Who: Ron and Hermione What: Camping, catching up with events back home Where: The Forest of Dean When: Today Warnings: TBA
Ron sat by the remains of their little cooking fire, his journal sitting shut in his lap - after no more than a few minutes of taking in reactions to the latest tripe that passed for news, he'd been tempted to chuck the thing into the flames, and had had to stop for a bit. Now he was glaring off into the woods and trying to ignore the fact that he was still hungry. There was an enormous amount of soon-to-be-wasted food being left on tables in the Great Hall even as he sat here, he knew. He could practically smell it. He understood why they couldn't go back, of course (or at least, he thought he did - it didn't seem as though anything catastrophic had happened since they'd left, though, and Hermione was known for her abundance of caution), but living on the run was starting to take its toll, regardless. They were in plenty of danger out here, after all. And the locket was still very much with them, and sometimes it was hard to see the point.
When he caught himself trying to reconstruct the Sunday dinner menu, he reluctantly opened to where he'd stopped reading, a scowl on his face. "Glad you're all taking it so bloody well," he muttered viciously, kicking up a divot in the leaves as he turned a page. "Easy when you're full of steak and mash, I guess."