In the muggle superhero comics father brings us, there are always at least two characters: the superhero and the sidekick. The superhero is the star, the too-muscled, smiling bloke on the cover, wearing the embarrassing, yet glorified tights and cape. He's usually either carrying some damsel in his arms or flying through the skies dodging missiles and whatnot with his superpowers. The spotlight is always on him, and it's him, who is always the one to save the day. Sure, he gets mugged by thousands of reporters and admirers and, yes, there is the occasional lunatic who is either obsessed with murdering him, or finding out who he really is, but you have to admit, it can't be that bad to have girls dream about you and guys envying you.
And then there is the sidekick, the guy sitting on the sidelines, waiting for his cue to help the superhero out of his tight spot , then go sit down like a good boy. And when the time comes for the reporters to jump at the hero, the sidekick's pushed aside, forgotten, because really, who cares about the 'helper', the 'tag along'? Nobody, although if any git took the time to sit and think about, you'd realize that the hero would probably never have gotten his way through the tunnel or into the dungeons without the sidekick.
No. Way.
So you can imagine what it's like being the friend of a hero. It feels like the rest of the world forgets about you, while they turn to the bloody Boy-Who-Lived with congrats and acknowledgements. But does the sidekick get anything? A pat on the head and a "Good job, Ronald, but did you see how Harry dodged that dragon? Brilliant move, pure genius."
Yes, why don't you just award him the bloody Order of Merlin?
First time I met him, or, technically, found out who he was, I was elated. Maybe if I hang around him they'll recognize me for more than the red-haired, penniless Weasley donned in hand-me-down robes. Maybe they'd realize I'm more than just a Weasley, maybe they'd realize I had a name. Ron Weasley. Maybe.
And maybe Malfoy will profess his undying love to Hermione.
Did I really think that? Did I really think that people would see I wasn't just Arthur Weasley's son, Percy's little brother? Maybe I did, but I know that as soon as everyone saw Harry walking around with me and chatting away with me, that I was no longer known as a Weasley, but something much, much more worse.
Harry Potter's best mate.
Harry Potter is so great. Harry Potter's defeated Him four or five times now. Harry Potter's was the first first-year on his quidditch team and flies like a professional. Harry Potter's got a Fire Bolt. Harry Potter's got some great friends, too. Something Weasley and Granger.
I often wonder if I was made to be the sidekick on purpose, like maybe it was training for something bigger and better. Mum says that our best deeds are done in secret, and our own satisfaction with doing something good grows because we know we didn't just do it for show, like some celebrities donate to a hospital to get people to like them, and all. Half of me agrees with her and knows she's right, but the other half of me keeps thinking that everyone needs recognition, and not just the pat on the head, either.
But, really, what if I was made this sidekick for some greater reason. And - it sounds really obnoxious - but what if it was faith that I had met Harry that day at the Platform? What if it was faith that Hermione burst into our compartment and we become friends? Did I have some greater part to play? Yeah, maybe nobody knew it, but what if I was, like some kind of key to Harry's success in defeating You-Know-Who?
I don't think I necessarily need the recognition, but just the feeling that I have a greater part in this world. A greater part than just the sidekick.
There's something about knowing you can do it, though, and having other people know as well. Just that feeling, you know? I've felt it before. Dad had taken us camping as a muggle experience. I had drifted off, walking in the woods, exploring. And right when I turn, BAM, there's this wall and I realize it's cliff and it's bloody big, and it seemed even bigger, taking in account I was nine at the time. And I had this crazy idea to climb it.
I started climbing, taking one step first and second one, and just climbing and climbing, looking for ridges I could put my feet, feeling the rock beneath my fingers. It was great, and despite the fact that I was a great git, oblivious to the danger of it all (that was the greatest, not knowing I was in danger), I felt uplifted, like nothing could stop me. And I kept climbing and climbing and I realize now that it was at least half an hour that I climbed, making only one stop, but I didn't know. When I reached the top, it was like a breath of fresh air, you know? Like you were hearing and seeing and knowing everything for the first time.
And I'm standing there, not knowing my parents were searching everywhere for me, or that the Dark Lord was growing in power, or that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived was getting beat up by his older cousin. But I was….exhilarated. And I screamed.
It was stupid of me to scream, I know, I mean I was on a mountain, that Merlin knows how old, and I was screaming as loud as I could, raising it a decibel higher each time. I could've been killed, I know, but just the power of feeling like you're the only guy in the world, the only person who was on this very cliff, screaming his lungs out, stupid enough to ignore the fact that it would give me a bloody bad sore throat the second I stop. I was…I don't know. But just knowing that I could climb that cliff and still be alive, that was wonderful.
Of course, it wasn't so wonderful when mum finally found me walking back to camp and gave me an earful. And I didn't tell her where I was, just that I was walking around, and it felt great, because I had that secret and it was only mine.
Like I said earlier though, it wouldn't hurt to get a little recognition for what you've done. You want people to realize you're not just like them, you're different.
Or maybe you just want them to realize that you are just like them.
I love Harry. Merlin, he's my best mate. He's like a brother to me. Hermione often reprimands me for acting otherwise, but it's true and he knows it. But it's like, all my life, I've needed something more than what I've been given. I want to be more than just a Weasley, just Harry Potter's best mate. I want to be more than just Ron, too, if I can handle it. I want to be more than just a sidekick. I don't want to be a part of the scenery, no matter how used to it I am. I want to be the superhero for once.
I want to be more.
But I'm just the sidekick.