Ron landed in a heap back in the forest. His only thought when he'd disapparated had been to get back to Hermione and Harry, but as he shoved himself off the ground, brushing the dirt and leaves off his trousers and jacket as he looked around, he could tell he'd missed the camp. It was colder, and darker, than he remembered, nothing shone out in the blackness. No sign of where they'd all set up camp just hours ago. But he couldn't be far, could he? Did the enchantments prohibit people from apparating straight into camp? Or did he just make a mess of it himself? Probably the latter, he thought sourly.

An owl hooted off to his right, and he could hear the gurgling of water over rocks somewhere nearby. Where could they be? The air was frosty, and although he couldn't see it he knew his breath was coming out in wispy puffs. The darkness and cold surrounded him as he stood there, alone. Nervously, his hand tightened around his wand. Only then did he remember that he was actually gripping two wands—his own, and the one he stole off that Earle bloke.

"Lumos," he muttered quietly, not wanting to disturb the dark. Both wand ends lit up with a bright clear light, momentarily blinding him.

Blinking through the pain of the light in his eyes, Ron examined the stolen wand. It was thick, and short. A little gnarled looking, like the root of a tree someone had plucked from the ground.

Looking up he cast the light out, looking around again for his friends. Ron's shoulders began to slump in dismay, but then he heard the rush and gush of a dark river. He sprang up, they had camped near a river. On a small riverbank, hidden by a steep slope. He scurried over to the sound of the water, coming to the edge of a ledge which dropped straight into the river below. This must be it, it had to be. The river where they had camped. Now all he needed to do was find them. But which way to go?

Ron looked to his left, and then to his right, hoping to find some kind of clue. Maybe a signpost that said "This way to Harry and Hermione." But nothing. Not even so much as a flicker of light in either direction. He groaned audibly. Things never could be easy, could they? Well, there was nothing else for it, he would just have to pick a direction and go. Glancing around once more, he decided on the right. Better to walk upstream, and if worse came to worse, float downstream in the river if he had to. Ron harrumphed humorlessly, but he was only half kidding.

The leaves crackled underneath his feet as he made his way upriver. He'd stowed away the extra wand in his coat pocket and kept his own, lit up in his hand so he could see where he was going. The grass under his feet was wet and muddy. He could feel it seeping into his trainers, making his socks wet and turning his toes to icicles. But he ignored the discomfort and kept walking.

Serves me right, he thought viciously. Stupid thing to do. Run away from your friends. He kept up a string of personal abuses as he stomped along. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid. He wanted to feel guilty, wanted to feel the shame of it all. Leaving his friends behind. What would Fred and George think? What would Ginny think? He blanched at that thought. Ginny would be furious when she found out, if she ever found out, she might hate him for life. He didn't want to be this. A coward, who turned his back on his friends. This wasn't him, he wasn't Percy. He would not be Percy. He would not.

The sun had begun to rise along the horizon. He hadn't noticed at first because of the light from his wand, but it was unmistakable now. The dark of the night which had felt so cold and isolating before was becoming tinged with pink, and he still hadn't found Harry and Hermione, but he kept walking. Just keep walking.

Each twist of the river that turned up nothing left his stomach in knots. Briefly, he wondered if he should turn around and start looking in the other direction. But that would mean retracing his steps from the last few hours, which would be an even bigger waste of time. He couldn't apparate again, it was too much of a drain on his already exhausted body and he didn't want to risk splinching himself. Shit.

Now he was starting to panic. A few more hours and Harry and Hermione would probably move on to the next place, they wouldn't know to wait for him, they wouldn't know he'd come back. And once they left, that was it. They would be gone, there was no way he'd find them again.

His feet hurt, he was sure he had blisters even though he couldn't feel them through the cold, his legs were starting to cramp, and he could feel his heartbeat pounding in his brain. He was sure he'd sustained a black eye from the skirmish with those idiotic bounty hunters. Exhaustion was starting to really set in. He hadn't slept all night and been in a fight besides. The adrenaline that had kept him going the past few hours was ebbing away and he could feel his feet starting to drag. But he had to find Harry and Hermione.

It was fully light now, but Ron kept walking. One foot in front of the other, not even aware he was doing it, he kept walking.

And then he saw it. Around a bend in the river, at the bottom of a steep slope, was a riverbank, just large enough for a small tent and a campfire. His heart leaped into his throat, and he broke out into a run.

He didn't see anything on the bank, but that didn't worry him. The protective charms made the camp invisible, but they were still there, they had to be there. Ron practically jumped over the edge of the embankment, tumbling down the last few feet and rolling back up to his feet.

"Hermione!" His arms were splayed wide, waving around like he was looking for an invisible wall. "Harry!"

"Can you hear me?" He continued to shout as he walked back and forth along the edge of the river. A sinking feeling was pulling on his stomach. "Hello? Anybody there?"

He'd covered the whole of the riverbank, flailing his arms wildly in the air, but nothing. They were gone.

"FUCK!" He screamed into the open air, and he sank down to the ground, burying his face in his hands. He sat there, on the lumpy, soggy ground, for a long time. He didn't cry, instead just sat there in stunned silence until the sun had risen fully over the horizon, warming his icy skin. All the exhaustion he'd been pushing off was catching up to him now, and he felt his eyelids droop…

Ron jerked awake; he did not know how long he had been asleep. The sun was high in the sky, but very little warmth filtered through the clouds. He groaned slightly as he unfolded himself and stretched out his limbs, then looked glumly at his surroundings.

He was still sitting on the riverbank where he had been hoping to find Harry and Hermione. The thought of his friends, and of last night, made him want to bury his head in his hands again. Instead, he stood and dusted himself off, checking to make sure he still had both his wand and the stolen wand. Then, he set to pacing.

He needed a next move. He felt like a pawn on a chessboard, small and insignificant. Barely any power to make a difference. And now he was blocked in on all sides by pieces much larger and stronger than he. How was he going to find his friends again? What if he never found them? What if they went on with their journey and ended up dead? Or worse—what if they succeeded, without him? It would be every fear realized; he wasn't needed, wasn't valuable, wasn't good enough.

The panic in his chest started to bubble up again but he quickly tamped it down. This was not helping, and wasn't it what got him into this whole stupid mess in the first place? Lack of self-control? "Focus," he hissed. "Where do I go now?"

He quickly catalogued the places in his head. He certainly couldn't go back to Grimmauld place, which was a pity, because if Harry and Hermione did try and look for him surely they would start there.

The Burrow? No, he couldn't go there either. Fred and George were bound to come round at some point. And Ginny, with the winter holidays. Again, panic; would he still be there by the winter holidays? He could see it now—his home, his family, all cheered up for Christmas. But then the inevitable questioning looks, the sour faces of his brothers, and Ginny too if she ever found out about his leaving Harry. Although there was still a part of him that longed for home and the safety of his parents, he knew he couldn't go back.

Hogsmeade? He couldn't even consider Hogwarts, but Hogsmeade was a wizarding community, and close enough to the school to get both news from there and the outside world. But what would he do? Bartend at Madame Rosmerta's? Hermione would like that, he scoffed. Plus, every student who walked in would immediately know it was him. And he couldn't just live in a cave off scraps like Sirius had done.

Ron was pacing again, thinking. He needed a place safe enough to keep away from those cronies on the streets, for he was sure there were more of them, but still connected enough to the wizarding world to get news. Somewhere his family wouldn't find him easily.

And then it hit him, Shell Cottage. It was perfect; connected with the wizarding world, safe, out of the way of the majority of his family. Bill and Fleur might not be too keen, but he could talk them into it. And Bill had always been decent to him, never poking fun or calling names the way Fred and George did. Bill would keep his secret, he was sure of that, wouldn't tell the rest of the family that Ron had abandoned—he forced the word out—his friends.

Shell Cottage it was. He'd only been there once or twice, and never on his own, but he remembered it well enough to apparate. He'd have to be precise and apparate directly into the front yard in order to be inside the Fidelius Charm. Thank Merlin he'd went along when his Dad and Bill had cast the charm. He pictured the cottage in his mind, the whitewashed walls and the tang of salty air, and with a twist and a tug, he disappeared from view.