If someone accuses me to be far too Ron-centric... well, he's completely right! But, alas!

I'm not sure if this fanfic deserves the 'crossover' tag since no Marvel characters are going to appear... but since I've taken the Marvel idea for Captain Britain, I put it just to be sure!

I don't own any characters (JKR does); ok, I've said it!

Chapter 1 : Too hot for you?

"Move, move! Don't look back!" His throat was as harsh as his tone, but fighting Death Eaters was a good recipe to get just that. He kept the ceiling to collapse as everyone in the room scrambled outdoors, then he followed them.

Diagon Alley was a mess; not only lots of buildings were on fire, but the streets were crowded with panicking people the Order and the Aurors were barely managing to control. And the noises of the ongoing battle were just getting closer and closer. Great.

"Ron!" His bushy-haired friend, as blackened by soot as him, came running. "How it's going?" she asked, trying to catch her breath. He laughed grimly. "What do you mean with 'how it's going'? There are just too many burning buildings, the Death Eaters are far too close for my liking, and Harry is just playing the hero-part, of course putting his life in danger, but that's a given!"

The angry glare that she shot him should have been followed by an according, sharp answer, but it was cut short by Lupin. "Ron, Hermione, this way! We need help!" Without even thinking, they started running behind him and Tonks, because it was an open secret that where he was, there you could find Nymphadora.

Their run ended at the zillionth house almost engulfed in flames. The two elder wizards sprang inwards, leaving the two of them to guard the door, in case Voldemort's lackeys should come too closely. And they could see, in the distance, the Battle Royale that was going on, near Gringott's. The looked at each other, worriedly; the fear that couldn't be put into words was thus transmitted instantly, along with someone else. They both felt the insane urge to kiss each other, but at the same time, they pushed it back; they had almost confessed their shared feelings from some time now, but that was no time for smooching.

As Lupin and Tonks went out escorting the family, the battle seemed to subside, and soon the smoke cleared a little bit, enough to see that the only figures left were those of the Ministry and of the Order. They made their way slowly, passing through the crowd, until they reached their friend. Harry was standing near to Dumbledore and Sirius, the three of them ragged and with small cuts and wounds from the battle. And the look they had on their face told them at once that, although the Death Eaters had been driven off, the price had been extorted in blood currency.

"How bad it is?" Ron asked quietly. The elderly Headmaster looked up at him and sighed deeply. "Voldemort's forces were repulsed. But for that, four Aurors and five other Ministry dependants paid with their life; and three other will sustain permanent damage." A moment of silence followed, broken by the sound of "Ron! RON!" nearing. And a second later, the Weasley family materialized at their side, the signs of fiery dueling etched on their faces.

"Are you alright?" asked Mr. Weasley, to which his youngest son answered with a brief nod. "Thank Merlin! I was worried sick, seeing all those buildings collapsing, and..." "Don't worry, Dad! Ron's tougher than he looks!" Fred interrupted him, grinning, quickly followed by his twin. "Of course. And he is better than he looks, otherwise how could you explain Hermione falling for him in such a blatant..." "Could you quit that? I'm too tired to insult you, right now!" the target of their irony told them sternly, trying to wipe some of the dirt from his face.

The laughter and the good mood that followed were tempered by the signs of the tragedy that was the last event in the war against Voldemort. But Ron firmly believed that a high morale was one of the most useful allies you could have while fighting against a ruthless enemy.

A loud crack and screaming vanquished their mirth. "Madam, please, stand back, there's nothing..." a Ministry wizard, the epitome of defeat by judging by his expression, was trying to hold back a middle aged witch, who was struggling to get inside a building who was on its good way to be completely destroyed by the cursed fire set by the Dark Wizards. "NO... my boy, my son... LET ME GO! I MUST SAVE HIM!" Their faces fell at the same time; for not even Dumbledore could put out that fire in time to save the house... or the boy. Over the fire's roaring, a faint scream echoed, the response to the woman's desperation. Lupin's face went hard. "Poor woman. I wish there were something we could do, but... RON? WHAT ARE YOU..."

As soon as he had understood what was going on, Ron had felt something heavy fell on his chest, moving something that he'd never thought he actually possessed. It was like all of himself, every part of him were rebelling against the certain doom that awaited the boy that was still alive, in that hell. And as soon as he realized that, he realized he was running towards the hole that once was a door. Lifting his arms to protect his face, he managed to break through. Without even thinking of what he was doing, or the thread on which his life was now hanging on, he surged towards the stairs. Thankfully, the flames had found their combustible near the walls, so his path was comparatively easier, or else he wouldn't have done it.

As soon as his foot touched the first floor, he realized a clock was ticking, and was also dangerously close to the moment the floor would cave in. Coughing heavily for the smoke that poured everywhere, he picked up a coughing sound that wasn't his. Striding towards that direction, he stumbled upon the boy he was looking for. A six years-old child, he was completely paralysed by fear; without stopping, he picked him up, yelling in his ear : "HOLD FAST!" He scrambled towards the stairs, but he had barely reached the top that a huge wave of fire made him pull back some steps. The line of retreat was blocked; and he could feel by the creaking under his feet that the floor would resist only a few more seconds before collapsing.

Ron looked around, desperately. His eyes focused on the window; some wooden beams had fell right before it, but a small opening was still there. Not enough for someone as tall as him to pass through in time. But for a small child...

In one moment of complete lucidity, he felt everything : the noise of the flames that were about to claim the wooden floor; the yelling outside that was telling him his family and his friends were trying everything to put down the fire, without success; the boy's terrorized scream. "WE'RE GONNA DIE! WE'RE NEVER GOING TO MAKE IT!" He looked down at him, with detachment, as if it were some kind of memory of something he no more belonged to. His voice came to his ears, as if from a great distance : "Cover your face!"

And with a strength he didn't know he had, he literally threw the young boy right into the opening, the inertia breaking the window, luckily without hurting him, to safety. Harry's yell of "Levicorpus!" reached him at the same time as the floorboards succumbed to the greedy flames, and gravity heartlessly pushed him down, towards the roaring hell, towards death. His last sensation, before the curse devoured everything, was that of a smile forming on his lips. And his last thought was for the girl he would have never imagined to play such an enormous role in his life, the first time he'd seen her.

Hermione...

"Levicorpus!"

The young boy's fall was eased to safety by Harry's spell. But they saw him land safety near his mother just with a small part of their consciousness. Because the main part was looking horrified at the fountain of sparks that had saluted the first floor's collapse; merely two seconds later, the roof groaned loudly, and with an even bigger effect, it crumbled down, reducing the building to a shapeless pile of burning stuff.

No one managed to talk. No one even managed to express the feeling of denial that had surfaced together with a pain too great to acknowledge this early. And so they merely watched the indifferent fire devouring what was left of the house.

What was left of the person that had just received the dubious honour of entering the list of Voldemort's last victims.

No one was surprised that the first one to speak was Hermione. "No..." she whispered, sounding surprised. She was talking for all of them. Her legs refused to sustain her weight any longer, so she repeated that while on her knees. "No..." She couldn't took her eyes away from the place where her life had just been shattered to pieces. And then, she broke both the gaze and her denial, falling forwards, starting to sob.

"No! It can't be! It can't... ROOOOON!"

Silence was the only answer her anguish got.

Far, far away...

Ron awoke with a start. He didn't even realize he was laying down until he realized he had gotten up.

This is crazy, he though. He looked down at his hands, and they were full of burns, and blisters. Yet, he felt no pain.

But before he could express his utter shock in other ways, a deep, almost musical voice said : "Welcome, Ronald Weasley." He looked up, and saw an elderly figure. His beard was shining as the purest snow would, his face and hands were incredibly wrinked, yet in his eyes, there was a hidden strength that made him look incredibly alive.

"Where am I?" His voice was not harsh. In fact, it was just... full of curiosity. "You are in Otherworld." was the chanted answer. That awakened some old memory of bedtime stories, that scared him most of anything else up to that moment. "Am I... dead?" The old man's face didn't change anything of his benevolent expression. "Yes." Ron couldn't say anything, nor could he think about anything; he was too horrified.

"Given that you died while heroically and selflessly saving an innocent's life by sacrificing yours, I am giving you an opportunity. To return to the lands of the living."

Ron kept his mouth shut.

"I invite you to choose between these two objects... the Amulet... and the Sword." The withered hand pointed towards a space he hadn't noticed yet : a tree before a stone. Hanging from the branches was a heavy golden amulet... and stuck in the stone was a big sword, with a golden hilt. He took a few steps towards it, hesitatingly. This scene was something that recalled to the memory ancestral legends... tales of heroes chosen to protect the land of the heirs of King Arthur... something much bigger than him. "What's the call? What's the difference between those two objects?" For the first time, the figure seemed less benevolent. "It is not my place to tell you that. I can only tell you, you have been chosen to be given the chance to serve as Defender of the Realm, for your country needs a protector. Your choice will shape your destiny, but it's yours to make!"

The young redhead looked another time at the object of his choice. Both looked very ancient... and both had promises of power, and strength. What should he choose? He looked down, sighing. "Damn it. I wish Hermione were here... I'd like to hear her advice!" He laughed briefly, adding : "But I think I know what she would say! 'The sword is the obvious choice, so pick the amulet, blah blah blah...' " He breathed deeply.

"But she's not here. And the choice's not hers. It's mine. I know I'm probably screwing up, but I frankly don't see how an amulet can help me be a Defender, so... I'm picking the sword!"

As he pronounced the last words, his hand gripped the hilt, and with decision he drew the weapon from her stony prison.

A bright light surrounded him, and when it disappeared, he was completely changed : taller, muscled, with a body for which any Olympic athlete would kill for. Now he was clad in a suit patterned after his country's flag, the Union Jack. A matching helmet now shielded his eyes and his hair.

"Blimey!" was his comment, marveling at the feeling of pure power flowing through his veins. He stopped savoring it and looked up at the old man, but he was surprised to see his expression was now one of surprise... and worry. "You chose the Sword of Might over the Amulet of Right. So be it : although never before has any previous Captain Britain made such a choice, I guess maybe your country needs a champion that resorts to violence first, and to reason last. Thus, for now you have my blessing!"

"So, can I return to my world now? To my family?" The silence that followed troubled the remade Ron more than he would think possible. "Well?"

"Since you discarded the Amulet that represents the quest for truth in favour of the Sword that uses a much more direct approach, you are not to tell your family... not even your dearest friend, that you are Ron Weasley reborn... lest they suffer a violent death upon learning the truth!" The voice wasn't musical any more; now it was full of sadness.

"W...What?" The figure turned around, saying : "You have made your choice, now live up to it. Use the wisdom you possess to make those who shall rely upon you proud of you... Captain Britain! Because their fate depends on your actions. So speaks Merlyn!" A horror of the spirit had twisted Ron so much he ran after him, screaming : "No, wait! You can't mean... my family has to think I'm still dead! You can't leave me alone!"

Mist was rising up; he had lost sight of the man he now recognized was the legendary wizard he had learned about since he was old enough to understand what was happening around him, still protecting Britain centuries after his physical body had passed away.

Now understanding that his sarcastic words before making his choice were much more than that, he slumped to the ground, letting go of his newly found weapon. He could return to the real world; he had now powers no one else could compete with; he was to assume a role that would earn him a great place, for better or for worse, in the history that was about to be decided.

But the price he had to pay...

"Dad... Mom... Bill... Charlie... Percy... Fred... George... Ginny... Harry... Hermione..." he whispered, tears forming in his eyes. "I'm so sorry... what did I do? Oh dear, WHAT DID I DO?"

His scream of anguish was a carbon copy of that of Hermione.

A mixture of Harry Potter and Captain Britain? Sometimes I manage to even surprise myself...

Please review... and don't be afraid to tell me if you think my idea sucks!