rontherun (rontherun) wrote in uprisingrpg, @ 2011-04-01 22:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | barty crouch, ron weasley |
Who: Ron Weasley, Barty Crouch
What: Room 101
Where: Interrogation Room at the MoM
When: Friday afternoon/early evening
Warnings: cussin’ and violence and head-games, oh my!
Status: Incomplete
Stupid, stupid, stupid . . . Ron honestly couldn’t decide what was worse, that he’d let himself get caught for something as stupid as tripping over a bloody tree root or that he’d let himself get captured alive. He’d gone down fighting at least, and one of the Carrows would be short a few fingers to remember him by, but he hadn’t been able to cut his own throat before they’d gotten the knife out of his hands. He’d failed as completely as it was possible to fail . . . well, almost. Because right now, all it came down too was holding out just long enough, goading his captors just enough that they killed him before they broke him and got any useful information from him. If worse came to worse he could bite his own tongue off to keep from talking if they drugged him, but that wouldn't stop them from ransacking his mind with Legelmency if it came to it. Frankly, he was surprised they hadn't done that already. He just hoped Harry and Hermione weren’t stupid enough to try and come after him . . . but that wasn’t much hope either.
He wasn’t sure how many hours had passed since he’d come to in the cold cell, or even where he was . . . Azkaban, the Ministry, some other hellhole. It didn’t matter. He’d already been worked over by some Death Eater he hadn’t recognized, but they hadn’t even asked questions yet, just cut him and Crucioed him and beat him with wet rope and shoved his face into a bucket of his own blood and piss, then then left him alone to stew in his own failure, cold and naked and bleeding with a Dementor for company.
After about an hour (or maybe it only felt like an hour, or maybe it had been longer), he’d named it Steve. Weirdly, talking to the thing like it was a person seemed to help with the numbing, soul-deadening cold the creature radiated. Not much, but a little, and Ron would resist as long as he could. For Harry. For Hermione . . . no cloaked horror would take that from him, not without a fight.
“So, what, they give you dental? Do you even have teeth? Guess I’ll get to find out soon,” he chuckled mirthlessly, and that comment got the first reaction he’d seen from the cloaked monstrosity, a slight rustling that could’ve been a laugh. “Don’t ‘spose I could bum a smoke of you, could I? It’s traditional, you know.”
The Dementor continued to just float there, and Ron spat a wad of bloody saliva at it. "You're a ruddy terribly conversationalist, Steve, you know that? Sodding hell YOU FUCKS COULD AT LEAST GIVE ME A SODDING MAGAZINE BETWEEN TORTURE SESSIONS, I NEVER DID CATCH THE END OF THE CANNONS GAME LAST NIGHT AND I'D RUDDY WELL LIKE TO KNOW THE RUDDY SCORE!"