Tiresias

While Dumbledore dealt with Professor Umbridge, McGonagall and Sprout lead the weeping Sibyll Trelawney to her rooms.

            “They can’t put me out,” Trelawney wailed.  “Not after all these years.  What shall I do?  I’ve nothing, nothing in the world but this place.”

            “Do pull your self together, Sibyll,” McGonagall said sternly.  “Albus will handle this.” 

Sprout was more sympathetic.

            “We ought not to leave her alone,” the gentle herbology teacher said. McGonagall shook her head.

            “The students will be in disarray after this uproar.  We’ll need to see to them.”

“Go ahead, abandon me,” Trelawney sobbed loudly.  “I know how little I count for.”

“Oh for goodness sakes, Sibyll,” McGonagall began, then she noticed a pair of shadows peeking out into the corridor.  “You there, Miss Brown, Parvati, come out here.” 

Shyly, the girls emerged from their less than secretive hiding place. 

“I’m entrusting you with the care of Professor Trelawney,” McGonagall said briskly.  “Keep her company until Sprout and I return and do try to keep her out of the sherry.” 

Lavender Brown immediately sprang into action. 

“There, there,” she cooed to Trelawney.  “Let me make you a nice cup of tea.  That’ll make you feel better.”

“It’s just horrible!” Parvati added.  “How dare Professor Umbridge treat you like that?   Everyone knows you’re the best teacher at Hogwarts.” 

“I leave her in your able hands,” McGonagall said, dragging Sprout off to deal with the fallout of Trelawney’s sacking. 

Despite the girls enthusiasm and sympathy, Trelawney remained inconsolable.   By the time Lavender brought the tea, she was well into a bottle of sherry, weeping openly and quietly muttering to herself.

“Sack me … after everything I’ve done ... the price I’ve paid … Dumbledore won’t allow it … not with all he owes me….”

Looking about for something that might distract her beloved professor, Parvati noticed a faded photograph sticking out of a book.  It was of a pale, slender young man with curling auburn hair and faraway blue eyes.  Parvati picked the photo up, held it out towards Trelawney.

“Who is it?” she asked, as much out of genuine curiosity as to divert Trelawney. 

“Him?” Trelawney sobbed.  “That’s Simon Trelawney.”

“Your husband?” Lavender asked.  She had long been convinced her favorite teacher had some sort of tragic, romantic past.

“No, no, I never married,” Trelawney said.

“A brother then?” 

“No, not my brother.”  Trelawney shook her head and took the photograph from Parvati’s hand, squinting at it through her thick glasses.  “It all seems so strange now, but once I was Simon Trelawney.  That foolish boy has grown into this foolish woman….”

*****

After graduating from Hogwarts, Simon returned home to the bleak and savage countryside, to the one thousand year old stone farmhouse of the Trelawney estate, to his mother, Daphne.  She was dying, Daphne Trelawney.  Scarcely in her forties and she was already wasting away.   That was the way it was for women of the Trelawney line: the visions consumed them.

This wasn’t a problem for Simon.  The gift or curse of prophecy was something that touched only the females of his family.  Dutifully, he tended his mother for five long years as she slowly faded. 

At twenty-three years of age, Trelawney found himself alone in the world.  His mother was dead, and he had never known his father, never even known his name.  When he was a boy, Daphne had told him sometimes that his father was the king of May, sometimes that his father was the devil.  She didn’t know herself; she had been in a trance when it happened.  That, too, was the way of the Trelawney women. 

After Daphne died, Simon lingered on in the countryside by himself, tending to the farm, knowing it was not what he wanted, but not quite sure what he did want.  One grey and windy day (weren’t they all grey and windy days) as he stood in the pasture watching the sheep, an owl swooped down with a scroll in its beak, a letter for Simon Trelawney.

The letter was from an old schoolmate who would be passing through in a few days time.  If Simon remembered him, perhaps they could meet.  It was signed Gideon Prewett. 

“Remember you, Gideon?” Simon chuckled to himself.  “Of course I remember you.  You were my own true love.” 

Simon had no clue why Gideon Prewett, or anyone for that matter, might be passing through the very remote countryside he called home, but he would be only too happy to be reunited with his classmate.  It would no doubt be tiresome—drinks at the local pub, talk of Quidditch and girls—but Simon Trelawney had his secret hopes. 

Their encounter was quite different from what Simon expected.  They met at the pub, but it was politics rather than Quidditch and girls that Gideon spoke of, and oh, how he spoke of them.   Simon usually paid little attention to such things, but Gideon Prewett had a way with words.  Of course, it hardly hurt that Gideon Prewett was every bit as appealing as a man as he had been as a schoolboy—tall and well built, his ginger hair falling into his wide, apple green eyes.  He had a face that was beguiling, open and earnest enough to put even a nervous young man like Simon wholly at ease.  

As they downed shots of gin, Gideon talked of the growing power of Voldemort and his Death Eaters so vividly that Simon’s heart was pounding furiously and his arms were covered with gooseflesh (or was that because the more gin Gideon drank, the more often he grabbed Simon’s shoulder or knee for emphasis).  It was enough to give Simon nightmares except that Gideon then evoked the resistance to Voldemort in such heroic terms and with such confidence that Simon felt completely safe and reassured. 

 “Hurry up, please, it’s time.” 

Last call went out and Gideon helped Simon (who had drank much less but was far thinner) to his feet.

“You’d better not try to Apparate home tonight,” Gideon said.  “You’ll be splinched for sure.  I’ve got a room at an inn near here…”

“The Hinkypunk,” Simon giggled.

“That’s right,” Gideon said, genuinely startled.  “How did you know?”

“There’s only one inn in this village--one inn and one pub.”

“Hurry up, please, it’s time,” the bartender called one last time and turned out the lights as they left. 

Simon lay on the bed, and the room spun around him.  Gideon Prewett’s face hovered over his. 

“Back at Hogwarts, I always thought you secretly fancied me,” Gideon said. 

“I guess it’s not a secret anymore,” Simon said, then reached up and filled his hand with the fabric of Gideon’s shirt and pulled the other man down on top of him. 

These things happen between drunken mates.  They’d happened to Simon a few times.  Often enough for him to know that it was best to be gone by daybreak, and that he would never see Gideon Prewett again. 

Yet, that evening as he brought the sheep into fold, Simon spotted a figure in the distance, and as they drew closer, he saw it was Gideon.  Sober and by the light of day, Gideon came to Simon, smiled his warm smile and kissed Simon.

“You left before I could tell you,” Gideon said.  “That I rather fancied you as well.”

Thus began what amounted to a dream come true for Simon Trelawney.  Every few days, as often as he was able to tear himself away from his consuming activism, Gideon would appear at Simon’s door.  They made love in the bedroom where Daphne Trelawney wasted away, in the ancient stone barn, in the sacred groves where once a young Daphne Trelawney fell into trance and mated with the May King or the devil.  Simon had lived his whole life on the farm, and for the first time, it seemed like it belonged to him rather than someone else--his mother’s or some venerated ancestor. The Trelawney lands were his to do with as he chose, and when Gideon said, “Come be with me in London,” he chose to give them up, sell them and move to London.  Simon had never truly wanted to be there … it was just that he had no other place he wanted to be.  Now he knew that the place he wanted to be was wherever Gideon Prewett was. 

In London, Simon seemed to blossom.  He found a job in a café frequented by the more artistic types of the cosmopolitan Wizarding world and quickly shed the woolen robes he’d worn in the country in favor of the more casual, Muggle inspired garments that were in vogue—flares and t-shirts.  He wrapped bright silk scarves around his throat and, for the first time in his life, felt significant in his own right, desired and desirable. 

On a sunny afternoon not long after he had settled in London, Simon and Gideon lay on the bed in the flat they now shared, the tips of their fingers laced together, and Gideon said, “Your hands are beautiful, so elegant, like a woman’s.  You would have made a fine woman.  It would have made everything so much simpler.”

In the days to come, Simon would learn all the ways it would be simpler for them if he were a woman. 

They wouldn’t have to keep quiet about being together any longer, or be deceptive.  Gideon was close with his family--his parents, his brother Fabian and sister Molly whom Simon remembered from school.  “I don’t like lying to them,” Gideon said.  “Playing the bachelor when I’m planning to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

They could be married, bound together in the eyes of society, the state, and morality.  They could have children.  Gideon had always wanted to have children.  “Molly’s got five now,” he said with palpable longing.  “It’s an amazing thing to be around them.  I’d always hoped to have some of my own.”

Simon had to admit it would have been simpler.  Truth be told, he’d never really thought of himself as much of a man.  All his life he had been rather fey.  He scarcely knew what a man was supposed to be, having never had a father.  Still, he was a man, and there was nothing to be done about it. 

“There is a way,” Gideon said casually one day. 

“A way for what?” Simon asked.  He was lying with his head on his lover’s lap in the state of happy bewilderment he frequently found himself in since coming to London.  He was still quite moonstruck by the reality of living with Gideon, being with Gideon.     

“A way to turn male into female.  It’s little known and expensive, but it can be done.  I could find out more.”

“Sure, go ahead.  Whatever you like,” Simon agreed from his perpetual daydream.

Gideon found out more.  Within a few days, he presented Simon with information on the transformation: the steps, the charms and potions required, how long they would take, and what they would cost. 

“Don’t you like me the way I am?” Simon asked softly.

“You know I love you,” Gideon reassured him.  “This would just make it easier for you to be a part of my life.” 

“This would take most of the money from the farm.” 

“But when it was done, we could be married.  I could take care of you.” 

Simon really wasn’t sure what Gideon did, beyond his involvement in some vague and heroic sort of resistance/activism, but still, he trusted Gideon implicitly.  Gideon’s eyes, Gideon’s face concealed no malice, no untruth, no hidden agenda.  It was not something Simon would have done of his own volition, but when it was presented to him, it did seem like a solution for problems he hadn’t even really known were there.  And really, there was so much to gain, so little to lose.

There was only one other thing that concerned Simon.

“I don’t know how much you know about my family, but the Trelawney women have the sight.  My grandmother was a famous clairvoyant in her day.  My mother always had it.  If I did this, I would too.” 

“That’s wonderful, that’s amazing,” Gideon assured him.  “You’d gain this incredible ability?  Think of what you could do with a gift like that, Simon…” 

“There’s more to it than that.  Seeing, knowing, it does something to a person.  It hollows them out.  I saw what it did to my mother.” 

“It won’t be like that for you, Simon.  You’re not alone like she was.  I won’t let that happen to you.”

Simon believed him. 

The transformation would be gradual, taking several months: a combination of potions and charms overseen by a wizard just shady enough that Simon wondered if it were entirely legal.  Still, it was what Gideon wanted.  It would ensure their future together. There was much more to gain, much more to keep than there was to lose. 

And really, the transformation was not unpleasant.  Gideon moved through each step with Simon, exploring his body for signs of change.

“Your body’s softer,” Gideon whispered to him one night.  “Your bones are covered.”

Each day he massaged Simon’s chest with lavender and tea tree oils to coax out breasts, and slowly they were there.  Not large, but tender, their pink nipples crinkling at Gideon’s touch. 

“I can put my fingers inside now.  It’s almost like your sex is turning inside out.  Should I call this your clitoris instead of your cock?  It still gets hard when I suck it…” 

And now and then in his attentiveness, Gideon would ask Simon (who had started going by the name Sibyll though the transformation was not yet complete) if she was hearing any voices, seeing any visions.

“No,” she said.  “Nothing yet.  Maybe they come from somewhere that can only be reached by women who are born that way.  Maybe I wouldn’t have the sight.”

Then the dreams began to come, strange and terrifying dreams of a man who was a snake, of blood and fire. 

“Tell me,” Gideon pleaded.

“I can’t,” Sibyll said.  “They were too horrible.”

“Tell me everything,” he said again, and his voice felt hard, bruising. 

When the woman came to the door, Sibyll knew she was there and opened the door as Gideon’s sister, Molly, lifted her hand to knock. 

“Oh dear…” Sibyll cried.  She didn’t know how much Gideon’s family knew about her, but Molly surprised her.

“You’re Simon Trelawney,” Molly said.  “I recognize you from school.  I saw you with my brother on the street a few days ago.  I need to tell you something about Gideon.  It’s going to upset you, but please listen to me.”

Sibyll let her in and made tea.  Nervously, angrily, Molly Weasley spoke. 

“You must know Gideon is devoted to the struggle with the Death Eaters,” she began.  “It’s the center of his life; it has been for years.”

“Yes, I don’t understand most of it, but I know Gideon’s very committed,” Sibyll said blandly.

“My brother is a true believer,” Molly stated bluntly.  “He’s always been that way.  To him the ends justify the means, and he’ll use anything to further his cause.  I think he may be using you.  My husband Arthur and I are also opposed to Voldemort and the Death Eaters.  We’re part of an organization called the Order of the Phoenix; my brothers are also involved.”

“Yes, Gideon’s mentioned that name…”

“For a long time, the Order has been looking for an oracle.  I’m not sure why.  It’s something only the real leaders, Albus Dumbledore from Hogwarts and his brother, Dorcas Meadows and Mr. Moody know.  A few weeks ago after a meeting, Arthur overheard Gideon telling Headmaster Dumbledore that he’s found an oracle from an old, powerful line.  When I saw you with him, I realized what he must be doing.  I don’t know why you’re undergoing this transformation.  If it’s what you want, I understand, but if you’re doing it for Gideon, because of things Gideon’s said to you, something he’s promised, don’t.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I love my brother,” Molly said.  “And I want my children to grow up in a world without Voldemort’s shadow hanging over them, but if we use people as cruelly as the Death Eaters do, can we really say we’re better than they are?”

For a moment, Sibyll could neither breathe nor speak, and her heart clenched in icy fear.

“Are you saying he doesn’t love me?” she asked Molly.

“I don’t know what there is between you two.  Talk to him.  Make him tell you the truth.  No, don’t talk to him.  Gideon can talk anyone into submission.  Talk to yourself--is this transformation what you really want?  If it’s not, then don’t go through with it.  If you haven’t finished the course of potions yet, you’ll go back to yourself in time.” 

“Yes, certainly,” Sibyll nodded, but she was no longer there.  She was dreaming, far away.  She was seeing the future.  She was seeing that everything Molly Weasley told her was true.  She was seeing herself ten, fifteen, sixteen years lonely and ridiculous.  She was watching Gideon die. 

Sibyll didn’t know how long she watched the future play out.  At some point, Molly Weasley went away, saying she wanted to be gone before Gideon returned.  Finally, Sibyll rose and poured herself a glass of sherry, another and another.  After the third glass, the visions of the future and the words Molly Weasley had spoken disappeared. 

After that, she kept herself in a haze of alcohol.  If Gideon noticed, he did not seem to mind.  She did as he asked.  She finished the course of potions; the transformation was complete.  He took her to Hogsmeade, then to meet with Albus Dumbledore.  She remembered little of this meeting, only that Dumbledore seemed to regard her with a kind of awe touched with scornful pity.  Several nights after this, she watched Gideon leave, as she had foreseen, to meet with his brother for the purpose of investigating a Death Eater who was offering to switch sides and claimed to have valuable information about Voldemort’s hidden weakness.  Something went wrong that night.  Instead of one Death Eater, the Prewett brothers found five waiting for them.  Both died that night. 

“I’m sorry,” Molly Weasley said through her tears at the funeral of her brothers.  “If I’d known this would happen, I never would have told you what I did.”

“Its better this way,” Sibyll said from the distant dream she occupied.

Had he ever cared for Simon or Sibyll Trelawney?  He had never told her why on that first night he was passing through a village not on the way to anywhere.  Had it been from the start a purposeful seduction, or was it a plan he’d come to formulate only after he realized that Simon wanted nothing more than what he, Gideon, wanted?

So long as there was gin and sherry to be had, Sibyll Trelawney had no need to ask herself these questions.  She only stood back and watched the future unfold year by year, knowing that her part had been played and her value spent. 

*****

The next day, Lavender and Parvati were called to Dumbledore’s office.  The headmaster gave them lemon drops and spoke to them gravely, yet kindly. 

“Young ladies,” he said, “I know you’re very fond of Professor Trelawney, so I ask you as a personal favor to her to keep whatever she might have told you to yourselves.  It was a very traumatic experience for her and she was quite excited and, to be quite frank, I expect she became more than a little intoxicated.  I’m doing my best to contest her firing, but it won’t help to have wild stories spreading around.  You understand.”

The girls smiled and nodded, sucking their lemon drops.  When they walked out the door, they had already forgotten everything.