Chapter summary: Harry watches Ron's temper build to boiling point and bubble over.
A/N: Wow, I hadn't realised it had been over a year since I worked on this... Hopefully you guys like this as much as the previous chapter. I have the shape of the next one so the gap between updates shouldn't be so long this time!
The next week settled back to normal. Hermione nagged them about their homework, Ron waxed lyrical about the Chudley Cannons and Harry tried to ignore all the stares and whispers that followed him through Hogwarts' corridors. Of course, that didn't last long at all.
Hermione's nagging shifted to the egg - Harry wasn't at all willing to open it again after the last attempt. Ron had wholeheartedly agreed with that, and said he could still hear the echoes in his ears.
Harry's temper rose; his patience pushed to its very limits by the hostile stares of most of the school population, and the increasingly absurd rumours about his sanity, love-life and exactly how he'd gotten into the Triwizard Tournament and why.
But through it all Harry started to notice things, as if a Notice-me-not charm had suddenly been lifted. He watched Ron slowly start to fly apart; first coiling into himself, and then, as if a balloon bursting under the strain, everything that had been repressed exploding out. The progression from happy and laidback - returning Hermione's ribbing good-naturedly; to angry and fractious - responding with clenched fists and insults designed to cut. It was like watching the Ron he knew be buried underneath another personality, one made up of all his faults and none of his strengths.
It all came to a head just before curfew one night, coming back from the library after Hermione had managed to corral them into finishing their potions essay for the next day.
"Really Ronald, we covered the reasons for powdering ingredients in the last set of readings. Chapter 7 of the text clearly states that-" Hermione began, working up to a rant of epic proportions.
"Yeah, yeah. Not everyone reads every bloody page of every textbook ever assigned in Hogwarts' history." Ron cut her off with an ugly sneer on his face. "Not everyone's a know-it-all with an inferiority complex." He threw Hermione's own words from a previous argument; when she'd accused him of being a coward afraid of not being able to live up to his brother; back in her face. But irregardless whether or not he completely understood what he was saying, it hit hard.
Hermione gasped, tears welling in her eyes. "Well, this know-it-all will be leaving then. Find someone else to write your homework essays for you." She said, and ducked around a corner, footsteps quickening into the distance.
"Mate, you didn't have to say that. You know Hermione's just trying to help. And with this bloody Tournament, we're all a bit on edge, yeah?"
"Oh I'm sorry, Chosen One. Is my intellect to low for your standards?" Ron growled mockingly, getting up in Harry's space; eyes wild and shaking with something undefined.
"Hey." Harry frowned, reaching up to put a hand squarely in the middle of Ron's chest. "You know I don't subscribe to that shite." He pushed out just the slightest bit, just enough for Ron to feel the pressure against his sternum.
Ron pushed forward, and they ended up with Harry crowded up against the corridor wall, his hand jammed between their bodies. Foreheads nearly touching, Ron stopped, eyes wild. He froze in place and then sagged like his strings had been cut. His head thunked onto Harry's shoulder, hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders.
"No-no-no-no-no, no, no, NO! Not again, wasn't going to do it again. Was gonna be good. Wan'ned to be. Tried to be. 'M sorry Harry." And so Harry ended up with a lapful of sobbing Weasley again. Thankfully the corridor was quiet, they'd taken a shortcut through a rarely used section of the castle only accessible via a false wall on alternating months.
Like when Ron had found him after the First Task, Harry sat with him and soothed as best he could. Carded his fingers through Ron's hair and stroked down his back. Murmured soothing nonsense. After the tears had subsided and the shaking had stopped Ron spoke again, voice thick and rough.
"I dun wanna be like that. I like Hermione. She's nice, and sweet an' nothin' like my brother's and sister. And even thou' I can' stan' her nagging sometimes, I c'n tell she's doing it cause she wan's to. An' I just, 's not 'cause of an obli-obli- whatever, 'cause she has to. And just- and I just." Ron whimpered into Harry's shoulder. "I keep hurtin' her. An' you too. An' I don' know how to stop."
"Hey, hey. It's alright. We'll figure something out. You're already better than my cousin, he wants to hurt people, goes out of his way to." Harry took a breath and looked Ron in the eyes. "We'll head back to the Tower, and sleep, and tomorrow morning you're going to apologize to Hermione."
"Buh-!"
"Ron." He said sternly, "You'll apologize to Hermione."
"But she's scary when she's mad." He said quietly. "I dun like it when people are mad."
"Maybe she's scary, but you've got to give her a chance to understand. So, you'll apologize, and then we'll figure out something. A way to let you keep your head, okay?"
"Alright, Harry."
"Promise me, alright?"
"I promise." He mumbled sulkily into the crook of Harry's neck.
"Promise what, Ron?"
"That I'll 'pologize to 'Mione in the mornin'." He said, and reluctantly pulled himself up to look at Harry's face, "I will." Then he yawned, jaw popping as it reached its full extension and teeth clacking back together at the end.
Harry suppressed a yawn of his own, and tugged them both up off the cold stone. "Bed. Siren song. Ron, we gotta stop doing this so far away from the Tower this late."
"Mm. Gotta dodge Filch now. Find somewhere closer next time, Harry." His words were starting to slur, and he was slumped heavily over Harry's back.
Somehow they made it back without massive loss of house points, detention or running into any other students out after curfew. The Fat Lady opened without a fuss, though it seemed as though she was saving a lecture for when they were more awake, and they stumbled up to their beds in the dorm.
Robes shucked and pajamas on, Harry turned to Ron again. "Tomorrow." he said, before climbing under the covers.
"Yeah, Harry. Good night."
"Good night, Ron." Harry replied, tugging the curtains closed around the bed and tucking his wand under his pillow.