"Ron! Please!"
Hermione's voice peeled behind him, but Ron didn't listen. His head and chest roared in anger as he stomped farther from the tent where he, Harry, and Hermione had been living the past few weeks.
"Ron!" Hermione shouted again, following after him. Part of him wanted to give in, turn around, follow her back. But then he remembered she'd chosen Harry over him. She would always choose Harry over him.
Ignoring her, he felt the ripple as he passed through the protection enchantments they had set up around the camp. He turned on his heel and felt the sucking and compressing sensation squeeze through him as he disapparated, leaving his best friends behind.
The first gulp of air was like a relief as he reappeared, and he looked up, disoriented, not sure where he was. He had disapparated without a real destination in mind—a dangerous idea, splinching was not an experience he had any desire to repeat. But he hadn't been thinking about that, he'd just wanted to get away.
As Ron glanced around him he saw, to his own shock and surprise, he'd reappeared right in the middle of the square in front of Grimmauld Place. His surprise turned to misery as his shoulder slumped. This was the last place he had felt happy with his friends. Before the botched invasion of the Ministry and everything went to dung.
His heart tugged a little, and a wave of regret mixed with shame dripped over him, like the icy feeling of a disillusionment charm. Immediately he wanted to go back. Without the burden of that ruddy horcrux around his neck everything seemed sharper, including his regret.
He was just about to turn on his heal and disapparate back to the forest when a big fist collided with his jaw and he tumbled over, seeing sparks.
"Oi!" He yelled, and for one blinding second he thought maybe Harry had come after him and punched him in the face. Not that he would have blamed him, but still. Punching your best mate in the face?
But then his vision cleared and he saw three large, cloaked figures looming over him, blocking out the street lights. He couldn't see their faces but was immediately filled with dread.
Death Eaters. They had to be, who else would be hanging around Grimmauld Place, watching it? Panic filled his chest as he scrambled, trying to stand up and grab his wand. But one of the group, the big brawny one who smelled a bit like a troll, grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet, wrapping his burly arms around Ron and pinning his arms to his chest.
Ron struggled and thrashed against the body bind, trying to maneuver his wand. If he could just aim it behind him, he could knock this son-of-a-troll on his back with a jinx and disapparate away again. But Ron couldn't even move his wrist, let alone his arm.
"Well now, what do we have here?" The nasally voice came from the smallest of the three. He had limp black hair and a pockmarked face with deep inset eyes that narrowed in on Ron with a sneer.
"Wha'd'ya think, Earle? Hogwarts age?" Came the grumbly voice of the troll-like one, still gripping Ron's arms. He was squeezing him so tight Ron was having trouble breathing. He couldn't move at all, couldn't even wriggle.
Merlin's Pants, Ron thought, the minute I leave Hermione and Harry, I get myself into trouble. The irony of the situation was not lost on Ron. Normally, it was Harry dragging him into trouble.
The nasally small one, Earle, snatched the wand out of Ron's hand, peering into his face, "loosen up your grip a bit Yavo, don't want to crush him."
The grip around his chest loosened and Ron gasped for air. His eyes darted around wildly, looking for anything, anyone, any inspiration to get him out of this. Maybe by some absolutely unbelievably good luck Hermione and Harry had follow him and they would show up, blast these idiots off their feet, and Ron could go back with them. But Ron knew he wasn't that lucky.
"How old are you?" Earle sneered at him.
What had the troll one said? Hogwarts age? They were looking for teenagers.
"Eighteen," Ron blurted out after a pause. He was of age, nothing to hide there. But maybe they'd changed the age requirements since he'd run away. Maybe it was eighteen now instead of seventeen. Maybe giving his age would make them recognize who he was. Wasn't his face on every wanted poster possible? Right along there with Hermione and Harry? Bugger.
He grabbed hold of his spiraling panic and wrestled it under control, if he was getting out of this he needed to do it himself.
Earle grunted. "Hmph, might not be Hogwarts student."
Hogwarts student? Is that what they were looking for?
"What's your name, eh?" Earle asked him.
They don't know me, Ron thought. They're looking for Hogwarts students. But now they wanted his name. Who was he? Not a Hogwarts student, not a Hogwarts student. His mind was whirring now, he could almost feel the steam coming out of his ears. Not a Hogwarts student, not a Hogwarts student. He saw Earle's face in front of him, his pockmarked scabby skin, and inspiration suddenly struck.
"Stan Shunpike!"Ron nearly yelled.
"Hmph," Earle grunted again, "Stan Shunpike?" His face screwed up in a quizzical expression, and Ron briefly wondered if the red scabby skin hurt made that hurt more. "Oi, Pindergroin!" Ron winced at the unfortunate name. "Check the list, see if we've got a Stan Shunpike."
The third wizard shuffled forward, pulling out a list from the inside of his robes. He scanned it with his wand, expression a bit confused.
The wizard muttered something like, "Hod'ya spe' ha?" His accent was thick, like marbles in his mouth. And Ron was fairly sure he wasn't receiving enough oxygen to his brain, which probably wasn't helping.
Earle turned back to him, scowling in disgust at his comrade. "How do you spell it?" He translated.
"S-h-u-n-p-" Ron squeaked.
"What did I say Yavo? Can't claim the gold for the little truant if he's dead. Loosen up!" Earle snapped at Yavo, whose grip slackened exponentially at the command. Ron heaved in a deep breathe, exaggerating the motion for the benefit of Earle. Maybe if he thought he couldn't breathe, he'd make Yavo let him go entirely? It was worth a shot.
"Nope." Said Pindergroin, "not on here Earle. Must not be a student."
Earle's shoulders slumped, but he turned back to Ron with a suspicious look on his face. "You sure? He looks young enough."
"See for yourself," shot back Pindergroin, thrusting out the list to Earle, who grabbed it from him and scanned through. When he couldn't find Shunpike on the list he looked up again at Ron, head shaking in a scowl. "Could be faking it, he could. Just trying to weasel out of our grip."
At the mention of the word "weasel," Ron felt his face get hot and his temper flair up in indignation. All the self-righteous anger from moments before flooded back through him. "Ask me something then," he spat at Earle, "go on."
Earle's face darkened and then seemed to brighten in realization. "Eh, I'll tell you what lads, we'll just ask him some questions. Make sure he really is who he says he is."
Ron just barely managed to not roll his eyes in disgust.
"Where did you go to school?"
Not Hogwarts, not Hogwarts, not Hogwarts, "Durmstrang." He said.
The two wizards responded with blank looks.
"Durmstrang?" He pressed, "Magical School in Bulgaria?" He really had no idea where Durmstrang was, but Bulgaria seemed a good a place as any. "Same school as Viktor Krum?"
The Pindergroin character's eyes widened, "you went to school with Viktor Krum?"
"Yeah, right git." Ron scowled. He could see the excitement on their faces, could he use this to his advantage? Promise autographs? Photos? Anything was worth a shot.
"Woah," Yavo breathed behind him, arms relaxing a little more, enough for Ron to slide against his chest until his feet touched the ground.
"What's 'e like?" squeaked Pindergroin, looking awed.
"Told you, he's a right git. He can play a good game of quidditch," Ron conceded, "but completely oblivious about the girls." He finished somewhat smugly. Take that Krum.
"If you're not in school then what are you doing here?" Earle interjected, taking control back from his comrades.
"Going to work."
"Where do you work?"
"The Knight Bus."
"What, you drive the Knight Bus?"
"I sell the tickets." Ron said indignantly. As if he couldn't drive the Knight Bus. But then he remembered the absolute chaos of riding the Knight bus and decided he probably couldn't drive the Knight bus.
This was dragging on. At some point, they would either have to take his word for it and release him, or they'd decide they didn't care. If they decided they didn't care, Ron was fucked.
So how to make sure they released him? His mind kicked into gear, playing out the pieces like a chess game. Scenarios blurred through his head, one after the other, as he mentally calculated the likelihood of each of them in turn, and his chances of getting away. But if he wanted to do anything, first he'd need his wand back.
"I dunno Earle, he seems to be who he says he is." Pindergroin looked around nervously. "Let's just let 'im go and get outta here. I hate being around this place anyways." But Earle's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Ron could see the moment Earle realized.
"Say Stan, what are you doing here in the first place?"
"Told you," Said Ron, trying to project more confidence than he felt, "just got off my shift."
"That's not what you said," sneered Earle. "You said you were going to work, not getting off." Ron could feel his face get hot. Damn his stupid redheaded blushing. "Now why would you lie to us? Looks like you might have something to hide. Well lads, we might just have a mudblood in hiding." Earle was nose to nose with him now, and Ron could hear the gleeful cackling of the other two. But at the sound of that evil, hateful word, his brain fuzzed over in anger and on instinct he reacted.
He kicked out behind him, his heel coming into contact with the troll-y one's shin. There was a yelp and the grip around his chest, which had been loosening during the encounter, went slack enough for Ron to twist around and push himself out of the brute's hands entirely. As he did he felt the back of his head bang against something hard, Earle's face. It had happened too quickly for him to back away.
Ron fell against Earle, landing on top of him, back down. He scrambled over, kneeing Earle just below the belt as he did so. Earle yelped in pain, briefly incapacitated. Desperately Ron flailed around for his wand, finding it still in Earle's sweaty fist, and yanked it away, grabbing Earle's wand too for good measure.
Armed with his wand, Ron felt a surge of relief and confidence, which quickly dashed away as he felt a kick to the gut that sent him sprawling again, knocking the wands out of his hands. Yavo had evidently joined the fight.
Ron flipped onto his back to see Earle, still curled up in pain on the ground, with Yavo standing menacingly over him, and Pindergroin a few feet away looking baffled. Yavo raised his foot menacingly. Ron rolled, out of the way of that inhumanly large boot. His roll brought him farther away from the light of the square. Where was his wand?
"Lumos!" He shouted desperately into the dark, and there, just a few feet ahead of him his wand flickered to life. He shot forward, lunging for it, he felt his hand clasp around it. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief he twisted into the air, and with a pop, he was gone.
