General Disclaimer: all characters and the wizarding world belong to J.K. Rowling, of course.

A/N: This is just a little piece I wrote one night when the inspiration hit me. If you're looking for humour or fluff this is not the piece to be reading. As always, reviews are appreciated.

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In the Shadows

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When you're young and the world seems full of endless possibilities, it's hard to believe that your desires might not come to fruition. I always had faith that if I was good and honest I could make my dreams come true. Now, in my seventh and final year at Hogwarts and only one day left of school, I see nothing but broken dreams and a bleak and boring future. I see a completely average, mediocre man, as unspecial as anyone can be.

Maybe I didn't try hard enough in school - I certainly didn't study as much as I could have - but it's hard to even try when, during those times you do, your stupidity and hopelessness is only further cemented in your mind. No matter how many times I read a page or tried to work out a solution in my mind, no epiphanies came, and I remained confused and lost for an answer. Asking for help was only admitting further that I couldn't do it. I suppose I could have done worse, but I needed to do a whole lot better.

So I resorted to acting like I didn't care, that it didn't break my heart when I got my OWL scores and realized I did not have the marks to become an Auror. Of course my friends tried to reassure me, but I knew what those marks really meant; I saw the disappointment in my mother's eyes and if I had not tried my best to hide it I'm sure mine would have looked the same. Even so, the shame I felt for letting down my mother could not match the darkened pit in my stomach that I held for myself. When I think of what I will be doing in the future, especially now that Voldemort is finished, I see a bitter, lonely man with no passion and no purpose. Perhaps a desk job - one I certainly won't like - that will sustain me while I watch my best friends rise to the pinnacle of wizarding society. I will see them grow and prosper, and I will remain unchanged - a lowly, boring man.

It's hard living in the shadows of the Boy Who Lived and Hermione Granger – the hero of the wizarding world and one of the smartest witches ever to grace Hogwarts. It's harder still when your brothers are successful in their own fields, when you have to live up to them but can't because you have no true strengths other than chess. I love my family and friends dearly, I really do, but it's so difficult not to be jealous. They are all so brilliant and talented and I am as bland and inept as one can be.

My only passions have been outdone and overshadowed by others. I am not particularly good at anything. I am stupidly in love with my best friend who I'm sure will never see me as more than that - for I am nothing special, certainly not handsome or anything that anyone would ever want in a lover. I am clumsy and crude. Perhaps I am not the worst of people, but I am certainly not the best either. Calling me desirable is laughable.

It is true in my fifth year I did have one shining moment - one I will cherish always - when I won the House Cup for Gryffindor. It was glorious, being bathed in the praise of others. I remember hearing my name being cheered from the stands, lifted high in the air on the wings of song. I remember being raised onto shoulders I could not identify because of the pure joy that enveloped me, blinded me. It felt so good I thought I would simply break. But after that my proverbial fifteen minutes were up, and things returned to normal, with Harry Potter in the spotlight.

I think myself selfish, sometimes, when I realize I may have had ulterior motives for becoming Harry's friend in the beginning. I remember seeing myself in the Mirror of Erised when I was eleven, standing proud and triumphant. And I suppose it almost came true when I was appointed prefect, until I realized I was only second choice to Harry. Besides, I wasn't suited for such a job - insecure boys cannot command authority - so while I may have worn the badge, I did not fill the position. All that is lost, now. My friendship to Harry runs far deeper than ambition - I'm no Slytherin, after all. The desires of an eleven-year-old boy who yearns to live up to his brothers' accomplishments have been trampled to dust. I do not blame Harry - he is who he is and I have nothing but admiration and love towards him - but I can't help but feel a loss when I think of all the things I could have done and could still be if I were only smarter, stronger, better.

I wouldn't say I dislike myself, I simply see nothing in me to be confident about. I am Ron Weasley, the sidekick, the friend, the disappointment, the ultimate Joe Blow. If it weren't for my friends and my red mess of hair, I think I'd be invisible.

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