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keelywolfeA Lacking of Foresight: Chapter Twenty-Two
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Harry/Ron
NC-17
Notes: Missed the first nineteen chapters? Look here! Twenty and Twenty-One are here, respectively.
~~*~~
In which people who are not friends have a long chat.
~~*~~
Sitting there amongst the squat, ice-tipped bushes and shrubs, Ron watched as Goyle took a long drink from a hip flask, a dribble of brown liquid trailing over his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and shoved the flask back into his belt without offering it to Ron.
"Been some time, Weasley," he grunted, rolling a cigarette with surprisingly nimbleness between his thick fingers. His eyes were dark and small in his face, piggish and gleaming, never leaving Ron. The years had not been kind to him, too much time spent amongst the darkest magics twisting his already unattractive form grotesquely. Rotten teeth showed between his lips as he took a snorting, congested breath, inhaling smoke. A mass of scars writhed over the left side of his face, almost swelling his eye shut.
"Yes, it has," Ron said softly. "Not since Brazil." He nearly asked about the scars on his face, new enough that they were still pink but stifled it. With the both of them dosed with Veritaserum, Goyle would have no choice but to answer and it wasn’t like it was any of his business. Besides, if he started asking side questions Goyle might start asking a few of his own.
His teeth pinched around the end of his cigarette, Goyle rolled another and offered it to Ron. He took it slowly, lighting the end with a finger snap that made Goyle raise his brows in sardonic approval. The smoke was too yellow, too sweet as it rolled over his tongue to be mere tobacco. Ron didn’t inhale, only held it in his mouth but it was still dizzying, bathing his inner nerves in languor. Very tempting to draw it into his lungs and truly experience the pure wash of it, instead of resting his hand on his knee, away from his face, and breathing instead the sharp, clean air.
"Haven’t seen Potter in longer than that," Goyle coughed faintly, his eye briefly hidden in a greasy fall of hair before he pushed it impatiently back. "How has it been, guarding him?"
"We've been..." Ron clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling his, "Shagging like rabbits." Goyle, not always the brightest of men, didn't seem to catch it. "It’s been fine," he said shortly. "It’s bloody cold out here, did you have some information for me or not?"
"Keep your hair on," Goyle’s voice was as lazy as the curl of smoke rising from the tip of his fag. "You people have been using me for years as your own little pet. Suppose you can stand to chat a bit. Not like there’s much of anyone willing to talk where I usually am. Or don’t you want to be friendly-like?"
Ron bit his tongue and looked away, settling in for a short spell of forced camaraderie. It was true; they had been using him for years. He didn’t know Goyle’s reasons for helping the Ministry and didn’t particularly want to. He felt nothing but disgust and pity for this creature, lumpy and shapeless inside his clothes, scarred inside and out. But it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him for a while. God knew they owed him something, anyway.
Goyle squinted at the smoke curling up from the stub of his cigarette. "Doesn’t look like playing bodyguard agrees with you. You look like shite."
"Thanks."
Goyle waved a hand impatiently. "It’s only the truth." He finally crushed the butt out on the frozen ground, twitching like he wanted another one. He was afraid. No need for Sight to know that; Ron could smell it, the greasy stink of it. But that was all right, if anything, Goyle had earned the right to his fear. He’d be worse than dead if they ever caught him in this little game.
Ron wondered if Goyle had ever had to kill someone to keep up the charade.
"So, how's things?" Ron asked with exaggerated politeness. It was hard not to flinch from Goyle's look, the sudden rush of pained bitterness. He looked away from it, frustrated with his own inability to just pretend for a few minutes that they were just mates sharing a smoke. He'd never been a good actor.
"Was wondering the same about you. All protecting a bloke you can't even stand. You two were thick as thieves during school. Always wondered what happened between you two."
"What the hell are you on about?"
"Come off it, Weasley," he growled. "It was all over the daily prophet. Boy Who Lived snubbed at wedding by his best friend."
"Oh," Ron said weakly. “I was out of the country, I didn’t know." Goyle grunted a reply that Ron didn't hear. All that publicity, all those people goggling at Harry Potter yet again, with his private life splayed open in newsprint for anyone to read. All the wet-eyed pity they'd throw at him. Harry, I'm so sorry...
Goyle coughed again, wetly, rasping out, "Weasley, there's nothing going on with Potter."
It brought him up short, damping any faint guilt. "What do you mean there's nothing--"
“I looked!" he snapped. "I listened. I checked every source I know about. Nothing." He smiled grimly, showing a few gaps in his teeth. "There's plenty out there who'd be happy to see him dead but no one is doing anything much to help him in that direction. Not right now."
Ron stared at him, eyes narrowed. There was nothing coming from him but calm confidence, not even a twitch of nerves. Not lying, then, not that he'd believed Goyle could with the truth serum still working on them both. But how was this possible when all their other sources had reported at the very least rumors, and he knew, he knew something was going to happen, he could bloody well feel it, something was....
Later, Ron couldn’t have said when he realized. Something had felt a little off, true, but he’d felt that way for days upon days, ever since he’d gotten to Hogwarts. Why it would inspire him now to move, scrambling desperately backwards and to his feet in a frantic lunge into the shambling bushes. The surge of heat threw him to his knees, scraping his hands on the twig littered ground.
He swiped a stinging hand over his eyes, obeying the instinctive shriek inside him that ordered him to move, move because it wasn't over yet. He crawled on his hands and knees to the shadowed cover of a tree, peering warily out.
The clearing they'd been sitting in was gone, nothing but a blackened starburst of soot remained.
"You're faster than I expected, Weasley."
Goyle.
"I've had some practice," Ron called back, edging further to the right, away from that voice. Goyle knew where he was, best he could manage was to keep a few trees between them until he could figure out what the fuck was going on.
This didn't make sense. Goyle had had the opportunity to kill him before, a dozen times before. If he'd been a double agent all these years, why attack now? Because Ron was protecting Harry?
"Yes, I suppose you have." The coolness in Goyle's voice, the amusement, made Ron grind his teeth. Bastard. His cheek was stinging and Ron resisted the urge to touch it, keeping as still as possible.
"I don't suppose you want to let me in on what's going on?"
Silence.
Ron strained to hear anything, a boot scraping against the ground, a muttered spell. Nothing but silence greeted him. Oh, this was so not of the good. Time to back the hell off and regroup. He gathered his thoughts, pulling everything inward, into the pit of his stomach and released it, sending everything towards the outside gates of Hogwarts, the closest a wizard could Apparate to the school. It was a cool, tingling sensation, sweet and familiar. Until it tore raggedly within him, every cell in his body struggling to tear itself in half
Ron fell forward, collapsing on the icy ground and gagged, trying to keep quiet. His skin burned, pain sinking its teeth deeply into him as the aborted energy of his failed Apparation struggled to escape. Clenching his teeth against nausea, Ron carefully let go of the excess, trying to, oh fuck, trying to stay quiet because this wasn't just a case of a double agent anymore. Someone had plotted this very carefully if they'd managed to rig a Containment spell in so short an amount of time. They wanted him Sight-blinded, they wanted him vulnerable.
Ron was quite sure he didn't want to know who 'they' were. Not without another dozen Aurors at his back.
"Really, Weasley, I'm surprised you even tried that." Close enough to make Ron flinch as he struggled to his feet, backing slowly away.
"Might have just told me I would be wasting my time," he rasped. Was Goyle even strong enough of a wizard for this type of spell? The thought left him cold and he gingerly probed the area for any other touch of a mind. He got a bare glance before a knife of pain stabbed behind his eyes. A good Containment spell, indeed, he thought grimly. But the only mind he'd felt was Goyle's, the sour/bitter sense of him unmistakable.
"And miss that charming display?"
Closer, and Ron tensed, palming one of the knives he kept handy. The only good thing about the Containment spell is that it meant Goyle wasn't going to be able to hex him either, and when it came to hand to hand combat Ron was sure he was a better fighter than Goyle.
His only worry would be trying to keep Goyle alive. He had no illusions that Goyle might want the same for him.
But it didn't make sense to attack him now. Wasting someone with Goyle's contacts on a single Auror, no matter who he was protecting. Trying to use him as bait for Harry, perhaps? Pathetic and clichéd, and it wouldn't work anyway; he'd seen to that. Ron smiled grimly at the last thought. Harry was perfectly safe for tonight and he was going to stay that way. If it was somehow the Imperius curse, all the better. It was difficult to control another person and Goyle would be clumsier than usual.
Warmth flowed over Ron numb lips, a sudden gush of blood that had Ron stifling curses. Not now, not now, with the comforting heavy weight of a knife in his hand. He took a deep breath to ease his thundering heart, his aching head. He wasn't in top form, barely in half and Goyle was moving, somewhere on the other side of the tree that hid Ron.
He whirled, his mouth filled with the briny taste of blood, and it barely required thought. The dark shape of Goyle's back to him, rippling as he turned, too late to stop the descent of Ron's knife with anything but his own body.
Goyle shrieked, a deep, betrayed sound. More blood on Ron's hands but it was Goyle's, the hilt of the knife protruding obscenely from his shoulder. Sloppy work, much too low. He'd be lucky if Ron hadn't nicked a lung.
Goyle staggered against another tree, the harsh scrape of bark against fabric tearing the silence. Ron stood back, eying him critically as he lumbered around the small clearing, huffing in pain. Goyle was no lightweight. Might take more than just a little prick of a wound to bring him in.
But it didn't. Goyle simply sagged against the tree, sweat pouring down his mangled face and his eyes rolling like those of a frightened horse. It made Ron frown, wary of some other trick even though his aching senses were nothing more than a pained hum in the back of his head. As an attack, this was hardly above the level of pathetic.
"So tell me," Ron said pleasantly. "Was this just an attempt to get a Harry? Because as attempts go, this was weak."
Goyle shook his head, gargling out some sound that melted into a shriek as Ron grabbed the hilt of the knife and held it, barely stopping himself from twisting it deeper into the wound. "Now, now, don't try to talk yet," Ron soothed, petting back sweaty, grimy hair. "We have all night. You'll have plenty of time to tell me everything I want to hear."
The sudden explosion of pain at the back of his head was so overwhelming that Ron couldn't even scream and he knew he was dead, some sort of hex that was powerful enough to get through the containment spell and he should have fucking known Goyle wouldn't be that easy. Stupidly walking into this to begin with when he was so weak, letting his feelings for Harry distract him to uselessness. Such blatant stupidity, death was nothing less than he deserved.
It was a shame Severus was going to miss the opportunity to insult him about it.
His muscles turned to water and he collapsed, dimly hoping he didn't piss himself. This was more than humiliating enough, unable to do anything but hang limply when Goyle picked him up and roughly toss him on his back. It was actually sort of funny, if you thought about it, and the more he did, the funnier it seemed. Outsmarted by Goyle of all people. His laughter was choked, strangled by whatever sort of paralysis had him, but he couldn't seem to stop.
"It doesn't matter," Ron croaked out, trying to breathe through his hysteria. "You won't get to him anyway." It brought the faintest regret to him and he hoped Harry wouldn't think he'd just taken off again.
"Are you speaking about Potter? Really, my dear Mr. Weasley, you hardly give yourself enough credit."
It wasn't Goyle's voice, someone else who seemed strangely familiar. Ron struggled up from the wavering darkness, he knew that voice, it wasn't possible...
Goyle was still standing over him and the dull blankness that Ron had come to associate with the Imperius curse cleared from his eyes for just a moment, stark fear shining through the muddiness.
"You'll have plenty of time to talk to Mr. Goyle when you meet again." There was a muttered curse and bright flash of eerie green. Ron closed his eyes against it but couldn’t help feeling Goyle's body fall heavily next to him. The other man stepped over him, dismissing the dead man as easily as a stray dog laying in the street.
"And I wouldn't worry about Potter, my dear boy. He was merely a means to an ends. We have unfinished business to attend to, you and I." It came to him then and he knew, a stunning rush of pure clarity and he could only wish Goyle had killed him first.
"Yes," Ron whispered, without opening his eyes. "I suppose we do."
"Do you see this?" A hard kick in his ribs made him gasp and Ron wrenched his eyes open to look at the small item held in long white fingers. "Lovely, isn't it? It's called a Taser." He pushed a button on the side and a frisson of electricity arced at the tip. "You aren't really supposed to apply it to the spine, I'm afraid, but I'm sure you've noticed how well it worked. Much as I hate to use Muggle devices, I find that this one does have its charms. Quite effective." A sharp, cold smile. "Shall we see what happens when you put it elsewhere?"
Later, when Ron had run out of screams, when the rushing pendulum of agony had altered its course again and again over his body, he would admit that yes, it was quite an effective little tool, indeed.
~~*~~
-end chapter twenty-two-
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Harry/Ron
NC-17
Notes: Missed the first nineteen chapters? Look here! Twenty and Twenty-One are here, respectively.
~~*~~
In which people who are not friends have a long chat.
~~*~~
Sitting there amongst the squat, ice-tipped bushes and shrubs, Ron watched as Goyle took a long drink from a hip flask, a dribble of brown liquid trailing over his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and shoved the flask back into his belt without offering it to Ron.
"Been some time, Weasley," he grunted, rolling a cigarette with surprisingly nimbleness between his thick fingers. His eyes were dark and small in his face, piggish and gleaming, never leaving Ron. The years had not been kind to him, too much time spent amongst the darkest magics twisting his already unattractive form grotesquely. Rotten teeth showed between his lips as he took a snorting, congested breath, inhaling smoke. A mass of scars writhed over the left side of his face, almost swelling his eye shut.
"Yes, it has," Ron said softly. "Not since Brazil." He nearly asked about the scars on his face, new enough that they were still pink but stifled it. With the both of them dosed with Veritaserum, Goyle would have no choice but to answer and it wasn’t like it was any of his business. Besides, if he started asking side questions Goyle might start asking a few of his own.
His teeth pinched around the end of his cigarette, Goyle rolled another and offered it to Ron. He took it slowly, lighting the end with a finger snap that made Goyle raise his brows in sardonic approval. The smoke was too yellow, too sweet as it rolled over his tongue to be mere tobacco. Ron didn’t inhale, only held it in his mouth but it was still dizzying, bathing his inner nerves in languor. Very tempting to draw it into his lungs and truly experience the pure wash of it, instead of resting his hand on his knee, away from his face, and breathing instead the sharp, clean air.
"Haven’t seen Potter in longer than that," Goyle coughed faintly, his eye briefly hidden in a greasy fall of hair before he pushed it impatiently back. "How has it been, guarding him?"
"We've been..." Ron clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling his, "Shagging like rabbits." Goyle, not always the brightest of men, didn't seem to catch it. "It’s been fine," he said shortly. "It’s bloody cold out here, did you have some information for me or not?"
"Keep your hair on," Goyle’s voice was as lazy as the curl of smoke rising from the tip of his fag. "You people have been using me for years as your own little pet. Suppose you can stand to chat a bit. Not like there’s much of anyone willing to talk where I usually am. Or don’t you want to be friendly-like?"
Ron bit his tongue and looked away, settling in for a short spell of forced camaraderie. It was true; they had been using him for years. He didn’t know Goyle’s reasons for helping the Ministry and didn’t particularly want to. He felt nothing but disgust and pity for this creature, lumpy and shapeless inside his clothes, scarred inside and out. But it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him for a while. God knew they owed him something, anyway.
Goyle squinted at the smoke curling up from the stub of his cigarette. "Doesn’t look like playing bodyguard agrees with you. You look like shite."
"Thanks."
Goyle waved a hand impatiently. "It’s only the truth." He finally crushed the butt out on the frozen ground, twitching like he wanted another one. He was afraid. No need for Sight to know that; Ron could smell it, the greasy stink of it. But that was all right, if anything, Goyle had earned the right to his fear. He’d be worse than dead if they ever caught him in this little game.
Ron wondered if Goyle had ever had to kill someone to keep up the charade.
"So, how's things?" Ron asked with exaggerated politeness. It was hard not to flinch from Goyle's look, the sudden rush of pained bitterness. He looked away from it, frustrated with his own inability to just pretend for a few minutes that they were just mates sharing a smoke. He'd never been a good actor.
"Was wondering the same about you. All protecting a bloke you can't even stand. You two were thick as thieves during school. Always wondered what happened between you two."
"What the hell are you on about?"
"Come off it, Weasley," he growled. "It was all over the daily prophet. Boy Who Lived snubbed at wedding by his best friend."
"Oh," Ron said weakly. “I was out of the country, I didn’t know." Goyle grunted a reply that Ron didn't hear. All that publicity, all those people goggling at Harry Potter yet again, with his private life splayed open in newsprint for anyone to read. All the wet-eyed pity they'd throw at him. Harry, I'm so sorry...
Goyle coughed again, wetly, rasping out, "Weasley, there's nothing going on with Potter."
It brought him up short, damping any faint guilt. "What do you mean there's nothing--"
“I looked!" he snapped. "I listened. I checked every source I know about. Nothing." He smiled grimly, showing a few gaps in his teeth. "There's plenty out there who'd be happy to see him dead but no one is doing anything much to help him in that direction. Not right now."
Ron stared at him, eyes narrowed. There was nothing coming from him but calm confidence, not even a twitch of nerves. Not lying, then, not that he'd believed Goyle could with the truth serum still working on them both. But how was this possible when all their other sources had reported at the very least rumors, and he knew, he knew something was going to happen, he could bloody well feel it, something was....
Later, Ron couldn’t have said when he realized. Something had felt a little off, true, but he’d felt that way for days upon days, ever since he’d gotten to Hogwarts. Why it would inspire him now to move, scrambling desperately backwards and to his feet in a frantic lunge into the shambling bushes. The surge of heat threw him to his knees, scraping his hands on the twig littered ground.
He swiped a stinging hand over his eyes, obeying the instinctive shriek inside him that ordered him to move, move because it wasn't over yet. He crawled on his hands and knees to the shadowed cover of a tree, peering warily out.
The clearing they'd been sitting in was gone, nothing but a blackened starburst of soot remained.
"You're faster than I expected, Weasley."
Goyle.
"I've had some practice," Ron called back, edging further to the right, away from that voice. Goyle knew where he was, best he could manage was to keep a few trees between them until he could figure out what the fuck was going on.
This didn't make sense. Goyle had had the opportunity to kill him before, a dozen times before. If he'd been a double agent all these years, why attack now? Because Ron was protecting Harry?
"Yes, I suppose you have." The coolness in Goyle's voice, the amusement, made Ron grind his teeth. Bastard. His cheek was stinging and Ron resisted the urge to touch it, keeping as still as possible.
"I don't suppose you want to let me in on what's going on?"
Silence.
Ron strained to hear anything, a boot scraping against the ground, a muttered spell. Nothing but silence greeted him. Oh, this was so not of the good. Time to back the hell off and regroup. He gathered his thoughts, pulling everything inward, into the pit of his stomach and released it, sending everything towards the outside gates of Hogwarts, the closest a wizard could Apparate to the school. It was a cool, tingling sensation, sweet and familiar. Until it tore raggedly within him, every cell in his body struggling to tear itself in half
Ron fell forward, collapsing on the icy ground and gagged, trying to keep quiet. His skin burned, pain sinking its teeth deeply into him as the aborted energy of his failed Apparation struggled to escape. Clenching his teeth against nausea, Ron carefully let go of the excess, trying to, oh fuck, trying to stay quiet because this wasn't just a case of a double agent anymore. Someone had plotted this very carefully if they'd managed to rig a Containment spell in so short an amount of time. They wanted him Sight-blinded, they wanted him vulnerable.
Ron was quite sure he didn't want to know who 'they' were. Not without another dozen Aurors at his back.
"Really, Weasley, I'm surprised you even tried that." Close enough to make Ron flinch as he struggled to his feet, backing slowly away.
"Might have just told me I would be wasting my time," he rasped. Was Goyle even strong enough of a wizard for this type of spell? The thought left him cold and he gingerly probed the area for any other touch of a mind. He got a bare glance before a knife of pain stabbed behind his eyes. A good Containment spell, indeed, he thought grimly. But the only mind he'd felt was Goyle's, the sour/bitter sense of him unmistakable.
"And miss that charming display?"
Closer, and Ron tensed, palming one of the knives he kept handy. The only good thing about the Containment spell is that it meant Goyle wasn't going to be able to hex him either, and when it came to hand to hand combat Ron was sure he was a better fighter than Goyle.
His only worry would be trying to keep Goyle alive. He had no illusions that Goyle might want the same for him.
But it didn't make sense to attack him now. Wasting someone with Goyle's contacts on a single Auror, no matter who he was protecting. Trying to use him as bait for Harry, perhaps? Pathetic and clichéd, and it wouldn't work anyway; he'd seen to that. Ron smiled grimly at the last thought. Harry was perfectly safe for tonight and he was going to stay that way. If it was somehow the Imperius curse, all the better. It was difficult to control another person and Goyle would be clumsier than usual.
Warmth flowed over Ron numb lips, a sudden gush of blood that had Ron stifling curses. Not now, not now, with the comforting heavy weight of a knife in his hand. He took a deep breath to ease his thundering heart, his aching head. He wasn't in top form, barely in half and Goyle was moving, somewhere on the other side of the tree that hid Ron.
He whirled, his mouth filled with the briny taste of blood, and it barely required thought. The dark shape of Goyle's back to him, rippling as he turned, too late to stop the descent of Ron's knife with anything but his own body.
Goyle shrieked, a deep, betrayed sound. More blood on Ron's hands but it was Goyle's, the hilt of the knife protruding obscenely from his shoulder. Sloppy work, much too low. He'd be lucky if Ron hadn't nicked a lung.
Goyle staggered against another tree, the harsh scrape of bark against fabric tearing the silence. Ron stood back, eying him critically as he lumbered around the small clearing, huffing in pain. Goyle was no lightweight. Might take more than just a little prick of a wound to bring him in.
But it didn't. Goyle simply sagged against the tree, sweat pouring down his mangled face and his eyes rolling like those of a frightened horse. It made Ron frown, wary of some other trick even though his aching senses were nothing more than a pained hum in the back of his head. As an attack, this was hardly above the level of pathetic.
"So tell me," Ron said pleasantly. "Was this just an attempt to get a Harry? Because as attempts go, this was weak."
Goyle shook his head, gargling out some sound that melted into a shriek as Ron grabbed the hilt of the knife and held it, barely stopping himself from twisting it deeper into the wound. "Now, now, don't try to talk yet," Ron soothed, petting back sweaty, grimy hair. "We have all night. You'll have plenty of time to tell me everything I want to hear."
The sudden explosion of pain at the back of his head was so overwhelming that Ron couldn't even scream and he knew he was dead, some sort of hex that was powerful enough to get through the containment spell and he should have fucking known Goyle wouldn't be that easy. Stupidly walking into this to begin with when he was so weak, letting his feelings for Harry distract him to uselessness. Such blatant stupidity, death was nothing less than he deserved.
It was a shame Severus was going to miss the opportunity to insult him about it.
His muscles turned to water and he collapsed, dimly hoping he didn't piss himself. This was more than humiliating enough, unable to do anything but hang limply when Goyle picked him up and roughly toss him on his back. It was actually sort of funny, if you thought about it, and the more he did, the funnier it seemed. Outsmarted by Goyle of all people. His laughter was choked, strangled by whatever sort of paralysis had him, but he couldn't seem to stop.
"It doesn't matter," Ron croaked out, trying to breathe through his hysteria. "You won't get to him anyway." It brought the faintest regret to him and he hoped Harry wouldn't think he'd just taken off again.
"Are you speaking about Potter? Really, my dear Mr. Weasley, you hardly give yourself enough credit."
It wasn't Goyle's voice, someone else who seemed strangely familiar. Ron struggled up from the wavering darkness, he knew that voice, it wasn't possible...
Goyle was still standing over him and the dull blankness that Ron had come to associate with the Imperius curse cleared from his eyes for just a moment, stark fear shining through the muddiness.
"You'll have plenty of time to talk to Mr. Goyle when you meet again." There was a muttered curse and bright flash of eerie green. Ron closed his eyes against it but couldn’t help feeling Goyle's body fall heavily next to him. The other man stepped over him, dismissing the dead man as easily as a stray dog laying in the street.
"And I wouldn't worry about Potter, my dear boy. He was merely a means to an ends. We have unfinished business to attend to, you and I." It came to him then and he knew, a stunning rush of pure clarity and he could only wish Goyle had killed him first.
"Yes," Ron whispered, without opening his eyes. "I suppose we do."
"Do you see this?" A hard kick in his ribs made him gasp and Ron wrenched his eyes open to look at the small item held in long white fingers. "Lovely, isn't it? It's called a Taser." He pushed a button on the side and a frisson of electricity arced at the tip. "You aren't really supposed to apply it to the spine, I'm afraid, but I'm sure you've noticed how well it worked. Much as I hate to use Muggle devices, I find that this one does have its charms. Quite effective." A sharp, cold smile. "Shall we see what happens when you put it elsewhere?"
Later, when Ron had run out of screams, when the rushing pendulum of agony had altered its course again and again over his body, he would admit that yes, it was quite an effective little tool, indeed.
~~*~~
-end chapter twenty-two-
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-12 03:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 12:37 am (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2004-05-12 04:38 pm (UTC)Thanks for the bit of humor before the torture started. :) I ran across this a while back and I've been checking for updates; thanks for the new chapter. Great story, and I'm looking forward to more - and more of Harry.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-12 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-12 10:34 pm (UTC)Serves me right for reading a Harry/Ron with actual plot !
no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-13 04:33 am (UTC)(y'know, my father's name is Ron. No, really.
...
I wish I hadn't just thought of that.)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 12:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-13 08:41 am (UTC)Dammit, I was gonna comment about the greatness of the shagging like rabbits line, and not I'm too upset to. ;P
::whimper:: Ron..
no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 12:43 am (UTC)I'm not saying anything else though. ;)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-14 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 12:44 am (UTC)Oh my God!!! Poor Ron!!!
Date: 2004-05-19 04:23 pm (UTC)By the way, I'm from Argentina, so I'm really sorry if you don't understand anything of what I've written. ;)
bye!!
Moni
Re: Oh my God!!! Poor Ron!!!
Date: 2004-05-20 12:45 am (UTC)And thank you so very much!
Surprised!!!
Date: 2004-05-24 02:19 am (UTC)Re: Surprised!!!
Date: 2004-06-09 01:57 am (UTC)You may not see this comment, but hey, thank you for all yours. ^__^
no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 12:06 pm (UTC)Err...
Date: 2004-05-29 03:43 am (UTC)Hi, found your story through Simon's Flower, love it, love it love it.
Gotta read next chapter. Gotta. Just gotta.
Normally I'm not incoherent, but...
Don't hurt Ronnie. I love Ron.
no subject
Date: 2004-06-02 08:19 pm (UTC)It feels good to feel this bad!!
*grins*
no subject
Date: 2004-07-11 12:26 am (UTC)~~*~~
-end chapter twenty-two-
...........do you REALIZE you have LEFT US HERE for two whole MONTHS!?!?!?
*whimper*
Please feel better soon, and please post more soon, and if there is ANYTHING I can do to help, hey, you got it.
But, please please please don't leave me hanging like this, ok? *whimper*
................
There, was that sufficently encouraging?
*wink* *grin*
Res
no subject
Date: 2005-04-24 02:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-07 07:14 pm (UTC)....*gets on knees and begs for more*
ahem. Heh.