Rose and Ron!
It was so troubling, seeing Rose like this. Ron could not, by any means, conclude that he was exactly her father. He didn't raise her, he didn't have all those memories of her growing up, he didn't know Rose as well as a father should know their daughter. Yet there was an undeniable attachment to the girl that he found he had developed since he had arrived here. The way she looked a cross between himself and Hermione, the way every time he looked at her he saw a bit of a future that he was beginning to realize he wanted. Not to mention the fact that, all in all, Rose was turning out to be quite brilliant. He'd taken it upon himself to avoid her less and interact with the girl a bit more, which had turned out to be surprisingly pleasing. As much as he may have denied it in the beginning, Rose was part of his family now. It was his duty to protect her. If that meant recklessly tearing his way through a building of psychotic nutjobs, then so be it. It wasn't like it would have been the first time Ron would have done so for something or someone that he had cared about.
Still, he felt ill looking at her like this. Ron paled considerably, a hand uncertainly reaching out to push some of the hair that had been plastered to the side of her face with dried blood. She was a downright mess and that didn't even begin to cover it. Swallowing hard, Ron looked down, shuffling from one foot to the other almost as if he had no idea as to what it was that he was supposed to be doing right now. He didn't. He could barely breathe seeing Rose like this - it felt like some invisible force had reached into his chest and wrapped itself around his heart, squeezing it; strangling it. The sting at his eyes countered the feeling immediately and Ron had to do all that he could to ensure that he would not begin crying in front of this girl who, for some bizarre reason, was depending on him to get her out of there alive.
Blinking, Ron forced a smile. "Didn't take much interest in partying around with the rest of them," he expressed, shoulders rising awkwardly as he shrugged. "Thought I'd...get a head start." Rather, he couldn't wait for everyone else. Nor would he when the life of someone he cared for was in danger. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Ron forced himself to look away from her wounds. All that blood. Merlin, he'd never seen so much blood on a person that he cared about. He turned away, raising a hand to brush over his faces briefly, before he found a long, wide cart situated at the corner of the room. It was covered with various bloodied pieces of metal. Ron didn't know what they all were - objects like these were foreign to him. Muggle, he imagined. Hermione and Harry would have been able to figure them far easier than he could have. Yet, despite that, he was able to recognize that they were what the demon must have used on Rose. Blood everywhere, dripping all onto the floor. Anger snapped within him once again, twisting into those feelings of pure horror and dread that he'd been battling as it were.
Lifting his wand, Ron muttered a spell and cleaned the blood away. There would be no traces of Rose's torture here for the demon to bask over. He had already taken enough of her blood. Pulling the cart back, he physically dragged the device back to where Rose was laying and straightened it out. It wasn't quite as long as the table that she was spread out on top of, but it was definitely long and wide enough for her to fit onto. He would get her out safely on this. Then, if someone else already had not beaten him to it, Ron would personally return to the building in search for Alastair. No one messed with a Weasley and got away with it. No one.
"Right, I'm gonna...I'm gonna move you." He began, looking to Rose again with that feeling of uncertainty.