Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs, of course, to JK Rowling.
Note: Eeep. Despite having been on this site for many years and being a massive Harry Potter nerd for even longer, this is my first oneshot based on it. I'm a bit nervous. XD Anyway, this was inspired by a line I noticed whilst re-reading 'Philosopher's Stone' the other day. I've been wanting to write a missing moment type thing for a while and this one seemed fun. Enjoy! Reviews would lovely – I'd like to hear what people think.
Checkmate
The clock hit half-past five.
"I'll see you later, then," said Harry. Though he was trying to smile, he sounded resigned. Hermione couldn't help but notice it.
Joining the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Harry trouped out the portrait hole for yet another training session.
This left Ron and Hermione sat side by side in squashy armchairs in front of the roaring fire. After a moment of thoughtful silence, Ron turned to her. "Chess?" he said.
Hermione nodded and helped him set up the board; it comprised of Harry's brand new set – which he had loaned her – and the battle-worn pieces that had once belonged to Ron's grandfather. The game quickly became brutal. Hermione was a poor chess player at the best of times, but today her mind was especially preoccupied.
"Do you think Harry seemed... worried?" she mused, as one of Ron's bishops wrestled yet another of her pawns from the board.
Ron glanced at the window pane where the February rain was beating down. "I know I would be. I wouldn't fancy Quidditch in this weather!"
"No," Hermione sighed, lowering her voice impatiently. "I meant worried about Snape."
"Oh. Yeah." He spent a moment frowning over his next chess move, and then said abruptly, "Slimy bloody git. I bet Snape's never even played Quidditch in his life. He's only offered to referee so he can get close to Harry. Git!"
Hermione's lips twitched at the corners; she just about managed not to full on laugh at this outburst. Ron didn't notice, though. He was still surveying the chess board. "Your go," he told her.
She sent forward her remaining knight without a second thought, and knew immediately that it was the wrong move because Ron sniggered. Her ill-fated knight was blasted to pieces by a bishop within seconds. Ron laughed rather gleefully. It was obvious that he relished beating her at at least something; the Wingardium Leviosa incident still stung, though they didn't mention it anymore.
"I wish Harry would refuse to fly on Saturday," said Hermione, biting her lip.
At last, Ron looked up. "I know," he said. "But he's right – Gryffindor can't play without him. We don't have a reserve Seeker."
Typical boy, she thought. What did a silly sport matter when Harry's life was at risk? Of course, she wanted Gryffindor to win the match and put themselves ahead of Slytherin in the House Championship. Nothing would give her greater pleasure than seeing the smirk wiped off Malfoy's smug face, but –
"Wait," Hermione exclaimed, forgetting chess completely. "Malfoy!"
Ron jumped so violently that he nearly upset the board. "What?" he snapped. "What about bloody Malfoy?"
"He used a Leg-Locker Curse on Neville, didn't he? We could use it on Snape if we see him trying to hurt Harry again."
Amazement flickered across Ron's face; his chess pieces starting yelling and trying to attract his attention. Sometimes he just couldn't get used to the new Hermione Granger: the one who could hate a teacher and was now even proposing they attack one. Still, if anyone deserved it Snape did. "I'd much rather curse his broom like he cursed Harry's," he said fiercely.
"We'd be expelled!" Hermione whispered, horrified. But she looked thoughtful and, all of a sudden, she jumped to her feet. "Come on, Ron."
"What?" He stared up at her. "Hermione, you can't quit something just because you're losing."
"I'm not quitting, Ron. I just think helping Harry happens to be more important than chess. And in any case," she went on, "you could probably have had me at checkmate ages ago – you just like to drag it out."
And so, his mouth open and the tips of his ears very pink, Ron followed Hermione out of the crowded common room. They set off along the seventh corridor in silence.
"Do you think you'll be ready to tell me where we're going anytime this century?" Ron grumbled.
Hermione didn't answer until they had reached a relatively non-descript door half-way along the hall. She poked her head into the room: "Perfect... and no sign of Peeves, thank goodness... " It turned out to be an unused classroom. Ron looked around, unimpressed, at the stacks of desks and the dusty chalkboard.
It was at that moment that he noticed – to his alarm – that Hermione had pulled out her wand and was rolling up her sleeves. He didn't like to admit it to her, but she looked formidable, scary even. "You want us to practice the Leg-Locker Curse on each other?" he asked warily, eyes darting to her wand more frequently than was natural.
"Of course," said Hermione briskly. "Who did you think we'd practise on? Scabbers?"
"Alright, alright," Ron huffed, shooting the briefest of glares at Hermione and pulling his own wand out of his pocket with a sudden flourish. But, after a long pause, he seemed to remember that he didn't know the incantation for the Leg-Locker Curse. And then he felt rather awkward. "Um, Hermione...?"
"The incantation is Locomotor Mortis, Ron, which you'd know if you'd read The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One."
"Right, thank you." He would never read the Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, of course, and they both knew it. Ron decided the only way to beat Hermione was to catch her off-guard. He raised his wand. "Locomotor Mortis!"
Nothing really happened – maybe he had pronounced it wrong? – except that Hermione's left foot twitched very slightly. She raised one eyebrow.
"I'll try, then," she said, sweeping back her wild, bushy brown hair. "Locomotor Mortis!"
This time something did happen: there was a sudden flash as Ron's legs snapped together so violently that his kneecaps rattled. For a second he stood still like a stone statue, before swaying forward and losing his balance. With a dull thump Ron hit the floor, face first.
"Ron!" Hermione rushed forward and uttered the counter-curse. She helped him to his feet, but he shook her off.
"It's fine," he told her. "Just wasn't expecting it – "
" – Well, Snape won't be either," Hermione said, looking fiercely determined as she met his eyes. "Snape wants to hurt Harry. He almost got him last time and he's going to try again. We need to be ready."
Ron didn't say anything; he simply nodded. But every time Hermione corrected his pronunciation or his wand movements, he bit his tongue: this was about Harry. On the fifth time of trying, it worked. Hermione was so surprised she gave a little squeal and stumbled backwards. She muttered the counter-curse and jumped back up before Ron could take a single step forward. He looked at her in amazement; he had never seen someone who had been jinxed beam so widely.
"Brilliant," she smiled.
They left the classroom at around the time Harry's training session would be ending. Hermione had decided that it was best if Harry didn't know what they were planning. She felt he would be even more worried about Snape if he knew that they, too, were worried. Rain and wind continued to rattle the window panes along the corridor.
"But Ron," said Hermione as they neared the portrait of the Fat Lady, "I never told you the counter-curse, did I?"
He burst out laughing. "The counter-curse? Who needs a counter-curse when you're aiming at Snape!"
Hermione couldn't help but smile a little. Her face fell, though, when Ron said, "Shall we finish that game of chess, then?"
Ron was in such a good mood, that she almost didn't want to ruin it.
There would come a time, a few months down the line, when Hermione would feel very grateful that Ron was the best chess player Hogwarts had seen in a generation. But this was a gloomy February night, the Stone was still safe beneath the third floor corridor on the right-hand side, and Hermione had lost enough quite enough chess games already.
And yet... Ron's face was blazing with such pride at having mastered the Leg-Locker Curse that somehow Hermione found herself nodding.
"OK," she said, following him back through the portrait hole.