A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! I apologize for the long wait between chapters. This is Ron's chapter. I've tried to stay true to character, but if you notice anything off let me know! The Weasleys are a great favorite of mine, so this was a fun one to write.

Ron, Fred and George were all out in the orchard, taking turns flying on Charlie and Bill's broomsticks. They were all determined to learn how to barrel roll, much to their mother's despair. Every time she caught them at it the yelling was so loud even the garden gnomes would run to their hidey-holes, covering their little ears.

Charlie would have shown them how but he had got a summer internship in the south of France, helping bring in large and dangerous magical creatures before Muggles caught sight of them – or the creatures caught sight of Muggles. The internship was not helping Mum's stress levels.

Fred and George launched themselves into the air, matching expressions of manic glee on their faces. Fred tried to turn in midair first, but the broom corrected itself too quickly, and he merely wobbled. George did slightly better, but only because Bill's broom was so old the charms were wearing off, so it did not correct itself, but merely let George hang upside down until, red-faced and swearing, he was able to clamber back up.

Ron was laughing at the look of terror on George's face as he righted himself.

"Right-o, Ronald," said Fred, whipping the broom around to look at his younger brother. "You ready?"

Ron gulped. He nodded.

Fred drew in for a landing and hopped off while still three feet from the ground, landing on his feet and looking quite solid, a mere foot in front of him.

"Here we are then," he said and handed Ron the broom.

Ron felt a prickly feeling in his chest and a swooping sensation in his stomach as he rose in the air. He achieved a respectable height, not wanting to look like he was scared. Just high enough that Fred and George wouldn't call him a baby. George stopped practicing and hung in midair watching his brother.

Ron leaned over to the side, hard, like he was trying to flip off. The broom twisted over and it appeared Ron would do it. He could feel a glowing pride in his chest – until the broom shook and dropped four feet in the air, scaring Ron so badly he let go and fell straight on his head.

"Ronald Weasley!" came Mum's sharp voice. "Get in the house this instant! Fred! George! Put these brooms away! None of you – none of you! - are to even touch a broom for a month! NO! I will not be argued with now."

Mum put an arm around Ron's shoulders and heaved him up. She was still yelling, now she was yelling in his ear and it was starting to ring, but she was also running her fingers through his hair, searching for cuts and squeezing him tight against her. She was shaking slightly, belying the fact that she had been truly afraid.

Once inside she waved her wand and both the dizziness and the ringing in his ears disappeared.

"Mum," said Fred, just walking in, "You're not really going to ban us from our brooms are you? I mean, it's not our fault Ron can't stay on."

Mum fixed a beady eye on Fred, who backed up into George, who backed up into the china cabinet, rattling the good china. The expression on Mum's face could not have been more frightening if actual flames had burst out of her head. The twins fled to the safety of their room. Ron and Molly listened to the thunder of their feet on the stairs before Mum fixed him in her stare one more time.

"I want you boys to be safe. I love you so much, Ronnie. C'mere." She opened her arms and Ron hugged her tight. "Good boy. Now go clean your room it's frightful."

Ron went upstairs to his attic bedroom. He put a few things on shelves and then spent the rest of the afternoon trying to whistle. Fred and George could whistle any song they heard and even Percy could make birds call back to him, but Ron had somehow not got the hang of it. Ginny hadn't either, but this was no comfort. What if she learned before he did?

Deciding his room looked as though he had tried, Ron went for a walk, still practicing his whistle.

After the summer he would go to Hogwarts. Fred and George had just finished their first year there and it sounded amazing. Percy had said it was, but Percy had nearly peed his pants with excitement over the rolls of personalized parchment he had received yesterday. He had also gone on at length about lessons until George had thrown a dinner roll at him and Percy had started in on that. No, Ron much preferred Fred and George's version, but he was nervous about how they placed students – how was he supposed to memorize the entire Transfiguration textbook in one night?

Suddenly, a sharp sound issued from his mouth. He had whistled! Ron stopped in his tracks. Concentrating, making sure his mouth was still in the exact shape it had been before, he whistled again. And it happened again! He tried changing the pitch. He whistled a little tune! He had done it!

He raced back to the house, darting through the chickens who were all squawking over the corn Bill was throwing to them.

"Mum!" Ron yelled, falling through the back door into the kitchen. Dad was there, reading a paper and eating an apple. He looked up at his youngest son, smiling at his excitement. Mum, on the other hand, turned from her cooking with a nervous expression as though Ron were about to tell her there was a banshee outside wanting words with her.

"I whistled! Listen!" He whistled Mum's favorite tune.

Mum smiled warmly, the nervous expression melting away. "Oh Ron, that's wonderful! Listen to that Arthur! You and your brothers should do harmonies!"

Ron stopped whistling and rolled his eyes, but still felt quite pleased.

"Remember when Bill learned to whistle, Arthur?" Mum asked, turning back to her cooking. Ron felt his heart sink a little.

Dad smiled, remembering. "You kept checking the teapot," he chuckled.

Ron walked out of the kitchen, his parents' reminiscences floating into the hallway after him.

Ginny, who was finishing up her homeschooling, was sitting on the steps, laboring over a maths exam.

Ron sat beside her. "No, you've got to make sure you're carrying your numbers," said Ron, pointing at her mistake. Ginny leaned in, her little snub nose practically touching the parchment. She clearly had no idea what he was on about, so Ron explained.

He saw it in her face when she finally understood and he stayed to make sure she got the next few questions correct.

"Thank you, Ron!" She beamed at him. He smiled and pushed her head, running up the stairs to his room again.

At dinner, Molly asked Ginny if she had finished her exam.

"I'd like to turn it in tomorrow morning, Ginny," she said, sounding rather aggrieved.

"Ron helped me! I think I finally got it!"

"Thank you, Ronald!" Mum said, smiling. Arthur patted Ron on the back and George began to pat him too. Then George was whacking him hard on the back as though trying to dislodge a blockage from Ron's throat. Fred did one better, leaping over the table and raising two hands over his head, clearly planning on bringing both fisted hands into Ron's back, but Ron dodged in time so that Fred hit his dinner plate instead and spattered himself with mash and corn.

Bill laughed uproariously, Percy just roared, wiping his glasses on his shirt and Ginny began to cry. Mum, of course was yelling and it was several minutes before everyone was calm again and Fred had been threatened with everything from doing the washing up alone to sleeping in the chicken coop.

Once everyone was sitting again, Mum turned to Dad and said, "Remember how good Percy was with numbers at Ron's age? He was on coursework much more advanced than anything I understood."

Ron rolled his eyes, but this time it didn't sting as much. It was rather a burn for Ginny as well. Ginny snickered at Percy, who had only succeeded in smearing mash all over his glasses and was cursing under his breath so Mum wouldn't hear.

The summer was passing pleasantly. Whenever Ron, Fred and George thought Mum busy enough they would practice barrel rolls in the orchard. None of them were making any progress but every night at bedtime found the three of them separately dreaming of making the Quidditch team.

Ginny finally finished her schoolwork. She ran all around the Burrow, trying desperately to keep up with Ron, Fred and George. To an outside observer, it would look as though Ginny were following Ron and Ron were following Fred and George.

One day, Fred and George were building a bomb in the backyard. They had finally availed themselves of the local library and found something that didn't require a wand to make a loud explosion. Ron was helping them by fetching and touching things that untrained human hands should not touch.

The bomb was just about ready when Ron accidentally broke the detonator.

"Ron, you prat!" George yelled. "We'll have to go back into town now!"

Ron could feel himself filling with shame. Why couldn't he do anything right?

"Just go Ron! No one wants you here!" yelled Fred, his face looking mutinous and angry.

This made Ron stand his ground. "George wants me here! I'm helping! Just because you don't know how to -"

But he was cut off by Fred.

"No! You're the one that no one wants! Don't you get it? Don't you get why George and I are always trying to get away from you! You shouldn't even be here!"

Ron took a swing at Fred. Fred clocked him square in the jaw.

"Fred!" George was in the mix now, trying to grab his twin, trying to draw him back. "It's fine! We'll just go to town! We'll get a new detonator! Who cares about this twat?"

"No! Mum never wanted him! She wanted a girl! And she got Ronniekins. Well. There you go. There you go, Ron, you're here. And what do you do? You make a total prat out of yourself. Shove off!"

Ron felt tears prickling in his eyes. His face was burning. His ears felt like they were on fire.

He ran away.

He could hear George trying to calm Fred down, but continued to run.

Ron reached the closed in orchard. He hadn't realized he where he was going till he got there. He unlocked the shed and grabbed a broom, determined to show his brothers that he was more than a spare son.

He practiced the barrel roll all afternoon and well into the evening. He wasn't getting it. The sun sank below the horizon and still Ron could be found amongst the moths and the night-blooming flowers, trying to throw his broom all the way around.

In one dizzying motion, after five hours of practice, Ron threw the broom all the way around. When he righted himself, on top of the broom and slightly dizzy, he let out a great whoop of success. Yes! He couldn't wait to tell Fred and George! No. Not those twats. He'd tell Mum first.

Mum. She was probably making dinner right now.

Running the broom back to the shed, his heart fit to burst with pride, Ron thought about how he'd tell Mum. He thought of how angry she would be that he had continued to practice barrel rolling after she had expressly forbidden it. Maybe Dad would be the person to tell first.

He ran through the back door.

Mum was cooking dinner and Dad was sitting at the kitchen table. Dad was just finishing up some boring story about the Ministry. Mum looked concerned.

Ron sat at the table. Dad pushed him a bowl of peanuts that he had been snacking on.

"I did a barrel roll in the orchard," he announced.

Dad looked very proud. His eyebrows drew up and he smiled broadly, transforming his thin face into something quite handsome. He patted Ron on the shoulder.

"Way to go Ron! Now that you and Fred and George can do it, I reckon the Gryffindor team ought to just be Weasleys!"

Mum pursed her lips in displeasure just as Ron had pictured it. What Ron had not pictured was his stomach sinking in utter dismay.

"When did Fred and George do a barrel roll?"

Apparently, Dad did not notice how hollow Ron's voice was.

"Sometime this morning. They told me about it when I came home from work."

Ron got up.

"Where are you going? Dinner's almost ready," said Mum, still stirring at the stove.

"Just to my room. I want to wash my hands first, I'm well dirty."

Ron stumped up the stairs to his room. He could feel the beginnings of tears again and tried taking deep breaths to make them go away.

He was glad at his restraining when the door to Fred and George's room opened.

"Ron." It was Fred. "I'm sorry, mate. It's not even your fault about the detonator. I was just mad." He put his arm around Ron. "You know, George and I are the spares, right? I mean, Mum had already had three boys. What, you think she was trying for five? I mean, look at the state of her most days. It's nothing to do with you. I was just worked up about the bomb. We'll go into town tomorrow and get another, hey?"

Ron nodded. "Thanks, Fred."

Fred disappeared back into the room, and Ron continued up to his own attic bedroom. He sat in the window, looking out at their yard.

He didn't feel like crying anymore. Fred's apology had done its job. He did still feel like crap though. Would he ever do anything first in this family?

For just one day, he wanted to feel special.

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