WHO : Ron Weasley and his kidnappers.
WHAT : Ron is taken away! =(
WHERE : Outside the Ministry and then to an undisclosed location. :O
WHEN : Backdated to like last week.
STATUS : Log/Complete.
RATING : R for violence and Ron's mouth.

"How does it feel to be the dirty blooded one now?"

And really, Ron couldn't tell. His head was just pounding terribly. He had no idea what had just happened. Something just came over him, and he doubled over, spitting something out that tasted like blood. His blood? Someone else's blood? He had no clue. It was just in his mouth, and he tasted it sour and grainy, probably because it was mixed with sand from the floor where he landed after they smacked a good one across the back of his head.

"Try using your Pure magic to get yourself out of this one."

Magic? What was magic? Ron didn't know. Anything and everything that made sense was just pain, discomfort, fear. What was happening to him? Who were these voices? Why couldn't he see a bloody thing? And why couldn't he stand or fight or knock someone's teeth out? He was weak. Weaker than he'd ever felt before in his entire life. Not even when he carried that Horcrux around his neck did he feel this bad. It was like he was dying. And he couldn't say a word.

"Not so tough is he, mates?"

Tough? Tough? Oh, he didn't feel like being tough. He just wanted to be free of this pain, because he felt another blow, like the tip of a hard shoe against his ribs.

"Fuck!"

"He speaks! Speak again, fair Juliet!"

And they laughed, but it was coming in and out. Another cough of blood. Fuck, he really was dying, wasn't he? Coughing up blood whether it was his or someone else's was never a good sign. They'd kicked him good, probably snapped one or two of his ribs. Bastards. What did they want with him? Why were they doing this?

"Let's go, boys."

He was being moved. Oh, no. Oh hell no. That wasn't good. That wasn't going to happen. No fucking way. They weren't going to take him anywhere. He had to struggle. He had to fight them off. He had a daughter, and that was all he could think about. Rosie. Rosie. Rosie...... Hermione. His girls. His girls needed him. He needed to get back to them.

But it was no use. Thy drugs were quick. Soon, he would feel nothing. Soon, he would fall into a deep slumber, until he was to be waken up again for another beating. Soon. Soon.

"He'll get his."