A.N. Hey! You might notice that the chapter is short (just shy of 6K) and I MIGHT go back in the future and combine it with the next one. But it was either a short chapter or a longer wait, and I know how you feel about waiting, lol. Things are hectic around here with an influx of customers (some unfortunately are badly trained), health problems of friends and family, and completely redoing my room-on top of my usual issues. But I'm trying to keep up on my writing!
Story Notes: Wouldn't it be nice if recovery was a straight Path? Maybe slowing down every once in awhile, but at least moving forward. The reality though, is that you're often going good forward, backward, and sideways. As much as you want to get better, you find yourself doing the stupidest things; becoming passive aggressive, snapping at or making comments designed to annoy the people who are supporting you, or reading negative meanings into perfectly innocent situations. And, of course, deciding that you're absolutely sure a new method won't do anything for you, before you really even give it a chance! (I'm guilty. So, SO guilty.) In this chapter, Ron deals with the rush of progress beginning to fade, and the natural foot dragging part of the process begins. Frustrating, but we've all been there!
Questionable Methods (This Life Preserver is the Wrong Color)
Harry was standing outside of the office, and when he saw Ron coming, he quickly choked down the last bite of what looked like sausage wrapped in a piece of bread.
"Kreacher's day off, I see," Ron joked, forcing a smile onto his face as he fought down the lingering anxiety from last night.
"It was the second attempt at breakfast, and by that time, I was already running behind what I had planned," Harry sighed, wiping his fingers on the lining of his cloak.
Ron paused with his hand on the door. "Second attempt?"
"Ginny tried to make eggs today."
Oh. That explained it; Gin wasn't a bad cook, but for some reason, she just couldn't fry or scramble an egg without burning it, although every once and awhile her stubborn streak demanded she try.
"Tough luck, mate. Why don't you drop by mine tonight?" He asked, knowing his sister was probably gone for the week. "We can get takeaway, if you don't want to cook for yourself."
"I think I'll at least attempt cooking, but I'll stop by after. But for now, let's go in and see if Selby's made any progress since Saturday."
"Maybe he's already dealt with the bastard and it's all over," Ron said, unable to keep from smiling at the thought of Pethwick shitting his trousers at the sight of being brought in for questioning.
Harry shook his head. "Don't get your hopes up; I'm pretty sure he'd've called you in before now, if they'd found anything that could stick."
"A man can dream," Ron muttered, leading the way to Selby's office, raising his hand to rap his knuckles against the door.
At the barked invitation to come in, he stepped into the office, giving Harry enough room to enter behind him and close the door.
"Weasley. Potter. I was going to call you in later, but I suppose you'd like to hear what we've found before you get to work."
"Yessir," Ron agreed. "I-we thought of a possibility of who might be behind this. You remember Pethwick-"
"Already ahead of you; you might recall there was someone I wanted to look into the other night."
"Were you able to connect him at all?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
Selby took a deep breath, leaning back and lacing his fingers across his chest, his elbows braced on the padded arms of his chair. "As you know, there are quite a few Spells we use to uncover information from evidence. The stationary, unfortunately, wasn't any help at all. The style was discontinued about six years ago, so there's no real way to trace it. It could have been sitting around in anyone's desk, where someone with access to the house could have taken it-"
"Or a spare box could've even been dropped at a charity shop if someone got tired of that set," Ron added in frustration, recalling how his mum used to look for such things.
"Exactly. But the most interesting thing about it was the complete lack of magical signature," Selby told them with a pointed look.
Harry and Ron exchanged glances.
"Could you tell what spell had been done to do that?" Ron asked.
"No. There was no trace of that, either."
A tingling sensation spread across Ron's scalp, something that always happened when he felt like he was onto something important. This was actually big news; erasing your magical signature was technically illegal, although it was only really enforced when combined with another crime. However, the Spells to remove it were few and far between, and you could always at least tell which had been used.
Except.
There was one spell, carefully guarded by the Auror department, that could remove even those traces-which wasn't the key to a criminal career that one might think, given that in itself narrowed the list of suspects considerably, and there were heavy consequences for using it outside of the job. Hell, even the paperwork it required for each use was enough of a deterrent to make sure it was used sparingly. Which meant that the only person who could be using it against him...
"We've got the little cocksucker!" He he said triumphantly. "All we have to do is-"
"Not so fast, Weasley," Selby interrupted before he got carried away. "I admit it makes him look very, very good for it, but it's not conclusive-with only that as evidence, any half decent council would get him off. And there's always the possibility, however slim, that someone else in the department is using your wellknown animosity towards one another against you."
"So you're not even going to bring him in?" Ron asked, trying, with only mild success, to fight down the anger that was simmering just under the surface.
"Ron-" Harry began, putting a hand on his shoulder, which calmed him slightly-enough for him to unclench his fists.
"You've been on the job long enough to know exactly what'll happen," Selby said in a level tone. "We can bring him in for questioning, and all we'll get out of it is that bloody smirk as he sits there, knowing we don't have anything stronger than supposition and circumstantial evidence."
Grudgingly, Ron knew he was right, but being this close and not being able to end it was pissing him off. "So, what? We do nothing?"
"That might work more in our favor," Harry said cautiously. "You know what Pethwick's like. If it's him, he'll try to goad you more than once, at the very least. And anyone who's gone through training with him knows that if one thing's for certain, he's too cocky for his own good."
The tension in Ron's jaw eased as his face took on a look filled with calculation. "You're right, Harry. There's no reason to go into the hole after vermin, if it'll come to you, if you just put out the bait."
"Weasley, the last thing we want to do is give him a reason to cry entrapment," Selby said.
"Right, but just acting as if I don't care about the letter wouldn't qualify, would it?" Ron asked, warming up to the idea. "He cares about getting a reaction, so what if I just don't give him one? What if I act like nothing's happened, or if I brush it off as a one time thing if anyone mentions it? I wouldn't even be doing it anywhere around him, but I'm sure it'll get back to him through the gossip chain somehow."
Selby seemed to consider it. "And you won't try to contact him directly? You won't do anything that could be considered as provoking him? And you'll be sure to stay alert, just in case we're wrong, or he's more serious than we think at the moment?"
Ron nodded. "Absolutely. I won't go looking for him, and I won't let my guard down."
"And people will be watching his back to make sure," Harry said pointedly.
"Alright, then. I'm trusting you not to jump the wand. The investigation is still ongoing, and I'll keep you up to date, but don't think that you're taking lead on this one."
"Thank you, Sir," Ron said, knowing that was the best he could hope for.
"Then unless you have anything to add, you're dismissed," Selby said, already going back to his papers.
They quickly left, but there was no time to talk privately since the others were trickling in for the morning. Ron, uncharacteristically, chatted a few minutes before going to his desk, letting the matter of Pethwick fade to the back of his mind as he got to work.
"I'm sorry, but I just had to get out of there," Hermione apologized again as the three of them walked over to the empty table at the small park.
"It's fine, Hermione. Personally I always wonder how you can manage to spend so much time in that office," Harry said, sitting down across from her and Ron.
"And the sun's actually out, so it's not all that cold," Ron added, popping a chip into his mouth, and debating on whether or not to just eat his fish with his hands.
"Thanks. Usually I can take it, realizing that it takes time to make a difference, but sometimes, sometimes...I just want to scream until they get it through their heads," Hermione sighed, sipping her drink.
"You'll never make Minister if you give yourself an aneurysm before twenty-five," Ron told her, privately thinking that she looked as if she could do with a holiday.
"Enough about my day," Hermione said, taking a deep breath and forcing cheer into her voice. "Fill me in on what you found out from Selby."
In between bites of his fish, Ron gave her a summary of their meeting, watching as her brows slowly lowered into a displeased scowl.
"So we didn't find out much at all," Harry said, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. "Nothing that'll get us anywhere, at least."
"Can't he be brought in for questioning? Surely the fact that the magical signature was erased in such a specific way would be grounds enough for that!"
Both Harry and Ron shook their heads.
"Sure, technically it could be, but what good would it do? It doesn't point to him specifically, and you can bet he won't cry 'it's a fair cop' if he's asked. The only thing that'll happen is that he's more careful in the future. It's best to lure him out," Ron said, wiping the grease off his fingers with one of the paper napkins Hermione had thought to snatch up.
"It sounds like too big of a risk. What if he escalates things next time?"
"Then there's more of a chance that something'll go wrong, and we can catch him. He might get away with a few letters, but anything more than that will be harder-especially since we're watching for anything that he might pull."
"I know it sounds bad, Hermione," Harry said, reaching out to pat her arm, "But he's lost the element of surprise, and that matters."
Ron listened to them bat the point around, but he remained quiet as he stared down at the stains on the crumpled newspaper that had contained his lunch. Time was running out, and they'd have to go back to work soon, so he needed to get this over with before he put it off any longer.
"Um, can I ask you two something?" He said suddenly, feeling his ears turn red as they both stopped talking mid-sentence to look at him.
"Of course you can, Ron!" Hermione said, angling her body to face him.
"What is it, Ron? You're looking a little stressed."
He fiddled with the newspaper, tearing tiny fringes in the edge. "I've been meaning to ask, but...with one thing and another, it's slipped my mind," he started, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was nearby. "You know Hitchens want to talk to me, try to get to the root of...whatever is causing my problem."
"Is there something wrong with that?" Hermione asked, reaching out to take his hand.
"He wants to talk about the war," Ron said, deciding to just be blunt. "He wants...he wants to talk about everything that happened to me. I'm not really comfortable going into that yet, but it's gonna come up at some point. I just-just wanted to know if you minded. If you think I shouldn't, I'll tell him it's off limits, but-"
"You should tell him," Harry said, sounding surprisingly sure of himself.
It brought Ron up short, and all he could do was stare for a moment. "Really? You're sure about that?"
Harry shrugged. "Obviously it wouldn't be a good idea to go into the Horcruxes, but other than that...I think you're gonna need to, if he's going to help you."
"And legally, he can't leak what you've told him, if that's what you're worried about," Hermione added, watching him with a worried frown.
"Alright then," he said, trying to smile, but knowing it was shaky at best. "I'll...build up to it, then." Wanting to change the subject, he rushed on, "Oh! And while I was there this morning, He gave me some stuff to read that he says should help me if I use it-"
"Wait, he just gave you something to read? He didn't discuss it, or walk you through it?" Hermione asked.
"He had an emergency with another patient and had to leave," Ron explained. "He gave me some things to get started, and he'll go over it with me himself next time."
"He left you during a session? But you've barely even started! How could he leave you for-"
"Hermione, he does have other patients, you know? I reckon some are in worse shape than I am. Besides, you know that if I was the one that needed help like that, you'd be even more upset if he didn't come."
"Well, yes, that's true," Hermione admitted grudgingly. "I just wish the timing was better."
"In a hurry to get me fixed?" He joked.
"Wha-No!" Hermione spluttered, looking appalled. "I would never-"
"So you don't want me to be fixed at all?"
"Ron! I-you don't need to be fixed, that isn't what this is about-I just-"
Realizing he was being an arse to distract himself from how he was feeling, and feeling guilty at the way her eyes shimmered with held back tears, Ron backed off.
"Sorry, Hermione. I was just joking. I know you don't mean it like that. Look, why don't you-both of you-come over tonight and read over it with me? Maybe you could help me figure it out, or think of some questions I should ask."
"Sure, since I'd already planned on coming by. Just let me know what time," Harry said, crumpling up his trash.
"Anytime after dinner's fine," Ron said, balling up the newspaper and napkins, and shooting them into the trash bin. He turned back to Hermione. "Hermione? What about you?"
She seemed to shake off whatever she was thinking, the faraway look in her eyes fading away as she focused on him.
"Of course! I'll Floo over as soon as I've changed clothes and grabbed something to eat."
Harry glanced down at his watch, muttering something under his breath. "I'll see you later then-I forgot there was something I wanted to take care of before my break was over." With a wave, he jogged away, leaving the two of them sitting there.
"Ron?" Hermione asked, staring down at the picnic table. "You don't think that's what I think, do you? That you need to be fixed-that you're...broken, or something. Because that's the furthest thing from-"
Ron flinched, knowing her mind was racing, trying to think of anything she might or said or done to give him that impression. Why couldn't he have just kept his mouth shut? He knew how she obsessed over stuff like this when she was worried.
"Hermione, I know that. It was just a joke, I promise. You've never made me feel that way, so don't worry about it," he sighed.
"Are you sure?" She asked, turning to look at him. "Because if I have done anything to make it seem like that, I'd want you to tell me."
"I promise," he said again. "It was just me being stupid. You really should be used to that now."
"That's not going to happen-"
"You mean you'll never get used to me being stupid?"
"Ron!" She wailed in frustration, giving his shoulder a smack.
He laughed, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "See? Just a joke. Don't worry so much, alright?"
"As long as you promise to tell me if I ever do make you feel that way," she said, her brown eyes serious.
"I promise. And now, if you feel like you can get through the rest of the day without murdering your coworkers, we should probably get back inside," Ron said, holding her arm to steady her when her leg tangled in her robe as she tried to swing it over the bench.
Nodding along as Hermione muttered about what, exactly, she could legally do to make their lives as miserable as they were making hers, Ron realized that he hadn't told her or Harry about his nightmare. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her now, but then he swallowed it. Why? It wasn't like anyone else could do anything about it. And why did he have to tell them every little detail? He'd managed to take care of it just fine, and it would just make them worry even more than they already did. His mind flashed briefly back to his promise to be open and to tell her what was going on with him, but he brushed it aside; that didn't mean every fiddly detail, and he'd told them both about the important things, and had even asked them for help tonight. Just because you told someone you were sick, didn't mean you had to let them know every time you sneezed, he reasoned. He was being honest, and he was being open, but he still deserved a bit of privacy.
Feeling justified, he put it from his thoughts, and offered to see if George had anything she might like to use on a few of her more difficult coworkers.
Absently, Ron used the toes of one foot to scratch an itch on his other ankles as he stood at the stove, fixing a couple of ham and cheese toasties. It wasn't until he got home that it struck him that he could've just had Harry and Hermione over to eat, but he was doing good to have the energy to cook for one person as it was, so maybe it was just as well. He'd changed into jeans and an Auror Department t shirt that Hermione had had made for him when he graduated from training, not really feeling like dressing up. He wanted to be comfortable tonight, he thought, as he slid the last toastie onto the plate, and added a handful of crisps to go with them.
He ate slowly, then even took the time to wash the dishes, struggling to keep his eyes from darting to the doorway, beyond to the living room where the pamphlets Hitchen's had given him were laying. So far, he'd avoided looking at them, preferring to wait until the others got there. Truth be told, he was more than a little nervous to find out what was expected of him next, and even though he was glad he'd have time to process things before his next appointment, he didn't want to do the initial read through alone.
He was about halfway through the Daily Prophet when Harry arrived, flopping down into the armchair.
"Hermione not here yet?" He asked, looking around as if she might pop up from behind the furniture at any moment.
"No, you're the first. Which surprises me a little, since I figured Hermione'd be keen on reading these," he gestured to the booklets.
"She must've been held up, because I'm sure she is," Harry said. "Enough so that I'm not risking taking a peek before she gets a chance. Have you already gone through them?"
"Not really," Ron said with a shrug, barely glancing at them before looking back at Harry.
"You haven't looked at them at all, have you?" Harry asked, leaning his head on his fist.
"I wouldn't say not at all," Ron protested.
"Not counting the covers."
"Oh. Well then. No. Not really, I guess."
"You worried about it?" Harry asked, eyeing him sympathetically.
"No. Yeah. A little. I know it's stupid-"
"Why's it stupid? It's sort of like finding out what your next trial will be in a TriWizard Tournament. I'd be nervous too."
"And what would you do about it?" Ron asked.
Harry gave a shrug. "Same as you will. Put it off until you absolutely have to, when someone pokes and prods you to get it done. And then you'll just...do it, and you'll get through whatever it is."
They both sat there silently, Ron feeling thankful at Harry's blunt confidence in him.
A loud noise came from the fireplace, and in a flash of green light, Hermione staggered into the room, her hair frizzing around the clips that struggled to hold it in place.
"Drat, I'm the last one! What have I missed?" She asked, hurrying over to sit by Ron.
"Nothing, we were waiting on you. Did something happen?" Ron frowned, noticing she was flushed and slightly out of breath, as if she'd been rushing.
"Sort of. As soon as I finished dinner, I was contacted by the Muggle police-"
Both Ron and Harry sat forward, instantly worried.
"Apparently the alarm on my Mum's house went off, and since I couldn't quite make out the rest of it, I had to go over and check. It turned out that it was only Mrs. Pearson from next door-the poor woman's dementia is getting worse, and she thought she'd locked herself out of her own house, and was trying to get in."
"They're sure that's what happened?" Harry asked.
Hermione nodded. "Oh, yes. I even waited until her daughter got there to pick her up-by then she realized what was going on, and was horribly embarrassed."
"Did she do any damage trying to get in?" Harry asked, leaning back in his seat.
"No. Not aside from scratching a bit of the paint around the windows, but they need redoing anyway."
"Glad it wasn't anything serious," Ron said, taking her hand. For a few frightening moments, he had thought it might have been an attempt to get at Hermione.
She smiled at him, and took a deep breath. "Me, too. Now that the drama for tonight should be over, let's move on to what we came for," she said, already looking at the booklets.
"Not my sparkling wit and dashing good looks, I'm guessing," Ron sighed theatrically to mask his unease.
Hermione shot him a look, but then said lightly, "Maybe next time. Alright, how do we want to do this? Should we go through them individually, or should we each take one and highlight key parts so that-"
"Hermiiiiiioneeeeee!" Ron whined, flopping back against the sofa bonelessly. "We're not gonna be quizzed on it! You act like we're back in school."
"Well, why don't we do it that way, then?" Harry said with a small smirk. "Hermione can read them to us, and we can absorb it that way."
She froze in the process of reaching for one to give him an indignant glare. "If that's your brilliant idea, then you can just think again! I don't intend to do all the work while the two of you slack off!"
"Please, Hermione?" Ron asked, making his eyes go as large as possible. You always explain things so well, and I can understand them better."
"Rot. You managed beautifully during training, so don't try to flatter me."
"Yes, but you helped me revise," he pointed out, adding a slight lip quiver for effect. "I think it made a difference, don't you, Harry?"
"Oh, absolutely!" Harry nodded, turning on the old Orphaned Waif charm to help Ron.
"I should make the pair of you do it yourselves," Hermione grumbled, fighting to keep the small smile that threatened to curve her lips away. "Fine, I know when to give up. But you'd both better pay attention, because I expect you to contribute!"
Ron settled against the cushions until he was comfortable, and listened as Hermione began to read. At first, he thought he was going to be fine. He told himself that the niggling little voice at the back of his mind earlier had just been nerves, and that with both of his best friends here, things wouldn't be so bad. But the more he heard, the more impossible it became to ignore; up until now he'd pretty much been doing everything that was suggested for him, but he might just have found his limit.
"Wait. Stop. That's enough," he said, screwing up his face.
Hermione paused in mid-sentence, and both she and Harry looked at him expectantly.
"Did you have a question about something?" Hermione asked, keeping her finger over the page to mark her place.
"Yeah. What's the bloody point?" He asked, feeling his lip curl back as he looked at the source of nonsense in Hermione's hand.
"It already pretty much said what the point was," Harry said, rather unhelpfully Ron thought.
"That can't be serious. Saying what color the sofa is, or how a chair feels, is supposed to help me? The sofa looks like vomit and the chair feels like termites would avoid it. There, all my mental problems, fucking solved! Who knew it'd be that easy?" He spat, his scowl only deepening as Harry and and Hermione traded a look.
"It didn't say that it would work right away," Harry said, acting as if Ron hadn't been listening right along with him. "You have to keep working at it."
"Brilliant! So we just have to keep driving me over the edge, and maybe, eventually, taking inventory of my flat will help."
"Why are you being so closed minded about this?" Hermione asked, setting the booklet back on the table, seeming to know he didn't want to hear anything further from it tonight.
"Because it's stupid."
"Just because it's different, doesn't mean-"
"It's not just different! It doesn't make any kind of sense! I've given everything else a try, and I know this won't work for me. And I think out of everyone, I'd be the best judge of that, yeah?"
Hermione's face twisted into the expression she wore right before she made a particularly cutting remark, and while the last thing that Ron wanted was to actually fight, the part of his brain that was in control seemed to be demanding that he destroy every type of progress he had recently made like a small child knocking over a tower of blocks. He sat up straighter, preparing himself to give as good as she gave, when Harry spoke up.
Pointing at the box with several frames poking over the top, he asked, "What are these?"
It was very obviously an attempt at changing the subject, and for several seconds there was a charged silence, all three knowing that the next words spoken would set the direction for the rest of the night. Slowly, some of the desperate, self destructiveness ebbed out of Ron, the urge to sabotage himself passing.
"I thought it looked a bit bare in here, so I asked Mum for some pictures she wouldn't mind parting with. Dad gave me some spare frames. I just haven't really had a chance to choose which ones and put them up yet," Ron answered, his tone, if not quite normal, then at least fairly close to it.
Hermione silently slid the booklet she had been reading from back onto the coffee table, a physical sign of the unspoken agreement between the three of them to drop that subject, at least for now.
"Looks like she gave you a lot to choose from," Harry said, peering into the box.
"Have you had a chance to go through them yet?" Hermione asked pleasantly, having wiped the earlier frustration from her face.
"Uh, no, not yet. I probably should, though, before I forget. I promised to take the ones I don't use back to her."
"I don't think I've ever seen some of these," Harry grinned, holding up a picture of Ron.
Ron squinted at it, recognizing it as a picture his mum had took right before leaving for the Hogwarts Express on his first day of fourth year. In it, he looked supremely bored and put up upon, constantly looking over his shoulder and trying to shuffle off out of camera range.
"Here's one of all three of us," Hermione said, having reached into the box to go through a small stack.
It was at about the same time as the last one, and he didn't think any of them had realized someone was taking a picture. Judging by his expression and the way his mouth was moving, he was making some kind of sarcastic remark, to which Harry and Hermione responded by laughing so hard they nearly choked.
"That's a good one," he said, setting it to the side to consider putting in a frame.
They continued to root through the box, laughing at some, smiling fondly at others, and his stack continued to grow. Most of them were pretty jumbled, so it wasn't uncommon to find a picture of Ginny at age six with both front teeth missing right next to a picture of Bill and Fleur's wedding.
"Oh, you have to keep this one!" Harry said with a wicked grin at Hermione, passing a picture to Ron.
In it, he saw that he was on the edge of the shot, looking like he was playing chess with an unseen opponent-probably Harry-but the photo was centered on Hermione, who, thinking herself unseen, was giving him a look of such affection that it was impossible to mistake her feelings for him. Near the end, she glanced up at the person holding the camera, blushing and ducking her head before the scene replayed itself.
Ron stroked the edge of the photo, setting it by itself in a separate part of the table. "Yeah, that one's definitely worth keeping," he said softly, grinning as Hermione blushed and turned away almost exactly as she had in the picture.
As they neared the bottom, things got more chronological, and there were several shots after the war. Many of them were of members of his family, looking frayed around the edges and wearing strained, false smiles, knowing they should be happy but too aware of the cloud of grief to fully be so. There was Harry, looking tired and smaller than you would expect of a hero, hovering on the sidelines before someone would pull him into the center. Ron knew it was because of the guilt he had felt over Fred's death, and while they had finally helped Harry to move on, he wondered if he would ever truly be over it, or if he would carry it with him the same way he did for Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks.
There were also several of just him and Hermione together, both of them bruised and sickly looking, but undeniably together, constantly having to touch in some way, from holding hands to leaning into each other on the sofa. Several more of those were put aside, as were several of Harry, and his family. As the photos became more recent, he started to frown, which shifted into a scowl the more he flipped through. There were still pictures of him, but he seemed to be smiling less and less; sometimes it looked like he was even deliberately turning away from the camera. He began to draw away from other people, and he could see them giving him worried, sad glances over their shoulders, sometimes saying something to him before he walked away entirely. At some point, most of the pictures of him were with him completely alone, having wandered to another part of the house, or outside away from everyone. His expression became more and more withdrawn and sullen, and he looked about as approachable as the south side of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
"What the hell did she think she was doing?" He growled, angrily throwing down the pictures, hard enough that several scattered to the floor.
Both Harry and Hermione looked at him in confusion.
"Who did what?" Harry asked, glancing at the photos.
"Mum! Why did she put these in? Was she trying to prove what a twat I was being? Did she want to make me feel guilty for not getting help sooner?"
He snatched the offending pictures back up, barely resisting the urge to crumple them up, and slammed them back into the box.
"Ron, your mum wouldn't do that. You know that, right?" Harry asked, leaning forward. "I love her, but she's never been subtle. She would've said something straight out. Besides, these all look like they were just tossed in here to get them out of the way."
"Then why take these at all?" Ron shot back. "It's like she's been saving them for years, waiting to pull them out and use them against me!"
"What was she supposed to do?" Hermione snapped, some of the heat from earlier returning. "You don't like how you are in those pictures, but that's how you were most of the time! Should she have cut you out completely? Pretended you didn't exist until you were 'normal' enough? You're her son, Ron. You belonged there, and to be remembered, just as much as any other member of the family, even if those moments weren't always your best."
He stared at her a few moments, startled by her outburst, before dropping his head into his hands. "I can't think right now," he said with a heavy voice, "I just...I just don't know."
He missed the look his friends exchanged over his head.
"Maybe we should stop for the night," Harry suggested. "We still have work tomorrow, after all."
"That's true, and I still have some things I need to do before bed," Hermione added. "Will you be alright, Ron? Should one of us stay?"
Rubbing his face, he sat up and shook his head. "No. No, I'll be alright. I'm sorry for...losing it there, I guess. I think maybe I should be alone until I get myself under control."
"If you're sure," Harry said, standing up. "But if you have any problems, you can Floo call or just Apparate over, okay?"
"To both of us," Hermione said, rising from the sofa.
Ron nodded, mustering up a faint smile. "Thanks, but I'll be fine, I promise."
Harry clapped him on the shoulder and Apparated away, while Hermione gave a heavy sigh which he knew meant she was still frustrated, although she gave him a surprisingly gentle kiss on the cheek before she left.
Sitting in his flat, surrounded by silence, Ron gave himself a mental was right; his mum wouldn't have set something up like that-she'd always gone for a more head-on approach, and she definitely wouldn't do it now that he was actually getting help, which he knew she was happy about.
What was his problem? He was all over the place today; fine one minute, a sarcastic arse the next, and paranoid as hell the one after that! He couldn't understand why; nothing had really happened, aside from the nightmare, and being a little frustrated that people wouldn't understand that it was pointless to go through treatment that didn't make sense. Even Harry and Hermione, as close as they were to him, didn't seem to really get it. He needed someone that knew what this felt like; someone to tell him if he really was going mental, or if it was just...part of the process. He needed someone who'd been through something similar, and could give him some kind of advice on what to do next.
He checked his watch. It was late, but George spent most nights staying up late and tinkering with new ideas, so it wasn't too late.
"And as many nights that I dragged his sorry arse out of one pub or another, he owes me," Ron muttered, before Apparating away.