Author: Stelmaria

Title: Moments

Summary: All the things that made their shitty, 'We're going to die in a few months in an epic battle against the Dark Lord' seventh year worth it.

Disclaimer: These really aren't necessary but whatever. I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter: Risk

Hermione had come to Ron's house that summer feeling triumphant. Ron had always, always beat her at Wizards Chess. She had finally figured out it was because it was Wizard's chess. Ron had grown up playing it. So all she had to do was find a muggle game that Ron didn't know and that she had practiced. Then, she would beat him. And she would reign triumphant.

"Triumphant!" she suddenly shouted.

Realizing that she had just shouted she put her hands, which she had raised above her head, down. Fred and George just stared at her from the front seat of the flying car. "Heh, heh. I had a really lively dream. Yah, a dream." She said.

"Bloody insane." "It's no wonder you're Ron's friend." They murmured before turning around again.

So anyway. She had found Risk: The game of conquest and world domination. She had played obsessively against her parents and anyone else she could rope in until she nearly always won. She could comfortably say that she was going to kick Ron's arse.

After picking up Harry and getting settled in at the Burrow she slyly invited Ron to play with Harry and her. Interested, He picked up the manuel and read it once.

"Are you sure you don't want to read it again Ron? Just to make sure you've got everything correctly." She asked.

"Nope. I'm fine." He replied.

'All the better for me' she thought.

And then he proceeded to totally kick her arse.

"What?! What! I don't get it! How? But?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Ron was parading around his room saying, "Damn I'm good."

Harry had been out of it from the first ten minutes and was now rolling on the ground laughing at Hermione's face turn purple watching the game board.

Author's Note: It was just an idea that hit me. Let's face, Harry, Ron and Hermione are realistic, and realistically at least one of them, if not all, is going to die. This is how they deal with it, denial, restlessness, and not giving a fuck anymore.