WHO: Ron Weasley and OPEN. WHAT: Playing chess. WHEN: Afternoon. WHERE: Just outside of the complex. RATING: PG to start.
Ron might have been a Gryffindor through and through, but he wasn't downright delusional. They might have survived the big fight against the complex, but could they manage to do the same when the end of the world came knocking at their doors next time? He wanted to think that they stood a chance. They were heroes, right? The good guys. Back in his world, the good guys fought back. They stuck to what was right, looked evil in the eye, and...oh, who was he even kidding? There were plenty of folks who had died for trying to be a hero back in his world. Ron had read about it himself. His own blood, dead and beaten and Merlin even knew what else because of the risks that they took to stand against You-Know-Who. Was it going to be the same here? Were all of these people that he had lived with for months now going to sacrifice themselves trying to do the right thing? Not all of them were heroes. Not really. But considering the number that Ron knew to be as such...he shook his head quietly, looking as though he were chastising the chess set propped in front of himself. They needed to be careful. Or, better yet, they needed to find a safe way home. To their real homes. Lilith was dead, right? Why were they still here if the woman who brought them along was long gone?
"Knight to -" Ron breathed out heavily through his nose. Right. No magical chessboards. He kept forgetting all that, even after all this time. Ron had been playing chess the wizarding way his whole life. Adjusting to the Muggle lifestyle was something that he still struggled with at times. Not as much as before, but it was enough to make him want to pull out his hair. He stretched an arm out and moved his knight forward, blocking off a pawn. It was a clever move. Too bad there was no one around to appreciate it. Ron slumped back in the fold-out chair he had dragged into the grass, long legs stretching out underneath the table he was sitting in front of. Playing chess outside used to be something he enjoyed doing back at the Burrow. It was getting warmer out, so doing so was more possible than it had been before. Ron was taking advantage of the opportunity. He had hoped that doing so would help him clear his head, but instead Ron felt that he was more distracted than ever. Why did things have to be so bloody complicated?