My Brother, My Hero

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My Brother, My Hero

By Dana

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Sequel to Behind the Eyes of a Hero

Dedicated to all my loyal reviewers!

Thanks to Yan'weh for Beta-ing!

Summery - Ronald Weasley is three years out of Hogwarts. He is a famous Quidditch Star, much loved fiancé and sixth son of Arthur and Molly. He has a great life, and it couldn't be better. He only wishes for two things that would make it complete. Harry and Hermione. His best friends.

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Chapter One -

Yesterday's Gone

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“Did you see that dive Fletcher did? It was awesome!” said an azure eyed man said with a hearty laugh. The sky was darkening to a midnight blue, with an orb of a moon hanging suspended with the diamond stars like a great crystal ball. The group of laughing young men wandered the street, completely oblivious to all around them.

“Harrison did a great faux pass to Michael; the stupid Tornado didn't even see it coming!” said a short man with light hair and bright hazel eyes. “And Weasley,” he turned to slap a tall, redheaded man on the back, “not even a fly could get past you!”

The redhead in question only smirked and stretched, causing his already long shadow to elongate across the cold cement of the path. “What can I say? I'm gifted.” Hearty laughter erupted at these words. It reverberated down the street, with the trees whispering together in silent chatter.

“No, I reckon it was because his woman was there,” said a black haired man with a broad grin.

“What's her name again? Lana?”

“Luna, and yes, she was there,” the redhead said with a smile, his blue eyes sparkling in joy.

“Are you seriously going to marry her, Ron?” a blond haired man said.

“The real question is: are you willing to get tied down to this woman, knowing she will be the last person you will ever shag?”

“Shut it, Fletcher,” Ron Weasley said with a crooked grin, thumping the black-haired man on the back of the head. “She's great, and no, I don't mind knowing that she will be the last girl I shag. I will live knowing I can shag her whenever I want, unlike you lot!”

The night was young, only just beginning for these five men, who were all apart of the Chudley Cannon's Quidditch Team. Over the last three years, the team had slowly climbed the ladders, growing in popularity and spirits, with the players slowly getting used to winning each of their games with points to spare. Ron Weasley was the newest player to join their group. He was also the youngest at only twenty-one years of age; three years out of school.

He was a handsome young man, with bright fiery red hair, freckles and sparkling blue eyes. He was the second youngest in a large, well-known family. Although they were not well off, they managed quite splendidly on their own. Even though Ron Weasley was a famous Quidditch Star, many knew his name before his release into the sports world. Many knew his name while he was still in school, struggling through OWLs and NEWTs, and playing in house games of Quidditch. And many knew his name while he fought in the Second War, risking his life while saving others.

They knew his name because of Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, or the `Boy-Who-Lived', was previously Ron Weasley's best friend. They used to be like brothers, inseparable, always seen together. They both used to be players on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, and were both offered positions in many international Quidditch Teams while still in their seventh year.

But Harry Potter declined all these invitations, even when Ron accepted a spot on the reserve team for the Chudley Cannons, and was soon invited to play professionally.

They were the best of mates, and because of this, Ron got his big break in the Wizarding World. Then when Hogwarts was over and Voldemort defeated, everyone thought that the Golden Trio, Harry, Ron and Hermione Granger, would stay together. But that was not the case. When news got out that both Harry and Hermione were gone, leaving Ron alone, they wanted to know why. Reporters chased the redhead from work each day, to the shops, and even outside his London home. They followed his fiancée, Luna Lovegood, everywhere, wanting just a small piece of information that would satisfy their power hungry minds. After a while, it got so intense, that the couple needed guards to ward off the reporters and desperate fans, just so they could live in peace.

But still, no news came about the disappearance of the Boy-Who-Lived.

“So, where are we going tonight?” asked Harrison Kenton, a tall, raven haired fellow with a crooked smile. Ron glanced at him and shrugged, breathing in the crisp air of the cool November night. In just three weeks he would have a wife. He, Ron Weasley, would be married to the nicest, prettiest, most perfect girl in the world. Even after growing up thinking he would never have something that would be his and his alone, after believing that he would always miss out or have to share the good things that would come his way. He was finally getting something that couldn't or wouldn't be shared. He would get the love of a gorgeous girl. The girl he loved.

“How about we just go to Alfie's? I hear they've got a new DJ; he can't be any worse than the last one they had,” Fletcher Loxley said with a scowl. With a round of agreements, the group made their way down the road, where thumping music was steadily growing louder. Not long after, they found themselves in a raging club, with music blearing from surround speakers, and the floor packed with shouting men and women.

“I'll go get drinks!” Ron shouted, pointing over to the bar. The other guys nodded, moving off to find a table on the higher level. He struggled through the crowd, nudging people out of the way as he went. The steady thump of the music vibrated through the floor like a pounding heartbeat. Thump ... thump ... thump...

“Hey, Joanne,” Ron said as he finally made it to the long, black bar, strewn with empty glasses and spilled puddles of drink. A blond woman behind the bar smiled at him, making her way over with a rhythmic swaying of her hips.

“Hey stud, what can I get for you tonight?” she asked, leaning with her elbows on the counter; this action promoted the slight sagging of her shirt, enabling him an incredibly clear view of her cleavage. With a goofy grin and eyes trying to stay at her flirtatious smile, he cleared his throat.

“Five beers thanks, Jo.”

“What? None for little-ol' me?” the girl said, fluttering her eyelashes before letting out a loud, ringing laugh. Ron scratched the back of his head and chuckled, gazing around, his eyes searching for escape. Once the woman had placed five tall glasses of bubbling ginger ale in front of him, he slipped a note across to her with a smile and a nod.

“Thanks,” he called back to her as he slid through the thickly packed sea of people, all yelling in his ears as he went, with the heart thumping away beneath his feet. He almost dropped his burden when a girl stumbled into his side; he clutched tightly at the slippery glasses, pulling them closer to his chest, looking over the crowd for the stairs. It took much care and precision on his part to finally make it to the table where his team-mates were sitting. He set the glasses down on the table with a relieved moan.

“Is Jo still at you?” Harrison asked with a grin. Ron shook his head with a wry smile, pulling over a stool, sitting on it and taking a long drink from his beer.

“She's always at everyone,” Fletcher said. “She'd even have a go at Michael if she was desperate enough.”

“You'd know wouldn't you, Fletch? I haven't seen her even glance you're way. What's that say about you then, ay?” Michael said, running a hand furiously through his blond hair, giving Fletcher Loxley a glare. The dark haired man merely shrugged, raising his eyebrows at the others. Ron only grinned, taking another deep drink, his blue eyes wandering over the dancing people below.

His life had been fairly good the last few years. When he finished Hogwarts, he was immediately admitted into the reserve team for the Chudley Cannons. Once there, he trained four times a week, three hours a session, with seven other people. His days were spent flying through the air, enjoying life after school, after war … after everything. He was free from all the cords tying him to his younger years. He didn't have to wake early to go to classes. He didn't have to serve detentions in the bowels of the dungeons. He didn't have to do anything if he didn't want to.

He was free. But freedom, in this case, came at a price.

During his Hogwarts days, he was always at Harry's side. They were best friends. Brothers. And it was only natural for him to presume that it would be the same once they completed their schooling. They would be swinging bachelors, living in a flat in the middle of London. They would be team-mates on an international Quidditch Team, both star players, earning much fame and fortune. Each night they would have different girls over; the girls would only be with them because they were famous, but he and Harry wouldn't care. They were in it together.

But, as their years slipped away and the days grew darker with the threat of war, the thought of a bright future was slowly covered by the shadow of the prophecy. Oh, how Ron remembered that day. It had been half-way through sixth year, just after Christmas when Harry had told them. He had taken them aside, his face somber and ashen. And his eyes…

Ron had known something was terribly wrong by just looking in Harry's eyes.

He could still hear Hermione's cries of anguish and hurt. He could still feel the cold, iron fist that had clenched his heart at the thought of what his friend - his brother - had to do. But the look on Harry's face had been enough to quell his own silly fears and pitied thoughts.

Harry's face had a look of acceptance. He had already taken in the news of his own fate, he had accepted his destiny. And he was ready. His eyes, burning with emerald flame, spoke of the courage in his soul. He would fight; Ron had seen that in Harry's eyes, no matter if he died on that fateful day.

And on that day, over three years ago, Ron had accepted his own destiny. To fight beside his friend. His hero. His brother.

“WEASLEY! You're not thinking about Lena again, are you? Seriously, I would get tired looking at the same thing, day-after-day.” Fletcher said in his highly annoying drawl. Ron shook his head, ridding it of images of his unwanted past.

“No - I mean - her name's Luna,” he said tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. I can't think about that, he thought, it's not the time, nor the place.

“What? Is little-baby-Ronniekins getting tired? Does he need to go to beddy-bies? Does he want Luna to tuck him in, and kiss him goodnight?” Fletcher said, leaning forward with a mock pout. Ron swallowed the mouthful of drink in his mouth, before turning to him.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do want Luna to kiss me goodnight. It's more action than you'll get,” he said with an inward smile as Michael, Harrison and Trent all laughed, while Fletcher's face flushed.

“That's what you think, Weasley, I bet I could get Joanne before you could,” the man challenged with flashing eyes. Ron grinned, gulped down the rest of his beer, and stood up. He gave his friends a two-fingered salute, before looking to Fletcher.

“Why would I want Jo, when I have a gorgeous blonde at home in my bed?” he said simply before smiling triumphantly and walking away from a table full of snickering Quidditch Players. Score one to Ron - zero to Fletcher.

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The street was cold and dark, with a soft wind blowing litter down the road, rattling and scraping against the shadowed road. Ron enjoyed the night sky, he felt at home beneath the large expanse of universe, stretching across the world like an intricate velvet blanket that kept in the cozy warmth and shielded them against the unknown cold and dark of `out-there'.

His feet moved silently on the hard cement, his cloak rustling slightly as his arms swung at his sides, creating shadows that moved along the ground as a broken windmill. He was alone out here. Free from noise and the stifling closeness of the building he had just been in. He and his team-mates went out once a week after their game. Sometimes, they merely wandered the streets, talking about random things that meant nothing more than a good laugh. Other times, they went to Alfie's, as they had done that night.

The club was a popular haunt for the younger-half of London. It was open most nights to the early morning hours, where only the biggest party-fans were still dancing on the empty and dirtied dance floors. Ron never stayed out that late, knowing Luna would only worry if he wasn't home before a certain time. Anyway, why would he want to stay away from his soon-to-be-wife?

Merlin that felt good saying that. His wife. His.

Never, in all his years, had he thought of becoming a husband. And to Luna Lovegood no less. If someone had told him in his fifth year that in five years time he would be engaged to `Loony' Lovegood, he would have thought them barkers and that they had spent too long sniffing potion fumes in the dungeons.

Back then, it was so different. He was so different. Things were so different. And now … everything had changed. In some ways it was good, and other ways, the changes were too severe to even think about. He didn't want to think about them. But no matter how hard he tried not to think, not to remember, it only made things worse. Everywhere he looked, he saw them.

When he walked into a room and spotted a bookshelf, or visited a library, he was reminded of Hermione. He saw her there, between the rows of books, scanning the titles with a thoughtful look on her face. He couldn't even pick up a book without being reminded of her thirst for knowledge; the indescribable passion that she had for the musty pages and curled writing. He could still see the eleven-year-old girl with bushy hair and big front teeth, telling him off for not having read Hogwarts: A History.

And every day, every single day, he was reminded of Harry.

Every time Ron mounted a broomstick and took to the sky, he was reminded of the best friend he once had who loved to fly. He was reminded of Harry Potter, not the `Boy-Who-Lived'. Harry who could never beat him at chess. Harry who had hair that would stick all over the place as if charmed that way. Harry who had kept fighting when everyone thought he would fail. Harry who wouldn't give up, who kept rising when he fell. Harry who survived. Ron's passion was flying, but every time he flew, he was reminded of him. He could still see the skinny, black-haired boy streaking through the sky to catch a falling Remembrall, flying as if he was born on a broomstick.

He remembered them both so much, even though he tried to forget.

They had both left him, when he thought they would stay. They left. He stayed. Alone.

He had understood Harry's need to escape. His life had always revolved around Voldemort, and the war. Harry had believed that was all his life was. That he was just some weapon, some object, that Dumbledore was using to save the world and defeat Voldemort. In a way, he had been right. But had not been all he was. He was Harry Potter, best friend of Ron and Hermione, excellent flyer and a great teacher.

But, along the way, he had forgotten the other things in his life. The things that truly mattered. So Harry left. He left Ron standing alone on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, no best mate by his side, no brother who didn't have red hair. He left him standing out in the open, in the spotlight that Ron had wanted for so long. But he didn't want to be in the light if he didn't have Harry to share it with. What was the point?

Through Hogwarts, Ron had been pushed into the shadows while Harry was always the centre of attention. Ron had been overlooked, overstepped, and just plain overused. He had been sick of being the `side-kick' to the Great Harry Potter. He wanted to be seen, to be noticed.

And when Harry left, he was given the chance to be just that. But now that he had it - he was a Quidditch Star; his name was chanted by thousands of witches and wizards - he didn't want it anymore. By gaining the one thing he wanted above all else, he lost the one thing he had had all along.

A best friend.

Ron had written to Harry after he left. He had received letters back, but the words had been distant and short. It was as if Harry was fading away, as if his friend was slowly disappearing, becoming nothing more than a memory. Slowly, the letters became no more than a string of words. Then they stopped completely.

It had been the same with Hermione. She had moved off to some town in Scotland. He had heard from her occasionally, before they suddenly stopped writing to each other. He knew Ginny still wrote to her; they were friends, but distant ones. His friend, his Hermione, was gone. Just like Harry. And just like his dreams of a perfect life.

Of course, Ron had heard of and read `Behind the Eyes of the Hero' by none other than Hermione Granger. He had signed a permission slip that allowed for most of his life to be written out in a book for the whole magical world to read. He had allowed Hermione to use his life, to write it out beside her own and Harry's. He wanted the entire earth to know what it had been like for them - for the Boy-Who-Lived - to grow up in a war-ruined world. He wanted everyone to know how much Harry sacrificed, how much he gave up - how much they all gave up - in order for everyone to be safe.

He had wanted to help Hermione show the Magical World what it had been like, behind the eyes of their hero.

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Ron let out a frustrated growl. He had done it again. He had let his mind wander to people and places he didn't want it to go. He wanted to forget. Everything.

The wind picked up; catching his clothes and whipping them up and out around his body. He shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest. He looked around the dark streets, seeing nothing but the shadows dancing across the road and the silhouette of the trees waving at him with skeletal hands. He sighed and stepped off the path, beneath the canopy of a tree. Through a space in the branches above, moonlight was seeping through, throwing pale curtains of light across his face and upper half. And from the moon, a thin chain caught the light around his neck.

He looked down and hooked it around his fingers, examining the small trinket that was hanging from the end. He watched how the moonlight streaked across the smooth, silver metal, molded into a circular halo. And on the inside of the band, barely understandable in the dark, were words carved into the white gold.

With a painful sigh, Ron Weasley let drop the ring. It hung suspended atop his chest, glimmering in the pale light of the moon. With one fluid movement, a wand was pulled out, and the man with the haunted blue eyes disappeared with the echo of a crack.

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Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter and never will.

Hello again, all my faithful readers!

It has been, like, three weeks since you last heard from me. Yes, I know I said only a week, two at most before this would be out. But, I didn't count for school and life to become so stressing. I mean, I had a 2 Unit Math Assessment Task today, and it was full of algebra and algebraic fractions, all this other crap. It wasn't hard so much as it was incredibly frustrating and annoying.

This chapter was hard to write, for some reason, considering Ron is my favorite character. And look how long it is! I hadn't planned on it being this long, or so full of angsty-remembrance stuff. And that wasn't the ending I had planned, but I thought it came out quite well.

Also, on another note, I haven't been able to read ANYTHING on Portkey for, like, two months!!! Every time I go on the site through just Portkey. Org, it shuts down all my websites! It's so annoying. The only thing I can do on the site is post chapters and stories! The same thing is happening for me on fictionalley. I don't know if its my computer or internet server. But it's really annoying, and I haven't been able to read or review any of the stories in my favorites. Meaning, I haven't got any points left and can no longer get alerts saying a new chapter has been uploaded (even though I can't read it)! So, I am deeply pissed off and annoyed and a lot of other crap.

Well, I've rambled quite enough, I think. Please enjoy this new story, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed Behind the Eyes of the Hero.

And please don't forget to review this one!

Love you all,

Later Days…

DW