This fic was originally written for round four of the Writing School drabble portion of the International Wizarding School Championship! It has since been updated/edited to expand the parameters of the competition, but I kept the judging info in the AN. Happy reading :)

School: Beauxbatons

Year: 5

Technique: Tenses

- - - First Tense: Past Perfect

- - - Second Tense: Simple Future

Optional Prompt: (occupation) Seer

Word Count: 1,044

Disclaimer: Hermione's dialogue where she is reading from the Daily Prophet is taken almost completely verbatim from the Order of the Phoenix! This is an AU where Ron's time at the Department of Mysteries is not as easily healed from. Enjoy!

.: Is that what this is? :.

The hospital wing at Hogwarts was as familiar to Harry Potter as the canopy of his four-poster in Gryffindor Tower — after all, he'd spent almost as much time staring at the hospital's gothic ceiling as he did the folds of red tapestry in the tower. Harry found comfort in this familiarity after the night he'd had — found yet more comfort in the quiet maternal mutterings of Madam Pomfrey and the knowledge that all five of his friends were within reach and safe.

It had been almost twelve hours since the Order had rescued them from the Department of Mysteries — almost twelve hours since Sirius had stumbled backwards into the veil. The only way he kept his mind from dwelling on that painful loss was by remembering his friends had made it out. That he hadn't gotten them killed, too.

Harry had abandoned his own bed as soon as Pomfrey vanished his breakfast tray, and he'd since taken up residence at the foot of Ron's bed — who had yet to say a word since he'd woken up with a start an hour earlier. Ginny had followed Harry's example and curled up in a ball at the end of Hermione's bed. Neville was in a plushy armchair between the two beds, Luna perched next to him on the arm of the chair.

To see Luna "reading" a copy of The Quibbler — it was upside down, and she hadn't turned a page in five minutes — made his chest warm. That feeling grew when she leaned in to show something to Neville. Grew even more when Neville smiled.

Harry refocused on Hermione's voice as she continued reading aloud from the Sunday Prophet.

"—'Dumbledore has insisted for a year that You-Know-Who was not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile, the Boy-Who-Lived' — There you are, Harry," Hermione said, looking over the paper at him. "I knew they'd drag you into it somehow."

Harry shrugged, a snide comment about The Prophet on the tip of his tongue, but Ron spoke up for the first time.

"Change of pace, change of space, him you will face," he said blandly. "Will have to live once more — will have to live in the woods, not alone with a stone."

Harry sat up straight, making quick eye-contact with Hermione before narrowing his eyes at his best friend. Another quick glance at the others revealed them to be as confused and worried as he felt.

"Are you feeling all right, Ron?" Hermione asked, her words gentle but her face sharp, eyes focused and thinking. Hermione in Hermione-mode comforted him — she'd find out what was wrong.

Ron made a humming noise that was neither here nor there and went back to staring out the window next to him. Hermione attempted to lean forward, perhaps to catch Ron's eye, but she winced and grabbed her side, falling back against her pillows instead. Dolohov's curse was still wreaking havoc on her body, and though she never complained, Harry knew she was still in a fair amount of pain.

He had done that, Harry thought. He had put her in the position to be harmed. Enough—

"Okay, well…" Hermione began reading again, though slower this time because she kept glancing Ron's way. "They're very complimentary about you now, Harry. 'A lone voice of truth…perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story…forced to bear ridicule and slander…' Hmmm" — Hermione frowned — "I notice they don't mention the fact that it was them doing all the ridiculing and slandering—"

"The phoenix sings," Ron interrupted, still looking out the window. "It will sing such a lovely, sad song over the white marble….Can you hear it, Hermione?"

"Nothing is singing, Ron," Harry said before Hermione could reply.

"It will sing," Ron repeated, his voice soft, slow, and even — nothing like his usual tone. "Hermione…it will sing."

Hermione looked around at all of them, her eyes wide and her mouth in a flat, worried line as Ron hummed plaintively again. Neville's brow was furrowed, and Luna had put down her magazine; they were both staring at Ron. Ginny was no longer curled around herself, but upright with her feet planted firmly on the floor, her eyes on her brother as well.

"What curse did Pomfrey say he was hit with?" Neville asked.

"It was—"

"Curses, curses, curses…" Ron interrupted again, the 's' sound lingering in the air until he continued with, "Snakes and curses and swords…we will need swords for the snakes and curses…"

"Ron, mate?" Harry said, ducking his head into Ron's line of sight. "Want me to fetch Pomfrey?"

Hermione sat forward, and though she grimaced again, she remained vertical to stare intently at Ron.

Hermione will fix this, he thought again.

"Does he need a Mind-healer?" Hermione asked, glancing around at everyone.

He had done this, Harry thought again. He had wrecked his best friend's mind. He had put him in danger, and Ron was paying the price for Harry's foolishness.

"No," Luna said simply, pulling Harry from his downward spiral. Ron looked up at Luna's voice, and he focused on her — on any of them — for the first time. Luna tilted her head when Ron made eye-contact. Her eyes were as serious as Harry had ever seen them, but she still spoke in that whimsical way of hers when she continued: "His mind is whole. It is ours that remain lacking."

"Luna—" Hermione began, clearly exasperated.

"It was the brains," Luna added, heedless of Hermione.

"He was acting funny before the brains got him, though," Ginny said.

"Seers aren't funny, Ginny," Luna continued mildly. "They're thought made sound and the future made past. Madam Pomfrey said thoughts could leave deeper scarring than anything else. She didn't mean the tentacle marks on his arms, she meant the new scars on his mind — the divots where future thoughts can plant themselves."

"Luna, he can't be a—" Hermione denied.

"Seer," Ron finished. His voice was so…normal-sounding that it relieved some of the tightness in Harry's chest. Ron looked at them all, his eyes no longer far-away as he asked, "Is that what this is?"

Thank you for reading! I've never attempted to utilize a future tense before, and after writing this, I'm of the firm belief that it will only work if someone is trying to tell the future. This was hard! Please let me know what you thought :))