I wish I was brave like Bill." Seven-year-old Ron Weasley swiped at his uneven orange locks, trying in vain to brush away spider silk that was long since gone. His whole body felt like it was shaking as he ran his hands over his head and shoulders again and again before holding them at arm's length and rubbing them vigorously together.

Sitting cross-legged on the ground front of him, his six-year-old sister Ginny furrowed her brow in disbelief. "Nobody's brave like Bill. That's why he's gonna be Head Boy at Hogwarts."

Ron gave his hair another vicious ruffling and continued as though she hadn't spoken. "If I was brave like Bill, the twins would leave me alone.

"It was just a spider web, Ron," Ginny shot back, annoyed that he hadn't acknowledged her point. "There wasn't an actual spider on it."

"Probably because they couldn't find one," Ron muttered bitterly. "And I can be brave like Bill." He puffed himself up a bit, throwing back his shoulders. But a stray lock of hair brushed his ear and sent him into another fit of clawing at the side of his head. When he looked up, he could see the amusement in his sister's eyes as she took in his wildly disheveled appearance. "I can," he insisted, trying to smooth down his hair. "When I'm bigger."

"You'll never be as big as Bill," Ginny replied, flopping back onto the dry summer grass. "Mum says Bill and the Percy get their height from Dad. You, Charlie and twins got yours from her. She said I'm not old enough to know yet."

Ron had stopped listening again. He was carefully inspecting his shirt, picking at anything that might have been a bit of spider silk. The sleeves were getting a little short for him, but that was always temporary. Their mother had already earmarked some of the twins' smaller clothes for him. The passing down would commence as soon as she took Percy shopping for his school clothes.

"You could be brave like Charlie," Ginny suggested.

Ron snorted in spite of himself. "Nobody's brave like Charlie," he answered dismissively. "Charlie's not scared of anything. He's not scared of hippogriffs or trolls or red caps or crashing his broom into the ground at top speed."

Ginny considered his point for a moment. "He told me he used to be scared of the ghoul in the attic." Ron shot her a disbelieving look, and she quickly added, "When he was little, like when I used to be scared of it."
 
"That was ages ago." Ron shook his head, feeling nothing but discouraged. "I can't be brave like Charlie. He probably likes spiders. And what would I do if I came across something really  scary, like a werewolf or a vampire?"

"Maybe you talk to it," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "That's what Charlie would do."

Ron gave her a dismissive snort. "Werewolves don't talk. Not on the full moon. A werewolf would tear you limb from limb. Not even Charlie's that brave."

"Bet he is," Ginny shot back.
 
"No way."

"Bet he is."

"You're mad."

"Bet he is."

"Stop it. You're being annoying."

"Still bet he would," Ginny replied, refusing to cede the last word.

Ron weighed the merits of continuing to argue, but his heart wasn't really in it. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled, pulling his knees to his chest. "I'm still never gonna be as brave as Charlie."

"You can be braver than Percy," Ginny supplied, trying to be helpful.

"That doesn't mean anything," Ron grumbled. "That fat rat he carries around is braver than he is."

Ginny sniggered in response. "Scabbers isn't very brave."

"If Errol wasn't so old and blind, Scabbers would've been eaten a long time ago." Ron sighed and laid back on the grass. Then it occurred to him that there might be spiders crawling around, so he popped back up and ran his fingers through his hair and over his clothes again.

"Spiders aren't that bad, you know," Ginny opined. "Mum says they eat the bugs that eat the plants in the garden."

"But they bite!" Ron protested. "Everybody knows that spiders bite. I don't want to get bitten."

"Why would they bite you?" Ginny sat up and stared at him. "You're way too big to eat." Then she scrunched her nose and added, "You probably taste terrible."

After a quick glance toward the Burrow to make sure nobody was outside, Ron turned back to his sister and muttered, "Stuff it, you little twit. They don't bite you because they want to eat you, they bite you because it hurts."

"Only for a little bit," Ginny retorted. "I bet it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as when the gnomes bite."

It was a fair point. Ron wasn't sure why spiders bothered him so much more. Perhaps it was the fact that you could see the gnomes gnashing their teeth and lunging at you, while spiders always seemed to sneak up on you. Actually, the more he thought about it, a spider had never actually sneaked up on him. Fred and George had sneaked up on him with spiders in their hands. "You're not supposed to be de-gnoming the garden," he grumbled. "You're supposed to help Mum with the laundry."

"Laundry is boring." Ginny lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you know Fred and George taught the gnomes to sing Do They Hang Too Low?"

"Does who hang too low?"

"I dunno, but when Mum heard it, she yelled at them for half an hour."

Even though he'd been blessedly uninvolved, Ron winced. Mum was scarier than a spider or a dragon when she was really angry. Ginny, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the twins' predicament. To Ron, it only seemed to underscore how much braver everyone else was.

Ginny rolled over onto her belly and ran her fingers through the grass. "I think you can be as brave as Bill, Ron."

"You don't mean that," Ron grumbled. "Not really."

"I do, too," Ginny insisted. She rolled over again and sat back up. "You just need to stop being scared of things."

"Great," Ron snorted. "When am I supposed to do that?"

With a twinkle of mischief in her brown eyes, Ginny started to scramble to her feet as she flicked her fingers at him. "How about right now?"

A tiny jumping spider landed on Ron's forearm. His panicked yelp echoed through the orchard.

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Ron didn't know who made the toast to the fallen heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts, but he took full advantage of the momentary distraction. He had well and truly found his limit. His hand had been shaken so many times that his wrist was sore. He'd been clapped on the back so often that he expected to find bruises, if he was ever allowed to take off the miserable dress robes Hermione had picked out for him. As champagne glasses clinked against one another, Ron slipped away toward the alcove that led to the gents room. Perhaps nobody would follow him there.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Harry, still surrounded by a throng of gawkers and well-wishers. He felt a bit bad slipping away, knowing that his best mate had things so much worse. There was no hiding when you were Harry Potter. Not at a gathering like this. The stony-faced Aurors scattered around the cavernous room were the only reason why the reception hadn't devolved into a riot of autograph-seeking and flash photography.

He managed to reach the alcove without being spotted and took a deep breath. The collar of his shirt felt too tight, and the heft of the medal hanging around his neck only made things worse. The Order of Merlin, First Class. For a solid week, people had been going on and on and on about what a great honor it was. How it was only awarded once in a generation. Ron had already seen five of the bloody things handed out in one day, if you counted the posthumous ones. At the moment, it simply felt like a great bleeding hunk of metal that kept thumping against his chest whenever he moved.

"Merlin, what a madhouse." Ron heard Bill's voice from around the corner and he pressed himself a bit tighter against the wall. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his eldest brother, he just didn't know who might be following behind.

"Insanity," Charlie agreed from somewhere nearby. "Is Harry still in the middle of that mob over there?"

Ron could imagine Bill standing on his tiptoes and craning his neck. "I think so. Hard to tell with so many people."

"Maybe we should try to rescue him."

"Wouldn't work," Bill replied grimly. "The mob would just follow."

"Where's George?" There was a strong hint of amusement in Charlie's voice. "I reckon if anyone could get the fire suppression charms to activate..."

"That witch from the Diagon Alley Shopkeeper's Association has him pinned down over by the bar." Bill paused for a moment. "Can't tell whether she's trying to sign him up or flirt with him. Guess it could be both."

After a few seconds of silence, Charlie went on. "I think I see Ginny next to Harry. Percy's over there schmoozing with one of the Wizengamot members. Do we know what's become of our youngest brother?"

Ron held his breath. "Not a clue," Bill finally answered. "If he's done a bunk, Hermione will kill him."

"I thought you said she was mad about him."

"She is, but sort of that same way that Mum's mad about Dad," Bill explained.

Ron felt the tips of his ears growing warm. He was mad about Hermione and he liked to think that she felt the same, but his parents had been married for more than thirty years. Comparing the two felt... weird.

Charlie exhaled slowly, his breath whistling softly between his lips. "Ron's brave."

"No argument here."

"Coming from the bloke who married a fire-throwing demon."

"One quarter fire-throwing demon," Bill corrected dryly, eliciting a chuckle from Charlie. "Hermione's not the half of it, though," Bill continued. His voice had suddenly become serious. In spite of the constant hum of conversation filling the banquet hall, Ron found his eldest brother's words easy to pick out. "Who'd have thought, back when little Ronnie would come running up, screaming and crying because the twins put a spider on him, that he'd turn out to be the bravest of us all?"

"Never would have imagined," Charlie replied somberly, "but here we are."

Ron felt his breath catch in his throat.

"To Ronnie," Bill declared softly, "the bravest Weasley."

"May his girlfriend have mercy on his soul for doing a bunk on this miserable arse-kissing festival," Charlie added. Ron heard the sound of two glasses clinking together. Then an unfamiliar voice called to Bill from somewhere else in the room. Gradually, his brothers' voices faded into the distance.

Ron stood, pressed against the wall, for a couple of minutes. His mind was oddly blank at first. Gradually, a smile spread across his lips, one that he couldn't have suppressed if he'd wanted to. He stood up straight, smoothed the front of his robes and made sure that the medal was neatly centered on his chest. Then he left the alcove to find the girl he was mad about.