Bugger, bugger, bugger. He'd been wary of a possible ambush, of course, but actually being caught in one . . . well, he hadn't expected Death Eaters to actually look for a bomb, dealing with Muggle attacks wasn't there style. At least, that's what he'd assumed until now. And it was also weird that there were just two of them; if he'd been the one laying the trap, he'd have set the watchers further away, ready to call for re-enforcements to surround the place. Weirder still, the two waiting on the inside had just casually announced their presence as opposed to just killing him outright like they should have. Possibly, there were more in waiting . . . but why tip him off at all, then? It didn't make sense.
They've got the bloody drop on me and they're bloody stalling . . . ? Well, that was fine with Ron, he was willing to stall too if they were up for a game of silly buggers. "Well, it's a shed. All sorts of rubbish in a shed. Don't 'spose you two'd be up for coming out of the shed slowly with your hands where I can see 'em, then?"
A part of him wanted to laugh. After years on the run with Harry and Hermione, terrified out of his wits about what would happen the day the Death Eaters finally caught up with them, here he was caught with his proverbial trousers down and yet so far nobody'd thrown a single hex . . . well, to be honest it was a bit of an anticlimax. Maybe they were waiting to see if Harry and Hermione were with him, or waiting for reinforcements of their own, or they had orders to take him alive or some such rubbish (like he'd any intention of that). He knew he should just try to run (just Aparating would be too risky, if they were any good at all they'd have wards up that would prevent that), but of course trying to run would turn this into a violent confrontation. Which, so far, it wasn't.