Disclaimer: The song lyrics are from Dean Brody's "Brothers." The world and characters belong to Ms. Rowling. It's her playground, I'm just playing in the sandbox.
The house was like a tomb.
I was hiding in my room.
As my brother made his way on down the hall.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, with my head in my hands, I was still aware of the sounds of the Burrow around me. The sound of my brothers and sister gathered in the front room. Of my mother and father standing at the foot of the stairs. All of them waiting for the other sound I could hear: that of my younger brother and his two best friends walking down the hall, bags in hand.
I didn't want to say goodbye.
And I was trying to deny there was a war,
And that he got the call.
I had spent so much time trying to ignore the fact that the world was beginning to crumble outside the sphere that was my world, that there was so much going on that I couldn't control. I think, deep down, that has been one of the motivations for the pranks George and I pull – an element of control and consistency in a family with so many people in it. I wasn't as naïve as I wanted to believe I was though. I knew, somewhere inside, that everything was changing.
I'll never forget the evening when little Ronniekins changed life around the Burrow. The dinner which found the whole family around the table enjoying another of mum's meals. Ron had been quiet all evening, and eventually Charlie called him on it. Ron had quieted the rowdy table with a few words: "I'm leaving."
We all knew what he meant, but he had gone on to explain it anyway. "Harry has to go, to fight. Hermione and I are going with him." We had all tried to jump in, to convince him to stay. "I won't leave him alone. Not when he needs me the most. Besides," he added, with a half-smile as he looked around the table, "he's not the only one with reasons to fight."
I watched him from my window
Walking down the drive.
Then I ran down the stairway
Through the front door and I cried.
I stood at the window, my fists hard in my pockets. I saw the three of them break away from the crowd of red heads on the doorstep and begin the walk to the gate where the wards ended and they would be able to apparate away to who-knows-where. Ron paused in his step and glanced over his shoulder, up at my window, then turned back to his friends and continued down the walk.
Suddenly I was running down the hall, down the stairs, and pushing through the crowd that was my family, shouting after my departing brother.
You come back you hear?
And I let him see my tears
I said I'll give you my rookie of DiMaggio.
I'll do anything you want,
Clean your room, or wash your car.
I'll do anything so long as you don't go.
But he said, this is what brothers are for.
Ron paused and turned when he heard my shout. I ran up to him and, with tears running down my face, started listing all the reasons I could come up with for him to stay. I tried to bargain with him, trick him, convince him to stay home. Ron just smiled a little, wiped a tear from my cheek, and announced: "This is what brothers are for."
I stared dumbly after him as he gave me one last hug, and turned away. He met up with Harry and Hermione at the gate and, as one, they turned on the spot and were gone.
Well I have my heroes,
But the one I love the most
Taught me how to hunt and swing a bat.
And I wrote him every night,
I said I miss our pillow fights,
But lately I just wonder where you're at.
I spent so many nights lying awake in my bed thinking about the three of them, but one in particular. I got lost in memories of growing up at the Burrow, of Hogwarts, of spending time together. I may be just on of his older brothers, but in his own way, Ron had always been teaching me things. And now, my little brother was out there, risking everything. I lost track of the hours that I spent wondering where he was, how he was doing.
Sometimes freedom makes it hard to live.
When it takes things from you that you don't want to give.
It wasn't like we were sitting around waiting for him to return. With the departure of the trio, the Order had sprung into action. We were working so hard that it should have been easy to forget, even for a moment, the three teens out there by themselves. Instead, we all put on brave faces and fought battles.
I said you come back you hear?
I miss you being near.
Laugh and fish down in the maple grove
I'll do anything you want.
There must be someone I can call,
And just maybe they would let you come back home.
But he wrote, this is what brothers are for.
Letters to and from Ron were scarce. We sent a few, but not many – too scared that the owl would lead people to wherever it was that the trio were. We knew that he got them though, and he would occasionally send replies. I sent letters full of continued efforts to convince him to return, that I needed him at home, I needed to know that he was safe. He would reply with vague letters, never giving any particulars about where they were or what they were doing, always ending with: "this is what brothers are for."
I may never have to face the anger of those guns,
Or lie cold and wounded in my blood,
Or know the sacrifice and what it must of cost
For him to love me that much.
We heard, now and then, of battles fought by the three teens, leaving a trail of Death Eaters in their wake. Of break-ins and robberies where random items would be stolen. Of individuals who had opened their door and found the trio on the step wanting information. We heard horror stories and success stories, and spent hours trying to decipher the grains of truth from the many lies and stories people were coming up with about the trio.
Well, it had been two years,
And I held back my tears
When I saw him in that wheel chair on the shore.
It had been two years. Two years that felt like many more. There had been more and more battles lately. More bloodshed and lives lost. We all knew, if we were honest with ourselves, that the end of the war was near. The Burrow was tense – it had been a while now since we had heard anything from Ron or the others
I was sitting at the worn table in the kitchen eating a sandwich when I heard it. The wards were going off, letting the occupants of the Burrow know that someone was approaching the home. I heard my family, like I was, moving towards the door, wands at the ready. Bill got there first and opened the door, and over his shoulder I could see what had stopped him in his tracks: they were home.
They were still a little way away, but they were there. Harry was hunched over, limping and looking as though the walking was hurting him. Hermione had her arm in a sling around her neck and was moving gingerly. The two of them were, together, pushing a wheelchair. A wheelchair that held my little brother. They were hurt, they were scarred, but they were alive.
And as I ran and held him tight,
That's when he looked me in the eye
And said I'm sorry that you have to push me home.
And I said hey, this is what brothers are for.
I shouldered past Bill, out the door, and began to run. I could hear my family behind me, but I stayed in the lead until I was before him. I bent down to his level and threw my arms around him, never wanting to let go.
The rest of my family caught up and began welcoming the trio. Harry handed dad a wand that wasn't his own and we all knew that they had completed them mission that they had set out to do. They were done, and now they were back with us.
As my family started to usher Harry and Hermione into the Burrow, Ron pulled away from me and looked me in the eye. "I'm sorry that you have to push me home."
And I said, "Hey, this is what brothers are for."