Chess Master Weasley
by Bil!

K – General – AW, RW – Complete

Summary: Arthur introduces his youngest son to chess.

Disclaimer: All hail JKR.

A/N: Unbetaed.

Arthur put the small wooden chest on the kitchen table and sat down with a sigh. Somewhere outside in the garden Molly was in the middle of a lecture, probably aimed at the twins, and he almost smiled at the familiar sound. Then he turned his attention back to the chest. He'd put it off long enough; it was time to accept his father's death (he determinedly wiped away an errant tear) and open the box. Time to see what his father had wanted his youngest son to have.

Even so, he had to steel himself before opening the lid. It was nearly six months since his father's sudden death but the wound was still raw. Arthur had loved his father dearly, had even modelled his treatment of his own children on the sterling example he had been set. To have the man wrenched away before he could hold his first great-grandchild was a bad blow, especially when the Voldemort war had ended only two years before. Resolutely turning his thoughts away from these dark paths, Arthur opened the chest.

The first thing he pulled out was a photo album – Arthur smiled a little at a photo of his childhood, watching his young black-and-white self wave energetically at him before running off to chase a big dog around the garden. He put the album to one side and kept looking. Great Uncle Ambrose's arithmancer's watch, the painting of a ship he had loved so as a child, a beautiful copy of Thee lifef of Mugglef... As he took more things from the chest he didn't notice, as a Muggle would, that it held more than its outside could possibly contain. Being from an old magical family, he would have been more surprised had it not done so.

The last item in the chest was a slim wooden box carved with vines and leaves wreathed around a stylised battle scene. Arthur smiled at it, affection mingled with sadness, and replaced everything else in the chest.

Pushing the chest back out of the way, he opened the little box, unfolding it to create a full-sized chessboard with the pieces scattered over top. The board could set up the pieces automatically with a simple command but Arthur had always preferred to handle the pieces himself, to feel their solid weight in his hands and the cool, worn smoothness of marble and obsidian. Slowly he began to set up the pieces, beginning to smile as some of the chips and gouges on the battered chessmen brought back old memories.

This knight had been the first piece he'd ever touched and the dog had gotten it; Arthur had expected to be in terrible trouble, but his father had just laughed and repaired it as best he could without damaging the animation spells – there was a still a lone toothmark in the horse's side. He moved on, his smile widening. Almost every piece had a story to tell, whether his own or handed down from a previous generation.

"Dad? Daddy, what's that?" Small hands tugged on his robe and he looked down into the curious eyes of his youngest son.

"How did you get away from Mum?"

More interested in what was on the table than his escape, Ron insisted, "What's it, Daddy?"

Lifting the three-year-old onto his knee, he said, "This is a chess set, Ron. It belonged to Granddad."

"Grannad!" Ron looked around the room as if expecting him to appear in answer to the summons. He frowned up at Arthur. "Where Grannad?"

For a moment Arthur couldn't answer. "I'm sorry, Ron," he said softly. "He's not here."

"When?"

"He's not coming back, Ron." Arthur closed his eyes briefly, finally accepting the truth. "He's never coming back."

Ron blinked up at him, mouth wide and not understanding, but to Arthur's relief he was distracted before he could demand an explanation and instead grabbed joyfully at the white queen.

"I say, remove your fingers immediately!" the chess piece protested.

Ron, well used to talking objects, chuckled gleefully and bounced up and down in Arthur's knee. Waving her around in the air, he pretended she was a Quidditch player and made her zoom up and down. "Whee!"

By the time Arthur managed to capture his son's hand and pry the queen loose she was looking frazzled and ill, quite unlike her usual, regal self. "How rude!" she proclaimed and hid behind a bishop.

Arthur smiled down at his youngest son. "Would you like to learn how to play, Ron?"

"Yes yes yes!" He flung his pudgy little hands into the pieces and sent them flying.

"A little less violently," Arthur laughed. Ron chortled happily to have his father's attention all to himself. "Here. See this piece? This is a pawn."

"Pawn!" Ron agreed enthusiastically.

"Exactly. Now, the pawns go in lines like this. No, put the black ones on one side and the white ones on the other. That's right, well done. Now this piece here, the one that looks like a castle, this is a rook."

"Hook!"

"Rook. They go in the corners—Yes, exactly. Then beside them go the knights."

"Werse! Wersey, wersey, wersey!" Ron almost bounced himself onto the floor in excitement.

"Yes, the knight rides a horse." He rescued a white knight before Ron could put it in his mouth and held it over the board. "Do you remember where the knight goes?"

"Werse!" Ron protested.

"All right, where the horse goes."

"By the wook."

"Rook," Arthur corrected, putting the knights in their places.

"Rrrook." The boy growled it like a dog and giggled happily when that made Arthur laugh.

"And then we have the bishops. They sit next to the knights – the horses."

"Ship!" Ron proclaimed.

"Bishop."

"B'ship. B'ship, pawn, rrrook, werse!" He pointed them out carefully.

"Well done," Arthur said warmly and Ron crowed with delight. "Just two more pieces to go, the king and the queen. The queen always stands on the square that's the same colour she is. So here the white queen goes to the right of the king. Do you remember which one is right?"

"That one!" Ron held up his left hand.

"Your other right." Ron hastily held up his other hand. "Excellent," Arthur praised him. "There, now the board is set up. Would you like to play a game?"

"Yes! Play, Daddy!"

"Which side do you want? Black or white?"

"White lady!" He pointed to the white queen he had abused earlier and Arthur tried not to grin at the look of horror on her face.

When Molly came in search of her missing offspring some time later, she found them frowning together over the chessboard in a comfortable silence broken only by Arthur's explanations.

At age seven Ron had his first genuine win against Arthur. Shocked, for he'd been quite a good chess player when he was younger, Arthur started to concentrate harder. It was one thing to let the boy win, quite another to have the win come unexpectedly.

By the time he was nine, Ron could win one in three games against his dad. They played at least once a week – it was their quiet time together. The hurly-burly of a house full of people faded away to leave only two foes and their hard-fought battles.

When he was ten, Ron and his father were evenly matched. For his eleventh birthday the boy got an unexpected gift: his dad's chess set.

"But this was Granddad's," he protested, looking up at his dad in shock. For once the hand-me-down provenance made it more precious.

"Generations of Weasleys have learnt to play on that board," Arthur said with a smile. "I expect you to teach your children on it." Ron screwed up his nose at the idea of having children. "Take it to Hogwarts. Find yourself an opponent who's more of a challenge than your old dad."

"You're the best opponent," Ron said stoutly as he opened the box so he could look at the pieces, the old familiar friends he knew almost as well as his family, and he smiled.

When he went to Hogwarts the chess set came too, wrapped up with great care and tucked safely away in his trunk.

Fin