Chapter 7

It was his eleventh birthday and Ron was not in a good mood. His brothers had already played a stupid joke on him today, sending him an owl from school laden with a Dungbomb. Stupid prats, those twins! And he was still being punished for disobeying his mother by flying his broomstick instead of tidying his room.

As Ron came down to the kitchen for breakfast, his mother kissed him on the cheek. "Happy birthday, sweetums."

"Yeah, happy birthday, sweetums," Ginny called out in a singsong voice. He glared at her. Little sisters could be so annoying!

The day of Ron's eleventh birthday proved to be dull and uneventful after the excitement of the morning Dungbomb, but that evening his family had a little party for him. Ron's spirits perked up when he found out that his grandparents were coming for his birthday. Ron liked his grandfather very much. He got the feeling that the man liked him as well - possibly even better than, or at least differently from, his older brothers.

After a dinner consisting of all of Ron's favorites - roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, jacketed potatoes, pickled onions, and pumpkin juice - Ron opened his birthday presents. Bill had sent him a scarab from Egypt, the attached note assuring him that the Mummy's curse had most probably been successfully removed. Charlie had sent a big packet of Martin Miggs, The Mad Muggle comic books, Ron's favorites. From school, Percy had sent their poor old owl, Errol, to the Burrow with a very thick and extremely boring-looking book entitled, Hogwarts, A History. Ron set it aside immediately, vowing silently to misplace it at the earliest opportunity.

Apart from the Dungbomb that morning, Fred and George had sent Ron a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He had soon discovered they had all the nice flavors picked out, and some new and very strange ones added. Ron doubted very much that axle grease was a proper flavor.

From his mother he received a hand-knitted jumper - in maroon, of course - and some socks. He hated maroon. Why was it always maroon? Ron perked up when he opened his father's gift of a second-hand wizarding wireless. He could listen to the Quidditch matches now to his heart's content. His team, the Chudley Cannons, had a real shot this year. Sure, they were last in the league so far, but they just needed some time.

His little sister Ginny had made a cake for his birthday - with their mum's help. It was lopsided and the icing looked a bit like sludge, Ron thought, eyeing it uncomfortably. But he found that it tasted all right.

"You'll be going to Hogwarts this fall, won't you Ron?" Ron's grandfather asked, his once-red Weasley hair now long and gray.

"Yeah!" Ron said excitedly. He could hardly wait for September. It would be so thrilling to go to school. School would mean he was no longer a child. It would mean an end to the tutorials his mother gave him at home, an end to chores around the house, and an end of being stuck at the Burrow with his baby sister. He smiled a wide smile.

His grandfather clapped him on the back, a proud look in his eye. "I still remember my time at the place - hoggy, warty, Hogwarts!"

Ron cringed slightly, but smiled as his grandfather launched into a rendition of the school song in a peppy melody. When he was done, the old man laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "I've got something for your birthday, Ron. I think you'll like it." He winked at his grandson. "And you'll find it dead useful at school."

Hoping it wouldn't be more clothes or another book, Ron's smile grew wide when his grandfather passed him a wrapped package that he could immediately tell was neither. His parents looked on curiously as he took the box.

Tearing off the ribbon and paper, he found a box made of different colors of wood. He looked at it curiously and shook it, hearing a rattle but unable to guess what was inside. He looked curiously at his grandfather, who smiled and winked at him. Opening the lid, Ron saw the chess set. His breath caught in his throat. "Brilliant!"

Ron had seen this set at his grandfather's house. It stood on a polished table near the bay window in the parlor. He'd often played against it, using a cheap and unremarkable set of chessmen he'd found at the Burrow. The old man, using the chessmen now in Ron's hand, had taught him the game, there by the window. They'd spent many long afternoons of it.

They were fond memories for Ron, sitting in the sunlight of his grandparents' parlor in a tall wingback chair, looking out across the chessboard. His first games had been nothing short of pathetic - he cringed a bit, remembering - but lucky for him, his grandfather was a patient man.

Possibly the old man had seen something in his grandson - a spark of talent or even genius, perhaps. He'd taught the boy about the pieces and the moves, but it was more than that. He'd taught Ron how to think about the game - a philosophy of chess… a psychology of chess. Ron learned how to develop a strong position and how to read his opponent's moves. His grandfather had explained to him the difference between tactics and strategy, and how a sacrificed piece early could well make for a greater gain later.

They'd played together for several years, his grandfather expertly moving his experienced chessmen about the board, sometimes playing to win, sometimes making moves simply to challenge Ron's assumptions. Ron had never managed to win a game against the old man, although just last week he had achieved a draw. He'd cheered and shouted and practically danced around the parlor, beaming proudly at his accomplishment. His grandfather had been proud as well.

Ron glanced at the chess set, and then looked back up at his grandfather in disbelief.

The old man smiled, his face crinkling merrily. Mrs. Weasley dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, while Mr. Weasley put his arm around her and hugged her shoulders.

"But… these are…for me?" Ron stumbled over the words, still incredulous at his wonderful gift.

"For you, Ron." His grandfather winked at him. "I wish you a very happy birthday and many great games in the future."

Unable to believe his luck, Ron kept the chess set with him all evening, examining the tiny figures closely and setting them up in various game configurations, pestering everyone - including his little sister, Ginny - for a match.

After his grandparents left and Ron had gone to bed, his father came up to say goodnight. Ron was surprised. It was usually his Mum who tucked him in.

His father sat down on the edge of the bed. "You're a very lucky boy, Ron. I never thought my father would part with that chess set. He's had it since before I can remember. It's quite old. Antique, really."

Ron's jaw dropped open at the thought that the chess set was likely older than his own father, and by a lot.

Mr. Weasley kissed Ron on the forehead and stood up. He turned back as he reached the door. "You'll take good care of it, won't you, Ron? It's quite valuable."

Ron nodded, suddenly nervous at the prospect of being responsible for something so old and expensive. He dreamed about chess that night, and for many nights afterward.

Ron put the chess set to good use for many years, honing his skill against his grandfather, his family, and the other pupils at Hogwarts. He had yet to meet a player who was as good as he was. He didn't know how he'd developed it, but he had the ability to see several moves ahead. The tactics and strategies he'd learned from his grandfather came as natural to him as breathing. He often recalled the old man's explanations about sacrificing tactical gain for strategic advantage. It was something that most novice players couldn't really understand. This lesson of sacrifice had been most valuable, costing him a blow to the head, but allowing Harry to proceed through the enchanted chessboard of their first year, saving the Stone from You-Know-Who. Ron positively glowed with pride whenever he recalled this experience.

Over their years together at Hogwarts, Ron had taught Harry the rudiments of chess. His friend had become a proficient, although not particularly skilled, player. Hermione was better, although she had never beaten him. Ron doubted that she ever would, unless he let her. She played too much by the book and not enough by instinct. She was logical and clever, but she couldn't see the opportunities that he could see.

The old and battered chess set was beautiful. Despite its age, it was the nicest thing that Ron had ever owned. Alone in the Gryffindor boy's seventh year dormitory, Ron stared at it, going through his memories of the many games and many opponents.

Ron smiled, thinking that it was a good thing for Hermione to lose once in a while, especially to him.

Ron was deciding something. It was something that would take all of his courage. His stomach felt a bit wobbly, but he told himself that he was put into Gryffindor house for a reason. This wasn't some completely rash decision. He'd been considering it for several months now, always telling himself that it was too soon and that they were not ready. The arguments his brain kept throwing out to him were good ones, but he wasn't listening anymore.

They were young - some might say too young - and in their last term at school. He and Hermione weren't any younger than his own parents had been when they were engaged, Ron knew, and plenty of wizarding folk married young.

These were different times now. The rise of You-Know-Who had insured that. The world was grim and dark, and people everywhere were afraid. The Daily Prophet screamed out headlines of attacks on the Ministry, Muggles, and Muggle-borns. Aurors were fighting and dying against Voldemort's legion of Death Eaters. As Hogwarts pupils, they were relatively safe at the school. It was disconcerting, though, Ron thought, sitting safely in classes as battles for the wizarding world were being fought outside their doors.

Within a few weeks, Harry, Hermione, and Ron would learn what it was like to live in the outside world once again. The prospect was both frightening and intriguing to Ron, who didn't like sitting back while people were being killed. He was going to take Auror training once he left school. He was going to do something.

Ron had known for a long time that it was love he felt for Hermione, even longer than he was willing to admit to himself. They had been officially dating since Valentine's of last year. The road to officially becoming a couple had been awkward and ugly at times, with misunderstandings on both sides, but eventually they'd sorted it out.

The thought of being alone after the term ended - of not being with her - was too much for Ron. It prodded him into action. He decided he had to do it. He had to ask her.

Ron looked through his trunk fervently, finding only a few silver Sickles and one gold Galleon. Not enough for a ring - definitely not enough. He fingered his belongings thoughtfully. Patched robes, the Omnioculars that Harry had given him years ago, bound stacks of Chocolate Frog Wizard cards, schoolbooks, stale owl treats, stray packets of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, a Chudley Cannons hat, his broomstick… The whole lot was not worth more than a few Galleons, even if he could find someone willing to buy it.

His eyes moved back to his night table where the chess set stood. It was the only way, he told himself. Then he shook his head, searching again through the trunk, as though some gold might somehow appear magically. Magically… hmm, he thought. No, the penalty for transfiguring money or anything monetarily valuable was far too severe.

He looked at the chess set again. Hermione doesn't care about material things, he told himself. Ron knew that was normally true. He knew that she did care for him, and she had never cared one whit about the fact that he hadn't any money. But his was a different matter. A marriage proposal required a proper ring. There was no way around it. He found he didn't want to get around it, either. It just wouldn't be the same without a ring, and Hermione deserved the best.

Ron knew that girls fantasized about marriage proposals and weddings from the time they were little. His sister, Ginny, had done so when they were both quite young - always trying to get him to play wedding with her and her dolls. Although Hermione wasn't an ordinary sort of girl, Ron suspected that a girl was a girl was a girl, at least as far as this subject was concerned.

Ron considered borrowing money, but he knew he wouldn't be able to - he'd never been able to ask for money. Even from Harry. Especially from Harry. It was a pride thing, he knew, but there was nothing for that. Percy was a bit mean, always with a tight hold on his money. Ron couldn't ask him. Fred and George were strapped from making a go with the joke shop. Ron thought of his oldest brothers. Studying dragons wasn't a particularly financially rewarding occupation, so Charlie was probably out. Bill… Bill was a possibility. He made a good living at Gringotts. Perhaps he could write him a letter… No, it just wouldn't do. Ron was too proud to ask any of his brothers for money.

Ron thought briefly about his parents, but he put that out of his mind quickly, knowing that despite the fact that the Weasleys' finances had improved somewhat, money was still in short supply. He was an adult now and nearly out of school. His brothers had never pestered their parents for money, and Ron wouldn't be one to do so.

He would just have to sell the chess set. Having decided finally, he started to feel a little better. He went down to the common room to find Harry.

Looking around to make sure nobody was within earshot - Hermione was in the library - Ron told his best friend about his decision to propose. Like a good chum, Harry had always been supportive of his two best friends' romantic relationship, even though Ron knew it must make him feel left out sometimes.

Harry's reaction to the news was quite helpful. While Ron was still unsure if Hermione would accept, at least now he was fairly certain that she wouldn't laugh in his face when he asked.

He could tell that Harry wanted to give him the money for the ring. He'd seen that look before. It was out of friendship, not pity, he knew, but even so, Ron warned Harry not to offer. An offer like that would both hurt his ego and would be too hard to turn it down.

When Harry offered to buy the chess set from him, however, Ron let himself be convinced. Harry was right, he told himself, if he was going to sell, it might as well be to a friend. He could afford to set his pride aside because Hermione was worth it.

With a final look at the chess set, he handed it over, trying not to look again at the box that had been with him for so many years.

"You can use it anytime, Ron," Harry said as Ron laughed and shook his head, trying to keep his emotions hidden.

Ron knew that he wouldn't. Not until he had the money to buy it back properly.

At the weekend, Ron found the perfect ring in a little shop in Hogsmeade. It was an attractive vintage ring, not pretty in a customary way, but striking nonetheless. Understated and elegant, and in no way ostentatious, he knew from the moment he saw it that it was the right one. It reminded him of Hermione, and he knew in his heart that she would like it.

Now, if he only knew how to ask her…