Note: This chapter took me the longest to write. Ron's childhood was quite different from Frederick's (the original character), and I had some trouble figuring out the song, and even when it was done, it took me two tries to write the chapter. But I like the result, and I hope that you will, too. :)
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Chess
Pity The Child
When Harry finally caught up with Ron again (it hadn't been too hard to locate these two, he just had to follow the screaming), he was standing motionless in the middle of the hallway, the expression on his face hard to read. He had never been one to guard his feelings, but now it seemed he didn't know himself whether to be pleased, angry, or miserable at such turn of events.
"Ron, mate..." Harry began, not knowing what to say, but since he was still Silenced, it didn't matter anyway.
Ron didn't seem to notice his friend. He kept his place for a while longer, then turned around and marched off, leaving Harry, who had made himself a bit more comfortable since Ron hadn't seemed to be leaving any time soon, napping on the floor.
He made the mistake of dropping into the Gryffindor common room, but after two dozen people had tried to suffocate him with thousands of questions, promises, pleadings, and threats, he took a hasty leave.
In search of a quiet corner, he let his feet take him wherever they wanted, and in the end found himself in the Trophy Room.
Oh yes, he thought wryly, in addition to lots of housepoints, tickets to the Ministry's Spring Ball, and eternal fame and glory, the winner of the tournament was to be also presented with a School Award as the Champion Of Hogwarts (in Chess). He had heard rumours about another award, of something very secret only Dumbledore knew about, but had dismissed those stories as rubbish.
His eyes lingered on the old awards, trophies, statues, cups, plates, shields, and medals kept in crystal display cases, wondering what had become of their owners. Well, he knew the fate of some of them, Tom Riddle for example, but most were just names he had never heard before.
This was the eternal fame and glory promised to him – a golden trinket to collect dust in some forgotten room and be scrubbed by naughty students of the future.
"When I was young I wasn't striking
Just another in the mass
With red hair and imposed freckles
No one I could surpass
Always together with all my brothers
They led procession with me as tailbone
Never I was on my own
Whenever I found something nice and new
They were there too," he told the empty room and its trophies given to people long dead or forgotten.
"Pity the child who's not distinctive
Who looks just like the same
Who wants to shine out with his person
Find some glory and fame
Pity the child who gets appraised by
The deeds of his brothers, and not those of his
Pity the child that would
Always wonder what else could he do
To become illustrious."
Harry and even Hermione had envied him for growing up in a big family. But they didn't know what it had been like.
"When I got older my brother moved out
Out of our room and out of the house
I did miss him yet I was a bit glad
Now the whole room to myself I had
Fool that I was to think it will last
Percy had plans and made his moves fast
He needed silence to study thus he got the room
They never asked my word on that
They just came and told me to scat
I did protest but there was no use
The chance to have some privacy again did I lose."
He had been angry at Percy for many weeks after that room incident. Perfect Percy who always got what he wanted – new robes, new owl, new room. And where did it get him? Perhaps he would have turned out a lot more normal if he hadn't got his own room at that point.
"I came here with least resistance
My chance to be alone
Hoping to have some personal moments
To have my spirit shone
Pity the child who got his hopes up
Thought things now had to change
But instead he gained
A friend so great, famous and fantastic
Yet he was just a sidekick."
It wasn't Harry's fault, he knew that. But it changed nothing – Harry was still the hero, whether he wanted it or not, and he was just a sidekick. Like Hermione.
Hermione.
"Pity the child but not forever
Not if he stays that way
He can get all he ever wanted
If he's prepared to pay
Pity instead those other people
What they missed
What they lost when they looked past him
And now they want to win
Back his favour only to use that man
But they never can!!!"
He still had the chance to win the tournament and become the champion. And he was sure he could if only he pulled himself together. Sure, it would be hard, and he couldn't afford to make any mistakes, but it was possible.
To get all the fame and glory he had always wanted, and only for his own actions, his own deeds.
And yet, was it worth it?
It would be nice to win another House Cup thanks to the points of his victory, even though Snape would definitely use the rest of the year solely for taking them all away.
But people would respect and like him. Except Slytherins, but he would rather throw up slugs again than be respected by them. And those students from other houses who for some inexplicable reason had sided with Malfoy.
Yes, he still had the chance to win. But he had managed to lose so much already. He had managed to lose Hermione.
---
The match next day was a nervous affair. Everyone knew that if Malfoy were to win this game, the tournament would be over.
Most of the Slytherins had chosen to watch the game live that day, to be there to cheer for their player, and sneer at the opponent. Most of the Gryffindors (except Harry who had caught a cold by sleeping on the freezing stone floor and was currently in the Hospital Wing, which also broadcasted the game, much to Madam Pomfrey's dismay) were also present to cheer for their player, and point a finger and laugh at the opponent (they had given up their tries to sneer since even they had to admit it looked more like a sheep in agony).
Snape was looking rather pleased, but still managed to keep the threatening undertone that promised pain to everyone should things not go his way. McGonagall was sitting stick-straight by his side, refusing to look around or show any hint of being a live person instead of a statue of stone.
Malfoy was already there having a whispering conversation with the Bloody Baron that had nothing to do with chess, and everything with a certain brown-eyed girl they had both hated at one time, but not anymore.
A part of Draco's brain wondered how good of an idea it was to listen to the advice of a bloody ghost on matters like love and romance, but there was no one else he could have this discussion with, and he had seen the Baron having a friendly chat with Hermione on many recent occasions.
The topic of their talk, and her player, had yet to arrive at the arena, and he was starting to feel a bit apprehensive about it. At the last game he had felt her become his talisman, his luck charm. It wasn't anything she had done, but every time he hesitated with his move, he had taken a surreptitious glimpse of her face, and that had calmed him down enough to think clearly, and notice every little detail on the board.
It was a bit ridiculous since he had been taught to always count on his own abilities and never on luck (because luck could turn, but his abilities were always there), but he felt that he had not only won the game for her, but thanks to her.
Due to the unusually loud chatter and clatter in the common room, only the Bloody Baron was close enough to notice the look of relief and small smile on his face when Hermione finally appeared through the window hole. But his good mood vanished at once when he saw her dull red eyes and blotchy face.
When Hermione made it to her seat, she found a rather worried Bloody Baron waiting there for her. This was something new – the Baron wasn't known for his concern for any people, least of all Gryffindors. And no one knew it better than the Baron himself, who realized he had no idea how to act in such a situation.
"There's a big chance the Tournament will end with today," he remarked.
"Yes, I know," Hermione answered impassively.
"But you of course want it to last longer."
"I want it to have never happened at all," she said, her tone bleak and blank.
"Oh, you shouldn't wish for that!" the Baron admonished.
"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it's better it happened now, and not after some ten years. I wouldn't want to waste that much time for a relationship that is doomed to fail."
Hermione looked even more gloomy and miserable now than before, and the ghost still had no idea how to behave in this kind of position. He had a faint memory of comforting words coming handy when people were sad, but had been more used to treating them with evil laughter and mockery.
Since he had come to like the girl too much to laugh at her misery, he did the only thing he could think of, and hovered over to the Malfoy kid who had been beckoning him with intent glares.
"What did she say?" he hissed at the ghost.
The Bloody Baron opened his ghostly mouth to answer, but at that moment a tiny boy with big frightened blue eyes and black hair fell through the window hole into the common room with a yelp.
Standing up from the floor, he seemed to hesitate for a moment upon seeing so many eyes turned on him, but he was probably a Gryffindor since instead of turning back and running away, he gathered together all his courage and stepped up to Moody.
The arbiter looked down to the small boy and smiled encouragingly – a sight that made half the audience cover in fear. With unnatural bravery (yep, definitely a Gryffindor) he took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Moody, then used the moment the recipient looked at it to make a run towards the exit, only to stumble upon his own feet and fall down, right in front of the central table.
"Boo!" the Bloody Baron could not hold himself back.
The first year Gryffindor let out a scream of fear and was gone faster than the eye could perceive.
The Baron nodded appreciatively and made a mental note to have a friendly chat with the boy later on. As noble as it was to stand brave in the face of danger, sometimes the best thing was to be gone, and let someone else be the brave one.
"SILENCE!!!" Moody bellowed out of the sudden with such force that all the people (and even the Baron) started in surprise, and turned to look towards the old mad Auror.
He was standing in front of his seat, a parchment in his hand, and a frown upon is face. He didn't seem to be very pleased, and a moment later, everyone found out why.
"Ronald Weasley has resigned," he announced to the absolute silence. "Draco Malfoy is the winner of today's game and therefore the Champion of the Tournament."
No one in the room made a sound. Until the orchestra realized that now was the time to play the special piece they had composed for the occasion, and let the notes of joy and victory break the shocked silence. Slytherins took it as their clue to start cheering and sneering, while Gryffindors started to complain.
One by one the students left their places to congratulate the winner, or to escape the sneering Slytherins and drown their sorrows into a glass of pumpkin juice.
Moody stood by and watched it all, still frowning. It wasn't that he had wanted the other boy to win, as the Arbiter he had been completely impartial (as an Auror and Order Member he had been a bit less unbiased, but that didn't matter). Just that Moody was the kind of person who believed in fighting, fighting, fighting till death, and didn't think much of those who quitted. Plus he had made a bet with Kingsley for twenty Galleons that there would be more than ten games in total.
Hermione let out a slow breath. At least it was all over. At least life would go back to normal now – to studying, studying, and more studying, as was her plan.
Standing up from her seat she moved towards the window hole, not in the mood to press through the mass of people in order to congratulate Malfoy, even though it would have been the polite thing to do.
But she didn't care about manners right now, all she cared about was getting away, going to the Room of Requirement and losing herself into one of her essays. Perhaps a cup of tea wouldn't hurt either.
"Hermione!" someone called out her name, and when she simply ignored it, she was grabbed by her arm and wheeled around.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked tiredly, having no wish to snap at him for stopping her like that or notice that they were now in the centre of all attention in the room.
"You," he said simply, and kissed her right then and there, in front of a roomful of Slytherins, Gryffindors, and a few students from other houses; in full view of Moody, Snape, and McGonagall (who actually missed that shocking display of affections since she had fallen off her chair and was lying unconscious on the floor; of course, that might have been Snape's doing who had hit her in the head with his elbow during his jumping up and down in glee); directly in front of the wiz-cam that projected the image straight into the Great Hall.
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