Part 1

"I don't think I can do this."
Once, Ron Weasley would have argued. He would have reminded Harry of all the things he'd done that proved how strong and resilient he was, Hermione would have chimed in with some logical reason that it would all be just fine, and they both would have insisted they would be here to help Harry with everything, that he wouldn't be alone, that it would all be…
But now, though he rested his hand on Harry's shoulder for a moment, he remained silent. Hermione, too, said nothing, but she took Harry's hand and gave it a squeeze.
Ron had grown up in the last year, the horrible year of hunting horcruxes, losing and regaining his friends, and losing forever so many friends, classmates, and his own brother, Fred. He'd gained wisdom, pain, and the ability to know when to be silent, because every word had already been said, and saying them again sometimes hurt more than helped. He'd learned how to rest in the moment, feel the pain he was feeling, and simply be.
They'd all grown up, they'd all experienced too much that they should never have had to experience, and now, as they stood toward the back of a crowd of students on the train station platform, the line of no-longer-horseless carriages in front, the horrified exclamations of the students in front, most of whom had never witnessed death before this last, horrible year, returning to Hogwarts seemed too daunting for words.
At last, however, the students moved forward, hesitantly at first, the younger ones, and the rare few older ones, the ones who were lucky enough to only question what had everyone so upset, leading the way this time, getting into the carriages. Hagrid had already taken the first years away for that first, awe-inspiring and quite terrifying boat ride to the castle, and once the whispers spread, explaining the reason behind the sudden apparent apparition of horrific skeletal horses, with their black flesh hugging bone inspiring dread, the carriages filled, reluctantly. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were some of the last. Despite his words, Harry climbed up into the carriage and moved over to make room for his friends. There weren't all that many returning students, compared to previous years, they had no problem getting the carriage to themselves.
Finally, Harry spoke again. "Malfoy came back. Did you see him?"
"Yeah," Ron answered, the familiar rage kindled, and died, he couldn't seem to sustain it. "Wonder how he had the nerve."
Harry shrugged, still looking out the window at the black night beyond. The castle came into view, all brilliantly lit, magical in every sense of the word. In the dark they could pretend there were no battle-blackened stones, to scars of the battle that had happened so very, very recently. Harry was right, thought Ron, it's too damn soon.
They sat through the sorting, for the first time in years, and watched the so, so tiny first years, not as many of them as there should be, making their way to the stool, that familiar look of sheer terror on their faces, to be sorted. Every time a hat shouted out "Slytherin!" with an air of near-defiance, as though daring anyone to react negatively, the silence in the Great Hall was deafening, the pale-faced children scuttling to their table quickly, into the sheltering arms of their house, and away from all the watching eyes. Ron found to his surprise that he pitied them. The already infamous house would now be even further stigmatized. These kids were taking on a mantle of responsibility for so many things they had nothing to do with. The thought was strange to Ron. He found himself looking at the whole table in a new light. How many were actually guilty of something? How many were truly worthy of being reviled the way the whole house would no doubt be? He looked from face to face, noticing the down-cast eyes and stoic expressions, the grim set of their lips. Not Slytherin arrogance, no. He saw Draco Malfoy move over for a first year to take a seat beside him, saw his speaking to her, a slight smile of welcome on his face, and saw him give the girl a reassuring pat on the shoulder and draw others into the conversation. Making her feel welcome.
He brought his attention back to his table, to his own first years, scared little things despite their warmer welcome. He grinned at a tentative boy and made way for him, patting him on the back and making introductions all around. The boy looked at him in awe, the words "war hero" practically hovering in the air between them. Ron turned to introduce Harry, only to find him staring at the Slytherin table as well, as if lost in thought. All the first years, and no few of the others, regarded him with awe, but Harry barely noticed. He wasn't trying to be the Saviour, or the Boy Who Lived. Or anything. He was just going through the motions. Ron brought the attention back to himself for the rest of the meal, drawing the questions away from Harry, sending them away to others who'd been there. "Ask Luna, she was there. She was brilliant!" "You should have seen Neville cut off that snake's head! It was like something out of a legend!" "Hermione, tell him how we…" and on and on. Ron didn't think Harry even noticed what he was doing. Not even when someone dared to ask Harry if it was true he'd really died, and Ron shot the kid a glare so fierce he almost fell off his seat, and directed the conversation elsewhere. But when they were getting ready for bed that night, Harry gave him a slight smile and said "Thanks Ron," before drawing his bed-curtains closed.

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A month had passed, with little change in Harry's solemn distance, or indeed the quiet, somber feeling among the older students, though the younger years lightened the mood of the castle with their laughter, games, and inability to hold onto the darker mood for long. They were, after all, children, and resilient. Ron longed to be able to forget so easily. Harry was no longer the only one to have nightmares, not the only one to place Silencing Charms on his bed-hangings every night to keep in the sounds of restless, interrupted sleep, or gut-wrenching sobs.
The Slytherins had it just as bad as Ron had predicted. Mostly, it was nothing terrible, nothing truly dangerous, though there'd been a few hexes on the more extreme end that had resulted in hospital visits, and even one case of poisoning in Potions that most of the students knew was likely not accidental, though if they had actually meant for Tracy Davis to almost die was another matter, and she would be able to resume classes in another month or two, so nothing further was said on the matter. The culprit hadn't been caught. All of this did much to soften Ron's anger. He found himself watching, analyzing, studying, as if the whole of Hogwarts were a giant game of chess.
He wanted to talk to Hermione about it. Get her analytical mind working on this problem. But even the fact that he was beginning to see it as a problem to be solved, something he felt should be solved, seemed somehow wrong, too revealing, too soon. He, Hermione and Harry only talked about homework, about day-to-day trivialities. They had talked through everything after the war, talked and talked and talked, and now they had an unspoken agreement to just forget everything for a while longer. To bring up the Slytherins would be to bring up everything, and Ron wasn't ready to do that either.

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Harry was watching, too. Ron hadn't been sure at first, but now he was. For the last month, Harry had been staring at the Slytherin table during every meal. More specifically, he'd been staring at Draco Malfoy. Hardly surprising, considering their history, but there was no animosity, just…watching, and occasionally something like puzzlement would cross Harry's face. And Draco would notice him watching and Harry would quickly look away.
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Draco was watching Harry. Harry was spending less and less time staring at Draco, because every time he looked at the Slytherin table, Draco was watching him. Both pretended it wasn't happening, Ron saw Draco's eyes move on to scan the rest of the hall once Harry noticed his gaze, but it wasn't fooling anyone. Sometimes Ron caught Draco with a look almost like longing on his face, though for what, Ron didn't know. For that friendship Harry had denied in their first year? That was impossible now, after all that came before. Harry would never be able to forgive that much ugliness and pain, the insults about his parents, Draco's part in the war.
And so they watched each other, and Ron watched them watching each other, and wished he could talk to Hermione.

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"I thought you and Hermione would be together now." Ron looked up at Harry, who was strangely attentive, his eyes really focused on Ron, and not with that hint of 'elsewhere' about them. The statement surprised Ron. Not only was it several months late in coming, and why now of all times? It was also much too close to referring to The War. Harry knew about Ron and Hermione's moment in the Chamber of Secrets, and Ron had told him about his hopes and dreams about their future together. But, they hadn't spoken of it, really. And it had just sort of…gotten left behind with the war and all the other things they'd been through. Because Hermione was nearly as distant as Harry and Ron, in some ways, still felt he'd lost his two best friends. Maybe things would never be the same because he'd left them once, abandoned them, and they'd grown closer, and maybe they didn't need him or want him any…no. Those were horcrux thoughts. He knew his friends loved him as much as he loved them. He even knew, KNEW, that Hermione was in love with him. But if it wasn't time, it wasn't time.
He realized Harry was still staring at him, and shrugged. "I did, too. I guess we all just need more time."
"Yeah…" Harry looked away, frowning in thought.
"What about you and Ginny, I admit…I kinda thought the same. After…everything…you could be together now."
Harry shrugged, still looking away. "I think that was all just a dream. I don't think it was ever really meant to be. I think I just wanted family, and Ginny…" He looked back at Ron, eyes widening when he apparently remembered he was talking to her brother, and stopped. "Sorry, Ron."
"For what? Harry, you'll always be my best friend. You don't have to date my sister to be part of our family, either."
"Thanks Ron. For understanding. Do you think…" he trailed off, his expression had gone distant again.
After that, Ron watched Harry watching Malfoy, and Malfoy watching Harry, and he began to wonder, and he began to think.

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Part 2 will be up tomorrow! And the next chapter of "Harry Potter and the Mysterious Texting Partner" will also be up very soon, so keep an eye out for that as well!
This is only a quick, 2-part fic. The product of a small idea I had about Ron Weasley, being the brilliant chess player he is, and how he may discover the ability to use that same skill with people! I had been reading too many fics that portrayed Ron as stupid and obnoxious and I needed something a little different!
Cheers!
Loony Luiny