Chapter Text
It was ironic, they decided, that falling down the stairs while ranting about a fucking book character would result in waking up as said character. One that isn’t even well liked; only really known for her faulty prophetic abilities and bug-like appearance.
They would confidently say that they blamed J.K. Rowling for writing the character Sybill Trelawney and her shitty prophecy talking about a fucking baby as the vanquisher of a Dark Lord. It was the reason they had rewritten the whole thing to be referring instead to Lily Potter née Evans as the 'Mother Who Sacrificed'. And the reason their heel had tripped over the top step and sent them careening down a flight of stone stairs.
Sybill’s eyesight made their surroundings so blurry no shape was discernible in any way other than color. They could see their new light auburn hair framing the corner of their vision. Their whole body felt weighted down into the scratchy sheets of the (presumed) medical cot, that tell-tale dizzy feeling prevalent even while laying down making their vision spin on top of their new horrible eyesight.
A new warm red and white shape moved into their view, followed by a bright baby blue and contrasting black blobs. Blinking slowly at them as the one in red, Matron Poppy Pomfrey if they had to guess (did they have more of Sybill’s memories than they thought? Or were they only remembering being… What was their name before?) began bustling around them, checking their pulse and waving her arm (wand?) over them as she peppered them with questions.
“What’s your full name?” Sybill Patricia Trelawney.
“What’s the date?” Around the 19th of August. (And alright, that’s a yes to having some of Sybil’s memories) “It’s the 21st of August now, dear.” Ah.
“What do you last remember, Sybill?” Falling down some stairs backwards.
“Does anything hurt?” They felt off, but nothing hurt; only ached.
“Oh, here are your glasses, dear; track my wand with just your eyes now.”
“Do you know these two at all?” Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and Potions Master Severus Snape.
Eventually, Madam Pomfrey (“Just Poppy is fine, dear. Merlin knows why you’re referring to me like a student.”) sat back with a sigh, rubbing a hand to her temple with a strange look on her face.
“Well, I can’t say there’s anything wrong with you or your memories, Sybill. You’ve had a change in behavior of all things, but unless Minerva cast memory spells on your unconscious mind without leaving a trace, I don’t think this is something I can help with.” They shift on the cot, blinking heavily at the new information. Memory spells left a trace. Huh. Their eyes flickered over to the two men who had been silent up to this point. The Headmaster had a pensive look on his face, brows furrowed in a concerned expression, a frown tugging on his lips underneath the beard. It was almost surprising, but they knew that the Headmaster wasn’t evil or even bad. Merely flawed and complex. (Those Dumbledore-bashing fics were obscuring the reality of what was, it seemed.)
(...what..?)
Master Snape, by contrast, had a nearly bored air about him. Agitated in a way. But more… inconvenienced? Yes, that was it. He looked like this whole situation was beneath him to the point of not giving a shit. But underneath that, there was a flicker of something. Something softer? Almost concern, but not quite. Apprehension perhaps. Not surprising for what his role in the war has and will be.
(...where were these words coming from? Sybill? Or something more-..?)
Realizing they had been staring at Master Snape and the Headmaster in turn, they turned back to Poppy, mind racing.
“I think I made a false prophecy.” There was a long moment of silence following that, and the reason found them just as Master Snape covered a huff of laughter with a cough. Ignoring that along with the urge to burst out laughing themselves, they tried again. “I made a prophecy about the wrong person. I used the wrong pronouns and context in my Prophecy.” Here, they looked straight at the Headmaster, who paled along with Master Snape. “That Prophecy was too vague. I interpreted it wrong from Lady Fate. Her meaning was not conveyed in my words all those years ago. I made a Prophecy about the wrong person.”
This time, the silence that followed was heavy like smoke from a fire; choking and uncomfortable. The Headmaster’s eyes flickered between them and Master Snape in quick succession as he processed but it was the Potions Master that spoke, his voice low and brittle.
“.. Who was the Prophecy speaking of, if not him?” And wasn’t that the question. If not Harry Potter, who would that Prophecy be about? And for it to be Master Snape to be the one to hear it first was beyond cruel, but truth was better than pity for a man like him.
“Lily Evans.” Their words seemed to strike Master Snape like a bullet, making him exhale a shuddering breath as he staggered back. Guilt nearly made them swallow their tongue, but these people were of the few who could actually do something with this information. “The Prophecy speaks not of The Boy Who Lived, but of The Mother Who Sacrificed Herself.
“A woman willing to die so her only child could live, not just survive. Someone willing to draw her final breath if it meant he would be able to continue doing so. Willing to feel their soul leave her body to allow her son the chance to laugh. Lady Fate gave me a prophecy of Lily Evans that day, not Harry Potter. It was not a way to make her only child a hero or a tale to tell the children of the next generation, but a way to allow her son to grow up in a time of peace; knowing love. Not worship.” They felt their limbs disconnect from their body in a distant way, looking but not truly seeing; their mouth moving but they did not speak.
“Harry Potter was never meant to be hailed as some kind of Hero or God. He was meant to live out his mother’s last wish: To Live, not just Survive. He was not meant to grow up ignorant and clutching at kindness. He was meant to breathe as his mother willed it; freely.” They were looking through their (Sybil’s) own eyes at Albus now, static crawling over their limbs in wild arcs of light.
“He should have never grown up where he did.” The man was now paler than his beard, making him look sickly.
“Not unloved, not worked like a servant, not cramped in that little room and still trying to make space for the air around him. He was not meant to grow up hearing hate and dismissals.” Severus was now as pale as Albus, hands shaking as he put his head into them. Poppy, who had been glancing between them all with wide eyes, laid a hand on Sybill’s hand, making their head turn to her.
“Your eyes are glowing, Sybill.” Oh, is that why there’s a golden sheen? Inhaling deeply and closing their eyes, they focused on sorting through their memories.
(While their life in the 21st Century wasn’t magical, and Harry Potter was merely a book series and movie adaptations, so Occlumency wasn’t actually a thing, creating a ‘mindscape’ and meditating helped with remembering things and was an interesting practice.)
Their mindscape, a house full of fantastical architecture and colorful decor, was illuminated with a bright golden light that reminded them of the sun. But instead of coming through the windows, it came from the shadowed areas of the house. They made their way to the sun room, a circular space with windows along most walls, too many plants to count of all kinds, and an overly stuffed couch with an ever changing pattern of colors along with far too many blankets and pillows. Sitting on the couch, folding their legs under their long skirts and leaving their heels on the floor, they breathed.
They focused on the facts.
They had, presumably, either died or fallen into a coma after falling down the stairs while ranting to a friend about Sybill Trelawney’s prophecy that condemned a child.
Then, they had woken up as Sybill Trelawney after she fell down the stairs somewhere in Hogwarts. Transfiguration Mistress Minerva McGonigall (what is up with the full titling everyone??) had found Sybill Trelawney’s fallen form and either took her to the hospital wing, or notified Poppy about her and they moved Sybil after making sure it was safe to do so.
Poppy had looked them over and found no trace of any memory tampering or brain damage.
They had then dissociated(?) and informed Poppy, Albus, and Severus about their changed Prophecy so instead of referencing a child, it referenced his mother who died for him, along with vaguely scolding Albus about Harry Potter’s living conditions with the Dursleys.
(Which is abuse, no matter what anyone says. Living in a cupboard and only having his cousin’s hand-me-downs all the while they call him a ‘freak’? Abuse.)
This was either the most realistic and vivid dream (coma?) they’ve ever had, or now they were to live as Sybill Trelawney.
(Who wasn’t the worst character to be; they’d be able to get away with crazy clothes and patterns as a seer with ease. They’d also be able to warn people of what was to come with a ready excuse that made things even easier. Their language since coming into Sybill’s body had gained a more fantastical edge, using phrases and imagery that wasn’t normal, but had enough whimsy that most would shrug and go, ‘seer’ with ease.)
Their body was being shaken, voices muddled under a blanket of fog. It took a second for them to open their physical eyes instead of blinking the ones in their mindscape. When they did, they were met with Poppy’s concerned voice and Albus’ frantic eyes. Severus stood to the side, his hand clenching around his ebony wand with white knuckles. Eventually, Poppy’s voice registered above the fog.
“-bill! Sybill, you need to answer me! Sybill-” Good gods, what was she yelling about?
“Yes, Poppy, what’s the matter? Why are you shouting as if I’ve had a heart attack?” There was a moment of stunned silence from Poppy before Albus answered.
“My dear, you went completely unresponsive for nearly 40 minutes after giving some kind of overriding correction to Harry Potter’s Prophecy.” Ah.
“Ah. Yes, that makes sense. My apologies, I was trying to sort out my mindscape and see if anything was wrong.” Another heavy pause where they stared at Sybill as if they had lost their mind. They sighed, rubbing a hand down their face. Of course, Sybill Trelawney was known as something of a hack, not a true seer and more than a little dramatic. Gathering themselves, they sat up on the cot, and swung their legs over the side to stand. Poppy was the first to recover as she stepped forward and helped raise them to their feet.
“I am quite tired and believe it would be best if I went back to my rooms.” Poppy opened her mouth to protest, but Sybill shook their head and offered the Matron a smile. “I still need to get my classroom ready for new and old students along with revising lesson plans. I am in perfect health, even with my mind not being quite what it was. Solitude will do me good and allow me to gather myself.”
The Matron seemed to assess them for a long moment before sighing heavily and nodding slowly. “Very well. But if you feel any returning pain or dizziness, you are to notify me or Severus immediately, alright?”
Sybill dipped their head in acquiescence. “Of course.” They turned to Albus and Severus, one looking like he was the Titan holding up the sky, and the other looking like they had turned into a moving statue without any magic. Sybill offered both a nod of acknowledgement. “I will see you all either at dinner or breakfast tomorrow. Good day.”
And with that, Sybill left the hospital wing and made their way to their quarters, a small apartment-like setting of 4 different rooms located in the tower right next to their classroom through a heavy wooden door. Sybill Trelawney’s memories (no, impressions) guided them like a hand on their shoulder. Their rooms were full of incense and scented candles, all of which they put out one-by-one with a candle snuffer and opening the window to let in the cool fresh air overlooking the Black Lake. The rooms were full of gaudy and muted colors, nothing bright or colorful. It made the room look… muddy.
Without thinking much of it, Sybill pulled out their wand and waved it and murmured “ Colovaria ” under their breath. Their rooms’ drapes, rugs, tapestries and seating all turned to bright warm tones of the rainbow, the large curtain over the windows turning a perfect bluebell tone that faded to white.
Grinning, Sybill moved to their office and did the same to the rugs and seating there. The bathroom only had a little rug and shower curtain that changed into a lovely sunshine yellow. The towels turned into a plum color that contrasted perfectly, and the bathrobe hanging on the door was now a soft evergreen.
Their bedroom was now a whirlwind of rainbow patterns and gradients. Their closet, which had been full of browns and seaweed tones, was now full of limes, dragon-fruit, lemons, and more. Whites and blacks sprinkled in for contrast. Luckily, most of the clothing styles were perfect, full of whimsy and able to be layered or mismatched for the perfect ‘Seer’ effect.
As for accessories… Sybill Trelawney seemed to have either collected or inherited more than her fair share of jewelry, some of which had been shoved to a box in the wardrobe. The box (enlarged on the inside to hold more than what a little shoe box ever could) held even more treasure than they really knew what to do with, but gods was it all beautiful. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings, chains, decorative corsets, actual corsets, shawls with more personality than a Portrait, clips for their mass of curls, little jars with iridescent makeup, shoes of all kinds, even some nail polish that was brewed to change color like mood rings. Books on crystals and their properties, flower languages, mermish, goblins and their culture, dreams and their meanings, how different words and emotions affect Divination, and many more.
“Sybill Trelawney seemed to be a bit of a hoarder…” a loud Meow! interrupted their musings as a cat made its way to where they were kneeling in front of the box and their new collection of things that surrounded them. It was a handsome creature, flat-faced and grey like incense smoke. Scratching him under the chin, they hummed as he purred, rubbing along their side before placing his front paws on their knee and meowing in their face, little eyes like orange tourmaline staring into their own peridot. The cat (Neptune) continued purring even as Sybill scooped him up like a baby and wandered over to their bed, not bothering to change besides kicking off their shoes and placing their glasses on the side table.
Slowly, with a cat purring on their chest, they allowed themselves to breathe, drifting into sleep like a boat down a calm river. For now, it was just them and Neptune. Their life as they had known it was no more. Now, they were Sybill. And they would make sure to make it better for those that mattered. They had to.