PAROXYSM
-any sudden or violent emotion or action-
Because they were least expecting it...
oOoOoOo
Ron
...
You were waiting, weren't you? It was on the edge of your awareness, an oncoming storm, the inevitable event that was just - right - there.
The house is dark and quiet. You're nervous. It was only days ago you heard your best friend was attacked, and since then this horrible, dirty, nasty feeling had risen in your gut, choking in your throat. Hermione knows how you feel (smart girl) and you honestly don't care anymore. Pigwidgeon twitters above your head, his hyperactivity stirring a deep resentment from Hedwig in the corner. The cut on your finger burns. You wish, you wish you could just tell him everything. Everything and more.
Footsteps. Creaking, heavy footsteps.
Eyes glitter in the darkness. You've been anticipating this moment. Hitch a grin on that face of yours, stand up straight and proud. No hiding. What happens just happens. Take it like a man; like a Gryffindor.
Door creaks open. A face appears.
Before you know it Hermione's shrieking. "HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless - but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us - the Dementors! When we heard - and that Ministry hearing - it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations -"
That evil feeling you've had all this time begins to vanish. Harry's here. He's pale, whether from the cold or fear you can't identify, and you know something's wrong. But you just ignore it. Grin wider. Smile harder. Try.
"Let him breathe, Hermione," you say in an easy, carefree voice. Close the door. Face your best friends. You awaiting something, something big and different and oh-so-wrong. But you just ignore it. Grin wider. Smile harder. Try.
Hermione releases her bear-hug with Harry, smiling as if nothing is wrong. She's smart, isn't she? Doesn't she understand? Doesn't she...feel it?
"Hedwig!" Harry calls down his beloved bird, and for the second time that cut on your finger tingles with a kind of anticipation and bitterness.
"She's been in a right state. Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this -" You're talking, but you aren't aware of what you're saying. This happy, euphoric feeling is bubbling inside of you, and without recognition of your actions you display your scarred finger to your friend.
Harry's face falls the smallest of inches. You notice, but then again you don't really. "Oh, yeah," he says. "Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know -"
You know.
"We wanted to give them to you, mate," you try to make this sound as truthful and as convincing as possible, but you can't help but recognise that flicker of resentment that flitters in Harry's eyes. It's so alien to you, and so wrong on his face. "Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us -"
"- swear not to tell me," Harry cuts in, his voice dull and emotionless. "Yeah, Hermione's already said."
Wrong. The feeling, emotion if you will, is pulsating in the dark room. The pure uncomfortable, frightening, uneasy, restless, pounding, rotating, fist-clenching, foot-stomping, throat-ripping, evil...thing surrounds you. You and her and him. The trio. The unbeatable trio. Winners. The ones without fear, the students who always save the bloody day. What if they saw you now? Breaking at points, fissures leaking through, crumbling issues and unspoken remarks floating around your heads?
Strained silence. Those are the words.
"He seemed to think it was best," Hermione's the first to speak, her voice breathless and uncertain. "Dumbledore, I mean."
"Right," You can see Harry sneaking a look at the marks on Hermione's fingers. His eyes are cold. You feel a shiver run up your spine, but pass it off in the intention to explain.
"I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles -" The tense atmosphere makes your nerves prickle and eyes dart around, the need to sum up a plausible excuse dragging at your tongue.
"Yeah?" Harry speaks again in that edged voice, his eyebrows rising. "Have either of you been attacked by Dementors this summer?"
He does have a point. You nervously bite your lip. "Well, no-but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time-"
A second too late after you mouth your opinions, you realise they may not have been smart words. Harry's face twists a little, his eyebrows coming back down and those cold, green orbs of his eyes stare at you accusingly. Not so oblivious anymore. You can feel all this anxiety pulling and pushing in the room, but at that moment the only thing surfacing in your muddled mind is: Penny in the air...
"Didn't work that well, though, did it?" His voice now takes on a shaky tone, as if he's trying his hardest to keep it even. Hermione glaces at you, worried. The irresistable urge to reach out a clutch her small hand is strong, but the unfamiliar feeling around Harry stops you. "Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?"
"He was so angry," Hermione pipes up, her statement laced with a slightly awed texture. The look on her face is so...anxious. You want so, so badly to give into that urge again. "Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary."
The memories of that night float to the corner of your psyche, and for a moment there you shudder at the murderous, chilling gaze your Headmaster possessed.
"Well, I'm glad he left," His voice has more coldness to it than before, and one look confirms the icy glare Harry has written on his face. "If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer."
You don't know how to react to this; one half of you is shrugging and nodding with the whole thing, while the other half is trying to muster up something to say that will calm Harry down and contradict him at the same time.
"Aren't you… aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?" Hermione asks softly.
"No," Harry's always been a terrible liar, but now you have the slightest inclination to believe him. Head held high, voice even, stare absolute. If it weren't for the horrible, gripping awkwardness present, you would congratulate him. Like old times.
There's another strained silence, trickling through the darkness like a half-forgotten memory. t crackles in the dank air, and you don't want to admit it scares you a little. Ickle Ronniekins. You want to be brave, don't you? Tall, strong, reliable, brave. You don't want to succumb to that dirty tickle that laps at your skin, the heart-straining feeling that you want to run away from and hide. Instead of being frightened, however, you just clench your fists and grit your teeth, waiting for the oncoming storm.
"So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?" If you didn't know Harry better, you'd believe his casual tone. Although you are his friend, right? You understand everything going through his head at that very moment? "Did you - er - bother to ask him at all?"
Penny still in the air...
Without hesitation you steal a glace at Hermione, only to find she's staring at you too. Those sad, brown, warm eyes are looking a bit moist. She's trying to ask something, but in that environment your analytical side is clouded and your ability to translate looks has gone blind.
Harry notices. That desire to explain everything is back, and you open your mouth. "We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on," The desperation isn't fading, so you continue in a rushed voice. "We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted."
"He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to," Harry replies shortly. "You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls."
Point given. You can feel Hermione glance at you, but for Harry's sake you don't turn your head. "I thought that, too. But he didn't want you to know anything." Since when did Hermione share that opinion with you? Without warning a small bubble of annoyance floats up your chest. She didn't tell you that, didn't she? But she told Harry, of course...
"Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted," Harry's voice brings you back into attention, and his statement gives you a small jolt.
"Don't be thick," you say, indignant. Harry narrows his eyes.
"Or that I can't take care of myself."
"Of course he doesn't think that!" Hermione looks so nervous at that moment, the bubble in your chest deflates a little.
"So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?" Harry starts talking faster and faster, his words gaining volume. The unpleasant feeling drags at your hands, hoping to run free in the space. A breath hitches in your throat. It's coming. "How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?"
"We're not!" You try to avert the situation before something happens. You're almost desperate now, terribly afraid of the looming threat. The fragility of your friendship hangs of tetherhooks. "Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young -" But before you can say anything else, it happens.
The penny drops.
"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT - WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?"
The horrible feeling is relishing in the shouting, dancing among the darkness and feeding on the anger Harry is leaking with. You try, try so hard not to flinch, or shiver, or display fear. Instead of those things (or worse, crying), you curl up your toes hoping, wishing, dreaming for calm and peace again. But to dance with the Devil is a long a tiresome act, thus your wishes are not fufilled.
"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!"
Your stunned. There's no other way to say it: You, Ronald Weasley, are entirely shocked at what Harry is doing. But you knew this was going to happen! That anxiety, the tense feeling, all that! Your mouth is hanging open, voice vanished, and vaguely you can tell Hermione has started crying.
"BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?"
"Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did -" Hermione interrupts, her Gryffindor streak running with flying colours. You wish you could speak at that moment.
"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR–"
"Well, he did -" It's a miracle, but your voice returns. Perhaps it's because the statement is pure fact, untainted with emotion, or otherwise you can't handle the screaming anymore. Harry used to be quiet, which you thought was weird in a way. You suppose everyone has a breaking point. And although you don't fully comprehend the situation, you know enough to speak up.
"FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON -"
"We wanted to -" Hermione steps in, voice wavering slightly. You subconsiously move a millimeter towards her.
"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER -"
"No, honest -" All those emotions, all those feelings; you can't take it any longer. What Harry's saying is not real...isn't it? It's irrational. He's just...upset. You've never really seen this side of your best friend, the side nobody ever actually witnesses.
"Harry we're really sorry!" Hermione is the one who ends it all. She has tears streaking down her face, her voice in shaking violently, but she stops it all. You couldn't be more proud, more indignant and more hurt. "You're absolutely right, Harry - I'd be furious if it was me!"
Because it's always Harry, isn't it Ron? You're always the one shunted to the side, right?
The anxiety you felt all summer up until that point is meaningless now. Meaningless since Harry's glaring at both of you, Hermione's crying and your just standing there like the fool you are.
The one you believe you are, anyway.
...
Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet.
oOoOoOo
A/N: Hi everyone! So this is my first fanfic ever (incredible, hey?) and I thought I'd start with a bang. This is part of a three-shot, all centering around the aforementioned events (ie. Harry's shouting etc.). The next part will be from Ginny's point of view and then either Remus' or Georges' (I haven't picked yet) for the third.
Review please!
-MissBowtie