Second-Best.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was as stubborn as hell, but once you were Ron Weasley's friend, you were his friend for life. It didn't matter how many petty little fights you had with him, it didn't matter what you did to him—once you forged that bond, he didn't let go of it, and he didn't back off. Oh, he may have had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but it didn't matter. If there was one thing Ron understood, you did not let a person down. Well, ok, he had done that before—he was very prone to go scarlet whenever his fight in the fourth year with Harry was brought up, not to mention all he had done to Hermione—but it didn't last, and he always owned up and made good for what he'd screwed over.
He was used to being second-best—hell, he was used to be next-to-last best, or not even best at all, thanks to his enormous family. He hated the expectations everybody had of him: it was either you were just another Weasley brother, or you were simply not good enough. There was no in between. Was Ron different from the others? Maybe. He sometimes liked to think so. Maybe he was brave, braver than Charlie even, because he never said no to a battle with Harry. Maybe he was clever, smarter than the twins—he got better marks. He was a prefect. Not like Percy, obviously. But who cared about Percy anyways?
It was the "second-best" thing that made it easy—and well, maybe all the more hard, to be truthful—to be Harry Potter's best mate. Everybody knew Harry, he was so famous and popular, and oh—see that tall kid with the red hair? He's Harry Potter's best friend. Yeah, lucky, that one.
Well, Ron couldn't very well go off and say they were wrong, now could he?
Because it was true: he was lucky. Harry was one of the best friends a bloke could have—loyal and funny and brave and…just Harry. He was like one of Ron's own brother's for God's sake. And then Hermione—he could go on forever about her, about her kindness, her intelligence, her sarcasm and wit and overall wonderfulness. She was more than his best friend, better than a sister. She was…she was something to him he couldn't even begin to work out. All he knew was that Harry, Hermione—he would die for them, and they would die for him, and right now it was his job to make sure that both of them were ok, because if you were Ron Weasley's friend, nobody messed with you except Ron Weasley.
A scream, piercing and ethereal, startled Ron as he toed the body of the Death Eater he had just killed. He looked round and saw Luna Lovegood staggering towards Neville Longbottom's fallen form, looking so ragged and horrified, Ron hardly recognized her. He deflected a curse that some foul evil git shot towards her, and furiously rounded on the Death Eaters, mentally damning them for doing this to Luna. To everybody. For God's sake, there were only seven left standing now, and—
"RON!"
Hermione. That was Hermione. Panicked, he scrambled towards where her voice had come from, his wand raised to block off spells. He found her furiously blocking spells—she was never much good on offense—tears streaming down her face. Death Eaters surrounded her, leering and grabbing at her. Ron acted so fast, he hardly dared believe it was him shooting all those spells. One huge bang cleared out at least five of them. Hermione elbowed her way over to Ron, dirty and teary-eyed, and whispered,
"You."
"Hi, Hermione."
And then she put her arms around him and hugged him so hard he thought he might forget to breathe.
"Thank you," she murmured to him. "You are truly what I live for, Ron." And then they backed away from each other, and he felt for a moment, that if this was being second-best, he did not mind it in the least.
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Review, please, please, please! Coming up next: Between the Lines.