Ron trudged back towards the tent, having abandoned the clearing he usually used for a hideaway when he had to wear the locket. Sometimes staring up at the sky and resolving not to think at all helped him from slipping into a black mood - lately it hadn't been quite as effective. If he was going to have to feel like this, he could at least do it under a roof (or a tent) like a civilized person. If Harry and Hermione had any regard at all for what he was going through, they'd give him his privacy. He shoved the tent flap sharply to one side and stepped in, already glaring.
He stopped short when he saw them together at the table - Harry sitting far too close beside her, his hand in hers; Hermione looking, he thought, far too solicitous. Ron's face darkened. She was always so worried about him, wasn't she. He'd already sworn that if he had to hear about how much Harry had to deal with one more time, he was going to ... well. Something would have to give.
"Don't mind me," he spat as he stormed past them, making for his bed and staring determinedly, furiously ahead. "Didn't mean to interrupt."