I never thought it would be like this, mused Ron as he stared out into the deadened wasteland before him. I never thought that, when the moment came, it would be the wrong person on the end of the most deadly curse of all time. That we would still be fighting, after all this time...even after the Great Battle...
Ron cut off his musings as three popping sounds were head, signaling the arrival of three people Apparating in. An optimistic operative might think that it's simply reinforcements. Ron was far too war-hardened for that kind of thinking by now, though. Too many were dead because they thought the same thing.
Ron ducked, somersaulted, and pulled out his wand with lightning speed, an Imperius Curse and two Cruciatus Curses narrowly missing him as he dodged.
"Incarcerus!" Ron yelled, pointing his wand out at one of the hooded black figures. Thin ropes rippled out and wrapped around the opposing Death Eater, silencing him as he fell to the ground and struggled futilely against the ropes. Ron ducked and narrowly avoided a Stunning Spell from the third Death Eater. Ron flicked his wand and a red jet shot out, hitting the Death Eater square before he could cut his fellow Death Eater out of his bonds. The Death Eater fell and skidded a few feet back, Stunned.
"Expelliarmus!"
Ron ducked the Disarming Spell, but too late, and his wand flew out of his hand, twenty feet away. Ron's options were limited, as the Death Eater swung his wand around at Ron to deliver a finishing spell.
But he had been in too many dangerous situations to lose his cool by now over the possibility of being killed. He put his shoulder down and bulled into the man's abdomen, winding him and felling him as well. The man's wand fell out of his hand, and the slightly pudgy man grasped for it as he lay against the floor. Ron quickly grabbed it, as he had far faster reflexes and was much stronger as well, and stunned him. Ron then went out to find his own wand.
When he was sure everything was alright, Ron wearily raised his wand arm.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A silver Jack Terrier shot off into the night, and Ron sat down and waited for further orders.
Three minutes later, Lee Jordan Apparated in.
"Ron!" Lee looked concerned. Ron looked alright, but very tired, taller and more muscular than he had been a mere few years ago, and he had a few scrapes and cuts on his arms and legs.
"Lee. I've got three. Can't identify them on sight, though, so they must not be very important. New recruits, I think. Grunts."
Lee nodded. "You'd best take them away. I'm here to relieve you."
"Thanks, Lee."
Lee shook his head. "You've been working yourself into the ground, mate. Get some rest."
Ron nodded dimly. He had never had anything to do except work for the Order lately, anyway, and there were all too many assignments to be had in these dark days.
He just never thought that it would ever have happened this way.
"Ron!" Ginny exclaimed, seeing him, and coming in for a hug. "Are you all right? I heard you had three Death Eaters attack you!"
Ron shrugged. "Just the usual fare. Can't even identify them. I don't think Voldemort really expected that it would work."
Ginny gave no trace of discomfort when Ron said the Dark Lord's name. Neither really cared any more. They hadn't ever since the devastation of the Great Battle.
"Is she any better?" Ron asked, anxiously, before Ginny could talk again.
Ginny seemed worried. "Not better, not worse. Pomfrey says that if she could just access the stores at St. Mungo's...but she's been saying that all the time, recently. You can go see her, if you like, but she's been out cold all day."
Ron sighed. "I wish she would get better. I don't think I could stand it..."
Ron didn't need need to finish his sentence. They both understood.
Ginny started for a moment. "Anyway, McGonagall says she wants to see you. Get debriefed, and all."
Ron nodded. "All right, save me a seat at the lunch table."
Ginny went off desolately by herself as Ron left. Ron thought that of everybody who cared for Harry, she was the one who had been hit the worst by it. When it had happened, he remembered seeing her face, desperate, but with no tears, simply unbelieving, and then the most wretched screams seemed to come out of her as she realized that he was finished. Harry's last conscious moment had been staring up into Voldemort's face, and then, suddenly, an anguished glance at Ginny before he fell motionless to the ground, looking oddly peaceful. Ron had had to carry her away himself, as she was screaming at him and struggling for him to let go. Ron didn't care though, and he had never needed her apology that she eventually gave him for her behavior. He understood. He suspected that he would have acted similarly - but he was forced to think more clearly, for Ginny's sake, if not his own.
Ron knocked on the mahogany door. "Operative Weasley, reporting in."
"Come in," McGonagall's weary voice said.
Ron opened the door.
"Are you all right?" McGonagall asked first. She always made it a point to show how much she cared for her operatives' lives, even when putting them in life-threatening situations - something that was becoming a necessity on all missions these days.
"Yes, I'm fine. Poorly planned. Voldemort won't be happy we caught them, though, but I don't think it's unanticipated. Just another failed plan he'll have to try again later."
"Don't say that, Operative Weasley," McGonagall interjected sharply, dismayed to see a naturally optimistic man so bitter.
"Sorry. It just seems - I'm just on edge lately."
McGonagall nodded.
"It's alright, Operative Weasley. I don't think anyway has been working harder than you lately. Get some rest."
That was the dismissal sign. Ron, though, had another issue on his mind. McGonagall looked up at him when she realized that he hadn't left.
"If I may, Director?"
McGonagall nodded curtly.
"I'd like to suggest the possibility of organizing a strike team to go into St. Mungo's and covertly taking some medicine. Optimistically, we could also drive out Death Eater occupation, but I don't think that's in the realm of possibility."
McGonagall sighed.
"Mr. Weasley, do you not think that I have not thought of just such a strike team to do that recently?"
Ron kept his face a mask of discretion. "I have, but I wanted to inquire. I would also like to lead the strike team, with your permission, and wasn't sure if I would be your selection either way."
A beat.
"We can't risk it."
"We can't risk not doing it, Director!" Ron said, flaring up from his formerly calm and passive demeanor.
"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall said. "Pray tell, please do not let your personal feelings get in the way of what is necessary."
"It has nothing to do with personal feelings."
"I think it has everything to do with personal feelings, Mr. Weasley, and I think you know that as well."
"Not everything," Ron conceded. "Director, there are too many injured to carry on the fight. Our numbers dwindle fast. We need medicine. I think three more were injured today as well."
"Five," McGonagall corrected him with a heavy heart.
"Also, it's clearly systematic," Ron pointed out. "He's not just targeting anybody. Clear leaders. People who had ties to - ties to Harry. Symbols."
McGonagall looked surprised. She hadn't thought of that, but realizing it, there was a clear pattern.
"He's taking us down slowly, but the trend is clear. Without our heads, the Order will fall, and members will lose hope. And either way - we can't just leave these people to die, Director!"
Ron became impassioned, but immediately wished he hadn't. It would only hurt his case that he wasn't let his personal feelings about Hermione get involved.
McGonagall held Ron's gaze for a full minute before saying anything.
"Mr. Weasley," she started. "If you can do a reconnaissance of the area with an operative that has my approval, lay out a map and a viable plan of attack for this area, and pick the members of such a strike team subject to my approval - then you may carry out this proposed operation."
"Thank you, Director." Ron couldn't help but smile, and started to turn around and leave.
"And Mr. Weasley?" Ron turned around. "Either way, if this operation occurs, it will have to be absolutely covert. If possible we don't want the Death Eaters to even know we've come before we've gone, or never to find out at all. We can not take over St. Mungo's, as it is too deep in his territory and far too heavily guarded. Understood, Mr. Weasley?"
Ron nodded reluctantly, but he wasn't surprised.
"Then you may go. And for goodness' sakes, Mr. Weasley, do get some rest and some food before you go away. And make sure that the Death Eaters do not notice your reconnaissance job."
Ron left the Director of the Order of the Phoenix's Headquarters to go to lunch, and to think of someone who could help him on his recon mission.