He's not dead. He's just asleep. He's not dead. He's just asleep. He's not dead. He made it back. Only Cedric got ki...

Ron Weasley decided that this track of thinking wasn't helping. He should be relieved. His best mate was still alive, even though he had just been through a duel with the most evil Dark Lord in half a century. There had been an elaborate plot to kill him, and he managed to come out the other end alive.

Only Cedric had di...didn't make it.

Maybe he shouldn't be so relieved.

He thought back to the Dark Mark, memories in a Pensieve of a burning house, and his mum and dad watching helplessly. He thought of uncles he never knew.

He thought of meeting an orphan whose parents were murdered in cold blood.

Ron tried not to think about his best mate lying on the ground, huddled over a body. There had been a split second when he hadn't moved. Ron thought he really knew about death. He thought he had stared it in the face, but being advanced upon by an enchanted chess piece, or screaming at a convicted murderer was nothing compared to seeing your best mate on the ground not moving. THAT was death. That was cold and unforgiving. That taught Ron Weasley what it meant to be powerless. That was what war meant. That was what being an adult meant... an Auror, a soldier...

Fourteen-year-olds were prone to delusions of grandeur. Youth meant that what you learned one moment was quickly forgotten the next. Ron would never forget the sight of Harry huddled over Cedric's dead body though, but would the fear he felt now always remain? But, until Harry woke up, Ron would be cured of childish dreams of heroism and glamour.

Six-year-old Ron Weasley was hiding in the tree next to the pond. He had had no choice, really. If he hadn't hid, he'd have been unable to avoid his little sister, who had insisted that Ron play with her. Specifically, she wanted Ron to play catch with her with Bill and Charlie's old Quaffle. Being six-years-old, Ron had known a few simple things about life. Mum's ginger biccies were the very best in the whole world, teddy bears should not turn into spiders, little sisters were annoying, and girls could definitely NOT play Quidditch. Only big brothers played Quidditch, since mum and dad let them up on brooms. If Ron was too small to be up on a broom, there was NO WAY little Ginny could ever get up on a broom.

His plan worked perfectly, until Ginny found him. She ran out into the garden, holding the Quaffle, which was much too big for her.

"Ron, come play!"

"Go away, Gin!"

"No, come play Ron!"

"I'm not playing with you Gin!"

"You are too!"

"Am not!"

Ginny, as though sensing she had sensed Ron wouldn't listen to her arguments, decided on the next best course of action. She would climb the tree and make Ron come down.

"Ginny! Stop, don't come up here! I don't want you here!"

"Be quiet, Ron! We're going to play!"

"No Ginny! Go AWAY!"

Ron's breath caught in his throat, because just as he screamed, Ginny's hand slipped, and she fell to the ground. Ron panicked as Ginny lay there, not moving.

"MUUUUUMMM!"

Ron had waited outside Ginny's room. Mum had Flooed a healer from St. Mungo's to examine Ginny. He had checked her for broken bones outside on the ground. The Healer said she was lucky. She had only hit her head, and broken a few bones. If she had been just a little higher, she might have broken her neck. Bursts of accidental magic sometimes saved young witches and wizards in near death situations, but not always. All in all, they were very fortunate. Things could have been a lot worse. When they had Enervated her, Ginny screamed out in pain, clutching Molly Mum tightly.

Ron had wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. As he sat outside the door, he tried not to dwell on what would have happened if Ginny hadn't been lucky. The thought of her not waking up scared him even more than spiders.

After making sure it was safe to move her, Mum and the Healer had brought her inside to her room. They were still in there. Ron had sat outside, as he'd thought about what had happened: the panicked look in Ginny's eyes as she fell, her body still as a statue on the ground. The Healer's words echoed in his ears: she was lucky, that she could have broken her neck. The scream when she woke up. It was awful. Ron tried to think about anything else, but every time he did, he could hear that scream all over again.

Finally, the door opened.

"She should be just fine Mrs. Weasley. Just make sure she gets plenty of rest and takes her potion regularly. She'll be right as rain in a few days."

"Thank you, Healer."

Molly Mum saw the Healer to the fireplace. Ron expected to be yelled at. Instead, his mother was rather gentle with him, although she did look very angry.

"Ronald, you will stay with your sister until she wakes up. Do you understand?"

"Yes mum."

As Ron walked into the room, he found Ginny sound asleep, nestled beneath her covers, cuddled with her favourite stuffed bear. She looked so peaceful, it seemed hard to believe that just half an hour ago, she had been lying on the ground, and had almost not woken up again. Ron hopped up on the other side of the bed and took Ginny's hand in his.

"I'm sorry Gin. I didn't mean it," he whispered. He took his sleeve and wiped the tears out of his eyes. "I promise, I'll always be there for you. We'll play whenever you want. Promise."

For a moment, Ron thought he saw the corners of Ginny's mouth twitch upward. Content with that image, Ron put an arm around Ginny and curled up next to her. In a few minutes, they were both fast asleep.

"I told him to take the cup with me," said Harry.

Ron knew he shouldn't look. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew Harry was trying to hold it all together. He could tell just by looking at him that Harry was trying to stay strong and not break. He knew, because Ron himself had felt that way too often this year. But in his case, it was over nothing.

Harry knew what it meant to suffer. Ron might be poor, but he had a home and a family — security. Harry had been a target since before he was born. He hadn't had a real family since he was a baby.

Harry had a reason to cry, to feel pain. Ron decided he wouldn't look away. He was going to remember today. He was going to remember it all: the omnioculars, the Goblet, the Horntail, and this moment here. He had almost lost Harry twice. The first time was because he was jealous and the second time was because a murderous villain wanted him dead. Some friend he had been, but no more. Harry would never again stand alone, not while he had Ron Weasley. It wasn't much, but it was something.

THE END