Things had been hard for Ron. It had never been worse in fact. He thought maybe the time he spent fighting with Harry in the fourth year might have been the worst moment of his life, or perhaps hearing that Percy went and joined the damn Ministry and turned his back on his family. No- it was now. He was sitting alone in the tent where Hermione, Harry and he had pitched, and listening to the Wizarding Wireless as it read out the long list of names of wizards and witches who were found dead, or even worse, had not been found at all.
He kept tapping the Wireless with his wand, which made a small scratching sound indicating that it was rewinding, and then repeated the names over again. Just to make sure Ginny isn't missing… or Mum… or Dad… wait, was that Charlie…?
Ron heard murmuring outside the tent. Harry and Hermione certainly were… chummy recently. They always went out together. Who knows where they went anymore. The excuses usually were that they were gathering firewood or setting up spells or something like that. Ron hadn't thought anything of it at first, but found that the more they disappeared the angrier he got. He couldn't help but start to think about Harry pushing Hermione up against a tree, their bodies pressed together in a tight embrace as their mouths locked together in a passionate kiss much like Ron had imagined himself kissing Hermione. Sometimes he would imagine Harry's hand dip into Hermione's skirt and Ron would explode in such rage that he would leave to take a walk and wouldn't come back for several hours. These thoughts came all the time now, no matter if he was wearing the Locket or not.
Harry was supposed to be his best mate. He had told him about Hermione hadn't he? He had told him about how he loved her. He surely did- and still he does this?! Ron's rage bubbled to the surface. Harry had everything else in this God damned world including Ron's own sister, he wasn't going to have Hermione too.
Dad used to get Mum flowers whenever they had fought. Ron remembered a particularly nasty row when he was 10; Dad had taken Ginny, Ron and the rest of his siblings out to go find some Muggle artifacts in town. He had come home with the Ford Anglia, and a very excessive array of plugs, batteries, and what Ron could only assume was some sort of way Muggles could communicate over long distances. The shopkeeper told Dad they were called "fellytones", or something like that.
Mum had lost her mind on Dad and had sent jinxes flying at him for spending their last knut on "useless Muggle trash!". None of the jinxes hit Dad and Ron had a feeling Mum wasn't aiming well, but just wanted to get her point across… er, forcefully. Dad had plucked some of the azaleas out of the garden and presented it to Mum in his quite dirty and singed robes. Mum took it and smiled softly as she sniffed the bright pink flowers (but Dad still slept on the couch that night).
The whispers outside had quieted down and finally dissipated completely. Ron stood up suddenly; he'd get Hermione a bouquet. It'd be a pretty bad one. He couldn't reckon any of the pretty flowers Dad had gotten Mum whenever he brought home Muggle trash were available in this depressing forest, but he'd try. He threw open the flaps of the tent and strode off deep in the wilderness, feverishly grabbing any sort of remotely pretty flower he could find. He ripped them up as soon as he spotted them so the stems were wildly uneven. He could use a severing charm to clean them up soon. Maybe he could find a piece of ribbon or something to tie them together. Ron's thoughts were running wild now and he started to feel a little dizzy. He always felt dizzy whenever he wore the locket for too long.
His rather messy bouquet of flowers in hand, he tried to arrange them as best he could. The colors made no sense. A red flower was in there (he had no idea what it was, it smelled slightly foul but he left it in anyway), two or three of what might have been daisies if daisies looked rather sad all the time, and then something green which may or may not have been some sort of fern. He couldn't think of a place to get a ribbon or if there was any good place to buy one, so he just tied a rather long blade of grass around the bouquet and started the hike back to the tent.
He arrived back just as the sun was beginning to set. The tent was lit up, and smoke came out of the collapsible canvas chimney. Hermione and Harry must have come in while he was out looking at the flowers, and Hermione must have been making dinner. Ron stepped forward and opened the flap to enter the tent. As he thought, Hermione was there. She was leaning against Harry as she stirred whatever was in that pot on the stove. Harry had put his arm around her and giving her a hug from the side. Harry appeared to be telling a joke to Hermione. She was sniffling and her nose was red from crying.
Ron stepped back immediately and dropped the flap of the tent like it was a bee had stung him. It was it- it was his worst fear. He saw it with his own eyes now. Harry loved Hermione too and she loved him back. She didn't shrug off the hug that Harry was giving her. What could Ron ever do to compete against Harry? He was ginger, he was too tall, he was a pathetic poor mess- even he hated himself. Of course she loved Harry.
You're nothing, Weasley, the Locket seemed to say, confirming Ron's horrible thoughts. Look at that muggle born you love. Look at how she loves him- you're nothing, you're worthless-,
Ron took the bouquet in his hand and shredded it in a thousand pieces. His breath was coming fast and he felt a sob come up in his chest. The only thing keeping him here was gone. Fuck hope and fuck love. I can't live like this anymore…
He would skip dinner that day, and went for another walk in the woods alone with the locket and his enraged thoughts. When Hermione would come out looking for him later to tell him dinner was ready, she saw shredded flowers at the entrance to the flap, but no sign of Ron other than that.