a/n: I don't even know what this is. it won't be very enjoyable, so don't read it unless you're looking for crap. chapters, if there be any (more), are unrelated unless stated otherwise. ta ta, toodles, and thank you.
He's trudging through the woods. He's walking in no particular direction — well, perhaps he is. He's walking Away. Is that a particular direction?
"Yes," he muses aloud. "It must be. It's directing me where to go and is hence, therefore, a direction." Ron is not particularly sure if Away is a particular direction, but since when were directions known to be particular about anything?
"They're not. Couldn't expect them to be particularly fussy, could you? They're just di-rections."
Perhaps he shouldn't have said that because (directions must be fussy, after all. And offended — rightly so) next thing Ron knew, he found himself walking Toward. And no matter which way he turned — as in, reoriented his whole body, not just craned his head —, his feet were always pointing Toward.
After seconds — perhaps minutes — of shuffling about and still facing Toward, Ron cursed. "Blast! What in Merlin's name is even going on! I mean — 's bad enough I haven't a bloody clue where I am. 'S bad enough I can't even walk Away. And to top it off, there are spiders every-bloody-where!
"Why—," he groaned piteously, "Why is this happening to me? Is it some sort of spell? Is this blasted place enchanted?"
He pointed his wand into the air and screeched, "Finite incantum!" And when that didn't work, "Wingardium leviosa!" And then was forced to resort to "Bippity boppity Snapeity!"
But there was no change.
A sudden gust went right through his shirt. He shivered.
Ah! Why of course! Hermione would know the right spell! "Hermion—"
He caught himself. Swallowed thickly. Wiped the snot from his nose with the sleeve of his right arm.
It was no good calling her name when he was alone.