A/N: The credit of the Harry Potter plot and characters belongs solely to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing of it but my own words.
Sorry for the long wait. Things have been hectic.
Insignificant: In Defense of Ron Weasley
He wasn't the oldest, nor the youngest. He wasn't responsible; no, that was Bill. He wasn't compassionate; Charlie held that position. He wasn't ambitious; that went to Percy. He was funny, yes, but nowhere near so much as Fred and George. And daring? Psh, Ginny had more boldness in the smallest, most mundane twig of her stolen broomstick than Ron would ever have.
Even among his friends, Ron wasn't remarkable in the slightest. Hermione was the smart one, Harry the hero. Ron, well, he was the hero's best mate.
And just in case one tried to tell him that was a rather glorious position all its own, think about it. Who was Merlin's best friend? Viktor Krum's? Riddle me this, who here thought of pathetic little Elphias Doge before Dumbledore?
And honestly, it's not like he's accomplished all that much. In first year, Harry defeated Quirrell and fended off You-Know-Who while Ron was pummeled by a chess piece. Second year, Ron got trapped by rubble and saved only by the luck of his own broken wand. Third year, he missed out on time travel because he was in the hospital wing, nursing a broken leg. Fourth year, he watched from the stands as his best mate took on challenge after challenge and eventually came back cradling Cedric's corpse (well, he didn't much envy that part). And yeah, he had the whole prefect thing going in fifth year, but Harry was the one who saved his father's life. Ron was bested by a brain. Sixth year, he made the Quidditch team and nearly cost them the Cup, not to mention nearly dying (Harry saved him). (Harry was also warding off Inferi and watching Dumbledore take his last breaths.) And that last year, well, that last year he walked out. Abandoned them. He couldn't even be called loyal.
Failure, he'd tell himself whenever the professors would give him that look. Failure, he'd think every time the Quaffle flew right past. Failure, said the voice in the depths of his head, springing forward as he helplessly watched Harry save the day again, unable to help. Being worthless. A liability. A burden.
Failure, watching Hermione figure out something he'd completely missed. Failure, being so clueless, so often. Failure, screamed the locket, burning bright against his chest. He couldn't breathe. The rise and fall only brought more pain. More truth.
Failure. Failure. Failure. He tried to beat it into his head. It didn't take much. Failure. He'd never forget it, never truly be free of it.
Except—
Except hadn't he always been among the first to fight against oppression? All those years back, in Snape's class, defending Hermione. Ron was bested by a chess piece, but hadn't he chosen that fate — sacrifice? Maybe he hadn't been the bravest, but hadn't he faced his fears, as he followed the spiders and found something far worse? He'd missed the whole Scabbers-Pettigrew debacle, but hadn't he put all he'd had into saving Buckbeak? He wasn't the Champion for Gryffindor, but he'd stayed up late with Harry too, often been the good-natured spell dummy. Maybe he'd been a bit of a git in fourth year, letting his jealousy get the best of him, but hadn't he made up for it, standing proudly by his side all fifth year, from glaring at Seamus Finnegan to following Harry into the deepest depths of the Department of Mysteries? He'd gone through a rough patch in sixth year, but he'd won the Cup, fought to defend Hogwarts, and vowed to stand by Harry. Maybe he hadn't lived up to that promise, exactly, but he'd come back, and he'd saved Harry, and he'd led them through Harry's depression and obsession.
Was he selfish? Of course, as all people are, at one time or another. But let's not forget all those days spent glued to the wireless, waiting and expecting and hoping he didn't hear anything. Let's not forget the dungeon at Malfoy Manor, where his cries could be heard for miles (but they weren't for him. They were for Hermione.) Let's not forget convincing Fred and George to help him hijack the Ford Anglia on a rescue mission that couldn't wait. Let's not forget that one move, the move that'd land him in the hospital wing. He'd never forget the towering figure of that White Queen.
Ron Weasley suffered a tragedy and kept fighting. He didn't pick things up the fastest, but he worked until he did. He wasn't the best dueler, but he said his spells, and he meant them. He wasn't born special, but what matters is who he grew to be. He made mistakes, and lots of them, but don't we all? And he always made up for it. He risked everything for the people he cared about (and even some that he didn't. Ahem, Malfoy.) time and time again, and he'd gladly do it again. So maybe you can't glorify what he did, but you can understand it, surely.
And maybe you can.
But perhaps Ron's biggest fault was that he couldn't.
He couldn't ever see beyond his downfalls, his mistakes. (But he kept on, anyway.) He couldn't ever see himself as anything but there, in the way. (But he made sure he was there all the same.) He couldn't take it sometimes, so he wasn't always there. (But he always came back.)
To be quite honest, there's no real reason Ron Weasley needs to be defended. He's one of the heroes, isn't he? A good guy. Sure, he had his faults, but don't we all?
So what's so special about Ron Weasley? What sets him apart from anyone else?
Well. Isn't that the problem at hand?
For no one has ever detested Ron Weasley nearly so much as he himself.