prompt for July 11th - Harry Potter/Sneakers
Not sure how well I'll be able to keep up over vacation - but hey, we have Internet. And there's one good thing about lots of plane travel; I got some writing done.
Prompt for July 11:
You're here alone.
Ron almost returns to the campsite the moment he lands at the Burrow, but thinks better of it; Apparition's hardly his strong point, and if he tries to go that far again too soon, he'll do more harm than good. Besides, he's still got enough ill feeling in him to think it'll serve Harry and Hermione right to have to get on without him for a while. Odds are they're moving camp now anyway.
The ill will's completely evaporated three days later, but his mum's insistent that he stay for 'a proper Christmas' as long as he's home. He doesn't mind the chance to pump Ginny for information at all (she's still furious that Harry didn't see fit to trust her with details, and Ron rectifies that as much as he feels safe doing), and the twins' attempts to test new products on him still grate, but at least keep the atmosphere familiar.
Still, it's not the same as being out there and trying to help, progress or no progress.
He makes up his mind to leave again as the Christmas party draws to a close. The problem is, he hasn't the faintest idea of where to go; Harry and Hermione have surely moved camp by now. The Americans and their tracking device might be able to find the camp, but he doesn't know where to find them, either.
He considers checking Grimmauld Place, and almost dismisses the idea out of hand, considering why they had to stop using the house in the first place. On the other hand, though, any Death Eaters who staked the place out have probably given it up as a dead end, by now. And if he knew where to find an enclosed space in this weather, he'd bloody well use it.
He lands on the doorstep, lets himself in, sits through the Order's protective charms, and stops short in the front hall. Someone has been here since the three of them left, and they've sealed off the curtains over Mrs. Black's portrait with an odd silvery substance. He wonders for a moment if it's some kind of modified Sticking Charm, before the sound of someone coming upstairs from the kitchen interrupts his thoughts.
Ron raises his wand and turns around in time to see Crease approaching, with his gun at the ready; they eye each other for a few moments before Crease lowers his weapon and says, "What in hell are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing." He's sure part of the Fidelius, if not the spells put on by the Blacks, is supposed to keep Muggles from noticing the house at all - but if Crease is here, the other four probably are too, so something didn't exactly work.
"One of your friends brought Martin here by accident, in September. We had such a hard time finding the place that it seemed reasonable anyone else would, too."
"Is that who that was? When we got to the forest, Hermione said she thought it was a Death Eater!"
Crease sighs; it's one of those heavy ones that usually follow Mother's theories. "I understand how panic changes judgment, and that was a reasonable assumption, but really. There were three of you and one of him, whether Martin was motion-sick or not. You might have stopped to check before sacrificing your hideout!"
"We're new at this, all right? We're not going to do everything perfectly. And we are really trying to get somewhere with all this work."
"Carl said you'd left because you were getting nowhere."
Ron sighs. "That bloody locket was playing games with my head. Anyway, they'll get less nothing done without me, if that's possible. But they've probably broken camp by now, so I thought I'd see if they'd come back here, what with the weather."
"Do you know whose house this is?"
"Harry's, now. It was in his godfather's family for ages."
Crease looks mildly pained, but doesn't comment - which Ron suspects is only because he doesn't have the words to do a full-blown tirade.
"I did think of your tracking device, actually," Ron says, once the silence starts going on awkward.
"Mother's tracking device," Crease corrects, without looking up from finally putting his gun away.
"It's not ours, is my point. And I doubt Hermione's taken it out of her bag yet. Do you think your equipment could find them?"
"...We'll have to see if they're in range." With that, Crease turns toward the kitchen stairs, and Ron follows.
Prompt for July 11:
You're here alone.
Ron almost returns to the campsite the moment he lands at the Burrow, but thinks better of it; Apparition's hardly his strong point, and if he tries to go that far again too soon, he'll do more harm than good. Besides, he's still got enough ill feeling in him to think it'll serve Harry and Hermione right to have to get on without him for a while. Odds are they're moving camp now anyway.
The ill will's completely evaporated three days later, but his mum's insistent that he stay for 'a proper Christmas' as long as he's home. He doesn't mind the chance to pump Ginny for information at all (she's still furious that Harry didn't see fit to trust her with details, and Ron rectifies that as much as he feels safe doing), and the twins' attempts to test new products on him still grate, but at least keep the atmosphere familiar.
Still, it's not the same as being out there and trying to help, progress or no progress.
He makes up his mind to leave again as the Christmas party draws to a close. The problem is, he hasn't the faintest idea of where to go; Harry and Hermione have surely moved camp by now. The Americans and their tracking device might be able to find the camp, but he doesn't know where to find them, either.
He considers checking Grimmauld Place, and almost dismisses the idea out of hand, considering why they had to stop using the house in the first place. On the other hand, though, any Death Eaters who staked the place out have probably given it up as a dead end, by now. And if he knew where to find an enclosed space in this weather, he'd bloody well use it.
He lands on the doorstep, lets himself in, sits through the Order's protective charms, and stops short in the front hall. Someone has been here since the three of them left, and they've sealed off the curtains over Mrs. Black's portrait with an odd silvery substance. He wonders for a moment if it's some kind of modified Sticking Charm, before the sound of someone coming upstairs from the kitchen interrupts his thoughts.
Ron raises his wand and turns around in time to see Crease approaching, with his gun at the ready; they eye each other for a few moments before Crease lowers his weapon and says, "What in hell are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing." He's sure part of the Fidelius, if not the spells put on by the Blacks, is supposed to keep Muggles from noticing the house at all - but if Crease is here, the other four probably are too, so something didn't exactly work.
"One of your friends brought Martin here by accident, in September. We had such a hard time finding the place that it seemed reasonable anyone else would, too."
"Is that who that was? When we got to the forest, Hermione said she thought it was a Death Eater!"
Crease sighs; it's one of those heavy ones that usually follow Mother's theories. "I understand how panic changes judgment, and that was a reasonable assumption, but really. There were three of you and one of him, whether Martin was motion-sick or not. You might have stopped to check before sacrificing your hideout!"
"We're new at this, all right? We're not going to do everything perfectly. And we are really trying to get somewhere with all this work."
"Carl said you'd left because you were getting nowhere."
Ron sighs. "That bloody locket was playing games with my head. Anyway, they'll get less nothing done without me, if that's possible. But they've probably broken camp by now, so I thought I'd see if they'd come back here, what with the weather."
"Do you know whose house this is?"
"Harry's, now. It was in his godfather's family for ages."
Crease looks mildly pained, but doesn't comment - which Ron suspects is only because he doesn't have the words to do a full-blown tirade.
"I did think of your tracking device, actually," Ron says, once the silence starts going on awkward.
"Mother's tracking device," Crease corrects, without looking up from finally putting his gun away.
"It's not ours, is my point. And I doubt Hermione's taken it out of her bag yet. Do you think your equipment could find them?"
"...We'll have to see if they're in range." With that, Crease turns toward the kitchen stairs, and Ron follows.