rontherun (rontherun) wrote in uprisingrpg, @ 2010-10-20 16:21:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ella svetkova, ron weasley, terrence higgs |
Who: Ron, T and Ella
What: There’s some cliché about unlikely allies that covers this situation, right?
Where: The maintenance shed of a golf course in Buxton. No, really.
When: Backdated to Sunday night, after this and this
Warnings: Language
Status: Incomplete
He’d buggered things up, Ron could admit that. Getting drunk had been stupid enough, even if it had also been an unavoidable under the circumstances if he’d wanted to keep his cover in the Muggle underworld. But writing a public journal entry while drunk that was effectively a declaration of war had been much, much stupider. It was particularly stupid given they suspected that the Ministry was already trying to track them through the journals after Harry’s ill advised efforts to communicate with the people they’d left behind. Ironically, the results so far hadn’t been all that bad. They’d learned more about what was going on in the Wizard World than they’d really been certain of in months; most importantly, they knew now that there were still people who weren’t under the influence of whatever it was the Ministry was using to control the population, people who were at least beginning to fight back. Harry at least seemed a lot happier, knowing that. But in Ron's opinion, this knowledge didn’t change the essential facts: the Death Eaters were in charge of the Ministry, and had persuaded or forced most of the Wizard World to accept their authority. They were still fugitives, and most everyone else who was willing to oppose the Ministry appeared to be in hiding or on the run just like them. Maybe they hadn’t lost yet, exactly, but they were still losing. And Ron was pretty thoroughly convinced now that winning would require taking more aggressive measures than either Harry or Hermione were comfortable with yet.
When he’d left them tonight, he’d simply told them that he was going to retrieve some supplies and scout out some potential safe-houses: nothing he hadn’t done before, but convincing them to stay behind had taken some doing, though, given his recent behavior. Still, he'd been adamant.
The night air was cool in Buxton, although strictly speaking he wasn’t in Buxton itself but on one of the many golf courses that seemed to surround the place, though this wasn’t a links proper, apparently, but a driving range or whatever it was they called the practice courses. Unlike football, the game of golf was still mostly a mystery to Ron, not being especially popular with the sort of people he spent most of his time around. The point was that it was dark, unoccupied at night, and had a run-down utility shed packed with assorted lawn care equipment. Really, if you were careful, a golf course was as good as a warehouse or a cemetery or a train station locker for hiding things away, especially if you added a bit of magic to discourage prying eyes. Ron had dozens of such stashes all over the country: some just held money (Muggle and wizard) and fake identity papers, others assorted contraband. This was one of his smaller caches; just a couple of hundred quid cash, a change of clothes, a small revolver and ammunition . . . and, at the moment, his journal and an improvised explosive he’d set up as a nasty surprise for any Ministry thugs who traced its location. They’d talked before about trying to use the journals as a false trail for the Death Eaters, and this had seemed as good an opportunity as any. He hadn’t mentioned the bomb to Harry and Hermione, though. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing they’d approve of, even with the additional Muggle repelling charms he’d set up to make sure that only someone actually looking for them would be harmed by it. Ron didn’t want to accidentally maim some poor sod of a groundskeeper, but if a Death Eater or two wound up with a face full of rusty shrapnel well, that was one less they’d have to worry about later.
It was a war, after all.
From the outside, the shed looked undisturbed, but Ron was still careful in his approach. He didn’t think there were many Death Eaters who knew about Muggle explosives, but it would be a hell of away to find out be having his own ambush turned around on him. So he approached cautiously, with his wand drawn. He also had his .45 on him, but he didn’t have these out yet—he’d need at least one hand free to defuse his tripwires . . . .