He knew the minute they stepped into the Burrow that coming had been a mistake. It was bright and crowded with people and voices and laughter, they descended on him and all he could do was stand and hold tight to Hermione's hand until she was bustled off to the kitchen. Ron was left there feeling awkward and alone.
"Ronniekins!" George's voice cut through the noise. A strong arm was clapped over his shoulders and before he could react he was being maneuvered deeper into the room.
"Not so ickle anymore, is he lads?" George commented cheerfully as they swerved around a knot of what appeared to by Ministry officials and came up to where Fred and Lee Jordan, of all people, were talking in the corner.
"Oi, leave him be, ya nimrod. Looks like a rabbit that's about to bolt. All big eyes and twitching." Fred grinned and affectionately punched Ron in the shoulder.
"You are still the biggest twats I've ever met." Ron grumbled, rubbing at the bruise already forming on his arm.
"Aawww, there's the little brother we know and love." George saccharinely gushed and ruffled Ron's hair. Secret looks passed between his older brothers and Ron scowled. He'd always hated that blasted secret language of their's.
"Now boys, no trying out new products on your brother." Arthur's voice jovially broke in. He appeared from behind some straggly plant that was left over from Ginny's week long adolescent experiment in horticulture. His smile was the same that it had always been, wide and thoroughly amused with everything around him, inviting everyone to share in some joke or amusement only he could see.
Fred and George snickered. "We'd never dream of turning our favoritest baby brother's hair bright green." George declared with wide, innocent eyes.
"Bastard." It was Ron's turn to leave a bruise on George's arm. Fred elbowed his twin from the other side, ignoring George's aggrieved yelp. "You told me you'd brought the pink ones."
"I did." George smirked, absently rubbing his arm. "But his hair's nearly pink as it is. Green's much more dramatic."
"That's enough now." Arthur said sternly though the twinkle in his eye rather diminished the attempt at severity. "I'd like a moment to talk with your brother, if you wouldn't mind."
A strange, serious look passed between father and sons. Ron felt his stomach tighten in response and he couldn't tell whether it was from anger or fear.
"Course Da." George replied with a wink that wasn't nearly as jolly as it was meant to look. He and Fred draped their arms around a bemused Lee and dragged him away.
Arthur locked eyes with Ron, his gaze sober and concerned. Ron could feel every nerve vibrating and knew absolutely that he didn't want to hear what was about to be said. He felt as if he were going to be sick to his stomach.
"Ron, son, your mother and I," Arthur cleared his throat and Ron shrugged uncomfortably, suddenly fascinated by his shoes. "Your mother and I have spoken and we're concerned for you."
Ron gulped. "Yeah."
"I know you've been missing work and there's only so much more leeway I can give you." Arthur's voice was tense and sad, the same sort of voice he had used once when discussing Percy, back before Percy had made a hero of himself in his own stubborn, facetious way. Ron shrank in on himself. He had never wanted to cause his dad to have that particular type of tone to his voice.
"Dad." He choked, his hand coming up to grip the one that was already resting on his shoulder. There were a million things he wanted to say, a million emotions that were bubbling up to the surface. He'd do anything to make sure that his dad never looked at him like this again.
"There you two are." Molly's voice cut through the moment and Ron flinched dropping his hand so quickly it was as if it had never been there in the first place. A strange look passed over his father's face, somewhere between resignation and regret.
"Molly, my love." Arthur smiled, a certain subdued tightness around his eyes, and bussed his wife on the cheek. "Dinner smells delicious.
She patted his cheek absently, her attention and sharp gaze fixed completely on her son. Everything within Ron froze. He was captured by his mother's gaze and couldn't look away, couldn't escape no matter how much he wanted to. Molly Weasley had always been a force of nature.
"Your father and I only want what's best for you, Ronald." Molly started in like a river escaping its bounds, as if they had already been having this conversation and had been rudely interrupted. "We know that you have had some difficult times but you simply cannot continue on the way you've been going."
Ron's lungs tightened. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, trapped by memory and conditioning and love. He could feel something hot and relentless inside him begin to escape the wards he had so carefully erected to contain it and he couldn't do anything to shore them back up into place.
Molly continued on, heedless of the way her son's face had changed, freckles standing out in sharp relief against the blanched paleness of his skin. "If you won't consider what you're doing to your own life then you must think about what you're doing to Hermione. She deserves better than this. Harry," Arthur placed his hand on her shoulder, interrupting her briefly with a whispered, "Molly." But she patted his hand absently and continued on, unabated.
"Harry would never have wanted to see you throw your life away. You must ..." and whiteness exploded in Ron's vision and he couldn't hear anything but a wasp-like buzzing growing louder and louder in his ears.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He screamed, his eyes closed tight and his hands raised to cover his ears.
He lowered his hands with an angry gesture, an explosion sounded somewhere out of sight that he didn't notice and wouldn't have cared about if he had. All he could see was his mother's face. She wore an expression unlike any that he had ever seen before, wide-eyed and open-mouthed and completely, utterly still. "You don't get to talk about him." Ron rasped fiercely. "You don't get to tell me what he wants because he's dead and none of this is worth that. None of this matters anymore, nothing!"
"Ron." Hermione's through gasp cut through every sound and thought. He stopped cold and turned. She and Ginny were standing side by side, haloed in the evening light that filtered in through the shattered wall and reflected off of the plaster floating in the air. Ginny's mouth was tight, her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrow but Ron hardly noticed his sister, all he could see was Hermione, the stricken blankness of her face and the look she wore. It was worse then her grief at Harry's funeral, worse then any look he had ever seen her wear and she wore it because of him.
"Hermione, I ..." His voice gave out. He didn't know what to say, how to make any of it better. He had to go, he had to get away, he couldn't do this anymore.
He flicked the wand he hadn't even realized he was holding and disapparated.