Those piercing blue eyes. They can see through her. They can. They can see through the lies.
“I am a Seer.”
Albus Dumbledore nods.
“My great-great-grandmother was a Seer.”
He nods again.
She twitches. Thoughts cloud her mind. Thoughts of black. Black hair, black eyes.
The same black that stood outside. Waiting. Watching. Listening.
“I possess the Inner Eye.”
The scarlet and golden quill scratches at the yellow parchment.
Albus looks up. “Will you predict something for me?”
Hesitation fills a heartbeat.
“Death falls among you,” she murmurs, her eyes closed with forced concentration. “Death, the mark. It is dark.”
“Can you, perhaps, predict what drink I will order next, Sybill?” Albus has a smile that seemed to mock her. Affront her. Taunt her.
She stammers. “N-Nettle wine.”
His beam broadens, the electric blue masking the surprise that lays behind it. “Yes.”
She forces a smile as her eyes flicker to the door.
She remembers only too well the look of rage, betrayal on his face; the anguish he felt. Those black eyes, the heartbreak in them as he watched a certain fire-head woman waddle by, her stomach swollen and her skin glowing.
It pained him and it pained her.
“Don’t touch me,” he spat at her, his face contorted in anger.
The present snaps back.
“When did you last make a prophecy, Sybill?”
“A- A prophecy?”
Splashes of red cross her mind. Blazing. Then green. Those eyes. They were green.
“What do you see in her, Sev?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What is it about her?”
The very question occupies her dreams.
“What am Imissing?” Tears fell.
“Why can’t I be her?” A soft drip…drip…drip. “Forget about her! She chose Potter!”
Black flashed red.
“Stop.” Hiss. His voice was deadly. Venom-filled.
It scared her.
“Love me.” More tears.
There was desperation hidden behind her quivering voice.
His stare froze her.
“I will never love you; not as long as she’s alive.”
Black. His eyes were back to black.
Sybill shuts her own eyes tight, thoughts pushed away. Her heart pumps quickly, heavily and realisation drops in her stomach.
Her eyes open wide, magnified by the lens of her glasses.
Mad. She looks mad.
Her voice was deep…resounding…convincing.
“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…” Lies.
“Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…”Her child will be born then.
“And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,” – Hope - “but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…” Prospect. Plausibility.
“And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…”
“Neither can live while the other survives?” Albus’ soft voice brings her back.
She nods; the vaguely discernible footsteps outside the door slowly disappear.
Neither one can live while the other survives.
And Sybill wants to survive.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K.R. Specifically the prophecy which can be found in the Order of the Phoenix, p741
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