Ron Weasley reclined leisurely in his armchair, smirking at his opponent.
A year ago, if someone had told him he'd become best mates with the Boy-Who-Lived and end up joining him on insane adventures at Hogwarts, he'd have called them nuttier than a fruitcake.
Yet here he was, sitting in his favorite chair in the Gryffindor common room, playing chess with the Savior of the Wizarding world.
And better yet. . . . winning.
"Check. Mate in three," he said smugly.
Harry Potter sighed as he pushed the board away from him. "Fine, I give up. You win."
Ron grinned. It wasn't very often that his friend lost at anything. Heck, after spending almost a year by his side, he could say without a shred of doubt that there were very few things the Boy-Who-Lived was not good at.
He was just glad chess was one of them.
Most people would have seen this and remarked that Ron Weasley was a rather petty child to gain such obscene satisfaction over a simple game of chess.
That was alright. Most people didn't know what kind of a life Ron had really lived.
The youngest Weasley boy in a family with seven children, he had spent pretty much his entire life standing in the shadows. Each of his siblings received special attention from his parents for one reason or the other.
Bill was the eldest, and thus his mother's favorite, and was talented enough to be one of Gringotts' youngest curse-breakers; Charlie had been one of Gryffindor house's most famous quidditch players; Percy was, if possible, better at academics than even Bill had ever been, and had a drive that was sure to lead an illustrious career in the Ministry; Fred and George were known for their wit, and their status as troublemakers was legendary; Ginny, of course, was the youngest child and the only daughter to have been born in the Weasley family in seven generations.
Ron was just. . . Ron.
He was average in his studies, nothing special to look at, and didn't have the intelligence or wit of any of his other siblings.
Nothing special. Yes, those words summed up his entire existence perfectly.
He had spent his entire life being overlooked because of his brothers. Nothing he owned was first-hand (hell, even his rat had spent his early days with Percy). To family friends and acquaintances, he was an afterthought at best. He was that brother: the one who everyone knew existed, but no one knew who he was.
Sometimes, he wondered if his parents cared for him even half as much as they did for the rest of their children.
He had resigned himself to a life in the shadows even at Hogwarts. After all, someone who had spent their entire life struggling to stand out among six siblings could never possible hope to stand out among hundreds of students in the greatest school of magic in Europe.
Or at least that's what he'd thought. . . .until he'd met Harry Potter.
He smiled as he watched his friend good-naturedly curse under his breath. He'd never admit it aloud, but having the Boy-Who-Lived call him his best friend was the proudest achievement of his life.
Harry Potter had chosen to be friends with him of all people. Not some uppity pureblood like Malfoy, not someone influential like Neville, not even someone as intelligent and talented as Hermione. . . . but him, Ron Weasley.
There were days when this single fact was all that kept him going.
"Say Ron," the Boy-Who-Lived interrupted his thoughts, "you're really good at chess mate."
"Er. . . Thanks." He fought hard not to blush.
"It's a shame Wizards don't have chess tournaments like the muggles. You could've seriously considered a career in this."
"Muggles have chess tournaments?" Ron perked up at this piece of unexpected news.
"Yeah, muggles play chess as professional sport, not just for leisure like Wizards do. It's a pretty serious thing. Lots of money involved as well."
The mention of money got Ron excited. He briefly considered participating in one of these competitions, before remembering with a sinking feeling that muggle chess pieces were different from Wizarding chessmen. Besides, he knew for a fact that his mother wouldn't approve of him making a career out of muggle chess of all things. She may not be a pureblood bigot, but she was a rather old-fashioned pureblood witch and as such didn't have a high opinion of muggles like his father did.
"That's cool," he faked a yawn. "Should we turn in for the night?"
"Yeah, sure."
As they got ready for bed, Harry spoke. "Hey, Ron."
"Yeah?"
"There was something I wanted to talk to you about."
"Go on, mate."
"It's about the Mirror of Erised."
Ron looked at his friend warily. "Mate, you know we can't go looking for it again, right? Dumbledore said. . . ."
"I'm not saying we go looking for it. No, I just wanted to talk about it."
"Okay," Ron settled himself into his bed. "What d'you want to talk about?"
"I wanted to talk about what you saw in the mirror."
Ron stiffened. He'd always regretted telling Harry everything so readily that night. "What about it?"
Some of his wariness must have shown, since Harry's voice adopted a soothing tone. "I just wanted to know. . . . why d'you think you saw yourself like that in the mirror?"
He was silent. What could he say? That he didn't like being overlooked all the time because of his brothers? What would his friend, the extremely talented Boy-Who-Lived, think of him if he said something like that?
"I dunno."
Harry was silent for a few moments. "Ron, don't you think you worry about your brothers a little too much, sometimes?"
He felt a brief spark of irritation. What the hell did he know?
"I know I don't have much of a right to say this, since I don't have any siblings and all," Ron stared at his friend in shock. Can he read minds or something? "But I really think you should stop regarding your brothers as a benchmark of success."
"What d'you mean?"
"I mean the world is a huge place, Ron. You don't have to always look at your brothers as your source of inspiration. There are plenty of ways to find a different standard to strive against."
"How do I do that?" Ron was curious now.
"Well, let's start with something simple. What're you interested in? As in really interested in?"
He thought for a second. "Chess, I guess. . . ."
"I'm not talking about what you're good at, Ron," Harry said patiently. "I'm asking you: what are you, Ron Weasley, really interested in?"
The answer was simple, really. "Quidditch."
"Excellent," Harry said happily. "Now, I want you think about this: if you, Ron Weasley, were an only child of your parents (no siblings whatsoever), what would you want to do with your life?"
"I'd like to play for the Chudley Cannons," Ron said before he could stop himself.
"Well, there you go," the Boy-Who-Lived sounded smug. "Now you know where you want to go. All you have to do is figure out how to get there."
"Are you daft?" Ron goggled at his friend. "Mate, becoming a Professional Quidditch player isn't easy."
"Nothing worth doing ever is, Ron. Nothing worth doing ever is."
If there was one good thing about having lots of siblings, Ron decided, it was getting lots of presents.
He grinned as he tore through the large stack of birthday presents at the foot of his bed. He was just admiring a wristwatch Bill had sent him from Egypt when his eyes fell on a long, thin package at the very bottom.
No way. It can't be. . .
He unwrapped it, only to see a beautiful broomstick reveal itself, the words Nimbus 2000 emblazoned on it in gold lettering.
His jaw dropped.
"Great, it's finally here."
He looked up in surprise to see Harry Potter standing over him.
"I was hoping they'd deliver it in time for your birthday," he grinned at the shocked redhead. "Happy Birthday, Ron."
"Harry. . . mate. . . . you. . . wha. . ."
"Yeah, you're welcome," the grinning Boy-Who-Lived settled down on the bed, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog.
Ron swallowed. "Thanks mate!"
"Like I said, you're welcome."
"But you really shouldn't have," he held the broom like it was made of glass. "It must've cost you a fortune."
"Actually, they gave me a pretty big discount. Turns out having the Boy-Who-Lived riding their finest broom in Hogwarts' quidditch matches has boosted their sales quite a bit." He winked at the gaping redhead.
"Wow." Ron was impressed. Trust his friend to come up with something so smart.
"But wait," he said with a frown. "Aren't first years not allowed to have their own broomsticks?"
"There's nothing in the school rules that says first-years can't be gifted broomsticks," Harry pointed out. "Besides, term is almost at an end anyways. In a month, we won't even be first-years anymore."
"Well. . . yeah. I still think McGonagall. . . ."
"If McGonagall's got a problem she can take it up with me," Harry said firmly. "Seeing as I'm about to win her the Quidditch cup the next month, I'm sure she'll be willing to cut me some slack."
"You got an answer for everything, don't you?" Ron gazed him shrewdly.
"Yup," he said happily, munching away on the frog.
"Harry, mate," Ron hesitated, not knowing what to say. "Thanks," he finished somewhat lamely.
"Don't mention it," he waved his hand. "Besides, there was something I was hoping you could do for me."
"Name it," Ron said eagerly.
"I want you to join the Gryffindor quidditch team next year."
Ron gaped at him. "Mate, what're you. . . ?"
"You heard me," the Boy-Who-Lived said. "I want you to join the team next year."
"But. . . but, there aren't any open spots."
"It doesn't matter if there aren't any vacancies," Harry waved his concerns aside. "We'll still be holding try-outs for reserve players or whatnot. I don't care if you end up replacing someone on the team or not, Ron. Just make sure you're there."
"Well. . . ." Ron was hesitant. "I suppose I could give it a shot."
"No," Harry said sharply. "I'm not asking you to 'give it a shot'. I'm asking you to secure a place on the team, no matter the cost. There's a difference, Ron." His hard gaze made the redhead squirm uncomfortably.
"But, I don't know if I'm good enough," he whined.
"Then make yourself good enough Ron. You've got time."
"Harry, you don't get it," Ron burst out angrily. "We can't all do whatever we want to."
"I'm not like you, Harry! I'm not a talented flyer like you! I'm not. . . ."
He was cut off as the Boy-Who-Lived grabbed him by the scruff of his pajamas and pulled him forward until they were almost nose-to-nose.
"You listen to me, Ron Weasley." His bright green eyes bore into the redhead's blue ones. "Talent has nothing to do with this. You want to know why? Because hard work beats talent any day."
Ron gulped in fear. Staring into those hard eyes, he couldn't help but feel just a tiny sliver of fear worm itself into him. He was uncomfortably aware of just how much stronger the smaller boy was compared to him.
When the Boy-Who-Lived spoke next, his voice was calm and level. But, his eyes continued to glow with power. "You say you're not good enough. I say, make yourself good enough. You got a makeshift quidditch ground back home don't you?" The other boy nodded rapidly. "You've got two months until term starts again. I want you to use that time wisely. Work hard, become good enough, and get onto the Gryffindor quidditch team. Get your brothers to help you out if you can. . . . I don't care. One way or another, you're going to be playing with me next year. Got it?"
Ron swallowed and nodded fearfully.
"Great," he smiled suddenly, letting go of Ron's collar and causing him to face plant into the bed. "C'mon, let's go have breakfast. I'm starving."
Ron stared open-mouthed as his friend walked out of the room, whistling softly.
The bloke was completely bonkers!
Ron Weasley stood outside the orchard behind his home, broomstick in hand.
All his life, he'd never really had any kind a goal to dedicate himself to. Never had anything to aspire to. His own family never had high expectations of him, so naturally neither did Ron himself.
It was why he had chosen to simply find solace in the smaller pleasures of life. He enjoyed food, he enjoyed chess, he enjoyed talking about quidditch. . . he was content with doing these mundane things.
But now?
He glanced down at the expensive racing broom in his hands.
For the first time in his life, someone had chosen to believe in him; for the first time in his life, someone hadn't laughed or made fun of him when he talked about his dream for playing for the Cannons; for the first time in his life, someone had made him feel that he was worth something.
Harry Potter, his best mate, had given him more than just an expensive broomstick. . . he had given him purpose.
Ron strode into the orchard with his head held high. He'd be damned if he disappointed his friend.
Nothing worth doing is ever easy.
These words ran through his mind every day.
Day and night he practiced. Whenever he found an hour in between homework and chores, he worked on his broomstick. He even bribed the Twins into spending some time with him, playing Chasers while he played Keeper. He found he was able to block most of their shots easily, although it might've simply been that they were terrible shots with the quaffle.
In the end, he'd convinced his dad to bewitch the quaffle to randomly attack the goalposts like a bludger. That definitely gave him more of a challenge.
Initially, no one had taken him seriously when he spoke about wanting to join the Gryffindor quidditch team next year. The Twins had even taken to making fun of him, saying ickle Ronnekins thought he was a player simply because he had a better broom now.
They'd shut up after watching him practice relentlessly for close to four weeks.
He was so engrossed in his quidditch practice that he'd completely forgotten that today was the day his father was going to pick up Harry from his relatives. He realized his mistake only when he heard his friend's voice coming from the nearby trees. Cursing himself for his forgetfulness, he quickly flew down and sprinted to the entrance of the orchard.
"And there he is, ladies and gentlemen," Fred said, waving his hands dramatically. "Let's give a big hand to the new Cannons Keeper, Ronaaaaaald Weasley."
"Seriously mate, did you put a sticking charm on the thing or something?" George asked. "I could've sworn he doesn't get off the damn thing at all! Not even when he goes to the loo."
"Leave him alone guys," Harry said, smiling at the approaching form of his friend.
"Harry. . . mate. . ." Ron panted. "Sorry. . . completely forgot. . . ."
"It's fine, mate. I'm here now, aren't I?"
For a moment Ron was confused by the expression in Harry's eyes. There was a little bit of amusement, and something else. . . . something he had rarely seen before.
He had seen that look in his father's eyes when Bill became Head Boy, he had seen that look in his mother's eyes when Percy became prefect. . . he had seem that look in the eyes of his parents plenty of times. But not at him. . . never at him.
Pride.
Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, his friend was proud of him.
Ron Weasley smiled more brightly than he had in days.
It was a very happy Weasley who made his way back to the dorms that night.
He was in! He'd been selected for the Gryffindor quidditch team! All his hard work had finally paid off!
Wood had asked him to hang back after try-outs and told him that he was rather impressed with his performance back there. Not surprising, considering he'd blocked ninety percent of the shots from Gryffindor's famous Chaser trio.
Of course, given that Wood was still captain, Ron would be on the team only as a reserve, but it was still better than nothing. He only had to spend a couple of years on the sidelines (which to be frank, he could use to improve his knowledge of on-field tactics), and then the position would be his! Heck, Wood had even offered to let him play a few matches before that, provided the team had a comfortable lead from the start.
He made his way to the common room, intent on sharing this news with Harry (who left the pitch a little earlier). He slowed down as he heard the loud voices of two of his friends, who seemed to be having a disagreement of sorts.
". . . not sure this is a good idea, Harry," Hermione was saying. "Ron needs to be focusing on his studies, not wasting his time on something as silly as quidditch."
"He's not wasting his time on anything, Hermione," Harry's voice was calm and collected as ever. He even sounded slightly amused. "Ron wants to be a professional quidditch player someday. He needs to be on the team if he wants to stand a chance of being taken seriously by recruiters in the future."
"Oh Harry," Hermione sounded exasperated. "You honestly don't take Ron seriously when he says that, do you? He's just on a high because you bought him that broomstick on his birthday! Ron doesn't have the kind of commitment needed to become a professional quidditch player. He needs to be focusing on improving his grades!" Her condescending tone made his ears turn red with anger.
Harry seemed to have noticed it as well because the amusement vanished from his voice when he spoke next. "Hermione, has it ever occurred to you that everyone else might not have the same priorities that you do?"
Hermione seemed taken aback. "But Harry, I. . . "
"But nothing, Hermione! It's one thing for you to constantly browbeat others into taking their studies seriously during exam time; it's another thing entirely when you start forcing your beliefs down other people's throats!"
"I don't. . . ." Hermione began hotly, but Harry cut her off sharply.
"Yes you do, Hermione. Don't deny it! I've seen how you act when someone does or says something you tend to disagree with. Standing up for what you believe in is one thing, but that doesn't give you the right to start shoving your opinions on others; especially when you yourself don't have the whole picture."
Hermione was silent after that. Ron honestly couldn't blame her. He could easily imagine the glare the Boy-Who-Lived must have fixed her with. It wasn't a pleasant feeling to be on the receiving end of one of those.
"Ron isn't an academic, nor will he ever be. His interest has always been on the quidditch pitch, and now that he's fully realized it none of us have a right to take that away from him."
"I know you like to think about quidditch as just another silly game, Hermione. But look at it from a Wizard's point of view. Unlike non-magical folks, quidditch is the only sport they have. People like Ron and Oliver have practically grown up with it. How d'you suppose they feel when they hear you, a muggleborn, openly criticize it? For Merlin's sake Hermione, quidditch is way of life for some Wizards! D'you even know how many witches and wizards are employed by professional leagues and companies manufacturing quidditch merchandise?"
The young witch was silent for several long minutes. Ron heard Harry sigh loudly, and when he next spoke his voice had lost his edge.
"For what it's worth, I'm fully confident that Ron will manage to get into the leagues with little difficulty. In fact, I fully expect him to start captaining the house team by our. . . sixth year, give or take."
Ron's jaw dropped. He didn't have to look at Hermione's face to know she was wearing an identical expression. Him as Quidditch Captain?
"Harry," Hermione said softly. "Don't you think that's a little. . . ?"
"Far-fetched? Nah, I don't think so," Ron could hear the amusement back in his voice. "Ron's got one of the best strategic minds I've ever seen. Better than yours, better than even mine. Combine that with quidditch, and well. . . ."
"But wouldn't you be more likely to become Captain, Harry? You've got tenure, after all," Hermione pointed out.
The Boy-Who-Lived merely laughed. "Hermione, I'm a Seeker! All my attention goes into hunting for the bloody snitch when I'm in the game. There's no way I'd be able to adjust tactics for the rest of the team and do my job properly. Now Ron on the other hand. . ."
"Ron on the other hand, plays Keeper. That means he's the only player on the team who actually gets to stay more or less stationary throughout the whole game. Can you tell me what that means?"
"He's got a better overview of the game than anybody else," Hermione answered readily. "It'll be easier for him to adjust on-field tactics, and he'll also be able to react much faster to any changes in the opponent's strategy. Gosh Harry, I've never thought of that before!" Ron could hear the surprise in her voice.
"Well, there you have it. And we know better than anyone else just how good Ron is when it comes to strategy, especially when he's under pressure. Remember McGonagall's chess set?"
"I know what you mean. It always surprised me how calm and level-headed he was when playing through those chessmen back there. With the stakes as high as they were. . . I'm not sure I would've been able to keep my cool like that."
"Neither would I," Harry agreed. "It's why I choose to put so much faith in him; and if you're really his friend Hermione, so should you."
"You're right. I shouldn't have said those things," she sounded ashamed. "I guess I'll go to bed now, Harry. You've given me a lot to think about."
"Good night, Hermione. Don't stay up too late."
This was it. This was what he'd been working so hard for all those months.
The final quidditch match of the season: Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff. Unfortunately for the Lions, Wood had been injured the previous day in a training accident; which meant that Ron would be making his debut as Keeper in what was easily the most important match of the year.
In order to win the cup, Gryffindor had to win the game by a margin of one hundred points. That meant most of the pressure was on him and Harry.
Great. Just great.
Ron Weasley walked out on the pitch with the rest of the team amid deafening cheers. The loud cheering, the harsh sunlight, the constant jeering from the Slytherins. . .
He was struggling to not turn around and high tail it back to the tower.
He thought back to his conversation with Harry just after the first match with the Slytherins. They'd been alone in the changing rooms.
"Hey Harry, mate."
"Yeah, Ron?"
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?" the Boy-Who-Lived asked.
Ron swallowed, not knowing how to put it into words. His friend continued to stare at him patiently.
"How d'you stand it. . . all that attention on the field? All those people cheering and booing you? All those players taunting you all the time? All that. . .pressure? How do you deal with it?"
"Hmmm. . . ." Harry seemed thoughtful. "I really don't know how the others choose to deal with all that crap. Me, I simply choose not to focus on all that stuff."
"What?" Ron regarded him blankly.
"I'm a Seeker, Ron," Harry explained. "My job is to catch the snitch; and frankly, that's all that I choose to concern myself with. When I'm on the field, the only thing I can see is the snitch, and the opposing seeker. I'm blind to pretty much everything else."
"But. . . but that's just crazy, Harry! What about the bludgers? What about the score? What about. . .?"
The Boy-Who-Lived merely chuckled. "Isn't that what the rest of the team is for?"
Ron gaped at him.
"I trust my team, Ron. I trust them to do their jobs, just as I do mine."
"Everything else is just noise."
Ron took a deep breath.
Do your job. Trust your team to do theirs. Everything else is just noise.
Time itself seemed to slow down as a Hufflepuff chaser flew towards him. Dimly, he was aware of Madam Hooch shouting something to his left, Fred was knocking a bludger somewhere on his right, he could hear the Slytherins singing some kind of song about him. . .
It didn't matter. None of it did.
Ron dived.
They had won!
Once again, Harry had pulled off another amazing dive and clinched the game.
Madam hooch's final whistle signalled the end of the game, and Ron felt like his eardrums were about to explode from the cacophony of the crowd.
He was tangled up in a massive hug with the rest of the team as they made their way back to the ground. Everyone was screaming their heads off, the crowd was singing. . .
Wait a minute. Singing?
Weasley is our King,
Weasley is our King,
He didn't let the Quaffle in,
Weasley is our King. . .
Wait. . . what? What was that? Were they singing about him?
Weasley can save anything,
He never leaves a single ring
That's why Gryffindors all sing:
Weasley is our King.
A very surprised Ron Weasley was lifted onto the shoulders of the cheering crowd and led away to the tower.
"Ron, you don't have to come with us if you don't want to."
"Blimey, Hermione! You're daft if you think I'm letting you two go into the Forest by yourselves."
"But there might be acromantula in there. . . ."
He suppressed a shudder at that. His phobia of spiders was something both of his friends were well aware of. He knew there was a good chance that if they did run into one of those giant spiders, he'd probably be too scared to be of any use to them.
Still, that didn't mean he'd let his friends face something like that without him.
But what if I only end up getting in the way. . . ?
"Ron. . ."
He looked into the bright green eyes of his best friend.
"Are you sure about this?" he fixed him with his usual penetrating gaze.
Ron swallowed.
In that moment, there were so many things that Ron Weasley wanted to say to the Boy-Who-Lived. He wanted to tell him how grateful he was for everything he'd done for him, he wanted to tell him how much his faith in his abilities mattered, he wanted to tell him what it meant for Ron to have someone who was ready to stand up for him and his dreams. . .
Instead he merely narrowed his eyes and nodded. "I've got your back, mate. No matter what."
Harry Potter merely smiled at him and turned to the portrait hole.
Yes, thought Ron Weasley, as they made their way to the Forbidden Forest to follow up on his insane clue. That's right.
He would always have Harry's back. He would readily follow him, no matter where he chose to go. He would walk with him into hell itself, and not think twice.
Harry Potter was the first person to have ever shown faith in him and his abilities.
He would die before he betrayed that faith.
AN: This is by far the most difficult chapter, I've written so far, seeing as Ron is one of my least favorite characters in the series.
One thing that's always irked me throughout the entire series is how little the so-called Golden Trio seem to care for each other. I mean, being friends doesn't mean you never call each other out on your bullshit; often, its quite the opposite really.
Just as Ron and Hermione never call Harry out on his near suicidal bravery and general lack of confidence, even Harry never tries to confront Ron about his jealousy or Hermione on her arrogance. As we've all seen, this later comes back to bite them all in the butt.