Bloody Brilliant
Alone With Regret
"And you?"
"What?"
"Are you coming or staying?"
"I…I'm staying. Ron, we said we would help Harry."
"I get it, you choose him." Ron glared from Hermione to Harry. "I've seen you two together." With his rucksack over his shoulder he turned and stormed out of the tent into the rainy, cold night.
"Ron, please!" Hermione ran out after him. "Ron, please don't go…you don't understand. Ron…Ron!"
Ron felt so bitter he didn't dare turn around. POP! He apparated somewhere in London, near the Leaky Cauldron. He knew this was a mistake, but he didn't really know where else to go and he wanted to get away from Hermione's pleads as soon as possible. He was afraid if he hadn't he would have done something much worse then leave. He suddenly felt sick with guilt and was about to try to return when he heard someone yell, "Snatch 'em!" followed by the sound of many pounding foot falls. He looked over his shoulder and was tackled to the ground. He struggled, managing to forcefully swing his elbow into someone's face. "Pick 'em up." He was pulled to his feet, his rucksack pulling painfully hard against his shoulder. He felt a hand plunge into his pocket and extract his wand.
"A muggle born, no doubt." The snatcher restraining him said.
"No, I'm pure-blood."
"Really? You look old enough to be in your last year. If you're pure-blood you should be there. So, why aren' cho?" said the man holding his wand.
"What's your name?" asked the man Ron had obviously elbowed in the eye.
Ron had to think fast. He couldn't confess who he really was because he was supposed to be home with a highly contagious illness. "My name is Stan…St-Stan Shunpike."
He stepped closer to Ron, examining him closely. The man standing behind him finally piped up, "That's not Stan. He looks like one 'o them blood traitors; the whole lot 'o them is ginger. What's their name, Westie or Wiley or summit like that?"
Ron's eyes darted between the two of them, hoping like hell they didn't figure out who he really was.
"He's not. He's Stan. I met 'em a few times on the Knight Bus." The crook with the black eye said, rounding on the other.
"Yeah, I've met 'em too, an' I'm tellin' you, that ain't 'em." They were nose to nose.
"Is too 'em."
"Is not."
They began to scuffle while the other two just watched, dumbfounded. Ron took advantage of the moment and threw his head back, butting the snatcher restraining him. The man let go of Ron, grabbing at his own forehead. Ron was then able to turn slightly and punched him hard in the stomach. When the man buckled over, Ron yanked his wand out of his hand. In one swift move he used it to disarm his own wand out of the other snatchers hand, caught it and apparated.
He tried to return to the camp but ended up miles away. He looked down at his stinging fingers and saw that the very tips were bloody and his finger nails had been splinched off. "I really need to be more careful doing that." He said to himself. He stowed away the snatcher's wand in his rucksack and kept his own in his hand. He searched for hours, getting turned around a few times. He finally found an area that looked familiar. As he investigated, the disturbed earth and many foot prints confirmed his suspicion. They had gone, he was too late. Now he would never find them.
He picked up an old fallen branch and swung it hard against a near by tree. With a loud crunching noise it broke and splintered apart. He dropped his rucksack and plopped down on the ground.
"Brilliant, Ron. Bloody brilliant." He said to himself. "This is, by far, the absolute worst you have ever fucked up in your life. And that is quite an accomplishment." He dropped his head to his knees and sighed heavily.
Why did I leave? He thought to himself. He ran the scenario over and over again is his mind. That damn Horcrux! It did things to him, made the emotions he was feeling ten times worse. He felt so angry and paranoid when he wore the thing. His insecurities and feelings of jealousy made him resentful of the other two, especially Harry. It was like Voldemort's soul crept inside of him, poisoning his mind and corrupting his thoughts. He swore one night he thought he heard a voice that wasn't his own, whispering things in his ears. And the dreams, the sinister dreams he had had. It made his stomach churn to recall them. They were so vivid, it was like they weren't dreams at all. He woke confused, looking over at Harry or Hermione to confirm the dreams hadn't actually happened. He would always remember them, but it would be years before he would finally confess them.
Why am I so weak against its seduction? How could it consume me so easily? Then he remembered Ginny. She fell victim to a Horcurx as well. It sickened him to think poor Ginny went through that at the age of 11. However, it eased his mind to know it happened to someone else that he knew to be of sound mind and have a kind heart. Which, despite his own self-doubt, he felt were a few good qualities he also held.
"Well, I guess I'll stay here for the night." He said to no one.
He cast some protective enchantments he learned from watching Hermione. He hoped he was casting them correctly. He spread out his sleeping bag and made a sort of lean-to with a small canvas tarp that was enchanted with an impervious charm to make it waterproof that his father had suggested he pack. He was glad he had because it was beginning to rain again. He pulled out a deck of cards trying to relieve his boredom and redirect his thoughts but they still turned to the incident with his friends. Eventually he nodded off to sleep and started to dream.
He found himself back in the tent having a row with Harry, foul words pouring from their mouths. A fist collided with Ron's face which only enraged him further. He swung a fist back at Harry knocking him to the ground. Hermione stepped in front of Ron and raised her wand, hitting him in the chest with a spell. He flew out of the tent, landing in water. He came up to the surface and saw he was alone in the middle of the ocean, no land to be seen in any direction. He bobbed up and down with the choppy waves. He tried to swim but no matter how hard he kicked his feet or paddled his arms, he couldn't propel forward. His chest ached from the spell Hermione had fired at him. He looked down and saw blood spilling from the wound into the water around him. His body began to tire from treading water. The waves grew larger by the second. Letting hopelessness consume him, he stopped fighting the waves and allowed the ocean to swallow him down.
He woke with a start as a small stream of water poured out of a hole in the tarp onto the side of his face, running into his mouth. As he sat up he noticed his left shoulder and chest felt painful. He pulled his many layers of clothing away from his body so he could glance down at his bare chest. He saw his shoulder was purple and green with bruising over top of the still fresh splinch scars and his chest had a large scrape across it. It must have happened when those snatchers tackled him to the ground.
To his amazement, he had slept quite a long time. It was late afternoon. His stomach gave a loud growl. He had no food and very little water. He needed to apparate out of there, but where was he to go? He wasn't going to dare show his traitorous face at home, he was unfamiliar with muggle streets and he didn't have much money. He had no choice but to go somewhere within the magical community. He started packing up his little camp and decided that maybe the best chance he had would be to hide in plain sight. So he apparated to Knockturn Alley.
