Midnight by the Weasley Watch

by excessivelyperky (tlambs1138 @charter.net)

Rating: PG

Fandom: Harry Potter

Category: Mystery, Gen

Spoilers: Through GoF. Fifth Year AU.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the emir and Rafi. Her pitch, her Snitch, and her players.

Summary: Ron Weasley makes up his schoolwork, and actually _thinks_ for a change. Snape gets some Christmas presents he doesn't expect. The old game is over, but a new one is just beginning.

Author's Notes: This story has a lot to say about chess. If you are allergic to chess, you'd best wander off (though I think I've managed to keep the games from being too terribly boring). If you are truly expert in chess, have mercy, I'm doing the best I can. The title is a tribute to story about chess (well, sort of) by Fritz Leiber called "Midnight by the Morphy Watch", which itself was a tribute to Paul Morphy, the first American grandmaster.

Chapter One -- Setting the Pieces

Ron was excited. Who wouldn't be after learning about the Hogwarts Wizard Chess Championship? Students were going to play other members of their own House first and establish a champion. Then the champions would play off against each other, along with members of the staff. "The winning professor plays Dumbledore," Ron said, as he explained all the rules in exquisite detail to the members of the Gryffindor common room who had yet to make their escape. "And then the staff and the student Hogwarts champions go to the real chess tournament in Bulgaria." He decided not to mention the prize money for the top placers in Bulgaria. He didn't always miss the looks even Harry and Hermione gave him sometimes when he complained. But it would be nice to see Mum's face if he could put a sack of Galleons in her lap, instead of always having to make do.

It would be nice to walk into Mr. Ollivander's and get a wand that was really his, too. Then he glanced at his sister, sitting as close as Harry would let her. Ginny ought to have better than the leftover junk that all her brothers had already been through. Mum did her best, but there just wasn't enough for everybody sometimes. And Ginny had to have some new things, just because she was a girl.

Filled with dreams of glory and (maybe) money, Ron pored over the rules again in silence, barely noting the looks of gratitude as he finally shut up. The games between the House champions and the staff would be timed, though that usually wasn't his problem. Students who were eliminated in the earlier would be asked to help, or more to his liking, allowed to observe the games higher up the ladder. Ron had never seen anyone but McGonagall play, though he knew that Dumbledore did. His father got him chess magazines sometimes and they went over old games during the summer when there was time. But the other members of the staff were a mystery to him.

"What are you going to do for the tournament, Harry?" he asked absently.

"Go practice Quidditch," Potter answered. "You've slaughtered me enough already."

"You're not that bad," Ron said. "You'll probably win a couple of games. Besides, we need to have a minimum number of people signed up per house. What about you, Hermione?"

"I'm going to help Professor Binns," she said. "He's going to play, but he needs someone to move the pieces. It'll help my game to watch him."

Something's got to, he thought to himself, but decided not to say it out loud. If Granger gave chess half the concentration she did to anything else, she could play a lot better.

"Look, we'll be your cheering section," Harry said. "I'll sign up if I have to, but as soon as I get wiped off the field I'll come watch you. I won't have any idea what I'll be looking at, mind, but I'll be there."

Ron nodded. "The games for Gryffindor begin in a week. I wonder who else is going to play?" Oliver Wood might; strategy at Quidditch and chess weren't all that different.

He was worse than usual at his classes for the next few days. Of course it was in Potions that he was the most absent-minded.

"Mr. Weasley, do try to pay attention. Even Mr. Longbottom has completed the assignment adequately. Five points from Gryffindor and a detention this evening."

Ron glumly complied that night, though he brought along his chess set in case he was left unsupervised. Professor Snape spotted it immediately, unfortunately, and made him set it aside. Washing cauldrons was not his idea of a pleasant evening, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been as Snape spent most of the time scowling at papers instead of him.

Just before he was dismissed, the Potions Master asked him a question. "Mr. Weasley, what sort of set do you have?"

At first he didn't want to show anything that meant so much to him to Snape, who would only sneer at it, but he grudgingly obeyed.

"That's a better one than I expected you to have," the professor said, looking at the pieces intently.

"They were Grandfather's," Ron said, fondly remembering the old man who had taught him how to play. "He left them to me because I'm the only one besides Dad who really likes the game. Mum does, some, but she usually doesn't have time."

"I would imagine not," Snape said, with only a little bit of sting to it. "If you don't mind some advice, Mr. Weasley, I would suggest that you play more than just Gryffindors this next week. There will be time for non-tourney games and plenty of boards once the first eliminations are over. You will also be able to observe members of the staff playing the week after that. Filch, for instance, has a very unpleasant endgame just when one think it's over."

Ron's jaw dropped open to hear something helpful from the greasy git. "T-thank you, sir," he managed, then packed up his chess set and left.

Once he was back in the Gryff common room, he found that Hermione had snagged a few books on wizard chess out of the library, though she complained the Ravenclaws had been there before her. Ron recognized most of the titles already, but thanked her anyway. They were all basic ones, but it couldn't hurt Hermione to have some idea of what was going on.

During the next few days he quickly became aware of his potential rivals. Draco Malfoy made himself odious as the uncrowned chess king of Slytherin, though nobody had played any games yet. Ron bit back a number of rejoinders. Maybe next week I ought to play him and find out if there's anything to back up the mouth.

He thought McGonagall's classes were great. She'd given up on getting anyone to care about Transfigurations for a while and talked about chess. Ron listened carefully, since she was the one who had designed the chess trap to guard the Philosopher's Stone.

"The All-Wizards' Tournament is held every five years," she began. "Each school sends one student and one member of the staff to represent them. Of course, any wizard may enter if they like, though players who are already rated are placed in the eliminations differently than those who are not. The only allowed transfiguration during a game of chess is when a pawn reaches the eighth row and may become any piece it likes, though usually a queen is chosen. However, some players have made that piece a knight instead. Unfortunately there have been some unallowed transfigurations during a game. One of them led to a wizard's duel between Auguste Dupin and an American from New Orleans in the mid-nineteenth century in the streets of Paris. Mr. Weasley, since you were so kind to bring your set with you to class today, would you please allow me to demonstrate?"

Hermione mouthed busted! at him. Ron took his case up to Professor McGonagall and set out the board and pieces at her direction.

"Pawns are usually bespelled to transform on the eighth square. Most of the other pieces are resistant to any spells at all for obvious reasons," the teacher said. "I shall attempt to change this pawn into a rook while it's on the third square. Watch."

She chanted a spell and waved her wand. The pawn writhed for a moment, shook all over, and then sighed as it stayed a pawn. Then it bent over, briefly pulled down its trousers, and stood up again.

"I see the Weasley sense of humor extends everywhere," McGonagall said with a sigh. "But most professional grade wizard chess pieces do have some kind of reaction set into them against being transformed improperly. As an additional precaution, no wand use will be allowed in the tourney area, not even by the staff. Part of the main hall will be cordoned off for student and staff play.

"Student play begins next week. The champions and the staff will play the week after. This does not eliminate schoolwork altogether during that time. Those of you who aren't playing are encouraged to review what we've done so far. Those of you who are playing-well, try to think about something besides chess every once in a while. Remember, only one person from each house will be playing in the second week. Of course, there will be some observation time allowed for the rest of you even if you don't make it past the preliminaries. However, your schoolwork must come first. I will be playing the week after next, but you will still be responsible for your work. Some members of the staff aren't playing and will be supervising your study."

She passed out the Gryffindor schedule to nearly everyone. "The other students will get next week's schedule from their own head of house. A copy of this will also be posted in the Gryffindor common room. Mr. Weasley, a word with you after class, if you please."

Ron couldn't think of anything he'd done wrong this time, but felt guilty out of reflex. Once the other students were gone, he started packing up his set.

"Oh, don't look so doomed, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said dryly. "I only wished to ask if you'd like a bit of coaching when and if you slaughter the rest of your fellows. And don't get vain, you're not the only one I plan to speak to."

"Um, yes, I mean of course?" Ron stuttered.

"Good. Since you will obviously be playing the first week and possibly the week after, I suggest you take this assignment sheet and get some of it done ahead of time. I would like to see most of it completed before I schedule any coaching sessions."

"Yes, Professor." Well, that was plain enough. If he wanted any help, he'd better do what she said.

Snape discussed the tournament in his class, too. His threats were more obvious. "Don't expect to get out of any work," he said in his usual unpleasant manner. "Most of you will be eliminated early anyway. You do need to know that there will be no Potions Class the week after next. Don't cheer too loudly or you'll wake up some of your fellow students. I will be holding office hours after the tournament is over for the day for the few of you who actually care about keeping up. The Slytherin schedule will be posted in the House common room. I suggest you make notes."

Ron didn't know that the Potions Master played. Maybe he was going to be one of the judges, which was even more frightening. Draco smirked as if he'd already won. Once class was over, though, Malfoy looked sober enough as Snape spoke to him in a low voice. Probably telling him the same thing McGonagall told me, he thought ruefully.

Everyone in Potions got an extra assignment sheet, too. In fact, he picked up one in every class, including History. He took them back to the Gryffindor common room and looked at them blankly. There were a dozen things he'd rather be doing.

"Pick one. Do it. Then pick another one," advised Hermione, who sat down and plunked her books on the table next to his.

"Which one?"

"It doesn't matter." She closed her eyes and stabbed down blindly with one finger. "That one."

It was the Potions sheet, of course. Ron sighed, and decided Granger was right. All he really wanted to was to get out his pieces and run through a few games from memory. But if Snape was going to be playing or judging, or worse, both, it couldn't hurt to have as much of his stuff turned in as possible.

Chapter Two-Opening Moves

In a few days, the Gryffindor tournament began under McGonagall's supervision. All games were played in the part of the main hall that was set aside for the different houses to determine their own champion.

Just as Ron thought, Oliver Wood was playing, too. But he looked at the schedule, and they weren't going to meet for a while even if both of them were undefeated. He was pleased that Potter actually did win a couple of games at first, though in the third round a couple of days later they were matched together.

"Well, this won't take long," Harry said ruefully. "I should have volunteered the way Granger did. She doesn't have to do a thing till next week."

Ron just nodded. Friends were important, but this was chess. Besides, if he became house champion, the games next week would be scored as well as tallied as wins, losses, or draws. As much as he wanted to go easy on Potter, it wouldn't be right.

It didn't take long. Harry barely avoided the fool's mate that Ron set up just as a joke, but didn't have an organized strategy to manage Ron's concerted attack.

"Can I just resign now?" Harry asked, as they both listened to the whines of his fallen pieces at the side of the board.

"I don't think we're supposed to," Ron said. "Let's just play it out."

Then Potter's king pulled out his sword and dramatically stabbed himself. "I've never seen it do that before," Harry said.

"Neither have I. I guess he wants it to be over, too."

Only one game remained in this round for him, but that was scheduled for tomorrow, and it was still only early afternoon. Potter fled the scene of the massacre, no doubt heading directly for his broom. Ron briefly considered homework, shuddered in horror, and wandered around looking for someone to play. Ok, so he was following Snape's advice. Big deal.

Malfoy sat by himself staring at a board already set up, and obviously trying to figure his way through the problem in front of him. Apparently Crabbe and Goyle hadn't even entered, since Ron couldn't see them anywhere.

"Quick match?" Ron asked, bracing himself for the usual Malfoy malice.

"Sure," Draco said with a smirk. "This mess is no good."

Ron thought Malfoy was giving up too easily. Just by glancing at the game he saw several possible lines of attack. But that wasn't his problem, so he helped Draco set up the board for a fresh game.

The pieces were quiet. No doubt they were from the school borrow chest, and had been handled by so many people they'd given up having any opinions of their own. Malfoy drew white, but Ron didn't mind. He wanted to learn his opponent's style more than anything else, and wasn't that worried about actually winning.

Draco's opening was conventional, and so was his. As the game proceeded, Ron realized that Malfoy was actually pretty good. A few moves later, he saw that Draco was re-creating a classic game from the All-Wizard's Tournament in Paris ten years ago. Fortunately, Arthur Weasley followed the sport. A good thing Dad and I replay some of those games, Ron thought. Now what if I try for a queen's gambit instead of leading with the bishop like Duvalier did back then? It certainly can't hurt!

Malfoy squinted, apparently stymied once Ron started changing his play. He became more hesitant about his moves.

He must have a good memory to get this far, but there's more to playing than that. But the game was no cakewalk, and Ron knew he'd better not follow that classic game too closely himself. "Play the pieces, not the player," Dad always said.

It was like Quidditch, in a way. You had to make the other side react to your moves, not the other way around. He bent down over the table and created a pattern he liked better.

At last Malfoy had to admit defeat, though it took checkmate to do it. "Good game," Draco said with obvious reluctance.

"Well played," Ron said, feeling the same way at having to be polite. Once Malfoy got up and left, Ron put the pieces back the way they'd been when he'd gotten here. I wish I had as good a memory for schoolwork as I did for chess, he thought. Then he looked at the problem, and began figuring out what to do. Once he started, the opposing pieces moved by themselves. Apparently getting back into their proper position reset the spell of whoever had set up the problem.

"Amusing yourself, Mr. Weasley?" Professor Snape said in a silky voice.

Ron was startled. "Yes sir. Malfoy went off after we played each other, and this looked interesting."

"A pity you don't find your other studies so enthralling."

"Umm?" At least he'd gotten the Potions homework turned in.

"Never mind," Snape said. "I am, of course, overwhelmed with gratitude that you took my advice about playing others. Any thoughts about what you've learned?"

He was about to blurt out what he'd seen about Draco so far, then realized that Gryffindor would probably lose points if he said what he really thought. "Yes, sir. But I think I'll keep them to myself for now."

Snape's eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. "Discretion from a Weasley. The world must be coming to an end. Carry on."

Ron was distracted for a moment, but got back to business after almost losing his queen. As it was, he ended up having to force a draw to avoid getting smashed.

Then the pieces arranged themselves into a new pattern. As tempting as this problem looked, he needed to play more with real people. I might come back to this if I have time, though, Ron thought.

Getting mowed down by a relentless Ravenclaw girl certainly was educational, Ron realized a couple of hours later. He would rather have missed the lesson if given the chance, but in a way he was still glad he'd played her. He made some quick notes on a scrap of paper while he still remembered the specifics. He set up his own pieces on a spare board and replayed it, though he had to ignore catcalls and insults as he tried to figure out what he could have done differently.

"I see you have met young Miss Brentwood," Professor McGonagall said dryly as she leaned over the board.

"I just wish how I knew she got a Bludger to whack me on the head," Ron said. The girl had set up one of the sneakiest pawn-swaps he'd ever been the victim of, and it had all gone downhill from there.

"I have a book in my quarters that may prove useful," the Professor said. "You might want to have a look at it tonight and have another go at it after that."

"Thank you!" he said. Wizard chess books didn't have pages of diagrams like Granger said Muggle ones did. One photo per game was all that was needed. Of course, that was what made them expensive, too. It took a long time for each game to slowly play itself out, along with the commentary. Of course McGonagall would have better books than the library. Why hadn't he asked her in the first place?

At last the long day was over. Ron ate with good appetite and chattered about the tournament, blithely ignoring the glazed eyes of his companions. "The board that played by itself must have been a teaching board," he added. "I hope it's still there tomorrow. I only have one more game on the schedule, but I still have a lot of work to do."

As soon as dinner was over, he went to McGonagall's office. She handed him the book. "I suggest you look at games 15 through 23," she said. "But don't stay up late tonight doing it. You need enough sleep to play Mr. Wood tomorrow."

That sounded like she thought he could manage well enough without the book for that particular game. But once back in the bedroom he shared with Potter and the others, he looked at it for a little while anyway.

"Turn off the lights and go to sleep!" Potter finally begged.

How could he sleep? Moves and countermoves danced in his head. But it wasn't fair to everyone else to make them stay up, and he didn't feel like getting out of bed and reading in the common room. Finally he drifted off, only to dream of being a knight again like he'd been in the chess trap.

The next day he played Wood in the final game that would settle the House championship. Ron got white, but didn't know if that was really an advantage. Some of his best play came in reaction to what others did. He decided to follow McGonagall's strategy in the chess trap and see if Oliver could match it. You're doing the same thing Draco did, part of his mind argued. Yeah, but if Wood changes on me I can change right back. That's what chess is really all about.

Unfortunately, Wood had studied the game, too. The Quidditch captain used a lot of the same moves that Ron had used to win it. Now I have to learn how to defeat myself! Ron thought grimly.

Then he remembered last night's dream. Last night-no, last knight! he thought. He moved his king side knight further out into the middle. Knights were a lot more powerful than some people thought they were. They could leap over obstacles that blocked other pieces, even a queen. And it had been a knight's sacrifice that had beaten McGonagall the first time. Did Oliver really understand what a knight could do?

A few turns later he moved one of his pawns ahead. If nothing else, that appeared to distract Wood from trying to trap him. Wood must have been thinking of a possible line that he hadn't, since the next chance he could, the Quidditch captain castled.

There were two schools of thought as far as protecting the king went. Some felt it was necessary to keep that piece surrounded at all times. Ron thought it was better to leave the king a few spaces to maneuver. Better a stalemate than checkmate any day!

Oliver belonged to the siege-mentality type. But threatening the back row with a possible fork or two might force his opponent to move some of those pieces. Ron just hoped they would be the right ones.

Then it happened, as it sometimes did. He could see the whole game four or five moves ahead of where it was now. He knew what Wood would do. Most of the time things weren't as clear as today, and sometimes he was totally wrong-but when everything came true, it was wonderful in a way that even Quidditch wasn't.

Wood struggled, but soon the outcome was obvious. The pieces on Ron's side of the board started gloating early, but he silenced them with a glare. Oliver sighed, looked at the board, and tipped his king over. "You got me this time, Weasley. Well-played. And congratulations on becoming the Gryffindor champion. Make us all proud next week."

"Thanks. I'll do my best." Then he told the Quidditch captain his theory about Draco Malfoy. "Some good players start out that way, if they have the memory for it. But if I remember the game, too, then I can mess him up."

"Nothing wrong with that!" Wood said enthusiastically.

"But I'm going to have trouble with that Ravenclaw girl," Ron added. "Say, have you played any of the Hufflepuffs?" It would be just his luck to have one of them put a spike in his plans while he was worrying about the others.

"No. But I've heard someone named Abercrombie is probably going to be it. If he hangs around, play him today," Oliver advised.

"I think I will, if I can find him," Ron said. "And I want to play the Ravenclaw again. Sometimes you learn more from when you lose than when you win."

"Then I learned a lot today!" Wood said.

Ron shrugged. No matter how good anybody was, there was always someone better. Once they both told McGonagall the results of their game, the Transfiguration professor took Ron aside and congratulated him. "I was quite pleased to see you play others when you didn't have any other matches," she said.

He looked down, unwilling to admit that it had been Snape's idea. "I'll be playing a couple of them next week, I think," he finally said.

"If you mean Miss Brentwood and Mr. Malfoy, I regret to say you're right. Have you gotten the Transfiguration homework done?"

"Umm--if I get it done tonight, may I turn it into tomorrow and get some coaching then?" he asked. Some of the staff members were drifting in to get some play in, or so he thought. And he hadn't really figured out what Brentwood was doing yet, even with the book McGonagall had loaned him.

The professor sighed. "Certainly. The more types of play you're experienced in, the better. I'd like to see you go to Bulgaria. And don't worry about expenses. If you become the Hogwarts student champion, your fees, room and board will be covered. I also have a slush fund for anything else that might come up."

Ron felt his face go hot. He hated being reminded how poor his family was. "Thank you, Professor," he said. He hadn't thought what being a champion might cost.

"Well, then. Go play some chess," she said crisply.

That he could manage. He played Draco again, who was smirking about becoming the Slytherin champion later that day. "I only have to play Zabini," Malfoy said, "and I can beat him half-asleep."

Ron concentrated on following Draco's playing style. He tried to guess which classic game Malfoy was replaying, but didn't recognize the game at all. His opponent's moves were pretty fast, as if following a preplanned route, while Ron had to stop and think about his. That would become important next week, when the clocks would be up and actual score kept.

He was still able to figure out where things were going, though. A little voice inside his head offered temptation. Let him win this one. Let him get overconfident, and crush him next week, when the game will count. Ron shook his head. He wasn't that kind of player and hoped he never would be. The game was more important than the players.

Draco's face clouded and he stopped bragging as the game proceeded. Some of the pieces on his side began shouting advice, sure sign of a player in trouble. His moves came more slowly, as if he was off the map again.

Malfoy said nothing at all when he finally tipped his king over. Ron didn't think that was a good thing. Maybe I'd better be careful where I go by myself for the next days, in case I run into Crabbe and Goyle.

Ron thanked Draco for the game, only to be met by more stony silence. Malfoy went off to his next game against Zabini. I'd better not hang around and watch, he thought.

When the standings were posted that night, Ron was champion for Gryffindor, Malfoy for Slytherin, Brentwood for Ravenclaw, and whoever Abercrombie was for Hufflepuff. Ron kicked himself for not trying to play him earlier. Just because Hufflepuff didn't have the reputation for it didn't mean they couldn't produce a good chess champion.

That weekend he hurriedly put together homework for McGonagall, turned it in, and enjoyed the coaching sessions. His head hurt sometimes with all he was learning, but he didn't mind-chess was interesting!

Chapter Three-Possession of the Board

That weekend, Draco Malfoy read a letter from his father with dread. He was champion of Slytherin--wasn't that good enough? But he knew that somehow word had gotten out about his losses to the Weasel.

My dear boy, it began. I must congratulate you on becoming the champion of your House. However, I hear you have had trouble with those outside of it, despite all the care I have taken with your training. Teaching boards are hard to come by, and you must admit that Professor Snape has done his best to coach you.

Draco knew it. He was sick of the damned game by now. Just because Father wants to waste his time with this nonsense, does that mean I have to as well? If he wants to go to the All-Wizards' Tournament, why doesn't he just go and leave me out of it? He had to be careful about showing how he felt, though. Professor Snape was already aware of it, judging by the cutting remarks the older man had made in their private playing sessions. Once Draco had let slip how important this was to his father, though, Snape had sighed and let him work with the teaching board Lord Malfoy had sent.

If Snape wasn't here, I would have given up a long time ago. Only the Gryffs can trust Dumbledork-everyone knows the Headmaster thinks Potter's the greatest thing since the invention of fire. Even with all the sarcasm, Snape understood a lot of things none of the other teachers here at Hogwarts ever would.

Draco bent his head to the letter again. I have taken the liberty of providing you additional help. Sometime before the beginning of the next round, go to the third floor and to the empty hall to the right. Follow instructions properly, and you will meet your new coach. I trust he will prove most helpful.

For no particular reason Draco was afraid. Maybe I ought to show this letter to the Professor and have him come with me. Snape had already defused some unpleasant situations at Malfoy Manor itself that Mother hadn't been able to deal with. Father sometimes bragged how Voldemort could bring the Professor to his knees any time the Dark Lord wished; but didn't that show more strength than the way Lucius Malfoy willingly bent his own?

I'm not a child any more, Draco thought. I can't go crawling for help every time something seems odd. He read the rest of the instructions in the letter, and sighed as he put the note in a small chest near his bed.

Late that night he crept out of Slytherin and to the third floor of the main hall. He didn't have a special cloak like the one he'd heard that Potter had, but had learned that Mrs. Norris was especially fond of herring. It hadn't been hard to convince Mother to include a can or two in the packages she sent from home.

The hall on the right was empty. Potter and his friends must have been out of their minds to come here when that horrible beast of Hagrid's had been chained up in the place.

Go down through the trap door, a mental voice directed.

Draco did as he was told, then walked through another empty chamber. Again the voice told him which way to go. I don't like this, he thought, but kept following the instructions. He hated the way he was shaking. Surely it was only the cold breeze making him shiver.

Finally he was in one of the basements. It was so dark. He couldn't make himself move forward. I should have told Snape after all, he thought. He knew that he wasn't particularly brave. Vince and Greg never suspected, but when he was by himself he had to face the truth.

"Master Draco," said the soft voice, this time out loud.

"Who...who is there?" he asked, his voice going high.

"S-someone to help you with chess." A ghost appeared.

Now that he could deal with. The Manor had an entire squadron of ghosts, many of them far more frightening than this one. He stepped closer.

The pale shade became more solid. Draco blinked. He was surprised the fellow was still hanging around. "I know who you are," he said.

"Yes. I s-see you do. I died here, after all. And H-He thought I might be useful again someday."

Draco could manage this. "You mean, you'll tell me the moves the way Binns will be telling Wormy Hermie when he plays."

"No. Another ghost out in the open w-would be detected. I have to cover up better than that." The spectre moved closer.

Draco stepped back, suddenly terrified. "No, wait! I can win on my own!" Then his back was against the wall and he couldn't remember where the door was. The ghost embraced him like a brother and sunk inside.

Nobody heard Draco Malfoy scream.

Ron awoke on the first morning of the second week of the tournament. He was surprised he'd been able to sleep at all. He bolted down a quick breakfast and showed up over half an hour early. Even if he didn't win, he'd get to play and watch a lot of chess for the next week. It was going to be the most fun he'd ever had.

He looked at the schedule. The first two days would be devoted to cross-matches between the House Champions, while the staff played only each other. Matches between the champions and the staff would be played the second two days, while the last day would be used to settle any ties between students or staff.

Ron went to his assigned table. Abercrombie, the Hufflepuff champion, was already there. The large young man didn't look too bright, but his pieces were well-disciplined and quietly marched down the board. Ron had to work to avoid getting knocked down, but after a long struggle defeated the simple, but highly effective strategy.

"They said you were really good at this," Abercrombie said.

"You're not half-bad yourself," Ron said, after the result of the first game was recorded. "Um...after the tournament, let's play some more. I'd give you some advice now, but I'm not entirely insane."

"Sounds like a plan," the older boy said. "Well, here goes game number two. You're white this time."

Ron had to watch himself this time. Abercrombie was a fast learner. Both black bishops were soon out and slanting back and forth through white's back row, despite Ron's attempt to use his pawns to screen his stronger pieces. What a tactic! he thought to himself. He was glad he finally found a way to surprise both pieces with his knights.

But in all his worry about those blasted bishops, he hadn't been paying attention to the rest of his back row. He fretted when Abercrombie ran his queen up out of nowhere to threaten the white king, and barely kept it from being checkmated. Then he sat for a bit without making any move. He looked at the situation fresh, as if it was on the teaching board he'd played last week. He nodded to himself as he finally figured it out, then moved out one of his bishops.

Just as the lunch bell rang Abercrombie sighed with disgust and tipped over his king. But it wasn't at all the same as it had been with Malfoy. They sat together at lunch and compared notes on the other players.

"You'd better look out for the Ravenclaw girl," Ron said. "Watch out for her pawns. And it helps if you know some of the classic games with Malfoy. Do something to break up his pattern, if you can figure out what it is. You'll know if you succeed if he stops sneering at you and plays slower. As long as he's winning, he'll make lots of nasty shots at you."

The Hufflepuff boy nodded. "I should have played some of the others last week the way you did. That was smart."

"I got some good advice," Ron said hastily, though he didn't mention who'd given it.

After lunch he sat down against Miss Brentwood. It's going to be a long afternoon, he thought, and reminded himself about pawns.

It was dark already once they were done for the day, one win, one loss, and one draw later. Ron counted himself lucky to have done that well, actually. He was beginning to understand the Ravenclaw's pattern and came up with a good strategy against it, based on some of the games in McGonagall's book.

The Transfigurations Professor congratulated him that evening. "You and Miss Brentwood are nearly tied. Malfoy is next, and then Abercrombie. Your matches with Malfoy tomorrow will probably be the deciding factor. She will play him in the morning and you will play him in the afternoon."

He told McGonagall what he'd noticed about Malfoy the week before. "He knows the classic games really well. If Dad and I didn't go over them, I could be in trouble. But if I spot the game he's using, or break up his pattern some other way, then I have a good chance. I've done it twice so far. And he really doesn't like chess, I don't think."

"Mr. Weasley, few people feel about chess the way you do. Fortunately, I am one of them. You might wish to play one of the staff members, as some of them will come in early as well. Remember, you only have to play each staff member once, but do try to get them in when you can, since there are more staff members than students, and we are playing each other for two games out of three. But do not underestimate Mr. Malfoy. He is quite capable of luring you into complacency. I observed him with Abercrombie, and his play was more subtle than you give him credit for."

He hadn't thought of that. Of course a Slytherin might build up an opponent's confidence when it didn't matter, only to drop on him like a rock when it did. He tried to forget that he'd considered doing the same thing.

Ron went to the tourney area first thing after breakfast. Technically, he could have gone to a class or a study room, but somehow that wasn't really an option. And besides, McGonagall had said it would for the best.

He remembered what Snape had said about Filch. He felt awkward approaching the surly caretaker, but he might as well get it over. As he got closer, he saw that Filch had an extraordinary set. All the pieces were cats, from the Siamese queen to the row of Persian kittens as pawns.

Ron sat down and absentmindedly scratched underneath the black queen's throat. He was amazed when the piece began to purr.

"That's the best way of getting these pieces to behave," Filch said. He almost smiled.

"They're beautiful!" Ron said. "I've never seen anything like them!"

"Had these made special. Cost me a lot of Galleons, but they were worth it."

After a bit more chitchat, they began to play. Ron soon discovered that Filch's strategy was strictly opportunistic, based on sweeping as many pieces out of the way before he did much of anything else. Soon the air was filled with the cats' yowling, which soon turned to grim silence pierced by the occasional hiss.

Ron struggled to make what he could of the game. He passed up several opportunities for slaughter on his own account and kept his mind on the main objective. Once they got to endgame, though, he found out that Snape had been right. He nearly lost the game by not paying attention to his king. For once he wished he'd castled the damn thing. But after a bit of smash-and-grab on his own part using his bishops the way Abercrombie had, he managed to bring things back into order. (For the moment he mentally christened his bishops Vinnie and Greg.)

Then Filch crushed one of the bishops and seemed to be going after the other one, when Ron spotted how to open up a path to the back row. He took the rook's pawn with his bishop, as if he couldn't think of any other way to get the piece out of the way of Filch's knight. Filch's rook took the bishop, his own rook took Filch's, and the caretaker stared down at the board, obviously unhappy at what he saw there.

Filch took his time looking. Then he finally moved one of the back pawns to leave an escape path for his king. Ron blocked it with his queen.

At that the caretaker tipped over his king. "Sneaky little bastard," Filch mumbled to himself. "But then I should have figured that out, the way you and your friends get around me into places where you shouldn't go."

Ron couldn't argue with that. Dodging Filch and Mrs. Norris was great fun. He quietly picked up the pieces, petted them till their fur lay down properly, and said, "Thank you for the game, sir."

"Well, at least you know how to soothe them properly," Filch said with grudging approval. "Maybe you aren't a total brat after all."

Ron gave the man a quick grin. How he loved playing so many different people! The more he played, the more he learned. He wandered over to watch Brentwood and Malfoy. Ron worried when he saw how much trouble the Ravenclaw girl was having against the Slytherin. He didn't recognize the game that Malfoy was using at all, or even the style. How sneaky could you get! A good thing he was watching this now. I wonder what he'll pull on me this afternoon?

He walked over to Professor McGonagall, who was playing Binns. Ron waved hello at Granger, who was moving the pieces for the discorporate History Professor, then sat and watched for a bit. The game was almost over, so Ron decided to wait and let McGonagall know what was going on with Malfoy.

The Head of Gryffindor soon checkmated her fellow staff member. "Have you seen any good games lately?" she asked.

"I played a gory one with Filch. I love his set, though."

"A lot of people have trouble with it," she said.

"I bet the pieces like you," he said. "But I got the queen purring right at first, and that must have helped."

McGonagall looked pleased. Ron added, "And Malfoy pulled a big surprise. I played him a couple of times last week and I thought I knew what he was up to, but it turned out to be wrong. He's playing really different today. The Ravenclaw was going down for the third time, or maybe the second, when I saw her. What's really weird is how quiet he was. Usually he smirks and brags whenever he thinks he's winning."

Granger, who was setting up the board for Binns' next game, looked up. "You're right. He natters on like that whenever he gets good marks in Potions, too."

"Maybe he's just paying more attention to the game," Ron said gloomily.

"I think I will watch your games this afternoon." McGonagall's lips were thinner than usual. "Professor Snape can play me tomorrow."

Ron was glad to hear it. He wanted to see how the Potions Master played, and he hadn't been able to so far.

"Yes, the Hogwarts Express is back," Professor Binns said with a faint chuckle. "I want to watch those games tomorrow myself."

Hogwarts Express? Who did they mean by that? Ron wondered. He was about to ask when the bell rang for lunch.

After everyone had eaten, well, except for Binns of course, Ron sat down at a chessboard with Draco. He hadn't been worried before. Now he was.

The first game was a disaster. He couldn't figure out what Malfoy was doing at all. The style was nothing like the way Draco had played before. But Ron blamed himself. I should have figured he was only pretending to lose last week. Play the pieces, not the player, like Dad keeps telling me.

The next game was better. Ron threw out any ideas about what he thought Draco was going to do and took the initiative more. It was funny how Malfoy hadn't crowed over his first victory, though. He wasn't even bragging about how badly he'd fooled everybody.

In fact, Draco didn't say much at all. Ron tried to get Malfoy to talk, but only got mumbled comments. Last week Draco had been full of insults about the Weasleys and so on as long as he thought he was winning.

Close to the end of the game Ron felt himself in trouble again. One of his bishops was gone, so he couldn't send them out to play Vinnie and Greg the way he had with Filch. What if I go out and slaughter everything that moves the way that Filch did? I bet Draco won't be expecting that. It was fun to go pawn-hunting, even though doing it in such a random fashion was against everything he'd been taught. But the look of consternation on Malfoy's face was worth it. Eat that, Ferret-boy!

"Wh-what do you think you're doing?" Draco asked. His voice sounded odd.

Malfoy's moves took longer now, eating up some of the time on the chess clock he'd saved up earlier.

Ron looked at his clock carefully. He was going to have to play some combinations he'd used earlier to save time, though fortunately with other opponents. Draco did have a really good memory.

He was exhausted and had only a couple of minutes left on his clock when he finally forced a checkmate. Ron was amazed that Malfoy didn't say anything nasty.

McGonagall walked by and ordered an hour break. As Draco went off, the professor said, "That was a very hard-fought game, Mr. Weasley. I am about to ask you a favor for the next one. Do you remember my moves in the chess trap?"

"Of course I do," Ron said. "I used them against Wood, only he knew them, too."

"I want you to open that way, even though the game may go against you. I think I know what's going on, but I'm not yet certain. Remember, you will be playing against the rest of the staff for the next two days. They will judge your ability even if Malfoy ends up ahead now."

Ron didn't like the sound of that, but agreed. Once he'd visited the lav and gotten a bite to eat, he wandered over to Professor Binns, if only to be close to 'Mione. And it was restful, he argued to himself, to watch other people play. The History Professor's style was an oddly old-fashioned one, though it held up better than Ron thought it would against Filch's brand of savagery.

Once he was called back to the board he saw both McGonagall and Snape sitting by to observe. Ron gulped, Draco went white, and the game began.

At first Ron recreated McGonagall's chess trap exactly. But Draco's response wasn't like Oliver Wood's or his own. Maybe Malfoy had studied the game. It wasn't hard to find out how it had gone, as Ron himself had done the diagrams from memory later. But black's play was extraordinarily different.

He could see what was going to happen, and glanced at McGonagall for permission to change. She firmly shook her head. Ron carried on, and he was badly beaten. Malfoy wore an unpleasant look of triumph, but still said nothing.

Snape turned towards McGonagall and said, "I see what you mean." Then his eyes glittered and he looked at the board. "Mr. Malfoy, have you anything to say for yourself?"

"N-no, sir," Draco mumbled.

Malfoy looked frightened of Snape. Ron had never seen that before. Draco always treated the Potions Master like a favorite uncle.

But Ron had to speak out. "Professor-I mean, Professors-I haven't seen Malfoy use a crib or anything like that. I don't see how else he could cheat, if that's what you're thinking. He is playing different from last week, but I thought he was just being a proper Slytherin." He loathed coming to Draco's defense, but it was the truth.

Snape raised one eyebrow. "Have you noticed anything else?"

It was just weird talking like this about Malfoy while he was still sitting there. "Well, he's been less nasty than usual. Although he's been stuttering like the Squirrel some of the time. But he's probably just nervous." He certainly was.

"Squirrel?" Snape asked with acid in his voice.

"Well, you know, the professor who taught Dark Arts. The one who almost killed Harry. I mean, the first one," Ron added, since there had been a couple like that.

Then he noticed how Draco's face moved around funny, like he couldn't decide what expression to wear.

Snape's face smoothed out and showed no expression at all. "Well, then, Mr. Malfoy. May I be the first to congratulate you on your first place finish?"

Ron's jaw dropped. This wasn't fair! McGonagall gestured at him to be quiet.

Draco looked smug. Then Snape continued. "We have a rather busy schedule for the next few days, so we are trying to get in as many games as possible. Your first game with a member of the staff will be with Professor Binns. Now."

Malfoy didn't look happy, but McGonagall looked a lot more cheerful, as if she knew what was going on. Ron wished he did.

Draco walked over to the ghostly professor's table as if he was marching to the gallows. McGonagall and Snape followed. After a moment's thought, Ron did, too.

The Transfigurations Professor murmured, "Thank you, Mr. Weasley. Remember, there were two people who got past my chess trap, not just one. The board I set up recalled both games for me, and I wrote them down."

But how could Quirrell still be around and helping Draco play?

Malfoy sat across from the board from Professor Binns and Granger. None of them looked happy.

Binns began chattering. "My, it's nice to play again, isn't it? Pawn to king-four, if you would, Miss Granger. Thank you, my dear. Have you finished that essay for me, Mr. Malfoy? I daresay not. You are quiet today...queen's knight to queen's bishop three, Miss Granger."

As Ron watched, both the Bloody Baron and Nearly-Headless Nick materialized behind Draco. A house-elf silently walked in and handed a piece of paper to Professor Snape, who glanced at it, grimaced, and put it in his sleeve.

In the middle of moving a piece, Malfoy froze, one hand on a bishop. As Binns kept talking, a ghost started rising from Draco's head up into the air. Ron saw an unraveling turban and a thin man trying to flee, only to be caught by the Baron and Nick.

"Professor Quirrell. What a distinct lack of pleasure to meet you here today," Snape said angrily.

"You again! Why don't you stop meddling in things that don't concern you? The Master knows more about you than you think he does. Someday you'll find out just how much."

Snape glared at the ghost. "It is my job to make sure this tournament is conducted properly. Mr. Malfoy is responsible for his chess play, not anybody else."

An awesome idea occurred to Ron. Snape knew that Binns would be able to get Quirrell to come out, and that he would try to get away. That was why McGonagall wanted him to keep quiet.

The Baron smiled nastily. "We will deal with him, Herr Professor." Other Hogwarts ghosts appeared and took Quirrell away.

"Thank you," Snape said. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Draco said, looking horribly pale and sick. "I never meant it!"

"We have the note from your father," Snape said gently.

"I only wanted him to give me some coaching!"

"Your games can't count now. You surely must understand that," the Potions Master said. "Come along with me to the infirmary. Possession is extremely unpleasant, even if the subject is willing."

"You know what my father will say!"

"Unfortunately, I do. However, you can't represent Hogwarts. Your helper would have stayed on much longer than you think. And it is against the rules not to play your own games."

Malfoy stood up with obvious reluctance and followed Snape. Ron slipped away out of curiosity to find out what would happen. He followed them behind to the door of the infirmary, and lingered outside.

In only a few moments, both Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape burst out of the door. Ron wished he had Potter's invisibility cloak, but settled for cramming himself into a corner.

"You shouldn't have frightened the boy like that!" Madam Pomfrey said.

"I want him to be frightened, madam. I want him to be terrified of such things, or he'll see a lot more of them in future! Trust me, I know what it's like to think one can handle anything. I got into a great deal more trouble than you can possibly believe that way."

"You still do!" Pomfrey retorted.

"But I'm not only fifteen, nor do I have a father who will inflict such things on his only son for the sake of a game."

"I suppose you're right about that."

"He'll be in a bad way for the next couple of nights. I'll bring by some potions that will help. Crabbe and Goyle can make themselves useful for once and sit by him tonight."

"It's hard to see such a proud boy so afraid," Pomfrey said.

"Well, he would be better off if he could bring himself to ask for help," Snape said. "And you, Mr. Weasley, had best get back to the hall before they announce the results!"

Ron fled like a hare. He knew when he should be frightened!

Chapter Four-The Hogwarts Express

McGonagall reprimanded Ron for leaving once he returned to the main hall, now filling with people, and he knew that she was right. "Someday curiosity will get you into a trap you can't get out of," she said.

He looked at the floor and mumbled an apology. He had been wrong to snoop like that. Knowing that Malfoy was in trouble for a change wasn't as much fun as he thought.

McGonagall walked off. Potter sidled up. "Hey, champ! Heard Malfoy got himself disqualified!"

"Shh! Nobody's supposed to know anything until they announce it," Ron said. "Besides, you know Snape will cover the whole thing up."

"Granger told me everything. I didn't even know the Squirrel played chess. But I suppose he must have, or he never would have gotten past McGonagall's trap to the Mirror. None of us thought about it at the time."

Ron saw the sad look in Harry's eyes and knew his friend was remembering what he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised. Well, he'd never seen a chess championship when he'd looked for himself. Maybe Potter would find something he wanted just as much his parents someday.

"Quiet!" hissed Hermione. "They're going to make the announcement now!"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. The crowd settled down. "The preliminary results after the last two days are as follows: Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are tied for first place, Hufflepuff is second, and Slytherin has been eliminated." There was a buzz as the rumors started flying. "In the next two days," she continued in a slightly louder voice, "these three players will play the staff, while we complete our own championship games. Again, some of you will be allowed to observe, but only if your schoolwork is up to date. The rest of you will study in supervised rooms with those members of the staff who aren't playing. At least you will be quiet there. After the tournament we'll find out who has and has not kept up. Now to dinner, please."

Ron noticed Crabbe and Goyle talking to Professor Snape. Well, at least those two would be out of the way for a bit. He was a little nervous about what they might do if they thought it was his fault that Draco had gotten caught.

As he ate, he thought about the next two games. Would he and Brentwood have to play each other again, or would they play only the staff? Maybe he ought to go over the games he'd played with 'Malfoy'. The Squirrel was a horrible person, even as a ghost, but there was nothing wrong with his chess game. If Quirrell playing through Malfoy could crack the Ravenclaw in two straight sets, she might not be able to stand up to that style if someone else used it, too.

After dinner, he hastily made notes on the games he'd played with Draco. Fortunately the tourney boards were the kind that remembered what was played on them. The Squirrel depended more on a positional game, ready to pounce on any flaws in an opponent, rather than a more aggressive style. Ron knew how much he'd hated to be on the other side as the Squirrel's spider web started closing in.

"You need to go to bed," McGonagall observed from over his shoulder. "It's getting late. It will take longer than you think to analyze Quirrell's play.

"Well, it did throw him off when I used Filch's style at him," Ron said.

"So it would. Off to bed anyway, young man."

Ron obeyed, though his head was whirling. Maybe it was better to let things rest. Sometimes his brain worked harder for him when he was asleep or doing something else than when he concentrated directly.

The next day his games were going to be with Binns, Sprout, and Vector. The day after that, they were going to be with Flitwick, McGonagall, and...Snape. Fortunately it was only going to be one game apiece, not two out of three. He checked the schedule, and figured out his first game with Binns would probably be over in time for him to watch McGonagall against Snape. At least he would have some idea how the Potions Master played.

He sat down against the History Professor and Granger. It was a little distracting to have his friend actually moving the pieces while Binns kept up a constant chatter, but he managed all right. The ghostly professor's style seemed rather old-fashioned, but Ron had to pay close attention anyway. Some gambits Binns used had been given up by most players, and were brand new as far as Ron was concerned. But he managed to win respectably, bowed instead of shaking hands, and hastened over to another table to cheer on the Head of Gryffindor.

Snape's chess set was medieval, though he had cannon for his rooks. His pawns were miniature Swiss pikemen, and whoever had done the knights had really known horses. The bishops were in full ecclesiastical gear, while the queen wore a winged war-helm in place of a crown and carried a morning-star.

Then he stepped back and looked at the current state of the game. Ron had never seen anybody bring out so many powerful pieces down the middle so quickly.

Apparently McGonagall had. Her face was lit in a pleased smile, and she said, "I see the Hogwarts Express is back."

Snape nodded. "I need to go to that tourney."

"You could have asked, you know."

"But this is much more fun," said the Potions Master, with a smile that Ron had once seen on the face of a picture of a shark.

"Well, I suppose I could use an assistant while I'm there," McGonagall said, with an evil grin of her own.

Ron enjoyed watching the game, but for once it was way over his head. Granger had once said that "you know you're in trouble when the light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming train." He made a mental note to ask Dad to look Snape up in the championship books. McGonagall wouldn't hand out a nickname like that just for fun, not when chess was involved.

He thought Snape was taking a terrible risk by running so many pieces down the middle the way he was, especially with the Transfiguration Professor on the other side. But as the game developed, it looked like the Potions Master was going to get away with it. Pawns were moved up just in time to support the main thrust. While McGonagall forced some exchanges, the result became clear fairly quickly.

"All right," she said with a touch of peevishness. She tipped over her king with a vicious swipe of her finger, "that was the first game. We still have two more."

They started again. McGonagall had white this time. Her attack was far more subtle, but just as vicious. Ron was glad not to be playing her himself just now. Snape fought back, and seized the initiative back with some odd queen maneuvering. Ron was just beginning to see some of the patterns when he was called to play Professor Sprout.

He had no idea that the Herbology Professor even played at all. Her set was all carved plants, but it was still fairly easy to tell what each piece was supposed to be. The queen was a mass of thorny roses, some of which were so sharp they actually drew a drop of blood when he held his wrong.

She was better than he expected her to be. It was a fairly long game, and he really should have known better than to fall for a little maneuver she called "the Devil's Snare". After he tipped over his king, his face hot with embarrassment, she showed him how it worked, in case he ran into it later. "See, it looks like you have a chance at my queen, if you bring your bishop down like this. And there's nothing apparently in the way for a couple of moves ahead. But then I bring in my knight like this, and a couple of moves after that you've left yourself wide open at home to my rook. And once you're pinned down, here comes my queen to finish everyone off."

He admired it greatly. Any player who got just a bit too greedy might easily be suckered by that gambit. Someone like Filch, for instance. Ron pulled out some tattered paper and a pencil from his pocket and made notes.

The second round of the McGonagall-Snape match was still going on. Ron had to pass it by to play his game with Professor Vector. He started it eagerly, hoping to find some way to end it quickly so he could watch the other game.

Ron soon discovered that playing with half a mind was good way to get into a bad position. Well, his father had always told him that a good head for numbers often meant a good head for chess, especially when sighing over Ron's latest Arithmancy grade. But last spring 'Mione had brought in some weird stories by a mathematician even older than Binns (alive or dead). Ron had never been able to get that strange chess game from the second one out of his head. He tried a few moves from it, leading with the white knight.

Vector betrayed no emotion except for blinking her eyes, but judging by her response, did not find them congenial. Ron followed them up with an initiative of his own which had worked for him before. Vector responded with a sudden thrust down the middle, but Ron had left some pawns behind in a diagonal just in case.

The game turned out to be a draw, as Vector's endgame was just as unpleasant in its own subtle way as Filch's. They shook hands, and Ron hurried back over to watch the others.

As he passed the board, he glanced at today's standings so far. Abercrombie had played Flitwick to a draw and lost to Sprout and Filch. Brentwood had drawn with Sprout, won against Binns and Filch, and was going to play Vector after lunch.

Ron bolted his meal, despite Potter urging him to sit and talk a bit, and went back to watch. He was done for the day, unless he wanted to get his game against Flitwick in, though the Charms Professor was apparently busy gunning down Filch.

McGonagall and Snape were on their third game. Ron couldn't make sense of the board at first. Both the Potions Master and the Transfigurations Professor seemed to be in equally good positions at first. But Snape appeared to have the upper hand in board control. Ron watched as Snape tenaciously nibbled at McGonagall's defense. It was odd how the cannon on either side kept their barrels trained on the opposing player no matter where they on the board.

McGonagall took longer to make her moves than Ron remembered her doing so earlier. A few of her pawns fells, though she managed to remove one of Snape's heavily armored knights in exchange. But that was enough for Snape to stop working the edges and start rolling out more major pieces down the middle again. McGonagall looked grim. She put up a fight worthy of Filch, but at the end she sighed and watched as her king prostrated himself on the board.

"Well, Severus, unless Flitwick comes up with a miracle this evening, it looks like you're going to Bulgaria."

Snape picked up the pieces. "Yes, it does. Still have your personal invitation?"

"Always do. A pity you never went back to the game till now. You'd have quite a rating if you hadn't gotten involved in other things." McGonagall's voice had just a touch of acid in it.

"We all make choices, Minerva," Snape said. "Ah, Mr. Weasley. Don't you have any more games to play?"

"Not till tomorrow. This one was the most interesting to watch." Ron was glad that McGonagall was going, too. He and Dad talked about the tournaments all the time. Then he finally got up enough courage to say what he should have before. "And thank you, sir, for telling me to play other people last week. It helped a lot."

Snape nodded. "I will be playing Dumbledore after I've played Flitwick and you three students. You might wish to watch that, too."

"Thank you, sir." As much as he sometimes loathed the greasy git, Ron wasn't going to pass up a chance like this.

McGonagall said, "Go along and eat now, Mr. Weasley. You and Brentwood are still fairly even in the standings, and you will be facing the best of the staff tomorrow."

Ron took off and had a good dinner talking over the day with Potter and Hermione. Once back in the Gryffindor common room, he realized that he'd forgotten to pick up his own chess set from the tourney floor. He went back down to get it and was going back when he saw Crabbe and Goyle in the hallway. He tried to duck away before they noticed he was there, but it didn't work.

"Hey, Weasel! Malfoy wants to see you!" said Crabbe.

"I didn't squeal on him!" Ron protested.

"He knows that," Goyle said, who sounded like he was trying to be polite and didn't know how. "He just wants to talk to you."

Ron reluctantly followed the pair, clutching his chess-case, and hoped he wouldn't be stuck in the infirmary all the next day. Once past the Slytherin common room, where he was greeted by jeers and catcalls, the two took him to one of the bedrooms. Malfoy must have gotten better faster than they thought if he's out of the infirmary already.

He was awed by how much stuff was in the room. He'd give anything to be so rich. Robes that obviously came from stores where they were personally made, books that hadn't been marked on by a legion of previous owners, and a broom that even Harry would drool over provided just part of the background.

Draco stepped forward and offered his hand. Ron didn't know what else to do but to tuck the case under his left arm and accept the overture, especially with Crabbe and Goyle still hanging around. "I want to apologize for what happened at the tournament," Malfoy said.

Ron was so astonished he didn't know what to say at first. After a moment, he stammered out, "Um, McGonagall asked me to play that third game the way she'd set up the chess trap. I think she suspected what was going on then."

"I wouldn't know. I don't remember thing from when I saw Quirrell's ghost to waking up in the chair across from Binns." For a moment Draco looked terrified, then closed it off.

Ron wondered if Malfoy was telling the whole truth, but knew he wasn't going to find it out here. And he wondered if the three Slytherins still carried a grudge for what happened on the train last spring. "It must have been awful," he said.

"Almost as bad as getting three curses at once," Malfoy said, his eyes glinting.

"All right, we overdid it there," Ron had to admit. "But you three had no reason to say what you did about Diggory or Voldemort. Harry still hasn't forgiven himself for Cedric's death yet, and Voldemort almost killed him. But I suppose we shouldn't have been surprised after Potter told us that your father was there with the rest of the Death-Eaters." Oh shit. I'm in for it now.

"My father disciplined all three of us for what we said," Malfoy said, his face growing hard. "None of us had a good summer last year. But I'm sure that Potter only saw what Voldemort wanted him to see. Wouldn't it be nice for the enemy if we all suspected each other? What do you think the Headmaster was getting at in that speech of his at the Leaving Feast last year, anyway?"

"You're right," Ron said reluctantly. After all, Potter had seen Snape and Sirius Black actually shake hands. If that could happen, anything could.

Malfoy nodded. "You see? It's time for all of us to pull together. My father owled me this morning and included a note for you." He handed Ron a piece of paper.

Ron looked at it suspiciously. The small piece of parchment had the Malfoy crest delicately etched in one corner, and read Mr. Weasley-if you go to the All-Wizards' Tournament, look me up. I may be able to introduce you to some people who might be helpful to you. Lucius, Lord Malfoy

"Why should he care?" Ron asked.

"He respects anyone who plays chess well." Draco looked unhappy for a moment.

Ron snorted. "I'd better play as well as I can! Nobody would notice me at all if I didn't."

"It must be strange growing up in a crowd like that," Malfoy said. "From the outside, it looks like you're practically a House all by yourselves."

"It'd feel even stranger being the only one," Ron said, staring down at the letter. "It'd be nice to be the center of attention, and not have to fight for every scrap of it."

"Being the only one isn't that much fun sometimes," Draco said. "Look how Granger works like a Hufflepuff to be perfect at everything."

Ron hadn't thought of it that way. And then Potter was kind of the center of attention with the Dursleys, but not in the way that anybody would ever want. As for him, neither Mum nor Dad got on him about his grades that much as long as he didn't actually fail anything. Did that mean they didn't care? "It's hard to figure out what you want for yourself sometimes, when you don't know what they want. Or if they remember who you are in the first place." It wasn't really that bad, but it felt like it some days.

"At least you can do what you want," Draco said, his face stony again. "Well, enough for that tonight." He began to turn away.

"Why did I get a note?" Ron asked. "The girl from Ravenclaw is pretty good, too."

"The odds are 5-2 on you in the Betting Book right now. You asked me what it was like to have that ghost around. What's it like to enjoy chess so much?"

Ron had never been asked that before. "I don't know. Maybe it's like flying is for Potter, or reading books for Granger. Or maybe like drawing things is for you."

"What do you mean by that?" Malfoy's voice was sharp.

"Everyone knows you're the one who did those cartoons that kept appearing the walls and drove Filch out of his mind when school started this year. They were awfully mean, but you got everybody's faces perfect. I actually kind of liked the one showing McGonagall and Mrs. Norris in a cat-fight." Ron half-smiled, remembering how even the Gryffs had laughed themselves sick over it. "And I bet Snape blew his top when he spotted the one with the big-nosed snake getting stuck in the toilet in Moaning Myrtle's."

Draco grinned. "It was worth every cauldron I had to clean, even Longbottom's."

"Well, I'd play chess even if got me in trouble. Sometimes it's like the sky opens up and I can see what's going to happen ahead of time. Sometimes games are ugly, and sometimes they're beautiful, but it's always chess, and that makes it fun."

Malfoy shook his head. "Better you than me. Get out of here now, and don't fall down the stairs, Weasel."

"Same to you, Ferret," Ron said with a smile.

"My, you're not as soft as you look."

"I had Fred and George for older brothers. Who do you think they practiced all their jokes on first?" On that note, he left-fortunately without the escort he came with.

He went directly to McGonagall's office with the note. She handled it as if it were about to explode. If it had come from one of the twins, that would have been a distinct possibility.

"Oh, my," she said. "I must think about this. He will undoubtedly be there, and it may be difficult for you to avoid him completely. I will discuss it with you when I know something."

Ron went back to his bedroom, one he still shared with Potter and a couple of others, and told Harry all about it.

"I'd be really careful if I were you," Potter said. "Voldemort was going to kill me, Ron. Why should he care who I saw with him? I know Lucius Malfoy was there. And...this is something I heard Voldemort say to his Death-Eaters. I told Dumbledore as soon as I could, though I'm sure he warned Snape about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Snape used to be a Death-Eater, too, and didn't obey Voldemort when he was called. Voldemort said that one of the Death-Eaters was a coward too afraid to come, but that the other had left him for good. 'He will, of course, be killed,' is what he said about the second one. Just after that Dumbledore sent Snape on some kind of mission, and now he's going to this tournament. I'll bet a dozen Galleons that our Potions Master is going to be doing more than playing chess."

"A good thing that McGonagall is going too, then," Ron said. He knew which category Snape fell into.

"Now that we're both going to have nightmares tonight, we'd probably better turn in," Harry said, though he didn't look like he was joking.

"I have to survive Flitwick, McGonagall and Snape at the chess table tomorrow," Ron groaned. He was glad to have chess to distract him from anything to do with Voldemort. He had never forgotten knowing the Dark Mark had hung over the Burrows last year. "That's going to be enough for me to worry about!"

Oh, Merlin,I hope that's all I'm going to have to worry about.

Chapter Five-Kings Play Chess on Fine Grained Sand

The next day Ron played Flitwick first. The tiny professor was rumored to have some pixie blood to account for his size, but that didn't make his chess game any easier to deal with. Ron drew white, but that wasn't much help. Play the pieces, not the player, he thought to himself. That's what Dad always says.

He stopped for a moment about an hour into the game and studied the board as if he'd come to it fresh, like the teaching board Snape had left out for Malfoy. Once he saw what was going on, he knew he could make up any time he was using on the clock.

Aha! Ron thought. So that's what he's up to! Flitwick was using a flanking maneuver down the black queen's side, or at least that was what it looked like from the way he was developing his pawns. Ron decided to gamble and began rolling pieces down the middle, though he made sure his own pawns backed them up. It wasn't quite Snape's game, but it seemed to rattle the Charms Professor a bit. Then Ron sent Vinnie and Greg out hunting, while his knights lay in wait. Flitwick moved more hesitantly, obviously not sure what his opponent was up to. Well, that was reasonable. Ron wasn't sure, either, but he'd certainly distracted Flitwick from his own strategy.

Then Ron led another charge with his knights, usually his favorite gambit. Soon many of Flitwick's major pieces were boxed in or complaining at the side of the board. Not long after that the small professor tipped over his king. "Congratulations, Mr. Weasley. A well-fought game."

One down, two to go, Ron thought as he and Flitwick shook hands. He suspected the Charms Professor's game with Snape last night had been interesting indeed, and wished he'd been able to watch it, but McGonagall had been extremely insistent on making sure he went to bed early for a change.

He took a break, and then came back to watch McGonagall play Brentwood. He should probably take a look at how Snape was dealing with Abercrombie, but he wanted to see how the Ravenclaw was playing in case a tie had to be worked off.

He looked at the chess board. As far as he could tell, Brentwood was giving the Transfiguration Professor as good as she got. But it looked like she was using the same strategy she'd used on him. It was an excellent one; but could she change if McGonagall got around it?

As he watched, McGonagall slowly nibbled away at Brentwood's pieces and put the girl on the defensive. Brentwood tried to set up a pawn exchange like the one she'd nobbled Ron with, but McGonagall didn't fall for it and took the opportunity to firm up her position on the board. The ultimate outcome was clear to Ron, and probably to the Transfiguration Professor, before Brentwood started trying for a stalemate. But the Ravenclaw was cornered anyway. Her king complained out loud and struggled against being tipped over, but it was inevitable.

The pieces that Brentwood used were all badly shaken. Ron took a moment to reassure them when he sat down across from McGonagall. Just as he made his first move, he saw what to do. His own style had won against the Head of Gryffindor before, and she would be expecting it. What was new was realizing how to integrate what he'd seen of Quirrell by way of Malfoy with he'd learned in the tourney so far. He wasn't sure he could pull it off, but since Brentwood had lost her first game, and he had won his, even a draw would keep him ahead.

Once more he left his knights back, as he had with Flitwick. He'd make more use of them later. His pawns soon spread out like advance scouts, though with enough support behind them so they weren't vulnerable. Except for one, of course. He wanted that one to be on its own. Would McGonagall take the bait, thinking he'd overextended himself?

At first she played cautiously, obviously suspecting a trap. She set up her own position and made it stronger as she went. Ron continued, making what he hoped looked like a few mistakes. And she still didn't go after that pawn! Well, if she wasn't going to bring the battle to him, he was going to bring it to her. Now he went after her own pawns, though with an occasional loss of his own. He was going to miss that bishop later on!

Then McGonagall sprang her trap, and Ron stared at the mess he was in. But for once his knights were actually where they could do the most go instead of haring off after anything that came within their reach. He couldn't believe she'd actually forgotten where one of his pawns was for a bit. Then he took another look and almost gulped when he figured out what would happen if he did take that knight with the pawn. Not many used rooks well before the end of the game, but Ron suspected he was sitting across from someone who did. So he left the poor little fellow exactly where he, despite the piece's pitiful cry of abandonment, and brought up a pawn from his queen's side instead.

"Hmmph," McGonagall said, and moved her queen into the middle of the board.

And took the pawn that Ron was hoping she'd so something with since the beginning of the game. His moves came quickly then, and McGonagall was forced to retreat.

She counterattacked a few moves later, and Ron worried about losing the whole game right then. Fortunately his knights came through for him as they always did and maneuvered well enough to blunt the force of the opposing pieces. Then he started clearing her pieces off to open up her back rows.

The game ended up a draw after McGonagall played a little like Filch right back, but Ron felt triumphant. They shook hands. "Well-played, Mr. Weasley. You made me work for this."

"Thank you," he said.

It was lunch time now, and he was hungry. Granger and Potter sat by him and hardly interrupted at all as he told them all about the two games. "But the last one's against Snape," he said, miming his throat being cut. "I'll put up a good fight, but I saw what he did to McGonagall."

Hermione nodded. She had a book with her at table, probably to make up the time she'd spent helping Binns. Ron panicked briefly when he thought of all the schoolwork waiting for him. Then he decided not to worry about it till tomorrow. After all, he'd beaten Flitwick and drawn McGonagall. Brentwood had beaten Flitwick, too, but had lost against McGonagall and Snape, while Abercrombie had died gloriously against all three. Granted, the Hufflepuff had won against both Sprout and Filch.

No matter how this last game came out, he was probably going to be the winner of the tournament. Then again, he had no idea where he stood on either time or points, but Brentwood might have done better than he had on both. So he'd better not crow ahead of time! He remembered a certain Slytherin who had a tendency to do that, and decided he was better off doing just the opposite.

Lunch was over. He sat down against the Potions Master. "Play the pieces and not the player," he mumbled to himself.

"Mr. Weasley?"

"Oh. Just reminding myself of what Dad tells me--play the pieces and not the player."

"Ah. Unfortunately, many times you must play both." Snape drew white.

Ron knew just why the professor had gotten the nickname "the Hogwarts Express", because he soon felt like he was tied down in front of one of the school trains. Or facing a big Muggle truck, or something like that.

But McGonagall had beaten the Potions Master, if only once. Maybe if he encouraged Snape to get ahead of himself, or commit too many pieces, he could flank around. Normally he didn't castle, but he wanted his king safe before he threw down his own challenge.

Then Ron let Vinnie and Greg loose to hunt and destroy. Abercrombie had probably used this tactic, too, but Snape still seemed annoyed by it. Between these forays, Ron quietly brought his pawns forward, supported by pieces behind. He was going to take back the territory he lost.

Ron noticed that Snape's back row didn't look as well-defended as it had been when the Potions Master had been playing McGonagall. He let Vinnie make a run near the area, only to find out it was nastier than he'd thought. Fortunately he'd left the poor bishop a line of retreat, so he was able to get the shrieking piece back out again.

Snape grimaced and began a hunt of his own. Ron defended as best he could, but soon found himself down to one knight and one bishop. He moved the pawns ahead of his king to give it room to maneuver. Snape's pieces were oddly silent, except for Vinnie, whose wail when he'd been taken had been really pitiful. Well, besides Snape's queen, who uttered a joyous war-whoop whenever she smacked anything with her morning-star.

Ron's queen just looked miserable, till she got out and began to threaten the Potion Master's back row, along with his remaining bishop. Then he was distracted as Snape's pieces went after the guard around his own king.

Then Ron grinned. People forgot a king could take other pieces, too, and one of Snape's bishops had gotten a little too close. Instead of moving behind it, where it would probably be threatened by a knight in the next move, Ron took the bishop.

He was astounded to see his king bring out a tiny wand, which emitted a spark of green light as the bishop fell over. Death-Eater chess pieces, he thought morbidly. He stared down at the pieces, wondering if any of them had the Dark Mark on them underneath their carven robes.

But the game was still on, and that was more important. And he was getting massacred, despite his own attempts to clear the field a bit. He took some of the pressure off his king, and quietly moved it where he could keep it maneuverable. Maybe my endgame isn't as vicious as Filch's, he thought, but I can try to keep it memorable.

In a gentler, kinder chess game, he never would have taken so many chances with his king, but right now he had nothing to lose. He attacked, attacked, attacked, and then cut forward once more. His few remaining pawns were sent forward in a desperate attempt to get them to the last square to replace his perished queen, now moaning softly at the side of the board.

Unfortunately, Snape saw rather too clearly what he was up to. Ron's king ran for its life, one space at a time. Once again his king took a piece, this time a pawn too close to becoming a second queen. Once again the tiny green spark flared.

And then it became obvious that his king was going to have to move back and forth between two squares in perpetuity while Snape attempted check after check.

"We seem to have a stalemate," the Potions Master said in disgust.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief, then looked at the board again. Snape was only a few moves from getting his last remaining pawn down to the end. After that, it would take three moves at most to finish it.

"I wish," he said unhappily, and tipped his king, despite the way the piece tried to turn and wave its wand at him.

"I hope you do not surrender so easily in real life," Snape said acidly.

"Chess isn't real life. And you would have gotten me in five, maybe six moves."

"Yes, I see it now," Snape said. "Well-played. But remember not to give an advantage like that in future."

Ron nodded, but knew that chess had rules for a reason, and what kept it going was willingness to abide by them. And he knew he had to make the right judgment for himself. Maybe there was a little bit of Percy in him, after all.

But he wasn't going to argue with Snape over it right here!

The Potions Master put away his pieces while Ron looked at the standings. They had automatically updated themselves, and showed him at the top, mainly because of his draw with McGonagall. Brentwood was ahead on time, but he had beaten her in body count. He wondered if he ought to go thank Crabbe and Goyle for inspiring him to name his bishops Vinnie and Greg, then decided they wouldn't get it. Draco probably would, Ron thought, and then I'd be spending the evening in the infirmary. I'll tell Harry and 'Mione, though. They'll have fun with it!

"Mr. Weasley." Snape's voice broke through his reverie. "I am about to play the Headmaster. Do you wish to observe?"

Ron had forgotten, and gulped. "Of course!" Dumbledore was down at one of the tourney tables and opening a case. He dashed about and gathered up both the Ravenclaw girl and Abercrombie to come with him. Being together seemed to cheer everyone up.

The Headmaster and Snape sat down together. "I'm glad you're returning to some of your old interests, Severus," Dumbledore said.

"I never quite gave it up."

"I see. I suspect you learned some of the disadvantages of using live pieces then."

"Speak for yourself, Albus," Snape said with a smirk.

"Point taken." Dumbledore finished setting out the pieces, then moved the king's pawn in a classic opening.

The Headmaster's set was a Quidditch team! Ron adored it instantly. The King was a Keeper, the Queen a Seeker, and every single piece was holding a broom, except for the pawns. They were all tiny golden Snitches-one side edged in white, the other in black.

The game the two played was so far above Ron's head that all he could do was take notes. He'd replay it later with his dad and try to make sense of it then. Dumbledore's strategy reminded him a little bit of the way Binns played. Snape began rolling his pieces down the middle the way he had before, only to discover that getting there was only half the fun, as Dumbledore quickly swallowed up any attempt to break through his own defenses. Snape then began working his way around the edges, as Ron saw him do with McGonagall, only to meet Dumbledore coming back at him there, too.

Then the game settled down into one of maneuver and position. Ron thought he detected bit of Quirrell's strategy on both sides. The oddest thing was that Snape was actually looking pleased with himself, despite the fact he obviously was not doing as well as he had against the other members of the staff. Neither player said much, but Ron had the strangest feeling they were talking to each other through the way they moved their pieces.

At no time did it seem like the Headmaster was in serious trouble. Yet Ron didn't think that it was as easy for Dumbledore to defend against Snape's relentless attack as the elderly wizard made it look. A wintry smile occasionally appeared on the Potions Master's face, as if he were enjoying the game for its own sake.

It didn't seem like a long time until Snape finally tipped over his king, but Ron checked the clock and it had been two and a half hours. It would probably take him at least that long to replay it properly, but knew it would be worth the effort.

That night the Gryffindor table cheered for Ron and Slytherin cheered for Snape, while the other two tables cheered for everybody. McGonagall seemed almost as happy as if Gryffindor had swept both places. But since she had her own rating, she'd be going to the tournament anyway. Ron was glad about that.

Being singled out this way was wonderful!

Arthur Weasley riffled through books and old magazines out in the family garage and ignored the cold. He already had a stack on McGonagall; she had placed at a very high level in several All-Wizards' tournaments, though she had yet to take the cup. But wizards and witches lived a long time, and she still had many more chances. It wasn't unknown for some of the players to keep on past a hundred and change, like old al-Hadoud or Headmaster Dumbledore.

He ended up going back over five tournaments before he found Snape. Child prodigy, Weasley discovered in a "Where Are They Now?" article. Entered Hogwarts a year early-well, he was tall for his age, judging by the picture-swept both house and Hogwarts championships. Bet Lucius Malfoy was in a snit. The bastard was several years older, and still got wiped out. Pity someone else hasn't done it since. Then Snape went to the All-Wizards, where he took the juvenile cup. Arthur noticed the awkward gangly child looked defensive at first in the picture, then relaxed and actually showed a shy smile. But so often prodigies don't prove out as adults. Then he looked at the dates, and realized what else had been going on five years later when the next tourney was held. Snape was supposed to have gotten involved with the Death-Eaters before he left Hogwarts, he remembered. No doubt chess tournaments were too trivial compared to taking over the world.

Since then, the Potions Master had stayed out of organized chess, though Malfoy occasionally boasted of beating Snape in private games. Arthur had paid no attention then; but now he wondered if the sod had been telling the truth. He was glad that he and Molly had been out of school and married before Malfoy had become so notorious there at Hogwarts. The Marauders went after the wrong Slytherin, if you ask me!

Now Severus Snape was coming back. Ron had owled him with accounts of the games he had seen, and Arthur had owled him for more details, especially the McGonagall-Snape matchup. The Head of Gryffindor normally went as Hogwarts champion, and Arthur very much wanted to see the kind of play that had defeated her.

He was so proud of Ron he could hardly speak-not only for the games, but for the sportsmanship the boy had showed against Snape. He might have grasped at that stalemate himself. His son was still learning from others, and that was the way a real champion operated. Arthur read an old interview where al-Hadoud claimed that even at a hundred and twenty that he was still picking up new things about the game. Weasley had never met the old Arab, though his father had a long time ago. The fellow hadn't gone to the All-Wizards for a couple of decades, but everyone in the chess world certainly knew of him. He would love to see Dumbledore and the Arab meet once more, as they had in a fabled series of games in 1955.

Arthur grimaced when he came across a more recent magazine extolling Lucius Malfoy as a player. Weasley couldn't finger it exactly, but he thought there was a weakness to the man's play than seemed apparent to anyone else. Hope someone knocks him down a peg or two someday, he thought. Pity it won't be me who does it, unfortunately, at least not this time. His Ministry duties would keep him away, especially since there were rumors that Karkaroff had finally surfaced.

He reluctantly stacked the magazines. Oh, how I wish I could go this time! But Ron will have to uphold the family honor by himself. Maybe the next one, he thought, knowing deep within his heart if they were all still alive five years from now that he'd consider himself well off. That idiot Fudge still wouldn't admit that Voldemort was back!

Chapter Six-Progress Across the Board

A month later Ron was called to McGonagall's office. "I'm not going to the tournament," she informed him. "I have been called away on family business."

He must have shown his dismay, as she continued. "Professor Snape is not always the most comfortable traveling companion, but you would have had to share a room with him anyway. You'll both be busy with chess most of the time, and likely won't see each other that much. Do show some responsibility and stay out of trouble," she said crisply.

"Yes, Professor."

"It would be extremely embarrassing to Gryffindor, and to me, if you fail to represent us, and Hogwarts, properly. For one thing, I'd never hear the end of it at staff teas," she said with a brisk smile. "I know you haven't been on your own very much. Don't let it go to your head."

"Wait a minute," Ron said. "What about that note that Malfoy's father sent me?"

"I've given it to Professor Snape. He knows what Lord Malfoy is capable of rather better than anyone else, I daresay." Her smile faded for a moment. "But then, only a Slytherin could possibly keep track of all those family histories."

Ron was puzzled. From what he'd seen, Snape bent over backwards to keep any Malfoy happy. Then he remembered how angry the Potions Master had been about Quirrell's ghost. He couldn't figure it out.

"You'll be gone for a week," McGonagall said. "Here's a reading list and some essays you can work on when you don't have games. I suspect you're going to get other lists for the rest of your classes. You have one more weekend before you leave. I suggest you make use of it to complete as much as possible before you go."

"Yes, Professor." Of course he was disappointed that the Transfiguration Professor wasn't going. Then he began to see some of the advantages. If Snape's schedule kept him busy, he would be on his own. That didn't happen very often, either at home or at Hogwarts.

He talked with Harry and Hermione about it that evening.

"Professor McGonagall's right," Granger said. "If you get in trouble and mess up Snape's schedule, you know what the rest of the year in Potions class is going to be like."

Potter looked glum. "It's going to be awfully quiet around here while you're gone."

"Well, I'm going to miss all of you, too. It's going to be strange to be anywhere without the family or you two." Ron's stomach felt funny. Probably just nerves, or terror at the prospect of being under Snape's thumb for a whole week. He tried not to think that the three of them might be split up forever in just a few years.

He started one of the assignments on the various lists he'd gathered so far, but kept sending owls home or looking in one of McGonagall's chess books instead of actually getting anything done.

At last the day dawned. His trunk was packed with enough clothes for the week, even though he'd had to borrow some of them from Fred or George. There weren't going to be any house-elves eager to launder shirts mid-week to hide the fact he didn't have a closetful of them. At least it wasn't as bad for him as it was for Ginny; nobody cared what boys wore, but if she had to wear the same dress under her robes more than once a week, all her friends noticed at once. If I win any prize money, it's all going to her, he suddenly decided.

He went to Dumbledore's office with his luggage floating behind him, since they were going to use the Headmaster's fireplace. It was hooked into a much larger network than most of the other fireplaces, or so he'd been told. Professor Snape was already there, with a trunk that looked older than he was.

The Headmaster congratulated both of them. "I know the two of you will make Hogwarts proud. And Severus, try to find some time just to enjoy yourself."

The Potions Master shrugged dourly. "That will depend on a number of things," he said, and glanced at Ron.

Ron vowed to stay out of trouble. He knew he wouldn't get any sympathy from anybody this time if he did. For one thing, it would probably be all his fault, and not spread out among the three of them. "I'll do my best," he said.

"I know you will, boy," said Dumbledore. "Now show them all what Hogwarts has taught you both!"

With that they entered the fireplace, Professor Snape first. Ron had little trouble with the Floo network (unlike Harry, who had a real gift for getting lost even after that first horrible time) except that the powder always made him sneeze.

They arrived in a lavish hotel lobby just behind a huge entourage who barely got out of their way in time. Ron had never seen such a beautiful room in his life. Pillars were scattered around, decorated with living vines, some of which were blooming. The floor was tiled in black and white. How do they keep it clean with so many people going through? he wondered. They must have an army of house-elves, or do it all by magic, he concluded.

The Potions Master led the way to a tall counter. "Snape from Hogwarts, party of two, two bedroom suite," he said curtly. When the clerk didn't do anything, he said something in a language Ron didn't know, one that seemed full of consonants hopelessly searching for a vowel.

The clerk found some papers for them after that. Then the man cleared his throat and said, "Chess over there," with a thick accent, as he pointed to another section of the lobby.

A couple of other men appeared and took their luggage, lifting it physically from the floor. Ron was about to protest when he saw Snape just handed each man a coin.

He followed the Potions Master to a table set up at one end of the lobby. Snape produced some papers, spoke in yet another language that Ron recognized as French, and got two thick envelopes with a couple of badges. Snape's was different than his. Probably because I'm still a student, Ron thought.

They went up to the room in silence, though Ron wanted to ask a million questions. If only McGonagall had been able to come!

Their floor was the second one, two flights of stairs up. It had a quiet corner where a couple of plush chairs were arranged next to a long hallway with lots of doors. An old man with a sparse white in pale green robes, who looked older than Dumbledore, sat in one of them and looked at some papers in his lap.

Snape broke into a genuine smile and stepped forward. Ron's jaw dropped. There was a running bet that the professor was incapable of looking pleased about anything, and here he was without a camera!

"Salaam aleikum," Snape said in a voice full of gladness. "Too many years have waited upon our meeting!"

The old man glanced up through the tiny glasses and said, "Salaam aleikum, indeed. How may I serve you?"

Snape bowed, and gestured towards Ron. "I am at Hogwarts now. And this is Mr. Weasley, who speaks English only."

"Hmmm. It has been years since I spoke it myself," said the old man, who didn't have much of an accent as far as Ron could tell. "The last time I did so was when a tall skinny boy from the place fetched and carried for me when he was playing for that school." The ancient man looked amused, then glanced at Ron. "I am al-Hadoud, young man. If you are playing for Hogwarts, you must know something about the game. Have you ever heard the term 'chess rat'?"

"No, sir," Ron said, feeling drawn to the man already. It was really amazing how different the Potions Master looked just now.

"Snape here once ran my errands and brought me my tea, and in exchange I endeavored to teach him a little of what I know about chess in the short time we had together. Has it really been so many years, Severus?"

"Yes," Snape said, his head slightly bowed as if he were still the old man's servant.

"Where have they gone? The world moves so quickly these days, and I hear of so much wickedness." The frail-looking old man sighed, then frowned. "Ah, now I remember." He looked up at Snape. "I heard that you were involved in that horrible business yourself. I wish it were not so, but there it is. Is it not so that you bear a sign of loyalty to such evil?"

Snape's face settled back to its old lines as if a spell shining light on it had suddenly failed. "Yes," he said in a toneless voice.

Ron nearly burst out with But he isn't one any more! He didn't know why he cared, but it wrong for someone that the Potions Master obviously liked to think that way. Yes, Snape was a greasy, unpleasant git, but it wasn't fair to hate him for something he really wasn't any more.

And then he remembered what Harry had told him about Snape probably having something else to do here besides playing chess. Ron held his tongue, but he didn't like it.

The old man in the chair continued. "I am disappointed, Severus." His voice was soft, but his words clearly struck the Potions Master like a blow.

"I hope your displeasure does not extend to Mr. Weasley. He is free from any such taint. I do not corrupt those in my charge." A touch of the whip had crept back into Snape's voice.

"Is this true, boy?"

"He assigns us too much homework and yells at us in class," Ron said, hoping his frank speech wouldn't come back to bite him. "Of course, Draco Malfoy gets away with a lot more."

"Malfoy," al-Hadoud said with a sigh. "I am not surprised at anything he does. So you have charge of his son, eh?" he added, looking at Snape.

"I have that privilege."

"Well, that is trouble enough for any man. I shall teach this boy if he is willing. I only wish that things had not gone as they have with you, Severus."

Snape's eyes glittered. "That is a wish that many have, Emir."

"You have my leave to depart. The boy--your name is what, Weasley? I would like him to remain and begin his instruction now. That is, if he agrees."

Ron looked at Snape. "I would like to, sir, if it's all right with you."

"As you will have it," Snape said. He bowed to the old man and walked down the hallway.

Ron felt slightly panicky. Who was this old man, really? Had he just made a huge mistake?

The old man rose, though with difficulty, and said, "Now it is time for tea." Ron followed, not knowing what else to do. The emir entered a room a few doors down where a short, plump man with brown, glossy skin, dark hair stood. His outfit looked all the world like pajamas. "I am Rafi," the fellow said with a pronounced accent. "The tea will be done in just a moment, master."

"Please sit," the emir said to Ron, who complied. While Rafi laid out cups and a platter of finger food, al-Hadoud asked Ron to talk about himself.

That was never hard. Ron got over his initial fear, especially once he had a cup of tea in his hand, and chattered about the Burrows, his mum and dad, all his brothers, Ginny, and the cousins who came and went. He decided not to talk about his friends at school right now. Potter's business was his own, and 'Mione was nobody's business at all.

"Weasley...hmm. It seems I have heard that name before."

"My father plays some. His first name is Arthur."

"Ah-no, not that one. Perhaps my memory is failing after all these years," said al-Hadoud.

The emir had Rafi bring out a chess set. It was beautiful! The rooks were minarets, the knights rode on tiny camels, and the bishops wore turbans like the emir did. Both queens were veiled, but each carried a deadly-looking sword. The kings, which al-Hadoud called caliphs, wore crowns over their turbans, while the pawns were men-at-arms in Arab dress. "You have a set of your own, do you not?" al-Hadoud asked.

"Of course I do. Do you want me to go back to my room and get it?" Ron asked.

"If you would," the old man said.

That made sense. You could sometimes tell a lot about a player by how his own pieces treated him. Ron went out to the hall and tried to remember what the room number was. He knew it was only two doors away from this one, but he couldn't decide in which direction. He knocked on one, apologized when it turned out to be the wrong one, and then went to the right one. Snape opened it. Ron explained that he needed to get his own set. The Potions Master, clearly not wanting to talk much, motioned him to the left-hand bedroom. Ron was surprised that all his stuff was already in there and set out, which made it easy for him to find the case.

"Wait," Snape said. "Here is your key. Don't lose it. You may take your meals either here, with al-Hadoud, or downstairs. Sign for it with the room number, it's all been taken care of."

"Thank you, sir," Ron said cheerfully, who hadn't even thought about it. He marked down the number of both rooms in his head, since it looked really easy to get lost around here.

He knocked, entered the room, and set out his own pieces. They started jumping up and down and waving once they faced the emir. He'd never seen anything like it before.

"Yes, I recognize those pieces!" said al-Hadoud with a smile. "Who did they belong to before?"

"Grandpa Bart," Ron said.

"Is that short for Bartholomew? I think I played him quite a bit one year. I wish I could remember when...how is he these days?"

"Um, he died when I was ten," Ron said, who still missed him.

"That is a pity. I would have liked to have seen him again. How the years pass!" The emir sighed. "Then let us play in his memory."

Ron was hoping for a game. No doubt the elderly man wanted to check him out, too.

He drew black, which would give him a chance to find out how the emir liked to play. Oddly enough, the old man's strategy was closer to Quirrell's than to anyone else's. Ron was glad of that-if al-Hadoud played like Dumbledore, he might as well resign now. He hated using Filch's kind of play against it in such august company, but so far it seemed to be the kind that worked the best, at least at first.

Once the spiderweb seemed to be broken a little, Ron reverted to his normal style, which leaned on his knights. He kept his bishops in reserve to play Vinnie and Greg if he had to.

And then the emir sprang his own surprise. Ron gulped as the old man's queen made havoc among the black pieces. Then he noticed that white's back row appeared vulnere able. Yes, it would be nice to double-team that awful queen and get revenge for her slaughter, but the point of the game was to trap the king.

First one of his bishops slid into the middle of the board, and then the other. He was hoping the emir would forget about the knight that looked like it was stuck in the upper right-hand corner of the board. He had plans for it.

The old man's eyes widened a bit. Then the white queen sailed to the rescue and threatened Vinnie. Ron moved his knight, knowing it was toast, but also knew that the move required to take it out of play would open the field to his bishops.

Instead, al-Hadoud moved his king. Ron knew if he took the other fork just for the pleasure of threatening the white rook that he might as well not do anything at all.

Anything at all. His pieces towards white's back file were actually fine just the way they were. If the emir's queen took his bishop, then his knight would be there next, and in a position to set up a fork in the move after. Ron moved one of his pawns forward instead. You never knew when a pawn could come in handy, even if it never made it to the eighth square.

The emir sat up a little straighter. Then he moved his queen back down towarde sts Ron's king.

That made Ron sit up. What did al-Hadoud have in mind? He decided to ignore the situation for now and moved his bishop to clear a space for his knight.

Then al-Hadoud's queen took his rook and Ron's king was trapped. Ron tipped over his king and said, "Thank you, sir."

"You are still finding your style, I see," said the emir. "But that is quite reasonable at your age. You will be quite good in a few years."

Ron thought he was already, but knew the old man was probably right.

"Let us eat and drink again, for we have labored hard and are weary. Rafi, serve us."

"No, sir, if I'm going to be your chess rat, I should serve you now." Ron got up and fetched another tray of finger food, and had Rafi show him how to brew a fresh pot of tea. He quickly put away his pieces, then laid out the cups and little plates the way that Rafi had done before. Once the tea was poured, he sat down. He was proud at how careful he'd been, the way Mum was, and hadn't spilled a drop.

As he ate, the emir asked some more questions. "Young Snape there, is he the Potions Master at your school?"

"Yes, sir. He's supposed to be really good."

"I thought as much. It always shows in the hair and skin with alchemists. They can never leave their work long enough to get rid of the fumes they breathe in. And a teacher, of course, is likely often surprised at what comes out his students' cauldrons."

"If they don't melt," Ron said darkly. "I haven't done in mine all year, for a change, but Longbottom still ruins his about once a week."

The old man laughed. "Perhaps it is just as well that Severus must suffer for his art so. Are there young ladies at your school?"

"Of course. One of them is better than all the rest of us." He still didn't feel like saying anything about Harry or Hermione.

"That's right. I keep forgetting that English schools do not separate you as much as I would consider seemly. Severus is wise to appear the way he does, then. No doubt it helps avoid scandal, since young ladies are impressionable and not always prudent."

Ron suddenly remembered Gilderoy Lockhart and all that nonsense with the valentines. Even Hermione had gotten stupid over him. "Well, that explains why Professor Snape wears those horrible robes in class. You wouldn't believe what gets on them."

The old man snorted with laughter. "I daresay that drives your house-elves to despair."

Ron winced. Dobby had told him several times what he and the others had to do to get his own robes looking decent again. He didn't want to know how they dealt with Longbottom's gear.

"I have kept you long enough for today," al-Hadoud said. "I would like to see you here early tomorrow morning, though. We shall go down to the tourney floor and find out what changes they have made in our schedules."

"Isn't that in our packets?" Ron asked.

"Oh, yes, but there are always changes," the emir said. "It is much easier to update one board than all of our pieces of paper. Now, go and rest. You will play all the better for it tomorrow."

Ron left reluctantly, not wanting to leave this peaceful room for one that might contain an upset Professor Snape.

Chapter Seven-Preliminary Maneuvers

Ron sighed with relief when he got back in the room and Snape wasn't there. The Potions Master had left a note on the front table. Mr. Weasley, I am down in the restaurant and will return shortly. If you have not eaten yet, I suggest you do so. The room service menu is in the top drawer of the desk if you prefer to stay there. I also suggest you begin work on your assignments tonight. The emir and your scheduled games will keep you busy for much of this week.

Snape

He's probably right, Ron thought. He really didn't want to go downstairs by himself and take the chance of getting lost, at least not till he could look the place over. He glanced at the menu, only a small part of which was in English, and ordered the most reasonable meal. Even its price made him gulp. While waiting for the food to arrive, he got out his books. Ron was glad Harry had taught him about tellyphones. He was surprised to find a Muggle invention like that here, but it made sense. Nobody wanted that many owls in a kitchen, and how else were they going to get their orders? Before he sat down to study he owled his father about the emir and what being a chess rat was like so far.

When his meal got there he signed for it, like he'd been told. Then Ron remembered how Snape had given a coin to the men who had brought the luggage up here, and went for his pouch. He hoped a couple of Knuts would do, then thought better of it and gave the servant a Sickle instead. I'm going to eat down at the restaurant from now on, he thought. His pocket-money would be gone in two days at this rate. McGonagall hadn't said anything about a slush fund when she'd said he was going, and Ron hadn't wanted to bother her about it after she'd said she wouldn't be able to go herself. Harry had offered to lend him some money. Ron wished now he'd taken his friend up on it.

He ate as he read a chapter in Transfigurations. For once the letters didn't turn themselves around as they sometimes did. That always gave him a headache. Hermione had told him once that Muggles had books you could listen to. Ron wished he could find some for himself. He typically learned more from lectures than he did from books (though he fell asleep in History of Magic just like everybody else).

He was struggling with an essay for McGonagall when Snape came in. The Potions Master nodded at Ron, muttered a greeting, and headed for the bathroom. When he came out, he turned towards his bedroom, the one on the right.

Ron cleared his throat. "Professor, I have a question."

"What is it?"

"When I sign for a meal, how much extra do I add in?"

Snape blinked, as if he hadn't expected anything like that. "They won't expect much from someone your age. About ten percent of what the meal cost should do."

"Even in the restaurant?" Ron wondered if he was going to be able to eat this week.

"Of course. But you simply add it to the meal total and sign for the whole thing," Snape said. "You'll get better service this week from the staff once they know you are thinking about them. Word gets around very quickly in a place like this during a large gathering."

"I saw you give money to the men who took the trunks," Ron said.

"That's observant. For most of this week you'll be with the emir unless you're at the chess table. He'll take care of everything then. In fact, he would be insulted if you tried to pay. In return, it's appropriate to leave him a gift at the end of the week or send him one shortly afterwards. He won't expect anything expensive, but something you put a bit of work into would be appreciated."

Ron wondered what he could get, and hoped he could afford something halfway nice from the souvenir table. "Yes, sir."

"How did your meeting go with him?" Snape sat down.

Ron's head whirred. The Potions Master wasn't yelling at him, but how long would that last? "It went really well. My chess pieces recognized him, and the emir said that he'd played my Grandpa Bart a long time ago. Then we played a game. I got murdered, but it was fun watching how he played. I think he was testing me to find out if I really knew what I was doing."

Snape nodded, scowling a bit less than before. "Continue."

"We had a platter of some stuff I didn't recognize, but it tasted good, and then I poured tea, and then he said I needed to get some rest for tomorrow. I have to be there tomorrow morning. How early should I go over there?"

"Close to dawn. He was always an early riser. I doubt he's changed. If you're too early, Rafi will have you wait."

"Rafi was his servant back then, too?"

"Yes. I don't think he sleeps much, so don't worry about waking him." Snape looked off into the distance, as if remembering something. "It's good you're getting some of your homework done before things get too busy." He got up and turned back towards the bedroom. "I will be reading in my room. Don't stay up much later."

Ron took the hint, finished up the last couple inches of his essay, and went to his own room. It was so quiet compared to either Hogwarts or the Burrows. Oh, he could hear a little noise, but nothing like what he was used to. Snape might be used to being by himself, but he wasn't. The only time he'd ever slept in a room this big by himself was the one time he'd spent a few nights in Hermione's place in the spare bedroom. Even there the noise of the telly had drifted up a bit and made it more comfortable for him.

He almost wished for a few thumps on the ceiling from the family ghoul. Ron changed into his pajamas, ducked into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and saw shaving gear, a brush, and small bottles lying about, like the stuff Dad left on his side of the bathroom sink at home. At Hogwarts the older boys passed down shaving and pimple-erasing spells, but some of them preferred the old-fashioned ways. Ron realized he would be pumped for information about Snape when he got back. What the emir had told him about what happened to Potions Masters was interesting, and explained a lot. And someone who didn't bathe certainly wouldn't bring along a box with his favorite soap in it.

He finished his teeth and left his own junk away from Snape's. Funny how bathrooms were. At home everyone always knocked on the door, though Ron knew that the usual banter exchanged through it ("hurry up already, we're dying out here") could possibly be fatal here. He definitely didn't want to know what Snape's reaction would be to Fred and George's rendition of "How Dry I Am" in two-part harmony.

It was weird. Nobody ever spoke in the boy's loo at Hogwarts, at least not much, while Hermione had hinted the girls' side was a bit more social, and that anybody who wanted a little peace and quiet had to put up with Moaning Myrtle.

Ron went to bed. As he lay down, more of the noise of the city and the hotel came through the bedstead somehow. Strange how that worked. But the background hum didn't bother him at all, and soon he was out.

Snape finished unpacking, except for the secret compartment in his trunk. That held the robe and mask he hoped he wouldn't have to wear on this trip. He looked at the message in Karkaroff's handwriting asking for a meeting. The Potions Master tested it to make sure it had actually come from Karkaroff and that the man was still alive.

It could still be a trap, of course, and the message sent to lure him. He rubbed his forearm, hating the way it ached these past few days.

He heard the light snores from the other room. He'd given Weasley the one that caught the most sound, knowing the boy was used to it. He wished he dared a Silencio spell for himself, unfortunately, under the circumstances he needed to keep a watch on the boy even with the wards he'd placed on the door and windows. One of the reasons he preferred the dungeons was that at night the place was quiet, at least by the time he finally got settled down.

But he'd had one bit of luck he hadn't expected. Al-Hadoud was always invited to the All-Wizards' Chess Tournament, but rarely came. Weasley would make a good chess rat for the old man, and Snape wouldn't have to watch the boy full-time. He stifled his regret that the emir had refused him hospitality. However, al-Hadoud's open disapproval of him might be helpful in persuading certain people that he could be trusted.

At least Draco wasn't here. The younger Malfoy would be under orders to spy on him. If I had asked al-Hadoud to take Draco on as his chess rat, the boy would have been suspicious. No doubt he would have done something to get out from under the old man's eyes.

No, Weasley was a much better choice under the circumstances. His head was going to be full of chess and not much else. There's more behind those vacant-looking blue eyes than I thought, he grudgingly admitted to himself. If only I could get him to use his brain for anything besides a game!

That had been a perceptive question Weasley had asked about tipping, too. It had been easy to spot the despair on the boy's face when he'd been told what was proper, so Snape had felt charitable enough to rescue him.

He sat down in a chair by the bed, weary himself but unable to close his eyes. He k