Dead

"You filthy little bastard!"

The shock had not yet faded from Ron's eyes, and fury made his voice tremble.

"Hermione was even planning to let you leave first, and you betrayed us!"

"Shut your mouth, you idiot who knows nothing!"

Karkaroff used a ferocious expression to conceal the heart filled with terror. Blood gushed from the nose Ron had kicked broken, soaking his beard, flooding over his dry lips, and trickling down his chin onto his collar. Yet he did not wipe it away. He pressed his wand hard against Ron's brow, while his other hand reached beneath Harry's arm to keep him from falling.

"Master!"

Karkaroff strained to see through the billowing dust and the blaze of explosions. His hoarse, trembling voice could not convey the humility he wished to display.

"My great Master. I, Igor, have captured Harry Potter, who was trying to escape, along with his friend!"

No voice came from behind the dust. Perhaps he could not be bothered to respond—or perhaps even the Dark Lord was somewhat astonished by Karkaroff's shamelessness.

Karkaroff's voice and body trembled violently. Despair painted the image of a man at the end of his road across his deathly pale face.

Ron knew he had never hated anyone as much as he hated Karkaroff now. If he could, he would have gladly hit Karkaroff with a Cruciatus Curse! But he had no confidence. At this distance, he had no confidence he could evade Karkaroff's attack.

With his back to the battlefield, Ron did not know how Hermione was doing. But the clear voice that occasionally pierced the thunderous explosions told him she was still resisting. At the same time, Barty Crouch Jr.'s increasingly shrill and hysterical roars made Ron frantic with worry. So much so that he failed to notice Harry,