Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Wow. Amazing.
A/N: I kinda like this one. Um...yeah...
You watched Ron. You were his mother, after all; no matter how left out he felt—yes, you knew about what he saw in the Mirror of Erised, how he felt about his brothers—no matter how alone he felt, you were still his mother who had borne him into the world.
You saw that he would be different. It was there when he was the greatest of the Weasley family in chess-playing at five years old (no mean feat: the Weasleys were renowned for chess talent nearly the world over) and when he exhibited such maturity in dealing with his friend Harry Potter.
Yes, there was the bout of jealousy in his fourth year—oh, you knew about that all right—and as much as you hated to admit it he had been a bit of a tick in his earlier years, but now…
Now the youngest son was fighting. A warrior, he was. Grown up before his time.
No seventeen-year-old boy should have to get married in a hurry to the seventeen-year-old girl—no, woman—that he loves because he wants to get in as much living as possible with Voldemort killing off Harry's friends.
No nineteen-year-old should have to come home blank-eyed, devastated, unable to cry, when his wife and child—Hermione and Julian Weasley—have been murdered in their beds for being close to Harry Potter.
But still—still your Ronnie did not forsake his friend; he showed true loyalty and bravery, staying at Harry's side, fighting at Harry's back, never complaining, hauling himself around the countryside.
Taking an Avada Kedavra for his friend.
That was what saved them all; Ron's sacrifice. That was what made it possible for Harry to turn his sword upon Voldemort and say you now pay for your sins and run that sparkling sword through him until the silver was stained with black bile.
Harry came up to you after that last battle. You gathered him into a hug, and you heard him whisper I'm sorry about Ron, Mrs. Weasley and that was it.
He went to Ginny and kissed her, but both of their eyes were hard and callused. They walked off hand-in-hand and lived the rest of their lives together.
Ron—your Ronnie—your son—your hero—was granted a posthumous Order of Merlin First Class for Courage and Sacrifice and Prowess in Fighting and Being a Hero In General.
Well, you knew not exactly those words; but you were bitter—who wouldn't be, losing what turned out to be the greatest of your sons in such a way?
The epithet on his gravestone was written by Ginny, who used poetry and flying and children to rip away the calluses from her soul. It read: Ronald Weasley. The best of friends a man could have. He sacrificed himself for love. Always will he be remembered as the greatest redhead of us all.
A nice epithet, to be sure; but it couldn't—nothing could—express the pure life that sparkled behind his eyes, motivated his lanky frame to haul itself up to rush off into Little Hangleton because the barest clue of a Horcrux was prodding Harry's insomnia, gave him the insane urge to sneak into Ginny and Harry's shared room and tickle both of them awake, braving Bat-Bogey Hexes and worse from the two, kissing his wife for luck before charging into battle with a medieval warcry.
You knew that he would not be remembered except as a sidekick. Harry Potter would be the name on everyone's lips, but you were not bitter; you also knew that your Ron wanted, in the end, nothing more than peace; and peace he had now, everlasting peace.
At Ron's funeral you cry and cry, but Harry and Ginny cannot. You walk up to them and sob Ron would hate how you're acting now, the war is over and take them both in a huge embrace. They shed tears.
Ron would have hated that. He was always one for stupid jokes that no one but he laughed at and wolfing down immense amounts of food. There were no heart-to-hearts with him, but he would have stammered out that Harry and Ginny deserved to live happily without hardened hearts, his ears going bright red and voice cracking a bit.
Yes, your Ron was a good man; a wonderful man. No more was he on this earth, but his legacy and name would live on in Harry and Ginny's first son, your grandchild; and he was watching over his friends as he always had.
That was Ronald Bilius Weasley. Your son. Your child. Your hero. Your Ron.
You would be seeing him soon.
A/N (#2!): All right, I really have nothing to say except REVIEW!