No one was dead. That was good, except Ron couldn't figure out what else it could possibly be. If someone was hurt, they'd go to St. Mungo's and see them, not cry about it. The same went for everything from losing his job to finding out his girlfriend was cheating on him. Nothing he could think of was enough. Hell, even when Hermione had been labelled as a Suspected Terrorist, it hadn't been this bad. They'd been angry, not weepy.
"Okay...fuck." Ron released Harry's shoulder and stood up, pacing a short distance away and trying to think. Something had happened at work. Something they were forcing Harry to keep secret. He ran a hand through his hair. "Why wouldn't they want you talking about it?"
It was a rhetorical question, but he turned and looked at his friend as he said it, eyebrows scrunched up in intense concentration. "Something to do with work. Some who showed up today, or maybe an assignment you got...." He frowned. "I don't know. Maybe I should owl Hermione to come home. She's better at this shite than I am."