The Great Hall

Not all gifts are necessarily good, of course. And those who are spoiled because of a gift they have will end up severely disappointed. ... As is his worldview, anyway. Always such a downer. Or maybe just a realist? Who can say, really. An arm reaches over the table and his fingers pinch the relatively thick material of a tarot card, drawing it back to him, so he can study it, with skeptical eyes. How stupid. Though, he'll admit that the detail and the actual card itself is rather nice. Pleasing to the eye, that is, since it's still nonsense, despite it being pretty nonsense. Pretty nonsense is even worse, being just beauty filled with emptiness, though maybe that's a little far down the pessimistic route for him.
'Yeah, I tried it out to see how I'd react to the taste, and how long I could do it for. Got only two weeks in. Nearly vomited a fair few times.' He doesn't seem too fussed about that, though, only keeping his intense gaze focused on her, with very little expression over his features, or none given away by mouth or eyes, at least. 'Arthur,' a repeat of his own name from her, as if confirming it. 'I know. I like to know people too, only I don't broadcast it.'

Nothing ever shows on his face much, unless something like a frown, so there's nothing to indicate whether or not he actually likes the card. Let's see... The Hanged Man. Ah, so he picked one of the Major Arcana. Hung by a foot from a tree, the blank stare of the hanging man meets his own eyes, and his head tilts to the right, just a fraction. As far as he's aware, the card means very little to him, just something nonsense about suffering or about conforming. Absolutely ridiculous. Still, the painted figure is intriguing. The man isn't hanging, not really, not since he's held by a foot instead of by his neck, and he'd have to have been hung by someone else for his foot to be the thing up in the air. Wouldn't being hung upside down be a more painful way for death? Probably why the card symbolises suffering. Arthur briefly remembers seeing a painting called the Hanged Man, once. Not that that's at all important, but it's a brief memory that crosses his mind and causes a slightly deeper breath than his previous breathing, but it's hardly noticeable, and quickly corrected. Can't have his breathing giving away anything, when his face doesn't, after all.
... Oh, she's talking again. The card is lowered, from presumably being in front of his face, and slid easily back on top of the pile. 'Like I said, disgusting. Or, I hated it anyway. Though, I'm probably going to end up going for it anyway.' Long arms stretch over his head, after moving from the table, the rustle of his robes a clear cut and evident sound. His legs shift as well, adjusting their position (lest he get pins and needles), to rest in a slightly more spread out manner beneath the table.
'No one does. Like I said, I don't broadcast it.' If one looked very closely, they'd see the beginnings of a smirk-like expression on his face, and it seems one corner of his lips twitches a little, though any semblance of it is soon gone. Odd. In fact, his mouth is pretty much hidden now, by an apple he seems to have gotten from nowhere- or maybe just his bag, since his hand did dart in there for a few seconds. His teeth click sharply together as they bite into the hard red skin and flesh of the fruit, and his jaw moves slowly and methodically as he chews, mouth closed of course. His left arm goes back to lying straight across the table, whereas his right props itself up again, in order for him to get at the apple for as long as he needs. You can't blame a guy for being hungry.

Disbelief in the cards is fine, and he certainly has plenty of it, but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate something that's aesthetically pleasing. While the things don't really have an appeal in terms of being realistic and reliable, the ridiculousness of it is almost funny, and there is somewhat of a fantastical touch to it. That's probably why he's found out about them. Learning about things that are of even slight interest is definitely not a waste of time or energy in his opinion, though all interest in such idiocy drained quickly after he'd gone through it all. After all, they were just playing cards until someone decided to include the occult in them. The kind of thing he's thinking about while eating is ridiculous, but maybe he's just contemplative while eating. And extremely hungry right now, it seems, seeing as it hasn't taken all that long to bite down to the apple's core and swallow the fruit. It's abrupt, how he stands and walks away, black bag left on the bench as he wanders away. He's back pretty soon though, probably having just found somewhere to throw away the core. No idea where. As he slides back onto his seat, his tongue darts out of his mouth, to trace his lips once and remove any extra apple juice, before he wipes his hands on a tissue, also pulled from his bag.
'May I?' It's a strange question, and one that has nothing to do with their conversation, though it is followed by a gesture to the pack of 78 cards that sit before her. Unfortunately, he doesn't wait for an answer, easily picking the stack up and sifting through it. ... He really does think they're stupid, though the trump cards have piqued his interest minorly. The Minor Arcana... Are boring, unless you're into that kind of thing, and people only generally care about the other 22 cards. So does he, even though it's minutely so. The Fool is probably one of his favourites, if you can even have favourites of something you don't like. Such a low title, but such a powerful card, despite that only applying to games. Arthur hasn't played a card game for a while, so maybe he should start. Or maybe they're boring too. He doesn't much remember, since it's been so long, but he recalls him not being particularly good at them, contrary to his excellent poker face. ... Right, wrong kinds of cards. But seriously, who even came up with these things? A lot of the meanings don't make sense, and it's impossible to divine anything for people based on the cards. The possibilities are far too limited, since there are so many things that could happen to a person, and there's no chance that any of this is set in stone. The thoughts that are going through his head about this are probably offensive to anyone who believes in this kind of thing, or even remotely likes the cards. He's a cynic of everything though, so it can't be helped.
'Worth it? It depends on how much you want to turn into an animal. Could be useful, if you do it right, and it's a pretty rare thing, so it'll make you more unique and all that.' The use, is all he wants out of it, of course, seeing as he has no need or desire for his own individuality to be outright stated. He's kind of a boring person in that respect. Once more, lanky arms move to stretch up and over his head, though this time the hands interlock behind his head, and he leans back, head resting on them, though his somewhat harsh gaze stays on her. 'A lot of people prefer to be on their own. I'm no different.' No, he really is no different, only acting like much of the other beings in the world already do. As said before, he really doesn't care about being individual, and it's painfully obvious. 'Take it you don't really care either way, be it people or no people.'

(Holy cow guys, calm down )

Oh, Arthur doesn't quite just assume Divination is daft. Instead, he knows it is. It's the kind of thing with no base, nothing but guesswork and a so-called 'talent' that only a few people would ever inherit. There's no proof for it being anything more, for it being a method for an actual insight to the future and there certainly won't ever be, not since whenever the slim chance of it being right is acted on, it's a coincidence and more often than not, people go looking for their own fates, and if they've been told it'll end up someway by something they believe, they'll subconsciously make that happen. Does he know that, really? Quite possibly. But, even though he thinks all of it's rubbish, he can still admire and have an appreciation for the theatrics of it, and for how the 'diviners' manage to pull the wool over people's eyes and completely trick them into falling for the idiocy. Because honestly, that's all it is, and it can be completely chalked up to people's stupidity. Sometimes seers are just as stupid, having such a strong faith in their own 'sight'. They're blind, if they think it's real, obviously.
Turning over the cards, huh? Much like he's doing, each slip of card shifting between long fingers, that pick them out deliberately, drawing each painted symbol out one by one, slow as anything, for sharp eyes to scan them over and decide whether or not they're worth his time. They're not, for the most part. The Hanged Man is the one he keeps coming back to, even after he's gone through the rest and set them aside, still turning that one between his fingers. It's not that he feels some kind of connection to it at all, but it simply intrigues him more than any other, and looking into the poor, dangling man's cold, dead eyes causes a familiar creeping sensation up his back. It's been a long time since it's hurt, but the creeping and crawling is common, for him. A reminder, no matter how gruesome. Either way, even with her 'Sight', there's probably no way she can tell that, seeing as he make no visible indication of it, and it's gone before he even has a chance to fully register it. But he remembers, of course.
The strand of curly hair that he'd previously pushed back falls down again, resting against his face, and just hanging over the hollow of his cheekbones, and for a while, he seems not to notice it, too engrossed in the cards that rest in front of him on the table. Then, with a single motion, quick and precise, he slides them back into their stack, picking them up and shuffling them, with a hand that seems well-practiced. Or perhaps, just an easy thing to do, when you have such nimble fingers as he does. His hand extends, cards sat neatly in his palm for her to take, with his elbow resting on the table and the hand stuck up in midair. Those dark, ardent eyes meet hers again, this time not just blankly staring. Now they move over her face and hair, and the half of her that's visible above the tabletop, before settling once again to make eye contact. Now, it seems he's surveying her, glancing over her and judging her, deciphering whatever he can about her and making a clear note of it.
She's pretty, he can tell that, even with the dark circles under her eyes, which obviously means she doesn't sleep enough. Forgivable, considering everything, but perhaps that leads to her not taking much care of herself. Though, the rest of her does seem to be in good condition, and she's showing no signs of being in ill health at all, so evidently not. She hasn't shown much interest in anything but tarot cards thus far, so it's presumable that she spends most of her time reading them, trying to glean or glimpse the future. It's a stupid hobby in his opinion, but at least it's not particularly harmful. Maybe she's more of an idiot than she seems then, but so far she's been able to hold intelligent conversation, so it's just her common sense that's lacking. Well, not all people are mechanically logical like he is, so he can't really do anything about it.
After holding her gaze for what seems an impossibly long time, he finally blinks once, and looks at his own hand, almost zoning out for a while, until he clocks on- again- to the fact that's still talking. Perhaps he ought to keep better track of the conversation.
'Yeah, but it isn't that hard to mess up. You get pretty clear instructions, and if you aren't brain dead, you ought to b able to follow them. Those are just scare tactics, something like 'if you're scared off by that, you probably shouldn't have wanted to be become an animagus anyway', kind of thing.' Becoming an animal would be useful to him, though it would have been more useful in the past. Still, everything has its uses nowadays, and being who he is, he'd likely end up as a relatively strong animal, that'd be of massive use to anyone at all. Though, he is still debating on whether or not to go for it, seeing as the repercussions can be great, and getting in wrong would have some serious consequences. Still...
'Yeah. You seem the type to not really care. It's useful, to be someone who can deal in either situation, since you'll be put in both all your life. But really?' He leans forward now, over the table, brow furrowed and head tilted. 'Just your cards? Wouldn't that be even a little lonely?' He doesn't comment on the portability of the cards. It's too obvious a thing to talk about, anyway.

Many of the things he thinks are insulting, though most of them are never quite meant to be. It's not the terror of the future, that's stupid. It's the fact that someone could believe they could see into, believe that they could see something that wasn't even set in stone to begin with. You'd need to read the cards a thousand times over, and each time the result would change. Because every little thing that someone does changes everything, even the smallest action can set the world on a different path.
It wasn't just her credibility he doubts, it's the whole thing, seeing as divination itself is awfully sketchy to him, as it should be to anyone with a lick of common sense. Clearly, very few of the students here had any, if she was getting such a good payment so far. She must be smart, though, if shes managing to convince so many people to be strung along for the ride and actually give her something in exchange for stupid readings.
His focus is on The Hanged Man for a reason, though that reason is greatly unlikely to be shared, with anyone whatsoever, though it does have something to do with the snaking, sinking feeling that's crawling its way up his spine, and settling at the top of his back. It's a horrible feeling, but hey, what can he do about it? Nothing, so he'll sit there and deal with it accordingly. By pretending it doesn't exist.
And of course, he notices the lack of her tapping on the tabletop, which is a clear signal to him of her attachment to the cards, and her discomfort with having someone touch them, or handle them. He'll note that, and probably make sure not to do it ever again, seeing as it makes her so uncomfortable. He get uncomfortable too, though it's when he himself is touched by something, rather than just an object.
... Yes, she really does have a pretty face. It makes it easier for him to keep staring. Perhaps he should stop. But, why bother when he's getting so much information from her as is, and already categorising her quirks and tics and habits. It's easy to do that with her, seeing as she's somewhat of an open book. Sometimes that's boring, too, but she's filled with so much, it's more fascinating than anything.
'A lot do. Most start at seventeen, as well. It's technically illegal to not.' And how a hint of knowing creeps into his voice as he says that. Well, it wasn't hard to understand what she was talking about when she said something about 'him being an idiot' before. A patronus... He's never cast one either, and he doubts he ever will. One needs a particularly happy memory to do so, right? And his have never been either too happy or too sad. How boring of him. 'After the mandrake stage, it's pretty hard to stop the process, unless the person willingly just gives up, or messes up and gets scared off it.' Again with the pointedness, as if he knows precisely what he's talking about.
'Yes. Ever so lonely.' And for the first time in the conversation, something that looks a little like a smile starts on his face, one corner of his mouth turning up crookedly.

Card readings... Ah, never mind, since he still doesn't care about them. His interest was only brief, and face value, despite understanding the suffering part. It's possible, that with enough coercing, he could one day have some begrudging belief in them, but there's no way he'll ever believe that the future doesn't stop twisting and turning and shaping itself based on every decision that anyone makes. Of course, what she wants to do will ride on her ability to change people's minds about certain things.
Yes, back to staring again. There's a lot to stare at. But... Huh, he seems to have given up already, gaze lowering to his hands, the fingers of which lock together neatly as he continues to lean over the table, body allowing the stretch to carry on just a little further, chin now settling in those interlocked fingers. He really is getting a lot from it, and now his eyes are back on hers, yet again. ... They're a little terrifying, with how deep they seem to bore into your heart and soul. It's kind of odd how he doesn't seem that keen on blinking too much, either.
And that lock of hair is back down again, and it's annoying him enough now. So, with quick, delicate fingers, he lets his hair down, the dark curls surrounding his face for a moment, before they're scooped into one hand and pushed back behind his hair, for the elastic to be wrapped around the collective length again.
'They die, or they stop willingly. You probably ought to talk them out of it. Or, hey, maybe it'll go so wrong they die anyway. You never know.' She is in no way being inconspicuous about that and it's painfully obvious she knows someone who's trying it out. There's a huff, from where his lips part, and the smile is gone, despite being brief.

Reading his future... Absolutely not. There's no way he would allow anyone to try and glean something about what'd happen to him, from pieces of paper. Not to mention, there's no way he wants to know, either, nor does he need to. It's just nonsense anyway, and he doesn't want the subconscious desire to go chasing stories and whatever whims she might decide he'll have. He'll stick with real life and things that are actually factual and true, thank you very much.
He shifts again, moving back and further away from her, eyes still focused on her face, though dragging off a little, for his hands to stretch again, fingers still interlocked. It causes a cracking sound from the joints in his fingers, so his hands lower back in front of his face and he wiggles his digits, just to get feeling back into them. Then, he's leant back again, resting on the small of his back nearly, with a focus on her.
Ah. Her face is gone. That's a shame, but it's alright, seeing as the action in itself is cute. He almost wants to reach over and peel her hands away from her face. He won't do that, of course, choosing to watch instead.
'Yeah. It's a tough problem, right? People hear all those stories about those few famous kids who turned into animagi younger than seventeen, but that's only because they're so hyped up. There are more stories about people who've left for hospital and never come back after attempting it, but they aren't much in circulation.' Lean shoulders shrug once, a quick rise and then fall.

If she's really so desperate to read his future, maybe he'll let her, later on, though he won't believe a single word of it. Why would he, when he's already definitely convinced it's a load of nonsense? That's just about the only thing that'll never change; his disbelief in the cards will stay strong. There is absolutely no base for it. You'd think, considering what school this is, that he'd have an open mind about anything like this, but it doesn't seem to actually be the case.
... Ah, she really is greatly concerned about the whole animagus thing, isn't she? How odd, since it won't much affect her at all. Isn't it just a waste of her worry, to spend it on someone who's being stupid of their own volition? 'Of course there's a chance. If they're competent enough, they can just get through it and end up an animagus. But they'd need to be jut about outstanding in transfiguration.' He won't brag, and say 'like me', despite him being excellent in that area of magic. It doesn't mean a lot, since he's not particularly good at anything else, really.
'Hey,' his voice lowers to a slightly more serious tone, though it has a relatively soft touch to it, as if being comforting. 'They'll probably be alright. If not, you can turn them in, or talk to them about it, or even get someone else to help them with it. There's little chance of it going wrong, if everything's alright.'