"What does it resemble?" whispered Professor Trelawney.  "Think, now..." 

Harry cast his mind around and it landed on Buckbeak. 

"A hippogriff," he said firmly.

 "Indeed!" whispered Professor Trelawney, scribbling keenly on the parchment perched upon her knees. "My boy, you may well be seeing the outcome of poor Hagrid's trouble with the Ministry of Magic! Look closer... Does the hippogriff appear to... have its head?" 

"Yes," said Harry firmly. 

"Are you sure?" Professor Trelawney urged him. "Are you quite sure, dear? You don't see it writhing on the ground, perhaps, and a shadowy figure raising an axe behind it?" 

"No!" said Harry, starting to feel slightly sick.

 "No blood? No weeping Hagrid?"

 "No!" said Harry again, wanting more than ever to leave the room and the heat. "It looks fine, it's - - flying away..." 

Professor Trelawney sighed. "Well, dear, I think we'll leave it there.... A little disappointing... but I'm sure you did your best."

 Relieved, Harry got up, picked up his bag and turned to go, but then a loud, harsh voice spoke behind him. 

"IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT."

 Harry wheeled around. Professor Trelawney had gone rigid in her armchair; her eyes were unfocused and her mouth sagging. 

"S -- sorry?" said Harry.