He's fading into the background again, watching quietly in the shadows while people clamor for the attention of the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived, the media's darling, because he's a hero, and he had though he was done with being jealous, that he'd grown out of his envy for his best friend around the same time they had all been forced to grow up because there was a war going on.
It turns out he was wrong, because here he is, years later, and he's still jealous.
And he shouldn't be. He knows that, because it isn't as if Harry ever asked for any of this, the fame, the wealth, the adoration, and truth be told, the price Harry's had to pay for fame should really be a deterrent, but Ron can't help but feel just a little bit inadequate as he watches from the shadows.
He was always the one who was never noticed amongst the crowd of boisterous, red-headed Weasley brothers. He wasn't Bill with his perfect grades and charm or Charlie the badass former Quidditch star who now spends his time in Romania working with dragons. He's not Percy who at least had perfect grades and the title of Head Boy to his name. He's not Fred and George whose impish charm and crazy pranks bring them notoriety. He's just Ron, the mediocre Quidditch player with mediocre grades.
And he wonders, not for the first time, why a witch as smart and beautiful as Hermione would choose him.