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There are some things they don't teach you in Divination.
It doesn't matter how gifted you are. It doesn't matter how much you've polished your "Inner Eye". It certainly doesn't matter who your teacher is. Even when Firenze took over half the classes, this wasn't added to the curriculum.
No one will ever tilt your head up by the chin, give you a bracing squeeze on the shoulder, and tell you — in a whisper — to look: the sky is half-hidden by the lanky, naked tree branches clawing at it, but even just a glance is enough for a whole different view to be revealed to those who know what to look for.
Ron Weasley has always been drawn to the clouds.
He's seventeen now, which means that it’s been ten years since he started walking around with his head craned upwards, his neck hurting from his disastrous posture at all times except for those in which he's looking at the sky and searching for meaning in spaces where almost no one would believe meaning can be found.
He doubts even his Dad believed in this when he dragged Ron, Ginny and the twins outside to cloud gaze for the first and only time Ron can remember. He doubts that Dad expected them to believe in this. It was supposed to be just a game. A fun thing to pass the time, to treat them like his children while they still fit the bill. Probably to get them off Mum's hands for a little while too.
Most days, Ron would say even he himself didn't and doesn't believe in this. But even though there are such things as coincidences, Ron has grown up with the need to keep all the options in his back pocket, equally as accessible — equally as believable.
The truth is… Ron doesn't know what he believes. He knows that Hermione doesn't and probably would never believe in any of it if he was big enough of an idiot to bring it up. He knows that she thinks Divination is all a load of rubbish that should be disregarded and not given the time of day, which he would usually be prone to agree with but… But.
But he knows that the ache he feels at the top of his neck whenever he looks feels different from the pain of bad posture.
And he knows that there are things that will always be unexplainable.
And… he knows that a storm is brewing — which is a cliche for different reasons than people think it is. A storm for a storm's sake doesn't offer much in terms of information, but if you can recognise the signs of an upcoming change in weather you might just learn how to conveniently find yourself outside when the time is just right — when the conditions are perfect for cloud gazing.
The fact that Hermione had a bad night and was able to be persuaded to take a nap in the middle of the day has an equal chance of being luck and a tactical move. The fact that Ron decided to "stand guard" while she slept is — obviously — strategic. Everything else… well, what happens, happens.
In the worst-case scenario, he ends up being naive and foolish and dumb in front of Harry who is sitting next to him. In the best-case scenario, he might actually see something. The worst and best classifications have always eluded him though, because how the fuck is he supposed to decide if it's better to not know anything or accidentally find out that they're doomed to all hells?
The thing about Hermione and Harry — and the reason why Ron’s doing this now and not at any other time with better weather — is that they grew up muggle, and even though they got used to magic really quickly, they still aren't… connected to it like Ron is.
Even just thinking it makes him sound awful, but it's true.
If Ron told a pureblood — or a half-blood raised in the Wizarding world — that he could predict the future by looking at clouds, he'd get barely a blink of surprise in response, followed by blank acceptance that it was either truth or delusion with no way of differentiating.
Muggles — and muggleborns, and those muggle-raised — they are more… sceptical. They are harder to convince. They don't trust magic like purebloods do. They lack faith.
And maybe if Ron told Harry — if for some Merlin-forsaken reason he decided to tell him why they're huddling in front of the tent with rain so close to reaching them — Harry might shrug and accept what Ron was telling him. But Ron knows that Harry would accept his words because Ron is his friend and not because he knows — intrinsically — that magic is wild and vast and capable of things they'll never truly understand.
And even if Harry believed him, Ron's sure that Hermione would never quite understand why Ron doesn't find it so hard to believe that a shift of a cloud can help you strategize for your next battle.
Magic to muggleborns is a tool. Sure, you can tell and teach them that magic is like air, like water, like the very blood in your veins — ever-present and special and an element of life which had to be respected — but the way they've grown up made them too… logical to truly accept it.
The thing about purebloods though, is that they're all assholes. So even when they say something reasonable — when they say that magic had to be respected, trusted, worshipped — you can't very well agree with them 'cause you'd be agreeing with an asshole and that'd make you an asshole, too.
But purebloods are kinda right when they complain about Hogwarts: how can anyone be taught magic in isolated classrooms, through words in essays you write without experimenting on your own, without feeling magic in its raw and unrestrained form? How is magic magic when it's chained?
There are some things they don't teach you in Divination, and Ron is glad for it — he's sure they'd ruin this too somehow. They'd try to… water it down until it could be written in a book and then water it down again so it could be a lecture and then it'd be jotted down in notebooks in a handful of words and no one would be able to recognise it anymore at all. Ron wouldn't want this to exist in such a state.
Thank Merlin, it doesn't. Thank Merlin he can just —
He tilts his head back and his eyes find the gaps between the branches instantly. The edges of the clouds are stark with sunlight. The shapes are beginning to bloom and coalesce into a picture of a thousand words —
"Is there something up there?"
Harry's voice is so jarring that Ron jerks away from him and nearly falls over, only catching himself at the last second by digging his hand into the pile of leaves they've settled on.
"You okay?" Harry helps him right himself back up. He's all concerned and looking at Ron like he's ready to pull out his wand and attack the world in Ron's name. Harry often looks like this: righteous for all the wrong causes. And right now, Ron doesn't even have the excuse of wearing the locket to hide his annoyance behind proper reasons.
"I'm fine," he says, more irritably than he wished.
Honestly, a part of him wants to ask Harry to leave him alone for a bit — at least until he can get even a hint of what's ahead. Hermione and Harry talk a good game about plans and potential strategies, but the thing is, the future is just as blurry now as it's been when they first left the Burrow.
Ron is not used to this kind of uncertainty. Growing up with five older brothers gives you a kind of an idea of what your future might end up looking like. And even if it ends up entirely different, at least you have someone to freak out to in the middle of the night when your parents are asleep.
Harry and Hermione are Ron's best friends, sure, but he knows that they're barely holding it together. He's barely holding it together. But if he did freak out at them, it would certainly be their downfall — Ron doesn't need the clouds to tell him that.
"You sure you're fine?" Harry presses. Ron wants to tell him to shut up. He wants to push him into the leaves so he gets a hint that Ron doesn't want to talk right now.
It's weird how whenever Ron wears the locket he gets all surly and irritable and wants nothing more than to get away from the tent and his friends. When Harry wears it, he's more or less the same as any other time. He's a bit more easily annoyed, sure, but Ron can't imagine himself engaging anyone in a heartfelt conversation with the locket around his throat.
"Yeah," he says simply and hopes that Harry will let it go.
He doesn't.
Because he's Harry.
Because Ron is his best friend.
Because they've spent weeks camping in a forest with no one but each other for company.
"So…" Harry continues after clearing his throat. "Was there something up there?"
"What?" Ron glances at him. Harry's fiddling with the locket. His fingers are tap-tap-taping on the glass.
"You were staring at the trees."
"Oh," Ron replies. To admit or not to admit? "No, no… there wasn't anything."
"I thought you might have seen something," Harry mutters. "A crack in the wards or a person or…"
"No," Ron shakes his head instantly. "Don't worry about it. I didn't see anything." He hesitates for a moment, glances up at the clouds gathering, moving south, and then adds, "I was just… watching the clouds."
"Oh."
Harry is staring at him.
Ron knows that Harry is staring at him but he can't bring himself to meet his eyes.
"Yeah."
"Like… Oh, look — a rabbit watching the clouds, or?"
Ron sighs. He shouldn't have said anything 'cause now he'll have to either lie or explain. He doesn't feel like lying to his best friend. He doesn't feel like explaining either.
There's this nervous energy buzzing in his legs and arms that's been gathering under his skin for the last few days now — and it only amplifies every time he wears the locket which isn't helpful at all. He feels compelled to fidget, to move, to run away and do something as impulsive as it would be, but there are things he has to do that he can't leave unchecked.
Checking the clouds is one of those things. Taking care that his best friends stay sane is another. Talking to Harry fits under that second thing.
He bites his lip and deliberates.
"Ron?"
"Yeah, rabbits…" he mutters after shaking his head. "Something like that."
"Okay," Harry says with a frown. "Cool."
Ron exhales. He tilts his head back towards the sky. The clouds have moved since he last looked, carried by the wind and the upcoming storm. He'll be lucky if there are any shapes at all this late, this close to raining, but he has to try.
"Do you think it's gonna rain soon?" Harry asks. When Ron glances at him, he's looking at the sky too.
"Yeah," Ron says, "we probably have about half an hour."
"Huh."
Harry goes quiet again. Ron looks up. He tries to concentrate. It's the hardest it's ever been.
It's been a while since he's done this.
The last time was right after they all got home from Hogwarts and it was a shit day for it too. There were barely any clouds and the few that were there were stretched-out whispy monstrosities.
It was all arrows shooting across a bright blue sky.
It made no sense because every other time he'd seen an arrow it meant that things would become more straightforward, more unravelled and dynamic — he saw an arrow the day before the whole Shrieking Shack incident back in third year — but there was no way of things getting straightforward when he didn't even know what was supposed to be straightforward.
And then Bill's wedding happened.
And the three of them ran away.
Talk about simplifying your options…
Today, the clouds are thick and blending into each other. Crumbling and reforming, curdled and as explicable as reading tea leaves — which is to say, not at all.
Ron never liked reading tea leaves — and he especially hated doing it in class — because how the fuck were you supposed to interpret anything if all you're given is a set little list of responses?
Where's the truth in that?
He hated it; he hated how standardised it was. Oh, look, a star — well, would you believe it, we all agree on what this means even though this star is completely different from every other star ever read in tea leaves. It was time-wasting bullshit.
And the crystal balls were no better — it was mass-produced manufactured gimmicky clouds, for Merlin's sake. Fake. Disingenuous. He can't imagine that magic and chaos and the universe would care to project their effect on hundreds of products sold to children, used as toys and decorations alike. How useless…
Ron would never understand why you would even ask for things – from something so… contained – when every question you might have is about life and the future and the infinite possible outcomes. Only the raw magic that fueled the world, unrestrained and free, could ever give a proper answer.
But it's not like you could just say that — it's not like Ron could walk up to his OWL and say that no one in their right mind would test how well you could read the future. How the fuck would you even know if someone is correct or not without waiting? By how convincing they sound? By how probable it was?
It's all so senseless but it's not like Ron's surprised or anything.
Divination is mysterious. Divination is misunderstood. Divination is whatever adjective you want to put in front of it to make it seem like Fate is not something to be concerned with.
The Wizarding World puts their Seers on a pedestal.
But their Seers are carefully chosen.
Ron isn't a Seer — he doesn't consider himself one either — and he would never be treated like one. But if anyone tries, he'll tell them right where they can shove it. Or maybe not, 'cause it's not like anyone would ever know about his supposed talent which isn't really a talent or even a special ability but rather him letting magic be just that — magic, and taking in what it gives instead of demanding things which it can't.
Obviously, Ron's never told anyone about his little cloud-gazing habit. Harry and Hermione aren't the only ones who aren't in on this little secret. No one is in on this little secret.
Ron doesn't plan to bring anyone in, either.
He can't imagine it going well.
He can clearly imagine it not going well at all: his Dad would try to tell him he might have taken it all too seriously, his Mum would actually take it too seriously and proclaim he had a Gift, while his brothers would range from patronising to dismissive. None of these reactions would be ideal.
He doesn't know what the ideal reaction would be. The only thing he can imagine being fine with is no reaction at all. If he could just make everyone who wanted to be aware of this aware and have nothing change at all, he would. But as it is, he just… keeps it to himself. It's not as if it's that big of a deal anyway.
The wind howls through the trees. The branches cut his view into strips. Harry sighs next to him.
"That one looks like a cat," Harry says, pointing somewhere up and left. Ron looks to where his finger is pointing.
"It's more of a bear."
"Mmm, I don't think so."
"It's fatter than a cat."
"Maybe it just has a lot of fur," Harry says with a shrug. "Like Crookshanks."
Ron snorts. "Crookshanks's a Kneezle. And a weird one at that. He doesn't count as an example for a cat."
Harry stays quiet for a second. He's lowered his hand and is not squinting at the sky. "It looks more like a bear now."
To Ron, it looks less like a bear now than it did a minute ago, before the clouds moved yet again, but he doesn't say anything. He just nods absently and shifts his gaze to the right, trying desperately to see anything that might be a good sign. Bear or cat — he'd rather see neither.
"Do you think these mean anything?" Harry says out of nowhere, while twirling his wand between his fingers absentmindedly. "The shapes, I mean?"
Ron's heart skips a beat even though it shouldn't — there is no way Harry would ever guess Ron believed in any kind of fortune-telling, let alone this. For all he knows, Harry's never even heard of reading clouds before.
Ron forces himself not to tense up and glances at his best friend. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you know…" Harry shrugs, fully carelessly, completely unaware that Ron is slowly but surely losing his mind. "You know how people read tea leaves?"
"You can't read clouds like tea leaves," Ron blurts out, half a scoff and half a laugh, because he's impulsive and nervous and can't help himself.
Harry frowns at his quick response.
Ron curses himself silently — he's on the edge of being in deep shit. Probably. Maybe? He had — has — no plans to tell Harry anything so why is he finding it so hard to just play along?
"Isn't it all… symbols or something?" Harry continues. "D'you think they mean something else when they're in the clouds?"
They're staring at each other now. Ron doesn't know what to say. Harry's not taking it seriously. Ron shouldn't be taking this seriously either. He should — needs to — relax.
Should he just… lie? Or casually say what he really thinks? Should he… tell Harry everything? Harry wouldn't laugh at him — probably — and he wouldn't tell Hermione if Ron asked him to, even though they all swore not to keep secrets anymore. But this…
If he was a good friend he would have just told Harry already, as soon as they sat down in front of the tent, but for some reason, the words are sticking in his throat. For all the secrets they've shared between them, why does this one feel so… unspeakable?
"I mean…" he starts, awkwardly, "If it was the same, Trewlaney would probably have told us about it, yeah?"
Harry snorts. "Can you imagine Trewlaney watching the clouds? She'd probably choke on the fresh air."
Ron huffs a small laugh, forcefully. "Right. Yeah."
He steals a glance at the clouds now. The sky is bleeding darkness from the East. Their — his — time is running out.
He makes his eyes unfocus. He subtly shakes his head. He takes a deep breath and does his best to let Harry's words leak out of his head until there is nothing but the uncertainty of their future occupying it.
The wind catches in their jackets. Harry leans further back.
The biggest cloud that stands out against the grey, swirling background, slowly turns into a bowl.
Ron moves his hands — slowly, with secretive glances at Harry — into his lap and makes them into a cup. He breathes out. He stares into the clouds and imagines the peace and the quiet of the sky far beyond their reach filling his cupped hands.
He needs to calm down. He needs to reassess things with a clear head, a head ready to accept any thought and plan and strategy that comes to mind. A head empty of worry and worst-case scenarios.
When he focuses back on the clouds, the bowl is gone and in its place is a shell. It looks drawn to perfection — like straight from a picture book — and it's moving too, though by wind and not by magic.
"This cloud gazing session is not going so well," Harry says with a smile on his lips and a joke in his tone. "No symbols to impress your OWL examiners with — hey, imagine they made us do our Divination OWL outside so we could read the clouds."
"Wasn't it raining when we took our Divination OWL?"
"Was it? I think it was just cloudy…" Harry shrugs. "It'd still suck…"
"Cloudy could be good for cloud gazing," Ron replies, though he doesn't know why. All this talk about Divination and cloud gazing and reading the future has him both itching to confess and to bolt. "More clouds means more chances you see something, yeah?"
"Not too many clouds, I don't think…" Harry says with a snort. "How would you ever recognise anything in this mess?"
He waves his hand towards the sky, making an arc over the huge, to-Ron-obvious shell practically glowing above them.
"There's a shell right there, for one," Ron says. He catches Harry's hand and points it at the cloud-shell. Harry squints, then tilts his head, then squints again.
"That looks like a flower."
Ron shakes his head. "No, it's definitely a shell."
"Okay, Mister Cloud-Reader," Harry laughs. He turns his nose up and continues speaking in a ridiculous accent and a voice three times lower than his usual. "And what does the shell represent here and now?"
"Well…" Ron starts saying, then shrugs and then laughs to hide the sudden lump in his throat. He shrugs again. "Maybe… you know how sometimes shells have pearls in them? So maybe it means we'll get some good news. From some hidden sources. We'll have to pry it open but it'll be good news."
Harry raises his eyebrows so Ron guesses he wasn't as casual as he hoped. He opens his mouth to brush the whole thing off when a loud and echoing caw comes from the depths of the forest.
Harry's head swivels in the direction of the sound, his wand arm slashing the air, but there is nothing to be seen.
The woods are growing darker and darker both with the dying day and the upcoming storm. The quiet is slowly descending upon them even with the violently rustling leaves and animals skittering away to find shelter before the sky splits open.
When they've both resettled — and convinced themselves that no attacker was coming their way — Ron glances back up at the cloud but the sky is churning with the gathering rain: the shell has been blown away.
"So much for our good news," Harry mutters.
"What?" Ron asks, distractedly.
"The shell — the good news — it's gone."
"Oh, yeah, it's just the wind. The clouds are shifting faster today because of the storm but that doesn't mean the message has changed," Ron explains quickly and breathlessly. "Well, it can change if it changes into something bad but, er, it's just the wind. Yeah."
"Speaking from experience, huh?" Harry laughs awkwardly. Their eyes meet and the laughter dies with the slow death of a rotten vegetable.
Harry frowns when Ron doesn't reply and it's enough to shake Ron back into action. He shrugs quickly and shoots Harry a smile which he can feel is closer to a grimace. He's eternally grateful that Harry doesn't press the issue — the bruise, the sore spot, the one thing Ron doesn't know if he'll ever be able to say out loud. The tenderness he's hidden for half his life.
"It's kinda fun, isn't it?" Harry suggests lightly after he looks away from Ron. "Watching the shapes reform? Like… at what point do you decide that it's fully reformed into a new shape? Is that a star now or should we wait for a bit longer?"
Ron takes a deep breath and then shakes his head. "Stars don't have that many points."
"So we should wait for a bit longer," Harry nods. "Got it."
"It…" Ron sighs. He could let the conversation die. He could, he swears. But Harry is his best friend. And Ron knows that he's acting weird about this. Hermione is his best friend too, but that's… that's different. He can't imagine Hermione not rolling up his shirt until she revealed the soft tissue of his heart and pressing it with his thumb until all the nasty secrets oozed out.
"It's an octopus, I think," he says at last.
Harry tilts his head to one side and then the other. He glances at Ron, dubiously. "No, it's definitely a star."
"It's an octopus."
"It's a star. I know how stars look, mate — I've spent just as much time in Astronomy as you have." Harry chuckles and pokes Ron's shoulder. "Admit it." Ron swats at him. "I'm right," Harry says, catching Ron's hand. "You're wrong."
"No, you just suck at clouds!" Ron laughs and shoves Harry who shoves him back and then they're both sprawled on the leaves. Ron doesn't mind it much — they're just damp and scratchy, nothing so bad.
"And you don't?" Harry asks breathlessly.
Their eyes meet again. The air pulses with thunder. Ron looks away.
"Maybe you're just seeing what you want to see," Harry says, his tone all soft and easy. Ron exhales slowly. Harry is a good friend.
Ron huffs a laugh with no mirth. If he saw what he wanted to see, all three of them would be walking home tomorrow morning having just received some wonderful, joyous, world-saving news.
"No," he replies. "An octopus is the last thing I want to see."
"Bad news, er, octopuses?"
Ron clicks his tongue. "Yep." Harry has no idea. "Have you seen those bloody tentacles? You think they wouldn't choke you to death? Just bam, bam, bam — danger from all directions."
Harry blinks and then snorts. The look on his face is priceless and Ron can't help but laugh. Harry gives him a smile that makes Ron realise all the prodding and whatnot was out of concern — and now Harry is finally looking at him like Ron's all normal again.
"I meant that you're seeing seafood," Harry tells him. "You know, the whole see what you want to see — maybe it's just… food." Harry's shoulder twitches as if he'll shrug and then his eyes light up. Ron watches him closely, but Harry just grins. "Hey, what do you know — maybe we'll manage to find somewhere to fish tomorrow."
"This late in the year?" Ron asks, eyes narrowed. He doubts Harry has ever been fishing. Hell, even he's been only once. He didn't like it much and the one time he'd had the chance of catching something he was too distracted by an egg in the clouds, sunlight spilling through it like yolk.
"Well, you saw it in the clouds!"
"I guess…" Ron shrugs and relents. He doubts they'd find a place to fish and doubts even more that there'll be anything active enough to catch the bait if they did try to get something to eat, but it's better if one of them has some hope. And he did see that shell… "That'd be better than being choked to death."
"That's for sure," Harry smiles easily but Ron doesn't miss the way he tugs on the locket. The metal must be as ice cold as always despite being worn practically all the time. Ron can almost feel it on the back of his neck: like a slash of a dagger against the top of his spine.
The first drop of rain pierces his cheek. He lifts his head towards the sky which offered few answers. Clouds like cold porridge look back at him. He sighs and stretches his arms above his head.
"I guess that's all the future we're gonna see today, huh?" Harry says as they both stand up.
"Unless 'Mione makes us go through the long-term plans again after dinner," Ron sighs. He loves Hermione, he really does — again, she's one of his best friends — but he also knows when to admit defeat.
"Merlin…" Harry groans. "I fucking hope not."
Ron is suddenly grateful for the silencing charms he'd cast on the tent when he and Harry came outside. If Hermione heard them talking like this, he's sure this trip would become much more unpleasant. And that's saying something.
"I don't know, mate… what we should do is focus on the short-term," Ron says and rolls his eyes. He's been wanting to say something akin to this for a while now, but the key to not killing each other is not saying every thought that comes to your head. If they'll come out of this whole mess with anything — if they ever come out of it — it'll be the annoying but necessary skill of making compromises. "Who the fuck knows what's gonna happen in a month?" It's not like the clouds were very helpful…
Harry kicks the leaves with his boot. He's lifted his wand and magicked them an umbrella. The quickening rain is making a low, dull sound with every drop that lands against the charm.
"I wish we could just…" Harry mutters. "Can't we pretend, just for a single night, that we're just on vacation — that we're just three friends who just happened to decide to go camping at a bad time of year?"
Ron snorts and tries to catch Harry's eyes, but doesn't succeed. Harry's hand is tightly wrapped around the locket, his fingers white.
"Sure, mate," Ron says, even though sometimes he gets a feeling that Harry doesn't actually want to find the horcruxes. It's a complicated thought he can't quite find the root of. "I'll get back to you on that after 'Mione makes us eat old acorns again."
Harry sighs. "Acorns wait for no one." He slips back inside the tent, carrying his umbrella with him.
The rain hits Ron's shoulders immediately and he hurries to follow Harry inside. The last thought he has before the open sky though, is that war doesn't wait for anyone either; their days are numbered — danger from all sides is creeping in and there is nothing they can even do about it.
That night, Ron dreams of the tree roots catching the flaps of their tent and tearing them open until its occupants are exposed to the clear sky and enemies circling them. He wakes up panting. Scared half-to-death.
His eyes fly around the tent, taking stock, making sure they're all still alive and in one piece, finally landing on the still forms of his best friends. Harry and Hermione are sleeping quietly. The sound of rain has lulled them into a peaceful slumber.
It's the only vision capable of calming him down, so he calms down somewhat though Ron still stays awake for a while after, keeping vigil and worrying and trying not to glance at the locket lying innocuously in the middle of their dining table.