Temper - 2/50 for OT3 Bootcamp Challenge
Ron had a terrible temper - a Weasley trait just as recognizable as his distinctive red hair. There were things he could rant on and on about for hours. He blew minor, inconsequential things completely out of proportion and Harry was sick of it.
"Why can't I leave my boxers out on the floor?" Harry shouted. "I went to take a shower, and would have gone back to pick them up eventually."
Ron wasn't budging. "Just because you paid for the flat with your stupid Boy-Who-Lived money doesn't mean you can do what you want!"
"And why not?" Fiery-red rage flooded through him, and Harry realized he could hardly see straight. Maybe Ron wasn't the only one with temper problems, he thought.
"Because Hermione and I, the people you claim to love more than anything else in the world, shouldn't be disrespected in such a way!" Ron took a step closer, onto the cheap carpet that only covered half of their flat's living room. "The least you could do to show you care is to put your dirty clothes in the bin that's in the bathroom."
Harry reeled back. "Disrespect? Do I call you out for disrespecting Hermione and me when you insist on eating take-out three days in a row?"
"Well, no. But that's hardly as bad as making me do all the dirty work just because you're so full of yourself."
But Harry was on a roll, "Do I tell Hermione she's being disrespectful when she disappears for days at a time, holed up in the library?"
"Is that what she's doing?" Ron's ire had apparently taken a turn. "Bloody hell, it's like she's avoiding us! I-She needs to come home,"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, still buzzing from the yelling that had gone on. "Yeah, she's been working non-stop on a case for weeks, now."
Ron staggered to a sofa, fell on it, and slumped down. "I'm sorry, mate."
Harry knew the worst was over when he heard the old endearment. He went to the sofa, spelling one of the broken lamps together again on his way, and took a seat next to Ron.
Lifting his lover's head into his lap, Harry began to stroke the soft hair. "We're a complete mess without her, aren't we?"
Ron nodded enthusiastically, but grunted in dissatisfaction when Harry made to stop his caresses. "We really are. She keeps us in line, I think."
"Absolutely. I mean, look how many days in a row I've gone with your decision to eat take-out," Harry said. He had been a pushover in terms of food, he had to admit.
"Look how many pairs of boxers are lying around because she hasn't been able to nag us," Ron said, reminding Harry of the way she refused to have any House-Elves but didn't accept being the one in charge of cleaning. She was always fair and doled out punishments when scheduled clean-ups weren't done, or when daily tasks (the dishes and laundry, to name a few) weren't completed.
"And look at us now," said Harry. "We truly can't function without the intelligent, practical, quirky one."
"Hey!" A yell sounded from the open door. "I'll have you know that you, Mister Potter, are far more quirky, and that Mister Weasley over there is three times as knowledgeable about Quidditch than I will ever be. Now, tell me why I was the topic of discussion today."
She stepped into the flat, jiggling her key to get it out of the door. Once the door shut behind her, the other two pounced.
"Oh, Hermione," Harry said, rushing in to hug her.
"We've missed you so much," finished Ron, placing a quick kiss on her lips.
Raising her eyebrows, Hermione said, "Show me how much." Then, under her breath, she muttered, "Practical and spontaneous, Hermione Granger."