The cards continued to flip through his fingers until finally he tried one move too many and the whole deck went flying. He was too pissed to care, in both senses. He hated this. Hated being couped up in this shite old house and hated the fact that they'd have to abandon it soon, hated the fact that he'd be the one to find them their new hideout and hated that he was the sort of person who could do that, the sort of person who went to pubs in the company of psychotic gangsters, the wrong sort . . . but, no, FUCK that, Ron still had his head on straight, not like the rest of his family who'd apparently decided that life under Lord Voldemort was fucking brilliant, and the fact that they most likely had been forced to think that way didn't make it any better. Reading the journal, like he'd done when he'd first stumbled home, infuriated Ron; to see everyone acting all normal, like there was nothing wrong, like there wasn't a war on.
Because there wasn't. The war was already over, and they'd lost. They were just surviving now, and not even doing that very well. And, alright, it's not as though he thought Lord Fuckface was going to leave them a fucking map to his fucking Horcruxes, but Ron wouldn't have minded a little more help from that old bastard Dumbledore or the Order of the Phoenix or his own fucking or really, from anyone. But the Order was as dead as Dumbledore and as far as Ron was concerned, so were his parents and siblings. It was just the three of them now, Harry and Hermione and himself, on the run . . . and maybe it was time to remind the bastards that they were still out there, remind people that not everyone was a lamp waiting for slaughter.
Maybe the war was over. But maybe it was time to start another one.
With the clarity of purpose that only comes with being well and truly shit-faced drunk on cheap off brand whiskey, Ron got up and calmly, viciously exorcised his inebriated rage against the world into his journal. He'd likely regret it in the morning, but it was better than punching the wall until his knuckles didn't have any skin on them.