Chapter 9: Ron's Departure
Hi again everyone! Here's the next missing moment, as promised, detailing what I thought might have happened when Ron left, inspired by Ariel C Rilmon, and then going a bit further to suggest how it may have gone when Ron ran into the snatchers (based off Ron's account of what happened when he returned in Deathly Hallows).
'What are you doing?'
'What do you mean?'
'Are you staying or what?'
'I…' she looked anguished. 'Yes- yes I'm staying, Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help-'
'I get it. You choose him.'
'Ron, no – please – come back, come back!'
She was impeded by her own shield charm; by the time she had removed it, he had already stormed into the night. He listened to her sobbing and calling Ron's name amongst the trees.
After a few minutes she returned, her sopping hair plastered to her face.
'He's g-g-gone! Disapparated!'
She threw herself into a chair, curled up and started to cry.
Ron stormed from the tent; Hermione's cries fading as he moved out from their protected bubble. He was consumed by hurt, anger and bitterness. How he felt was close to hatred. He turned, snarling and scowling, to take one last look at the pathetic little tent. He clutched his wand, contemplating whether to curse the pair of them; hex the tent and trap them in their betrayal.
However, as he stood there, he realised he couldn't do that to them; even now the anger was fading, being replaced with insecurity and sorrow. Of course she wanted Harry, of course she chose him, how could she not? Maybe he really should leave and let them be happy. He was like a millstone, weighing them down and holding them back. They were the most brilliant witch and wizard he knew, and what was he? He was, and always would be, second best, mediocre, the 'sidekick'. Harry was the leader, Hermione was the brains, they didn't need him and they never had.
He couldn't stand it.
He had only been stood there for seconds, but it felt like much longer, and he had made up his mind. He couldn't be around them anymore; he couldn't be her friend knowing he could never have her. It was too painful. He was leaving.
His face was taut with resolve. He prepared to disapparate, just as Hermione burst from the tent, her eyes frantic and glistening with unshed tears. She saw him amongst the trees and met his eyes, calling his name desperately.
'Ron! Ron, please don't go!' she whimpered, her voice breaking.
She started towards him, but he simply looked at her with eyes full of hurt and jealousy, and concentrated on disapparating. She had seen what he was going to do and tried to run, slipping on the wet leaves, reaching a hand futilely towards him. But he had moved too far from the tent for her to catch up with him in time.
'Ron, no!' She screamed. 'It's not true! Please! I want y-'
But she was gone from before him, and when the world righted itself and he landed on his knees on the wet ground as the rain fell around him, he knew he was miles from her, and would be lucky to ever see her again.
He fell forwards upon the ground and started to cry, realising straight away what a huge mistake he had made. He had been used and tricked, he had fed the Horcrux through his own weakness, and it had driven him away from his best friend and the girl he loved. He had left all of them vulnerable.
And what had Hermione tried to say? He had to know, but how could he get back to them? The loss of his temper and reason had cost him everything; he knew he'd probably never be able to find them now he'd left the area. The protective enchantments would keep them concealed. It was hopeless. He had made the biggest mistake of his life. He lay there on the hillside woodland he had apparated to, sobbing and hating himself, feeling like someone had ripped a chunk out of his heart.
But then, something tightened in his resolve. Hadn't he spent most of his life helping Harry do 'impossible' things? He could find them again; he had to. He would just apparate back to where they had been, and even if he couldn't see them, they might be able to see him. He would just have to hope that they could forgive him for being so horrific over the past few weeks, or at least let him back into the tent, even if they wouldn't speak to him.
He stood up, full of determination. He wiped the mingled tears and raindrops off his face and readied himself to return.
But-
'Expelliarmus!'yelled a voice, and Ron's wand flew out of his hand. He looked around frantically in the dark and realised he was surrounded by five thuggish looking men, who had obviously heard him apparate and surrounded him.
'Oi! I fort I tol' you to wait for my signal! I'm the leader!'
'Oo says? I don't remember no-one makin' you in charge!'
Ron's heart beat had risen rapidly at the realisation of his predicament. He knew he had to get away; to be handed in would be catastrophic. He tried to sneak away as they argued…
'I want a fair share in this one, Uric! You got all the gold from the last mudblood!'
'Cos I'm the brains! You lot wouldn' last five minutes wivout – OI!' Uric yelled at Ron, grabbing him roughly by the arm as Ron tried to make a run for it, 'where you off to, ginger?'
Ron didn't reply as he was manhandled by the large and filthy Uric, and noted that he should breathe through his mouth. The stench was awful. He was quite pleased when Uric shoved him towards one of his less smelly, but stupider looking companions (the one who'd disarmed him – how embarrassing – he would make sure that Hermione never knew about this), who held him so he couldn't move.
After some more arguing between them, Ron was beginning to get annoyed. He needed to get back to Hermione and Harry! This was so typically inconvenient, and between the five of them they probably had less brains than a flesh eating slug.
'Right, off we go then – to the ministry.'
''Old on a sec, Uric, we want to check 'is name's on the list, I don't fancy accidentally taking another pure blood there again, we was in trouble after that.'
'Alright alright,' said Uric grudgingly, ''Oo are you then, ginger?'
Ron thought fast.
'Stan… Stan Shunpike.' He said in what he hoped was a convincing tone.
'There ain't no Stan Shunpike on the list, Uric.' Said a short, pudgy man who was holding a notebook. 'Maybe we should let 'im go?'
'Nah… it's a fake name, innit? Course he's not Stan Shunpike. Come on, let's go, we need the gold.'
'I dunno… remember the mess with the Flint boy? 'Is father crucio'd us after that, we insulted the family by takin' 'im in.'
''e don't have to be a mudblood; blood traitors also fetch a nice price – e's ginger inee? Looks like them Weasley's to me.'
'Not much to go on, being ginger…' One of them mumbled. He was tall and skinny, with a rat like, mutinous face.
'You questionin' my auforty?' Said Uric, looking murderous.
'Yeah, maybe I am!' said the ratty one.
The next thing Ron knew, they were rolling about on the floor fighting, with the other three thugs cheering them on. Ron rolled his eyes; what a bunch of idiots. He quickly formulated a plan, and realised he had mere seconds. While they were all distracted, he elbowed the one restraining him in the stomach as hard as he could. The thug made a quiet 'oof!' as the wind was knocked out of him and Ron quickly wrestled the wand out of his hand.
'Oi!' yelled the fat one, pointing his wand at him, but Ron quickly disarmed him, caught his wand and concentrated on disapparating harder than he ever had in his life. He knew he couldn't go back to the forest where Harry and Hermione where, what if the snatchers grabbed him as he left? He thought of Shell Cottage as hard as he could.
The men began to converge upon him, but they were too late, he had gone. He landed on the sand of the beach where he knew Shell Cottage was hidden. He sighed and began to plan his journey back to Hermione. He knew this would probably be a long and arduous search, but as long as he kept the image of her face in his mind, he could keep going.
