Harry sat sullenly in a large squashy armchair in the corner of the lounge
room.
"Look here Harry; I reckon we could try this one with Fred and Gorge."
Harry nodded mutely, his eyes not focusing on the book in front of him. Poor Ron, even Quidditch wasn't working. It seemed to be the last straw. He stood up.
"Jesus Harry, get friggin' over it, OK? Hermione's coming soon and I'll bet she's a right bit better at making conversation than you. It's all good to be upset and all; in fact, it's OK to hog all the attention. It's not like anyone else cared about Sirius or watched him die, just you, you pathetic pile of..."
"Ronald Weasley!" Ron looked up, horrified, straight into the eyes of Mrs. Weasley. "You have no right to yell at someone like that, no matter how you're feeling. I'm almost ready to send Hermione an owl telling her not to come, but that wouldn't be fair to her."
Ron glanced at Harry, if he'd expected to get a reaction out of the Boy Who Lived, he'd been mistaken. Instead of yelling back or even swinging a punch, Harry had simply leaned back into the chair, his eyes glazed over.
Mrs. Weasley left the lounge room and headed back to her knitting at the dining room table. She found her needles had run rampant unsupervised. The jumper she had been knitting was now riddled with holes and dropped stitches.
"Blast!" She ejaculated.
Things were not going well for Mrs. Weasley. She had hoped that inviting Harry to stay might have cheered him up a bit, but Harry had been unresponsive. He was barely eating anything at mealtimes. She hated to admit it, but Ron was right, Harry's attitude to life was grating on everybody's nerves.
"Oh well," she thought, "Hermione may help them both to cheer up a bit, and I'm sure Ginny will appreciate having her around again."
With that thought, she heard a roar and saw a splash of purple go past the window. She raced to the front door, but Ron had beaten her to it.
"Hermione!" He yelled.
"Look here Harry; I reckon we could try this one with Fred and Gorge."
Harry nodded mutely, his eyes not focusing on the book in front of him. Poor Ron, even Quidditch wasn't working. It seemed to be the last straw. He stood up.
"Jesus Harry, get friggin' over it, OK? Hermione's coming soon and I'll bet she's a right bit better at making conversation than you. It's all good to be upset and all; in fact, it's OK to hog all the attention. It's not like anyone else cared about Sirius or watched him die, just you, you pathetic pile of..."
"Ronald Weasley!" Ron looked up, horrified, straight into the eyes of Mrs. Weasley. "You have no right to yell at someone like that, no matter how you're feeling. I'm almost ready to send Hermione an owl telling her not to come, but that wouldn't be fair to her."
Ron glanced at Harry, if he'd expected to get a reaction out of the Boy Who Lived, he'd been mistaken. Instead of yelling back or even swinging a punch, Harry had simply leaned back into the chair, his eyes glazed over.
Mrs. Weasley left the lounge room and headed back to her knitting at the dining room table. She found her needles had run rampant unsupervised. The jumper she had been knitting was now riddled with holes and dropped stitches.
"Blast!" She ejaculated.
Things were not going well for Mrs. Weasley. She had hoped that inviting Harry to stay might have cheered him up a bit, but Harry had been unresponsive. He was barely eating anything at mealtimes. She hated to admit it, but Ron was right, Harry's attitude to life was grating on everybody's nerves.
"Oh well," she thought, "Hermione may help them both to cheer up a bit, and I'm sure Ginny will appreciate having her around again."
With that thought, she heard a roar and saw a splash of purple go past the window. She raced to the front door, but Ron had beaten her to it.
"Hermione!" He yelled.