Gryffindor Family

The common room was bathed in the warm glow of the fireplace, the flickering flames casting long shadows on the stone walls. A quiet buzz of conversation filled the air, students scattered around in groups, studying or relaxing. Ron sat on one of the large armchairs near the fire, staring at the flames without really seeing them. His mind was miles away, a place where the weight of his thoughts and his feelings settled heavily on his shoulders. His family, for all their love, had a way of making him feel like he was never enough. Always second to his brothers. Always a sidekick in the larger-than-life narrative that was Fred and George Weasley. Always “just Ron.”

Fred and George, as usual, were up to something, a whisper of their latest prank floating across the room like a breeze. Their laughter echoed in the corner where they sat, making Ron’s chest tighten. He wanted to join them, to laugh, but he didn’t. There was something else, something simmering beneath the surface of their shared jokes, something Ron hadn’t fully confronted until now. And he didn’t want to face it, but it was growing harder to ignore.

Fred nudged George, chuckling at something only they could understand, and Ron forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The weight of being “the invisible one,” always overlooked, always feeling like an afterthought, was starting to feel unbearable. They were the stars. He was the shadow.

“I’m going to grab something to eat,” Ron muttered, standing up abruptly. He needed a moment alone, away from the laughter and the noise that made him feel more like a ghost than a person. His brothers barely looked up as he left, their attention already back on their latest scheme.

As he walked out into the corridor, Ron was unaware that Seamus had overheard the conversation. Seamus, too, was no stranger to feeling invisible. Though his situation was different—he wasn’t the youngest, never overshadowed by siblings in quite the same way—he understood what it felt like to be neglected. His family, though loving, had always treated him as the “problem child,” the one who didn’t fit in as well as the others. The quiet, often bruised weight of being dismissed, ignored, and overlooked followed him everywhere, and today it felt even heavier.

It wasn’t long before Seamus spotted Ron, standing off to the side in the empty corridor. The door to the common room had just closed behind him, and Ron was staring blankly at the floor, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if he were trying to hold himself together. Seamus hesitated before walking over, unsure if Ron wanted to talk. But something about the way Ron held himself made Seamus feel like it was now or never.

“Oi, Ron,” Seamus called softly, his voice slightly unsure but laced with empathy. “You alright?”

Ron looked up, startled, but then his gaze softened when he saw who it was. “Yeah, just… needed a minute.” He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I guess… I guess I’m just tired of feeling like I don’t matter.”

Seamus blinked, surprised at the honesty in Ron’s voice. He had always known Ron as the cheerful, jokey one who kept up with Fred and George’s antics, who was always the loudest in their group. But now, standing here, Seamus saw a side of Ron he hadn’t noticed before—something raw, something vulnerable.

Ron chuckled bitterly. “I mean, I’m always just the backup, aren’t I? Fred and George are the ones everyone notices. They’re the heroes. The funny ones. The ones with the big plans. And then there’s me—just Ron. Nothing special.”

Seamus’ heart twisted at the words. He hadn’t been the youngest, hadn’t been compared to older siblings in quite the same way as Ron, but he understood the sting of being overlooked. His father, a Muggle, never quite understood the magical world, and his mother was often too busy with her own life to give him much attention. Seamus had spent most of his childhood trying to make himself seen, trying to make a mark, but it always felt like he was screaming in a room full of silence.

“I get it, you know,” Seamus said quietly. “Not in the same way, but… I get it. My family—well, they never really noticed me. They never really had time to, I guess. It’s like... you do everything you can to get noticed, but it doesn’t matter. You’re just invisible.”

Ron looked at Seamus, his eyes wide with surprise. “I never knew,” he said quietly. “I mean, you always seem so... you know... confident, like you’ve got it all together.”

Seamus shrugged, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I’m good at pretending, I guess,” he said with a faint smile. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It does, but you get used to it.”

A moment of silence passed between them as Ron let Seamus’ words sink in. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected to find someone who truly understood the heaviness that sat in his chest all the time. He was used to being surrounded by people who didn’t know what it felt like to always be second place, to always be “the other.”

Seamus glanced over at him. “You’re not invisible, Ron. I know it doesn’t always feel like it, but you matter. You don’t have to be Fred or George to matter. You’ve got your own strengths. I see them. We all do.”

Ron met his gaze, his throat tightening. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. I’m just… trying to keep up. But I’m always two steps behind.”

“Maybe,” Seamus replied, his voice soft but firm. “But you’re not alone in that. None of us are.”

The two boys stood in silence for a few moments longer before Fred and George suddenly appeared around the corner, grinning at the sight of their little brother talking with Seamus. They had been looking for him, worried he’d gone off to brood somewhere, as he was wont to do. But when they saw the look on Ron’s face, they paused.

“Alright, mate?” Fred asked, his voice softer than usual.

Ron blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice was quieter than it usually was. “Just… needed a talk.”

George nodded. “Well, if you ever want to talk about something other than Quidditch or pranks, we’re here for you, too.”

Ron smiled slightly, the warmth of their words hitting him like a breath of fresh air. Fred and George, for all their pranks and jokes, weren’t just the loudest ones in the family. They could be serious when they wanted to be. They knew him better than anyone.

“You know,” Fred said, his grin widening. “We don’t always give you credit for being... well, you. But we should. You’ve got a lot going for you, Ron.”

“We see you,” George added, his tone more serious than Ron expected.

Ron swallowed thickly, a sense of something soft unfurling inside of him. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear those words, how much he needed to know that, even if he wasn’t Fred or George, he was still seen. He didn’t have to be anything he wasn’t.

“You’re not invisible, Ron,” Fred repeated, his voice quiet now. “Not to us.”

Ron’s chest tightened again, but this time, it was a different kind of pressure—a kind that was almost freeing. For once, he didn’t feel like he was standing in the shadows. For once, he felt like he was enough, just as he was.

“Thanks,” Ron muttered, his voice thick. “I needed to hear that.”

Seamus gave him a nod before walking away, leaving Ron with his brothers. The weight of his feelings hadn’t disappeared entirely, but it felt lighter now, somehow. They may have been the loudest, the most adventurous, and the most noticed, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t important. Ron had his place too.

And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to see that place more clearly.

The fire crackled in the background, and as Fred and George chatted with him, Ron finally allowed himself to relax. He wasn’t invisible. He wasn’t second place. He was part of something bigger, something that couldn’t be measured by the antics or the loudest voices. He was part of a family that saw him for who he truly was.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he truly belonged.