves. The very idea that they might be mouldy is simply absurd."
"That, my dear child, is tea treasure! Only the finest leaves in the wizarding world develop such... distinct characteristics." Her tone was airy, even mystical, but Ian could tell she was talking complete rubbish.
Frankly, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn these leaves had been dried on soone's old socks. Or worse, steeped in foot bath water before reuse.
"Well then," Ian said brightly, "I'd best set so aside for the elders who've always looked after . Headmaster Dumbledore, for instance, is ever so kind, he often invites to his office for a chat."
Professor Trelawney froze mid-pour, kettle suspended over her own cup. The mont the na "Dumbledore" passed Ian's lips, she promptly lowered the kettle and, with impressive swiftness, whisked away the tainted leaves from Ian's table.
"This tea is far too warming for soone like the Headmaster," she said at once. "Unsuitable for older constitutions. I'll fetch you a more balanced blend. Not quite as... esoteric, but still one of our designated classroom varieties."
Though her expression remained composed, she made a great show of praising Ian's "filial sensibilities," while slipping away to retrieve a replacent, one she had very clearly been saving for better occasions.
This ti, the tea really was of high quality, black, fragrant, and unmistakably fresh from this year's harvest. The price tag alone must've been painful, if the fleeting grimace on Professor Trelawney's face was anything to go by.
"Whittard of Chelsea," Ian murmured, having caught a glimpse of the label on the new packaging. Perhaps his casual ntion of Dumbledore had spurred this sudden generosity.
The na Whittard of Chelsea was well-known even in the wizarding world, having earned a long-standing reputation for expertly blending and enchanting imported teas and coffees. Sourcing the finest ingredients from as far as the Indian subcontinent and East Asia, their blends were both luxurious and expensive, especially once rebranded and resold within Britain's magical community.
To be fair, the original quality of Asian teas was exceptional. But once packaged and enchanted under a British brand na, their value often multiplied several tis over.
Few local businesses could rival the sheer pricing power of a company like Whittard, even the Tea Flower Girl's grandparents, if they existed in the wizarding world, would have been hard-pressed to compete.
Click, click.
Ian gave a quiet tut as he watched Professor Trelawney glide over to the other students' desks, robes swishing dramatically. Perhaps there was no Magical Auditor Smith overseeing Hogwarts' supply chain, but clearly, Trelawney spared no expense on "teaching materials" when she had the right incentive.
(To Be Continued…)
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