Tristan had been listening with an eager expression; he paused to nod his thanks when the tea came by, and had the grace to look moderately embarrassed for having called Divination rubbish within earshot of someone who more than likely did it for a living. "You're right, though," he said, wrapping his hands around his teacup. "There isn't any reason to think of it as something less legitimate than any other subject. There are plenty of famous prophecies, any number of well-known Seers who have proven themselves completely accurate - and in the Muggle world, the idea of Divination is one of the better accepted branches of the supernatural." He remembered being told about how his father's mother had been dead set on her horoscope every morning.
"But - I don't know." He took a sip of his tea, looking thoughtfully out the window before smiling at her again. "It's like anything only a certain set of people are capable of doing, maybe. There are bound to be naysayers, a certain amount of sour grapes, and even frauds. It's a recipe for a bad reputation, I suppose."