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recognize, I do own. Comprendez-vous?
A/N: this is a one-shot fic. it's relatively short, and i wrote it because those damn little fluffy bunnies wouldn't leave me alone.
Summary: If there ever was one thing I learned, it was that life is like a game of chess. We are all the pawns, and those who rule, those who are far superior to us in status, can choose to destroy us at any time they want with one move. [One-shot fic featuring Angsty!Ron, a mention of Harry/Ginny, and includes a little bit of Ron/Hermione]
Checkmate
I don't remember the last time I've been outside. And frankly, I don't care. I've been sitting in this room for a long time- weeks, months, maybe even years. It doesn't really matter though. I could care less.
I don't even remember why I'm in here. Perhaps I was under the Cruciatus curse too long, or perhaps it was Imperius. I don't know.
It is rather small in here, I've noticed. But I like it in here. It reminds me of home.
The room is dreadfully bare. There's one tiny window, all the way in the back, and there is an alarming number of flies swarming around the last bit of daylight left. Next to the window, there's an odd looking table with a missing leg and scratches galore. It's beyond grotesque, but I don't plan on getting rid of it anytime soon. On the table is my coffee. Old coffee, mind you, but it's still coffee. There's a small cushion to the right of the table, and I suppose that it's my bed. Something they've left me. Not that I've used it or anything.
I've not moved anything, nor have I moved anywhere. I've been here in my chair- my gawky, bulky chair, purchased at some muggle store called the Salvation Army in America for twenty bucks four years ago.
I've been here, you know. All along, I've been sitting in here. It's cold here, and the walls are much too bright. They're a stark white, which provides a lot of contrast to my flimsy wood furniture. I think I'm going to paint my furniture. Yes, that's it. It'll match better that way. It'll fade into the walls. And maybe one day, I will, too.
"Ron?" I glance around. I have not heard a human voice, not even my own, in weeks. It's been a long time. I suppose this voice belongs to a new employee, or perhaps an intern, judging by her sugary sweet voice. No one else has ever tried to communicate with me. They always leave my regular meal of stale bread and rotten cheese by the door with a glass of warm murky water. But they never talk. Never.
"Ron?" The voice is persistent. She won't go away. I grudgingly look up to acknowledge her presence.
She's pretty, I'll admit. She has long auburn hair and warm brown eyes, deep and probing. Her legs are long and tan, and her outfit hugs all her womanly curves in just the right way. She grins. Her smile is beautiful. Her teeth glitter in the dim air, brightening the entire miserable room. Her cherry red lips dance as she begins to speak to me.
"Hi," I call out to her. I clear my throat. It is much more difficult to talk than I had previously thought. She looks thrilled. And for some odd reason, I feel compelled to continue pleasing her by talking. "My-my—" I clear my throat again.
"It's okay," she says to me. She wraps her arms around me in a comforting manner. I have not felt human skin on mine in years. It is an odd yet electrifying tingle that spreads through my body. I cannot help it; I quiver in her embrace. She immediately pulls away.
"Is something the matter?" She's worried, I can tell. I reach out for her. She jerks back, shocked and perhaps disgusted. Am I that hideous of a monster? I have not seen myself since they let me in here. And now suddenly, I am overcome with a desire to see myself. I grasp my hair. It is coarse and oily. I brush my face gently with my fingertips. I can feel the wrinkles and the imperfections. I cast my eyes down. Why would such a beautiful creature like her want a gruesome beast like me? I am ashamed, thinking that she was actually here for me. They probably sent her to make sure I was still alive or whatnot.
"Leave," I manage to rasp.
She looks hurt but nonetheless complies. I'm glad.
I resume my position on my chair and let sleep take me away into her embrace. At least she would never leave me. Perhaps one day, she will take me away forever with her.
I wake up, and immediately I notice that it's much warmer. My furniture has been painted a nice shade of white. But it's not right- it's not the stark white that stares at me endlessly every day.
I've been thinking, and I find it odd that they'd give me a book to write in. It's a horrible looking book. It's orange. Just like the color of the damned sun that now shines through in here each and every day. She must have opened the window when I was sleeping. It was the tiny window that I thought could do no harm. The light is piercing. It hurts, and all of the flies have left me. They just left, flew away without any regrets at all. But at least it's much warmer in here.
"Ron?" The voice is back. Great. I've no intention of conversing with this woman again. She's played me once, and I will not let her do it to me again. I refuse to acknowledge her. Let her try all she wants.
"Ron?" Damn it. Why is she so determined to talk to me? She must be a bigger fool than even I if she thinks she can get to me. I learned a long time ago that life is like a game of chess. We are all the pawns, and those who rule, those who are far superior to us in status, can choose to destroy us at any time they want with one move.
I played chess all through Hogwarts. It was -and still is- my favorite pastime. I was superior to everyone else in it, and I suppose that is why it appealed to me so much. In chess, it didn't matter how rich I was or how good-looking I was. Even without money and sexual appeal, I was the king of chess. I was the master of the game, and I played it well.
I won every game I played, but those victories gave me nowhere near as much pleasure as when I beat Harry for the hundredth time in our sixth year. I was at the top of my game then, and I deduce that that was what brought me down. I played recklessly after that, but I still managed to win somehow. But then he beat me. I let my guard down, and he won. He always managed to outdo me because he was the great Harry Potter.
Ever since then, I haven't played chess. It hasn't really mattered though because even if I do try to do something, Harry will beat me. I know he will because he is better than me and always has been. He beat me in everything- Quidditch, school, even love.
He was the captain of the Quidditch team. I was just the keeper, and the only reason I was the keeper was because Oliver Wood graduated, and the team was desperate.
He graduated from Hogwarts with honors as the third-best student (Hermione being the first, and Draco Malfoy, that bloody ferret, being the second). I was the 46th best.
He is happily married to Ginny. I am alone with no one. None of my so- called friends have even bothered to visit. Not even Hermione.
He never won Hermione, though. But then again, I didn't either. She distanced herself from us after sixth-year. I don't remember why; all I remember is her screaming at us for being selfish. Perhaps my friendly "rivalry" with Harry had driven her mad. I don't know, but if I were to be completely honest, I would say that I hate Harry more than I hate Malfoy. Much more.
At least Malfoy stabbed me in the front rather than the back.
At least Malfoy didn't steal Hermione away from me.
It's true, you know. Harry took Hermione away. If he had not bested me in everything and flaunted it at me, I would not have been so enraged at him. I would not have tried to toy with Hermione's feelings in order to beat him, and she'd still be here. Damn Harry Potter. Damn him to the depths of Hell.
"Ron?" Merlin, she just won't give up, so I do. I glare at her.
"What?" I croak grumpily, wincing at the burning sensation in the back of my throat.
She steps in tentatively, as if she were afraid I would hurt her. I watch her move towards me again. She is holding something.
I peer at it questioningly, and she grins widely as she places it gently on my table.
It's a chess set. My chess set from Hogwarts- the one Mum and Dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday, the one I beat Harry for the hundredth time on. Then a thought occurs to me. How did she come upon this? Before they put me in here, I gave it to Hermione to keep for me. Hermione. It suddenly dawns upon me. The hair, the eyes, the bright smile—
"Hermione?" I whisper. She smiles back at me.
"Yes."
I begin to speak again, but she places a single elegant finger on my mouth.
"Let's play," she says. I play as the black pieces; she plays as the white ones. The game is challenging, but in the end, there can be only one winner.
I look at her, then the board, and I cannot help it as a wide smile spreads across my face. "Checkmate."
-Fin
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A/N: what did you think? good? bad? okay? please leave me a review, and let me know!
also, for those of you who have read/are reading "wife wanted," don't worry- i will write a sequel! i'm just taking a short break from it for a while. and for those of you who haven't read "wife wanted," please do so and review!! thanks xoxox
A/N: this is a one-shot fic. it's relatively short, and i wrote it because those damn little fluffy bunnies wouldn't leave me alone.
Summary: If there ever was one thing I learned, it was that life is like a game of chess. We are all the pawns, and those who rule, those who are far superior to us in status, can choose to destroy us at any time they want with one move. [One-shot fic featuring Angsty!Ron, a mention of Harry/Ginny, and includes a little bit of Ron/Hermione]
Checkmate
I don't remember the last time I've been outside. And frankly, I don't care. I've been sitting in this room for a long time- weeks, months, maybe even years. It doesn't really matter though. I could care less.
I don't even remember why I'm in here. Perhaps I was under the Cruciatus curse too long, or perhaps it was Imperius. I don't know.
It is rather small in here, I've noticed. But I like it in here. It reminds me of home.
The room is dreadfully bare. There's one tiny window, all the way in the back, and there is an alarming number of flies swarming around the last bit of daylight left. Next to the window, there's an odd looking table with a missing leg and scratches galore. It's beyond grotesque, but I don't plan on getting rid of it anytime soon. On the table is my coffee. Old coffee, mind you, but it's still coffee. There's a small cushion to the right of the table, and I suppose that it's my bed. Something they've left me. Not that I've used it or anything.
I've not moved anything, nor have I moved anywhere. I've been here in my chair- my gawky, bulky chair, purchased at some muggle store called the Salvation Army in America for twenty bucks four years ago.
I've been here, you know. All along, I've been sitting in here. It's cold here, and the walls are much too bright. They're a stark white, which provides a lot of contrast to my flimsy wood furniture. I think I'm going to paint my furniture. Yes, that's it. It'll match better that way. It'll fade into the walls. And maybe one day, I will, too.
"Ron?" I glance around. I have not heard a human voice, not even my own, in weeks. It's been a long time. I suppose this voice belongs to a new employee, or perhaps an intern, judging by her sugary sweet voice. No one else has ever tried to communicate with me. They always leave my regular meal of stale bread and rotten cheese by the door with a glass of warm murky water. But they never talk. Never.
"Ron?" The voice is persistent. She won't go away. I grudgingly look up to acknowledge her presence.
She's pretty, I'll admit. She has long auburn hair and warm brown eyes, deep and probing. Her legs are long and tan, and her outfit hugs all her womanly curves in just the right way. She grins. Her smile is beautiful. Her teeth glitter in the dim air, brightening the entire miserable room. Her cherry red lips dance as she begins to speak to me.
"Hi," I call out to her. I clear my throat. It is much more difficult to talk than I had previously thought. She looks thrilled. And for some odd reason, I feel compelled to continue pleasing her by talking. "My-my—" I clear my throat again.
"It's okay," she says to me. She wraps her arms around me in a comforting manner. I have not felt human skin on mine in years. It is an odd yet electrifying tingle that spreads through my body. I cannot help it; I quiver in her embrace. She immediately pulls away.
"Is something the matter?" She's worried, I can tell. I reach out for her. She jerks back, shocked and perhaps disgusted. Am I that hideous of a monster? I have not seen myself since they let me in here. And now suddenly, I am overcome with a desire to see myself. I grasp my hair. It is coarse and oily. I brush my face gently with my fingertips. I can feel the wrinkles and the imperfections. I cast my eyes down. Why would such a beautiful creature like her want a gruesome beast like me? I am ashamed, thinking that she was actually here for me. They probably sent her to make sure I was still alive or whatnot.
"Leave," I manage to rasp.
She looks hurt but nonetheless complies. I'm glad.
I resume my position on my chair and let sleep take me away into her embrace. At least she would never leave me. Perhaps one day, she will take me away forever with her.
I wake up, and immediately I notice that it's much warmer. My furniture has been painted a nice shade of white. But it's not right- it's not the stark white that stares at me endlessly every day.
I've been thinking, and I find it odd that they'd give me a book to write in. It's a horrible looking book. It's orange. Just like the color of the damned sun that now shines through in here each and every day. She must have opened the window when I was sleeping. It was the tiny window that I thought could do no harm. The light is piercing. It hurts, and all of the flies have left me. They just left, flew away without any regrets at all. But at least it's much warmer in here.
"Ron?" The voice is back. Great. I've no intention of conversing with this woman again. She's played me once, and I will not let her do it to me again. I refuse to acknowledge her. Let her try all she wants.
"Ron?" Damn it. Why is she so determined to talk to me? She must be a bigger fool than even I if she thinks she can get to me. I learned a long time ago that life is like a game of chess. We are all the pawns, and those who rule, those who are far superior to us in status, can choose to destroy us at any time they want with one move.
I played chess all through Hogwarts. It was -and still is- my favorite pastime. I was superior to everyone else in it, and I suppose that is why it appealed to me so much. In chess, it didn't matter how rich I was or how good-looking I was. Even without money and sexual appeal, I was the king of chess. I was the master of the game, and I played it well.
I won every game I played, but those victories gave me nowhere near as much pleasure as when I beat Harry for the hundredth time in our sixth year. I was at the top of my game then, and I deduce that that was what brought me down. I played recklessly after that, but I still managed to win somehow. But then he beat me. I let my guard down, and he won. He always managed to outdo me because he was the great Harry Potter.
Ever since then, I haven't played chess. It hasn't really mattered though because even if I do try to do something, Harry will beat me. I know he will because he is better than me and always has been. He beat me in everything- Quidditch, school, even love.
He was the captain of the Quidditch team. I was just the keeper, and the only reason I was the keeper was because Oliver Wood graduated, and the team was desperate.
He graduated from Hogwarts with honors as the third-best student (Hermione being the first, and Draco Malfoy, that bloody ferret, being the second). I was the 46th best.
He is happily married to Ginny. I am alone with no one. None of my so- called friends have even bothered to visit. Not even Hermione.
He never won Hermione, though. But then again, I didn't either. She distanced herself from us after sixth-year. I don't remember why; all I remember is her screaming at us for being selfish. Perhaps my friendly "rivalry" with Harry had driven her mad. I don't know, but if I were to be completely honest, I would say that I hate Harry more than I hate Malfoy. Much more.
At least Malfoy stabbed me in the front rather than the back.
At least Malfoy didn't steal Hermione away from me.
It's true, you know. Harry took Hermione away. If he had not bested me in everything and flaunted it at me, I would not have been so enraged at him. I would not have tried to toy with Hermione's feelings in order to beat him, and she'd still be here. Damn Harry Potter. Damn him to the depths of Hell.
"Ron?" Merlin, she just won't give up, so I do. I glare at her.
"What?" I croak grumpily, wincing at the burning sensation in the back of my throat.
She steps in tentatively, as if she were afraid I would hurt her. I watch her move towards me again. She is holding something.
I peer at it questioningly, and she grins widely as she places it gently on my table.
It's a chess set. My chess set from Hogwarts- the one Mum and Dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday, the one I beat Harry for the hundredth time on. Then a thought occurs to me. How did she come upon this? Before they put me in here, I gave it to Hermione to keep for me. Hermione. It suddenly dawns upon me. The hair, the eyes, the bright smile—
"Hermione?" I whisper. She smiles back at me.
"Yes."
I begin to speak again, but she places a single elegant finger on my mouth.
"Let's play," she says. I play as the black pieces; she plays as the white ones. The game is challenging, but in the end, there can be only one winner.
I look at her, then the board, and I cannot help it as a wide smile spreads across my face. "Checkmate."
-Fin
------------------------
A/N: what did you think? good? bad? okay? please leave me a review, and let me know!
also, for those of you who have read/are reading "wife wanted," don't worry- i will write a sequel! i'm just taking a short break from it for a while. and for those of you who haven't read "wife wanted," please do so and review!! thanks xoxox