Desperate Measures

Ron didn't know where he was. It was a bad dream. Maybe he had too much to drink and was hallucinating that an invisible force and dementors overcame him.

His head definitely felt like he had a hangover, but it particularly ached at the crown which later he discovered when he hit his head on the coffee table. He put his hand up softly to where the pain was sited. His hair was crunchy and matted there was a huge lump and what felt like a scab.

It bloody hurt. He still had no idea where he was, but by judging the hardness and cold of his bed - he was sleeping in the gutter. What the heck would his mother say if she had heard of him sprawled in some alleyway as pissed as a fart staggering down the road, passing out, hitting his head on the way down.

But Ron didn't go to the pub that night. He knew he hadn't.

***

He woke up many hours later, feeling a lot better, still a little delicate, but fine all the same. Ron thought he had fallen out of his bed because of the hard floor he was lying on and there were no blankets. He also made a mental note to start a fire going. It was blimming freezing. What was it recently with him being cold? He didn't get that; the house was usually so warm....

Ron finally began to clock his surroundings.

It was a room made entirely of stone. Walls, floors, but the door were wooden, and looked heavy - he bet it was locked by magic too. Where was his wand? He scanned the room again - there was no wand. He was starting to remember the previous time he had been awake and active and how he got that sore head. It was his still throbbing head and fuzzy feeling stupidity that kept him from thrashing around the room bellowing to be let out in panic. He let his eyes greedily swallow in the room; he decided that this must have been where they had taken him.

Ron stood up and staggered to the middle of the room, he discovered his bed was a simple stone step in the right hand corner of the room. On the left hand side opposite the bed, was a pit - obviously for toilet purposes and next to that, a stone bowl with water. There were no blankets; no chairs and the only light came from a little window ten feet above Ron's head.

The urge to use the pit was getting stronger, but he felt weak still and didn't know if he wanted to pee *there*. But he reminded himself of how desperate he was to go and since he didn't know how long he was going to be stuck there - no change of clothes, wetting himself was not an option.

Ron then hobbled over to the pit. Just as he was about to start, he heard the door open. Ron turned around not expecting anyone to be there - just his imagination. To his horror, he saw Lucius Malfoy standing there in the doorway with his usual look of disdain.

"Carry on Weasley," drawled the elder Malfoy, "I am not stopping you." Amused at catching Ron in such a position. "And turn around, stop pointing that thing at me." The man smirked and moved his eyes down in mock lechery. Ron turned around and zipped himself up. This was too surreal. It made his nausea worse like he was being shaken too much after a heavy meal. The Death Eater had now conjured three chairs, then went to the door and let two heavy set men in who looked too stupid to even open a door. This was getting weirder by the second, but it felt so real. This was no dream....

"Weren't you about to do something Weasley?"

"Just finished."

"So if I poke my wand in your bladder, you will not soil yourself like some little child?"

Ron sullenly looked at the floor.

"Don't you dare try."

"Don't dare me Weasley." His voice dipped down, and slowed down in a threatening way. Ron didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to get scared. Ron knew Malfoy would enjoy it if he knew that Ron was scared. Ron saw no choice but to maintain a brave facade.

"Can you leave the room then?"

The three men howled with laughter.

"You are joking? Leave you here, alone? I don't think so."

"Well can you turn around?"

"No."

Ron flushed and turned around again. This was not a time to argue, he was breaking his neck now, and wasn't going to last much longer, and if needs must....

This was the most humiliating experience of his life, even worse than his first few quidditch matches. Starting his day by peeing in front of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle senior, and being imprisoned like this. They were trying to unsettle him, size him up, and get their own queer kicks for all he knew. He really didn't care now that he was being watched, but obviously down below did.

"Seriously don't watch me!" Ron called, turning his head round to face them.

The three Death Eaters cracked up.

"Stage fright!" one of them hooted in between giggles. Ron couldn't distinguish who it was. After meaningful looks exchanged between the three, they turned their chair around while Ron raised his arms mouthing: 'Thank you!'

No sooner when he was finished and ready to face whatever they were going to throw at him, he heard 'Crucio!' and was hit by the curse at a hard force. Maybe it was in hope that he would fall back into the pit and drown... or at the least covered in urine and excrement that had built up over the years.

Ron jumped forward when he was hit, so he was spared that degradation of being covered in the stuff. But writhed and rolled in his pain, he was winded, there were no vocals to scream, and it wouldn't have done any good any way.

He felt like every bone, muscle and centimetre of his skin was being stabbed at, twisted and ripped apart, his head pounded and hair felt like it was being torn from him clump by clump. His body was being broken again and again.

Malfoy decided to end the curse when he was getting sick of holding his wand and not hearing Ron scream in his agony. Instead, he used 'wingardium leviosa!' to lift the crumpled body of Ron on the floor and fly him over the room, taking pleasure when Ron hit his head, or limbs on the wall. Malfoy then lowered him and left him drop from five feet high. Ron smashed onto the floor, he was dazed and reeling still from the Cruciatus.

"Had enough yet Weasley?"

Ron was gasping for breath, and didn't want to answer him, but as Malfoy raised his wand, all he wanted was an answer, he didn't care which, either way, he was going to subject him to more.

"What ever I say you're gonna do more," he panted.

"How very true." Stated Malfoy sweetly and lifted Ron up again, twirling him upside down and spinning him until Ron was sick - to his amusement - it had splashed Crabbe and Goyle the most. His revenge was short lived, as the wizards decided this was unacceptable and used their wands to pelt jets of boiling water, stones and sparks at him.

Ron was now very weak; he was feeling frail and silly again. The nausea began to building up worse than before. His body ached and the stings of what ever it was that was being chucked at him weren't helping. The thing that got Ron though was that he didn't know why this was happening to him.

***

It didn't click until later when Ron was allowed to be released from this ordeal that Malfoy was having his fun with him before the inquisition and real torture began. At this point when Malfoy had finished with him, Hermione was making her first evening meal for the Death Eater group.

He knew he was going to be tortured and questioned. He knew the topic as well - Harry. He had nothing on him. He didn't know where he was and he didn't know his plans damnit! Ron had to see this as a good thing, because it meant he couldn't leak anything. He didn't even have any news on The Order either. He was useless to the dark side. He could not help them, and as soon as they knew that - he would be killed.

But Ron knew that they were stupid. They wouldn't believe that he knew nothing and would try for days to get even the slightest bit of information.

He slumped on his stone bed dejectedly. He hoped Harry and The Order were coming to get him. Harry was going to come and save him, Harry always did. It was just a case of waiting.

"Please come," he whined, choking at the thought of his friend.

"Quickly."