As lunchtime approached, Augustus walked into the Great Hall with Lilian Malfoy. The four house tables had been moved to the corners of the hall, leaving a single table large enough for twelve people. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were already seated, along with Filch, who had shed his usual brown coat in favor of an old and outdated tailcoat.
"Welcome, and Merry Christmas," Dumbledore greeted them warmly, his expression full of cheer. "Since we are a small group, using the house tables would seem a bit silly. Sit, sit!" Augustus smiled and nodded, taking a seat at the far end of the table with the others.
"Dumbledore really knows how to economize resources," Malfoy muttered to Augustus and Lilian in a low voice. "But sitting at the same table with all the professors and the headmaster—this feels strangely novel."
Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes flicked briefly toward Malfoy, his snow-white beard twitching slightly. However, his kind smile remained unchanged. Malfoy pursed his lips and looked away.
Not long after, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered and took seats to Augustus's left. Seeing that everyone had arrived, Dumbledore stood from his seat at the head of the table.
"Crackers!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, handing the end of a large silver cracker to Snape.
Snape reluctantly pulled it, and with a loud bang resembling a gunshot, the cracker burst open to reveal a pointed witch's hat adorned with a stuffed condor.
The sight reminded Lilian of a Boggart, and her wine-red eyes sparkled with amusement. Snape seemed to sense her thoughts, his expression growing darker as he shoved the hat toward Dumbledore, who promptly swapped it for his own wizard's hat.
"Let's eat!" Dumbledore declared with a smile.
Augustus picked up his knife and fork, ready to dig in, when the doors of the hall swung open again. Professor Trelawney entered, bringing with her a gust of snow. She wore a floor-length gown that made her appear like a ghost gliding across the floor.
"Ah, great. Our resident prophet of doom has joined us for lunch," Malfoy sighed theatrically, his expression one of mock despair. "This Christmas really is full of surprises. Perhaps my epitaph will be written before the meal ends."
For once, Malfoy and Harry seemed to share a common sentiment in their mutual dislike of Trelawney.
Dumbledore frowned slightly but quickly stood to greet her. "Sybill, how delightful to see you!"
"The future is always shrouded in mystery," Trelawney replied in her ethereal voice, as though speaking from some distant realm. "Through the veil of uncertainty, I have seen this very luncheon unfold in my visions. History's current moves forward, unyielding to the whims of individuals. How could I deny the pull of destiny?"
Lilian, unimpressed, hugged her stomach and muttered quietly, "If destiny says so, maybe I should start feeling full already."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Naturally, Sybill, if fate has decreed it, we must oblige. Allow me to fetch you a chair."
He raised his wand, conjuring a chair out of thin air. Augustus observed Dumbledore's wand with interest, sensing something peculiar about it up close. The chair spun briefly in midair before landing with a soft thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall.
However, Trelawney did not sit down. Her wide eyes roamed the table before she let out a small gasp.
Everyone turned to her, puzzled.
"I cannot, Headmaster!" she said in a tremulous voice. "If I sit, we will be thirteen at the table! Nothing is more unlucky. Never forget: if thirteen dine together, the first to stand will be the first to die!"
"Professor," Augustus interjected smoothly, wearing his characteristic aristocratic smile. "You've already prophesied my death. If I rise first, surely it won't matter—early or late, it's the same result. Though I do apologize for burdening you with the company of the doomed."
The room erupted in knowing chuckles, even Snape's severe face softening with a trace of amusement.
"Come now, Sybill," Dumbledore said warmly. "Since Augustus has so graciously accepted his fate, surely you can put aside your concerns. Besides, I believe everyone here is willing to take the risk."
Trelawney hesitated but finally took the empty seat, sitting stiffly with her eyes closed, as though bracing for a bolt of lightning to strike the table.
"By the way, Professor Dumbledore," Lilian asked suddenly, looking over the gathered teachers, "why isn't Professor Lupin here today? He's still at the school, isn't he?"
"Poor fellow, he's fallen ill again," Dumbledore replied, gesturing for everyone to start eating. "It's rather unfortunate timing, being sick during Christmas."
"Indeed," Malfoy said with a smirk. "But I suppose Professor Trelawney must have known this all along. Otherwise, how could she calculate the exact number of thirteen? Surely she didn't just realize it upon arriving. If thirteen is so dreadful, why attend a luncheon where she knew only thirteen would be present? Clearly, she predicted Lupin's illness beforehand!"
Trelawney shot Malfoy a frosty glare.
"Of course I knew, Draco," she said coolly. "But one does not flaunt omniscience. I often behave as if my inner eye is closed to spare others discomfort. Were I to act with absolute precision, I would only grow more distant from you mortals—a fate I do not wish to see."
"Ah, I understand now!" Malfoy nodded earnestly, feigning the demeanor of an attentive student.
The meal continued, filled with conversation, laughter, and the unique absurdity only Hogwarts could offer.
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