rontherun (rontherun) wrote in uprisingrpg, @ 2011-04-18 22:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | harry potter, hermione granger, ron weasley |
Who: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, (possibly) Harry Potter
What: Licking their wounds (not like that, weirdos!)
Where: Trio’s tent in the woods (during Harry’s meeting with Ginny?)
When: Backdated to Saturday
Warnings: none likely?
Status: incomplete
The last two weeks had passed in a fog of pain and drugs. On the whole, Ron preferred the drugs. A part of him hated it, that just a few hours in the hands of Barty Crouch would reduce him to this broken wreck of a human being . . . but the sensible part of him knew he was damn lucky to have been locked in a sell with Barty Crouch Jr. for three hours and still be sane and have all of his limbs attached, even if he was short his fingernails and a fair amount of skin and quite a few bones were broken. And it wasn’t as though the odds had been even, what with him being chained to a chair and all. A part of him even took a perverse pride in the fact that he’d gotten under the psychopath’s skin enough to merit a real homicidal effort. And he was getting better. The potions and drugs he’d stolen or bought on the gray market in shady transactions over the years were being put to good use, to say nothing of whatever Healing skills Hermione had been able to teach herself . . . and given how brilliant she was, he was more than willing to give her most of the credit.
Hermione.
He’d kissed her, finally. Before . . . Merlin, that seemed an age ago. She’d been at his side almost the whole time since his rescue (which he didn’t remember), save only for when she’d had to go for supplies or when Harry was laid out with an especially bad broadcast from BBC Voldemort and needed more help than Ron did . . . that last bit worried him. Not least because in his current state he would be bloody useless in a real battle. Brilliant as his Hermione was, he would need a proper Healer (or doctor) with a proper supply of medicines to get him back into fighting shape anytime soon. And he still owed Hermione drinks.
Well, really, he owed her a lot more than that.
At the moment, though, he had more immediate issues . . . ones that still required help.
“Hermione? Harry?” He sat up and winced, his ribs stinging (as if stinging was a remotely adequate word) “Could one of you give me a lift up? I need to piss.”
This too was embarrassing, not being able to walk without help. The son of a bitch had enjoyed breaking his toes.