Author's notes: Well, I wanted to write a Ron fanfic about the final battle, since I reckon (sadly) this is going to be what happens to him. I decided to write from Ron's POV because it seemed logical that he would draw parallels with the chess game in a different way than Harry would (or will, perhaps). Please excuse any and all sappiness, since I didn't actually mean for it to be sappy at all.
Ron Weasley took advantage of a short, sudden lull in the battle to brush his red hair from his eyes. He glanced around, searching…
There. Harry stood fifty yards from him, engaged in furious combat with a masked Death Eater. Ron, keeping an eye out for any would-be attackers, began to move toward his best friend.
A purple streak slashed the air just over his head and he whirled to confront his assailant. Peter Pettigrew, who had hidden from his foes as Ron's pet rat Scabbers for twelve years, faced him. Ron narrowed his eyes, confused; Peter had always been a coward and a weak wizard. Why risk his neck in the battlefield? He ducked another spell and spotted Voldemort. The Dark Lord stood behind his ranks, a general commanding those on the field. His wand was trained on Peter. Imperious curse, Ron realized.
"Petrificus totalus!" he yelled, jinxing Peter. Craven turncoat though the small man was, Ron did not want to have to kill more than was necessary. Voldemort, realizing his follower had been disabled, frowned but did not perform the countercurse to free the other man. Despite the aid of the Imperious curse, Peter did not seem to be a brilliant fighter, incurably fumbling and slow.
Ron was about two yards from Harry, who had just managed to knock his opponent out. He looked up at his approaching friend and their eyes locked. Ron glanced away first, knowing that Harry was trying to convince him nonverbally to stay away. He kept moving towards the black-haired boy. They had already said their goodbyes, but Ron had to be near his friend. Something was going to happen; they both inexplicably knew it. And Ron was the logical choice for sacrifice, the distraction that could allow Harry to vanquish Voldemort once and for all.
As he reached his friend's side, a memory flitted across his mind, presenting him with an innocent parody of his current situation. He was back in the first year at Hogwarts, faced with a sudden realization in a giant chess game, one that had won him a great deal of points at the end of term feast. "Yes…" he had murmured softly. "It's the only way…I've got to be taken."
"No!" Harry and Hermione's shouts of protest were sharp, desperate, commanding in his mind
"That's chess!" he had snapped, willing them to understand. "You've got to make some sacrifices!" he tried to explain, making his mind up to act before they convinced him not to. " I take one step forward and she'll take me—that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!"
"Do you want to stop Snape or not?" He smiled humorlessly; how ignorant they had been, believing that Snape was the culprit.
"Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!" With that proclamation, he had acted, knowing that it was possibly the one move that could end the game in their favor.
"Ron…" Harry muttered uncertainly, seeming to pick the echo out of Ron's mind.
"No," Ron replied stubbornly, cutting his friend short before he could even begin. "I'm staying here. You might need me."
Harry tried to appear dubious, but his green eyes were bleak. "'Course I won't need you. You'd do better to go see who else is around. Hermione, maybe…" Harry allowed his voice to trail off.
Ron tried to ignore a slight twinge of guilt. "Hermione can manage fine, you know that. She's strong enough, and smart enough." Harry glanced sidelong at his best friend.
"Thank you," he whispered. Ron gave a small smile and saw Voldemort raise his wand. The Dark Lord had moved to their left; Harry was his target.
A streak of light erupted from the other wizard's wand. Ron closed his eyes for a split second. Then he shoved Harry aside, leaping to intercept the green light lancing toward them.