“I just don’t get it! Why is Harry so special to my own mother? I’m just sitting there like a bloody fool as she peppers the damn boy in kisses. I’m her son! Harry is just- just everything to her!” Your boyfriend continues to rant, his head on your chest as you lie on your back on you two’s shared bed in the Bùrrøw.

It was two days after Christmas, and Ron has had it with Molly. He bursted into rambles the moment he walked in the broken wooden door, a few tears escaping his eyes as he practically collapsed onto the bed and shifted his head onto your chest.

After his little crying session, his anger spiked up as usual. The boy could never have a peaceful day with the Chosen One around, his mother constantly babying the boy. Obviously jealous of her actions, he’d constantly look for you to just ramble on and on about unfairness.

Back to present, Ron continues to ramble to you — having held back all his emotions since Harry arrived at the burrow a few weeks ago for the holiday.

Hermione walks into the room, looking at the ginger with a bored expression. “Mrs. Weäslēy wants you to get Harry a pillow, apparently he’s fallen asleep on the couch.”

At that, Ron groans and buries his face into your chest, muttering a spiteful “Well tell her to shove off, I’m not getting up”.

Hermione mumbles something under her breath, annoyed, before leaving the room and kicking the door shut behind her.

The ginger lies there, an angered look on his face which doesn’t seem to soften as you run your fingers through his soft, red hair. Damn, he’s really mad now.