After only one week on the run, Ron decided he hated camping. He hated the wetness that never allowed you to dry completely; he hated that it was either too hot and stuffy in the tent or bitingly cold; he hated the hunger which the burned or the too bland meals Hermione prepared never managed to satisfy; he hated the exhaustion that the sleep never really wiped away; he hated the nightmares; he hated keeping watch with nothing but his wand and a jar with blue flames; and, most of all, he hated the blasted locket.
The Horcrux never stopped whispering things to him, awful things. Things that made his skin crawl or his heart stop with fear.
However, every time he took it off the relief was short-lived. Firstly, he knew it would be his turn to wear it again soon, and, secondly, he still loathed every aspect of camping.
Every day, he discovered something else he disliked. At first, it had only been the uncomfortable and stone-hard bed that hardly allowed him to sleep and let him wake up feeling like a herd of hippogriffs had trampled him.
Then it was the tent itself. He hated to see the same worn-down carpet every morning or the same filtered light during the day that tinted the insides of the tent in semi-darkness as soon as the sun began to sink. He hated the rickety chairs and the broken heater that nobody managed to repair properly.
But soon, it was not only the tent he loathed, but the surroundings themselves. The woods were a hideous place to live. He was used to the creaking of trees, but what unsettled him most was the absolute silence. It was never silent in the Burrow. Here, it felt like everything else was dead and he was the only one left with a heartbeat. But then, there was the sudden cracking of branches at night that made him jolt awake in fear of Snatchers; the low rustling of wind through dead leaves as if a cloak were brushing over them; the eerie cries of nightly animals. He'd never hated nature this much before.
In the end, he realised he couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't take Hermione's optimism or Harry's silent brooding. He couldn't bear listening to the wireless one more time, waiting for the names of his family to come up. He just couldn't travel aimlessly around the country anymore without a plan to either destroy the Horcrux they already had or find another one. And, most of all, he couldn't bear hearing the poisonous words the blasted thing whispered to him, and he couldn't bear the thought of Hermione and Harry together, leaving him behind.
He had to do something now! He had reached his limit. This far and not further, he told himself, taking the decision to act.
He would not stay in this godforsaken place, this creepy forest, this terrible tent for one more second.
*Written for the Houses Competition, Round 5*
House: Ravenclaw
Category: Drabble
Prompt: Camping
W/C: 496