2nd Place
February 25th, 1997
"Wait…"
Harry stared down at the chessboard, eyebrows raised.
"No… I must have…"
He scratched his stubbly chin as he squinted at his most recent move.
"This can't be right…"
But Ron wasn't listening, and Harry only discovered that his best mate's attention had drifted when Harry finally looked up, jaw hanging open. Ron was absently picking at the sleeve of his jumper, expression distant and vague…
"Oi, Ron! You'd better snap out of it and look at this because I think I just checkmated you… which is clearly incorrect…"
Ron blinked several times as if coming out of a trance, cleared his throat, and focused down at the chessboard, neck rapidly turning pink and ears glowing. But Harry had no time to question Ron's behaviour. After all, he was under the rather unbelievable impression that he was mere moments away from being declared winner of a chess match, for the first time ever, against Ron. And he wasn't sure if he was more horrified or exhilarated.
"Yeah, Harry," Ron said dully. "I think you've won."
"No. Look closer," Harry insisted, shaking his head. "I must have… accidentally cheated or… or made an illegal move… or whatever you want to call it but-"
"Nah, Harry," Ron interrupted, running a hand through his hair. "You won."
Harry blinked at Ron, now completely horrified.
"Do you hear what you're saying? !" he finally managed to croak.
But Ron's expression drifted from mildly absent to completely depressed, and Harry was forced to finally acknowledge it, following Ron's line of sight…
…straight to Hermione.
She was packing her books into her bag, on the other side of the common room, her face blotchy, the result of what Harry feared had been very recent tears. Harry could hear Ron breathing raggedly through his nose and chanced a glance back in his direction, nervously, as Hermione began to sneak away from the room towards the stairs to the dormitories…
"Is it completely pointless to ask if you're alright?" Harry mumbled.
"Not… completely," Ron managed, as if the words were costing him greatly.
And then, without a moment, a look back, or even a beat at the end of her departure, she was gone. Out of their sight as she ascended the stairs, rounding the corner into darkness. It was too simple, too little to hold onto, and Harry could sense Ron longing for her to come back, if only for a second, just to see her one more time, as if he required it to move on, frozen as he was in the memory of her presence so near to them mere seconds ago.
Harry had tried so many times to tell Ron to just talk to her, that it wasn't going to magically get better this time. But Ron never seemed to want to hear this solution, or any mention of Hermione's name aloud, and would snap back at Harry for bringing her up. He'd change the subject, leave the room, or simply refuse to talk at all. And Harry wasn't sure if anything should have changed, or why he bothered, this time, again…
"Why don't you just, you know… talk to her?"
And Harry flinched automatically, as if responding to the words Ron hadn't yet spoken, but the ones Harry had filled in for him from experience.
"Right now," Ron began, and the steadiness and sadness in his friend's voice threw Harry off balance, "I don't think it would matter very much. Do you?"
Ron looked directly into Harry's eyes, and though his face was patchy and red, he showed no other signs of embarrassment. And Harry knew Ron wasn't asking a question, that he had simply accepted the answer and was looking for a spark, a chance, in Harry, that maybe things could change, someday.
Harry felt oddly uncomfortable as he stared back at Ron. Ron looked so helpless, defeated, and worst of all, nothing like his usual self. The humor and anger had left him, replaced with disappointment and regret.
Harry couldn't let him down. Not now. Well, he never could. And maybe it wasn't quite truth, but it was close enough…
"Don't worry about it, mate. It's just another row, just like every year," and he tried to give Ron a small grin, one Ron didn't return.
Staring at each other across the chessboard, it was as if some boundary was cracking before them, some new set of rules being broken. And Harry found himself compelled to say the words he'd been fearing were false, silently, the words he honestly felt could very well never come true. But it didn't matter now…
"Ron, it's going to be fine. It'll work out and things will be right again. They have to be. She doesn't hate you. And she'll come back."
Harry was shocked at his own conviction. It hadn't been this way before. And he had no idea what had changed. Ron's lips parted slowly as he stared back at Harry, blinking more rapidly than before. And Harry watched as Ron believed him, holding onto each one of Harry's words like newly written laws.
Ron nodded, and everything shifted.
"Good game, Harry," Ron said, grinning as he stretched a hand out over the board for Harry to shake.
And just for a moment, Harry saw the old Ron resurface, the one who'd smugly beat him at every match and delight in watching Hermione roll her eyes when, after checkmate, he'd order his pieces to attack Harry's king anyway, just to witness the chaos.
And maybe Harry believed his own words after all. Maybe they really were going to be alright.