Let me know if y'all caught the Avatar the Last Airbender reference lol. I couldn't help it. The chapter screamed it.
Also, I know Imma gets some black for this. But hey, this was a matter of life and death time. Ron had to do what he needed to survive.
Chapter 207: Ron Alone
The moment I Disapparated, I regretted everything. My gut twisted the instant I landed. I'd left Hermione crying, left Harry behind, left everything that mattered to me. My body was there, but my head was screaming to go back. I was about to turn around and Disapparate again when I heard voices.
Low, gruff voices, followed by the unmistakable crunch of leaves under boots. Then they surrounded me. Five of them. Snatchers.
"Oi, look what we've got here," one of them sneered, his grin twisted with cruelty.
I froze, my hand instinctively reaching for my wand. But before I could do anything, a burly bloke with arms like tree trunks had me by the collar, dragging me forward.
"Little runaway, eh? Maybe a Muggleborn in hiding?" His breath was foul, like rotting meat and stale ale.
They all stared at me like I was some prize catch, their eyes gleaming with excitement. I knew what this meant. A reward from the Ministry. Gold in their pockets. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest.
"Who are you, then?" one of them demanded. "What's your name?"
My mind raced, every part of me screaming to think, to act, to survive. "Stan Shunpike," I blurted out, the name tumbling out of my mouth before I could even think.
They hesitated. One of them squinted at me, his face scrunched in confusion. "Stan Shunpike? The bloke from the Knight Bus?"
"Yeah," I said quickly, trying to sound casual, like I wasn't seconds away from losing my nerve. "That's me."
The group exchanged glances, murmuring among themselves. One of them, a hulking figure with a nose that looked like it had been broken a dozen times, sniffed the air. His nose twitched, and then he leaned in close, too close, sniffing me like a dog.
His breath made me want to gag. "Smells like a pure-blood," he growled.
"That don't mean nothin'!" another one snapped. "Could be lying! Could be hiding out, pretendin'!"
They started arguing, their voices growing louder, and I could feel the sweat dripping down my back. My wand was already gone, snatched from my pocket by one of them. I was trapped. Five against one, no way to defend myself.
I tried to keep my face blank, to hide the fear bubbling up inside me. If they figured out I wasn't Stan—if they decided I was a Muggle-born—they'd drag me straight to the Ministry. And then… well, I didn't want to think about what would happen then.
One of them, a bloke who smelled like he hadn't bathed in weeks, jabbed a finger at me. "What's a bloke like you doin' out here on yer own, eh? Ain't you supposed to be at Hogwarts?"
"Decided it wasn't for me," I said, trying to sound casual. "Wanted to see the world a bit."
That earned me a rough shove. "Don't get smart, kid."
Then they started arguing again, their voices blending into a chaotic mess. Two of them—one of them looked part-troll, honestly—started shoving each other, shouting about whether I was Stan or not. It would've been funny if I wasn't terrified out of my mind.
And then, in the middle of their shouting match, I saw my chance. The bloke holding me loosened his grip for just a second, and I acted on instinct. I drove my elbow into his stomach as hard as I could, feeling him double over with a grunt.
Everything after that was a blur. My hand shot out, grabbing his wand. Another Snatcher lunged at me, but I Disarmed him before he could get close, snatching my own wand back in the process.
I didn't stop to think. I didn't even aim. I just Disapparated, the crack of the spell cutting through the air as I vanished.
The next thing I knew, I was tumbling onto the ground in the middle of nowhere. My whole body screamed in protest, and I realized I hadn't done it right. I looked down at my right hand—two of my fingernails were gone. Blood was dripping from the raw skin, and I swore loudly, clutching my hand to my chest.
But I didn't care about the pain. I didn't care about anything except getting back to the riverbank. I had to get back.
I forced myself up, Disapparating again, this time landing near the spot where we'd camped. My legs were shaky, and my hand throbbed with every beat of my heart, but I didn't stop. I stumbled through the trees, tripping over roots and rocks, until I reached the place where the tent had been.
It was gone.
The clearing was empty. No sign of the tent, no sign of them. Just the faint impression of where the ground had been flattened, and a single scarf tied to a tree branch. Hermione's scarf.
I reached out, my fingers brushing the fabric. It was damp from the rain, but it was hers. She'd left it for me. She'd known I'd come back.
But now they were gone. And I was alone.
I wrapped the scarf around my neck, then I apparated to the first place that came to mind, the woods where we had been the first time. Where the world cuz had been held. My body hit the ground hard, my knees buckling beneath me. The rush of Apparition was making me lightheaded, but I didn't care. All that mattered was finding them. They had to be here. Maybe they'd come back for me. Maybe they'd thought I would show up here first.
But again, another place was empty. The river ran sluggishly in the cold morning light, its surface reflecting the dull gray of the sky. The place was dead silent, save for the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. No tent. No footprints. No sign of them at all. My stomach sank.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath, the word tasting bitter in my mouth.
I turned on the spot and apparated to the next place, the pebble-covered cove. My boots crunched against the stones as I landed. The place where I taught Hermione how to properly skip rocks.
The sea roared in the distance, waves crashing violently against the rocks. The wind hit me like a slap, freezing and relentless. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, scanning the cove for any sign of the tent.
Nothing. Just rocks and sea and endless emptiness.
I was beginning to panic. My hands shook as I clutched Hermione's scarf tighter, the fabric worn and soft against my skin. I could still smell her faintly on it. That smell of that lotion that she had called Warm Vanilla Sugar that had me captivated every time she would use it. The smell of home.
"Where are you?" I whispered to the wind, my voice breaking. "Where the bloody hell are you?"
I apparated again. And again. I hit every single place we'd been. The moors, the cliffs, the forest with the old oak tree, even the field with the bloody chickens. Nothing. No footprints, no clues, no bloody sign that they'd ever existed.
My head pounded as the repeated Apparition took its toll. My legs felt like jelly, my vision blurry. I could barely stand upright when I apparated into the mountainside where we'd once pitched the tent. My knees hit the rocky ground hard, the impact jolting through me. The cold seeped through my jeans, biting into my skin, but I didn't care. I stayed there on my hands and knees, gasping for air, my chest heaving.
"Fucking idiot," I muttered to myself, my voice shaking. "Stupid, selfish idiot."
Without the locket weighing me down, I could think clearly now. Too clearly. And all I could think about was how badly I'd fucked up.
I'd left them. I'd left her.
Hermione's face kept flashing in my mind—her wide, teary eyes, the way her voice had cracked when she begged me to stay. I'd walked away from her. I'd left her there in the rain, crying. I had promised her, on more than one occasion, that I wouldn't leave her. And what did I fucking do? The exact opposite. What the hell was wrong with me?
The cold wind whipped through the mountainside, stinging my face and making my teeth chatter. I pulled the scarf tighter around my neck, clinging to it like it was a lifeline.
I sat there for what felt like hours, my body trembling from the cold and exhaustion. My stomach growled loudly, but I didn't have the energy to care. Hunger was just another punishment I deserved. I hadn't eaten properly in days, and my body was screaming at me for it. But I couldn't think about food. I couldn't think about anything except finding them.
What if they were hurt? What if they were starving too? What if they were caught because of me?
The thought made my chest tighten painfully. Harry was strong, yeah, but he wasn't invincible. He couldn't protect Hermione from everything. And Hermione… God, Hermione. Was she okay? Was she taking care of herself? Was she eating properly, or was she too busy looking after Harry to bother? She always did that—putting others first, even when it meant neglecting herself.
I wanted to scream, to cry, to punch something. But I didn't have the strength for any of it. I was too cold, too hungry, too bloody broken.
As the sky darkened, I forced myself to my feet, my legs wobbling beneath me. I needed to keep moving. I couldn't stay in one place for too long. If they weren't here, they might still be at one of the other campsites. Maybe I'd missed something. Maybe…
"Maybe you've lost them forever," a voice whispered in my head.
I shoved the thought away, focusing on the scarf in my hands. It was my only anchor, the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. I had to keep looking. I had to find them.
But as I apparated again and again, each failed attempt chipped away at the fragile hope I'd been clinging to. The cold seeped into my bones, my muscles screaming in protest with every step. My head pounded like a drum, and my vision blurred with exhaustion.
By the time I reached the clearing near the riverbank again, I could barely stand. My legs buckled beneath me, and I collapsed onto the damp ground, the scarf falling from my hands. My chest heaved as I gasped for air, tears streaming down my face.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of the river. "I'm so sorry."
I'd never felt so alone in my life. The night stretched on endlessly, the cold biting into my skin. I curled up on the ground, clutching Hermione's scarf to my chest like a lifeline.
For the first time since Dumbledore' funeral, I cried. Real, gut-wrenching sobs that shook my whole body. I cried for my family, for Harry, for Hermione. I cried for everything I'd lost, for everything I'd thrown away.
As the sobs wracked my body, I couldn't stop the thoughts from circling like vultures, picking apart the little hope I had left. I'd always thought of myself as the comic relief, the one who cracked jokes when things got too heavy. But right now, lying on the frozen ground with nothing but Hermione's scarf to keep me company, I felt like nothing more than a failure.
The darkness around me felt alive, heavy, pressing in on all sides. Every creak of a branch, every rustle of wind in the trees sounded like a Snatcher creeping closer. My mind raced with paranoia, convinced that at any moment someone would appear out of the shadows and drag me off. I clutched my wand tightly in my fist, though my fingers were numb and shaking. What good would it do if they came? Five on one again, and this time I wouldn't get away.
Still, I forced myself to stand, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. My legs felt like they'd been replaced with jelly, weak and unreliable, but I couldn't just stay there and wait to freeze to death. I needed to move, even if I had no idea where to go. Anywhere was better than here.
The faint light of a village shimmered in the distance, just over the ridge. The temptation was immediate, sharp, and overwhelming. A warm bed. A proper meal. Somewhere to rest. Somewhere to stop thinking. But I couldn't. I knew better. A random wizarding village would be crawling with Ministry sympathizers—or worse. Even a Muggle one wasn't safe anymore.
But I was so bloody hungry.
I tugged the scarf tighter around my neck and started trudging toward the lights anyway, the faint hope of stealing something to eat overriding my fear. The trees thinned as I crept closer, the glow of lanterns casting long shadows across the snowy ground. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a deafening drum in the silence of the night.
A small inn sat on the edge of the village, its windows glowing warmly. I could see people inside, laughing and talking, their voices muffled but cheerful. My stomach clenched painfully at the sight of the food on the tables—roast meat, steaming bread, mugs of butterbeer.
I crouched low, sticking to the shadows, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. A barrel of something sat outside the back door, along with a sack of potatoes and a crate of something I couldn't quite make out. It didn't matter. It was food. Real food.
I darted forward, my hands shaking as I grabbed the sack. My fingers fumbled with the knot, but I managed to loosen it enough to pull out a few potatoes. They were cold and dirty, but I didn't care. My stomach growled loudly as I shoved them into my jacket pockets, my eyes darting around for any sign of movement.
"Oi! Who's there?" a gruff voice barked.
My heart stopped. I froze, my hand halfway to the crate. A shadow moved near the door, and I heard the unmistakable clink of a wand being drawn.
I didn't think. I couldn't. I turned and bolted, the potatoes bouncing in my pockets as I ran. The snow crunched loudly beneath my boots, each step feeling slower than the last. The man shouted something behind me, but I didn't stop to listen. I just kept running, my lungs burning, my legs threatening to give out with every step.
I didn't stop until I was deep into the forest again, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My knees buckled, and I collapsed against a tree, clutching my side as pain shot through me. The potatoes spilled out of my pockets, rolling onto the ground.
Pathetic. That's what I was. A pathetic, cowardly thief who couldn't even manage to steal a decent meal without mucking it up.
I grabbed one of the potatoes and bit into it, the raw, earthy taste making me gag. But I forced it down. I didn't have a choice. The sharp crunch of it filled the silence around me, a reminder of just how far I'd fallen.
Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes again, but I blinked them away. No. Not now. I had to keep going. I had to find them. I couldn't let myself fall apart. Not yet.
But as I sat there, chewing on that cold, raw potato, the hopelessness crept in again, wrapping itself around me like a suffocating blanket. What if I never found them? What if I was too late? What if they didn't want me back?
I pulled the scarf from around my neck and stared at it, the fabric soft and worn between my fingers. It was all I had of her now. My anchor. My reminder of everything I'd thrown away.
The forest was silent around me, the kind of silence that felt oppressive, like the trees themselves were holding their breath. The cold seeped into my bones, making every muscle ache. I leaned back against the tree, my eyes drifting shut despite myself.
"I'm sorry," I whispered again, my voice breaking. The words hung in the air, carried away by the wind. This had to be my 100th apology since I left them. And they weren't around to hear any of them.
For the first time in my life, I felt truly, utterly alone.