Falsus Vates

Weaselby Confident

According to Professor Snape, to start and register a club at Hogwarts one would require a minimum of seven people to agree to join before the club could be officially ratified. So with Draco and then Ron himself, that was - two…

And though his first couple days in the house of green and silver had been mostly incident free, Ron wouldn’t exactly go so far as to say he was particularly popular.

Ron had never experienced this much silence in his entire life. 

Back home at The Burrow, every day had been a riot of clanging pans, screaming siblings, Fred and George’s explosive experiments, or Bill and Charlie swinging by with stories of dragons and breaking curses. Noise was the default mode of life. Even in Ron’s quietest moments, growing up there was always some sort of hustle and bustle just around the corner.

But here in Slytherin House—deep in the dungeon corridors under Hogwarts—he often found himself surrounded by a tense hush, heavy as if the stone walls themselves were watching, which - if they had paintings - they technically were, but that was beside the point. Some older students read in corners, gazes shifting up whenever he passed. Others grouped together at tables, heads bent in hushed conversation, evaluating him with quick, sidelong looks. 

Ronald Weasley: The Weasley in Green - The Rat in Silver.

Syltherin House’s current oddity. To some, an intruder. To others, in hushed and cutting tones, a blood traitor . But thankfully to most, just currently far too much trouble to involve themselves with. He tried to keep his spine straight, his expression unruffled. To show that the subtle, but clear enough rejection didn’t phase him at all. 

Because if there was one thing the Sorting Hat had hammered home on that fateful night, on that rather uncomfortable stool, it was that this was his best chance to stand on his own two feet and be someone. He was tired of always being overshadowed: Bill, the brilliant curse-breaker; Charlie, the dragon tamer; Percy, the prefect; Fred and George, the unstoppable pranksters who always stole the show. Ron wanted to be seen—and the Hat, sure in a way even he himself had never ever been sure before, had said this was the best house for him to do that in. Irrespective of the hurdles, it and he both knew he would likely face.

And Ron - to the absolute mind-boggling shock of even himself - had listened. I chose Slytherin. He had told himself on countless numerous occasion now. I have to make it work.  

Most of the people here might never like him, he knew coming in, but he would not let them see him falter. In just a handful of days, he’d learned how to forge for himself a mask of confidence, a kind of stage presence to obfuscate his discomfort and hurt. Straight shoulders, a sardonic grin if needed, a little huff of “I’m all right” or a dismissive roll of his eyes whenever he was confronted with an insult. He walked the winding stone corridors with as much calm as he could muster, but in reality, the tension was already starting to wear him down more than he liked to admit. 

It certainly wasn’t as if he could just fight everyone, no matter how angry or how frustrated he got. There were just too many of them, and Snape, his Head of House had explicitly stated in their orientation that any and all overt hostility, violence and or bullying of fellow Slytherins was essentially anathema. Which, while yes, did save him from likely getting hexed and cursed every other day, didn’t really do anything for the ever present and constant rejection he encountered at basically every turn.

So it was honestly, astoundingly appreciated that he somehow had managed to wrangle Draco Malfoy, of all people, as his literal saving grace. 

They had met on the Hogwarts Express, and Draco had proven… not what Ron expected. At once imperious and surprisingly witty, even kind at times—particularly when Ron least expected it. Draco had offered him sweets on the train, delighted him with a half-dozen rounds of wizard’s chess and was probably the first person in Ron’s entire life - who wasn’t his parents - that looked at him and said, I see you. Not exactly in those words, but the feeling was the same. 

Draco’s quick witted sense of humor and brilliant style of play had confused Ron in the best possible way during their time together on the train, and by the end, he’d felt they’d established an almost strange sense of kinship. Or at least, mutual fascination. 

And now, sharing the first-year Slytherin dorm with Draco only confirmed that sense. Draco exuded an easy, aristocratic confidence that seemed almost unshakeable. With Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him like broad-shouldered shadows, Draco navigated House politics with a polish Ron had only seen Percy try and mimic back home—though Draco managed it with much more humor than Percy ever had. Best of all, he actually treated Ron like a person. And that honestly was all Ron could ask for right now.

At present, Ron was currently fidgeting in his seat in the Slytherin common room, halfheartedly flipping through Magical Drafts and Potions for tomorrow’s lesson. He could practically hear his mother’s voice urging him to keep up with homework, but the greenish glow of the dungeon lamps left him feeling restless. The shifting flicker of their emerald fire casting dancing shadows across Draco’s pale features as he scribbled an essay on a separate scroll atop the table they were currently sharing.

“Careful, Weaselby,” Draco spoke up then, setting his quill aside. “You’ll hurt yourself thinking so hard.”

Ron rolled his eyes, fighting an involuntary smirk. “You wish, Malfoy. Some of us actually have to work for our marks, you know—not all of us can coast by on nepotism.”

“Ooh that’s a big word. Someone's been spending some time with a dictionary.”

“Sod off, prat.”

And Draco placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Why Ronald, I’ll have you know I’m every bit as hardworking as you my good Weasley—just not as sweaty and with better hair.” He tapped the parchment in front of him, which contained neat lines of text. “But, if you want to keep faffing about with that Potions book when I know you’ve actually just been staring at the lamp across the way, who am I to stop you?”

Ron made a face and slapped Magical Drafts and Potions shut. “Ugh. You’re the worst Malfoy.” He groaned dramatically, sinking further into the posh green velvet of his chair. “A person can only handle so many footnotes on Shrivelfigs.” He felt the tension in his shoulders ease, grateful for the distraction. He glanced at the battered wizard’s chess set peeking out of his school bag. “I’d rather do something fun. But you’re busy doing—” he waved a hand vaguely at Draco’s essay “—whatever that is.”

Draco’s lips curled upward. “A very astute observation. Done is what that is, I’ll have you know. So I suppose I’m free to do something now. Unless, of course, you’d like to drool through your Potions text a bit more?”

Ron let out an exaggerated sigh, pushing the textbook away. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll doze off and ruin all the pages, and that’ll be the end of Ron Weasley as we know it. You’ll have to drag my poisoned corpse from the bowels of Snape's deepest cauldron.”

“Sounds positively riveting,” Draco drawled, then drummed his fingers on the table, but there was a dancing in his eyes. “But speaking of something fun—didn’t we talk on the train about starting a chess club?”

Ron’s ears perked up. He’d nearly forgotten they’d ever tossed that idea around, buried as it was beneath the chaos of Sorting and settling in. “Oh. Right, we did talk about that, didn't we?” He shrugged.

Draco smirked, leaning forward with a conspiratorial lilt to his voice. “We certainly did. And clearly, a certain someone must have been very interested in starting one, because I recently heard a certain Red-Headed Weasley currently has an appointment with Professor Snape to talk about it.”

Ron blinked. “Wait. Wait - what? What? ” His mind raced. 

Since when?????

“Talk to Snape?! I can’t even look him in the eye! How could I have an appointment with him??? ”

“Since I forged your signature and booked one on your behalf.” Draco responded evenly, inspecting his nails. “Left him a note that said you wanted a meeting to discuss ‘a brand-new extracurricular focusing on advanced strategic prowess and the fostering of cross-house relations.’” His mouth twitched. “You’re very concerned about cross-house relations, aren’t you, Weaselby?”

A rush panic seized Ron. “You did what? Malfoy, you absolute git!” He flung a balled-up scrap of parchment at Draco’s shoulder, which the other boy simply allowed to strike with grace. Entirely unphased.

“Come on now, please keep up Weaselby,” Draco drawled, voice lazy but his eyes were sharp and bright. “I was just being a very good friend I’ll have you know. Since you mentioned you were far too busy trying not to throttle or end up throttled by half the House. I figured you’d never make the time to actually do the grown-up bit of scheduling a meeting to make this club actually happen, so I did it for you. You’re very welcome.” The blond gestured grandly. “Now all you have to do is smooth-talk Snape into a brand-new club and we’re off to the races.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “Me? Me??? You’ve seen how Snape looks at me in class, right? Like I’m a defective newt in his potion.”

Draco waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. You just have to be your usual charming self. Toss in some lines about how chess fosters cunning and ambition, slip in some mild flattery about Slytherin’s legacy of brilliance and how it's just another opportunity to outshine the other houses, and you’re golden.”

Ron gave him a flat stare. “And that’s going to be so easy, right?”

“Absolutely,” Draco insisted. “And if not, at least he’ll direct most of that simmering scorn at me —given how cross he’s been with me recently. Still hasn’t gotten over that tiff we had after the first class of potions.”

The mental image of Snape’s dark stare drilling holes into Draco was equal parts satisfying and terrifying. Ron snorted, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible. I can’t believe you did all that without telling me.”

Draco shrugged, lips curving into a sly grin. “If I’d told you, you’d have panicked, or found some excuse to wait and never actually get around to it. This way, you don’t have time to overthink—and we get the jump on everyone else.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Look, do you still want this Chess Club or not? Because if you do, we need to act before the year picks up pace.”

Ron slumped back, exhaling. “I do want it,” he admitted. “I just…didn’t plan on being thrown to the proverbial Snape-lions so soon.”

And as soon as the words spilled from his mouth, Ron watched as Draco shifted his gaze away, very intentionally not meeting Ron’s eyes and a sudden sinking feeling began to settle itself at the bottom of his stomach. Ever so quietly, he heard the blond mumble something beneath their breath. 

“What was that Malfoy?”

“Oh nothing. It’s just that we better hurry along now, I suppose. The appointment is just in half an hour after all-.”

“-Half an hour!?” Ron’s shriek echoed through the common room, earning more than a few glares from the older students scattered around. Draco merely tilted his head, feigning innocence.

“Sorry—did I forget to mention that part?”

“You—!” Ron shot to his feet, face burning. “I can’t believe you’ve done this! You forge my name, schedule a meeting with our bloody Head of House, and then just—spring it on me with half an hour’s notice?!”

Draco stood as well, smoothing his immaculate robes. “Well, it’s more like twenty-five minutes now, give or take. Time’s ticking, Weaselby. We should get a move on, unless you’d like to keep Snape waiting.”

“ ‘Keep Snape waiting ,’” Ron repeated in a mock-lilt, shoving Magical Drafts and Potions into his bag. “Yes, that sounds like a brilliant plan—guaranteed to actually land me in a bloody cauldron by day’s end.” He slung the strap across his shoulder. “Unbelievable. You—”

“Very helpful and consideratefriend, yes, you’ve mentioned,” Draco cut in smoothly, grin flashing. “Now come along then, Ronald. We don’t want to be late for your grand debut.”

Ron felt like his stomach was attempting the world’s fastest broom race—except the broom was inside his gut, taking frantic turns left and right and every which way. He and Draco were currently standing at the foot of a short flight of stone steps that led up to Professor Snape’s office door, the thick oak barrier looming just a few meters away. A single lone torch flickering in its sconce against the wall, elongating their shadows across the damp dungeon floor.

“I still can’t believe you forged my signature,” he hissed, though he kept his voice down. The corridor’s acoustics threatened to echo anything louder. “Do you know how mental that is? To lie like that to a teacher?”

Draco rolled his eyes, tilting his head so his pale hair gleamed faintly in the torchlight. “Don’t be so dramatic. Now that you’re here, it’s basically like we never even lied to him.” He brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his immaculate sleeve. “And forging your signature was more a matter of convenience. You’d never have scheduled this yourself.”

Ron opened his mouth for a retort but only managed a choked sound. It was true that if Draco hadn’t taken matters into his own hands, Ron would probably still be “thinking about it.” But acknowledging that didn’t make the situation any less nerve-racking at all. “I just… I’m not ready,” Ron mumbled. “It’s only been—what—a week since classes began?”

“Time waits for no wizard,” Draco drawled. “Besides, this is the best way. Less chance for you to talk yourself out of it.”

Ron scowled, glancing at the heavy door. The handle looked old, possibly older than either of them by centuries. “Snape might not even approve. He hates me. And we’re first years—who’s going to take us seriously?”

“Uncle hates everyone, and no one already takes you seriously, Weaselby. This is all about trying to change that.” Draco’s expression shifted, his words sounding almost gentle. “ I know your potential. It's time to show everyone else. Maybe even yourself. If it helps, try viewing talking to Snape like a chess match. You’ve got your opening moves, you anticipate counters, then plan a strategy that lets you maneuver around what he’s thinking. Trust your instincts the way you do on the board.”

The statement made Ron’s pulse flutter and his ears heat up. Ugh. He hated to admit it, but the compliments were working and Draco was right. If there was ever a chance to draw at least some hopefully positive attention to himself for once, a brand-new club might be it. The seeing things like a game of chess was also pretty decent advice too, though he didn’t necessarily know how applicable that could be when he would be too scared to even look at his opponent let alone be comfortable enough to try and read them. He took a breath, squaring his shoulders. 

“I know.” he said, voice rough. “I just wish I’d had some time to prepare an actual script or something. I can’t just barge in and say, ‘Oi, Snape, let me start a chess club!’”

Draco pressed his lips together, half-grinning. “Sure you can. Certainly better than if I were to try. We’ll say it’s good for the House’s reputation, that it fosters competition and skill. If we spin it right, Snape might even be pleased. With you, at least.”

Ron gave a snort. “Pleased. Right. I’ll believe that when I see it.” Then he sighed, glancing around to ensure no other students lurked in the corridor. The last thing he wanted was an audience. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

They ascended the steps and Draco rapped lightly on the door, the sound echoing across the empty space.

A low voice, immediately recognizable as Snape’s, slid out from behind the oaken threshold: “Enter.”

Ron swallowed hard, pushing the door open. He felt a chill as they stepped inside, as though they’d walked from a corridor into a crypt. Shelves of jars loomed along the walls, each displaying countless varieties of preserved creatures or suspicious liquids. A single lantern shone on Professor Snape’s large crooked desk, the light s omehow emphasizing the dark of his robes and the stern lines of his face.

“About time, Mr. Weasley…” Snape’s tone was clipped. Then his gaze landed on Draco, and immediately, his mouth curled in disapproval. “Mr. Malfoy, I was under the impression I’d only be meeting with your Housemate here. Why are you present?”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Snape’s scowl only deepened. “I have little patience for your antics lately,” The Potions master snapped. “If this is more nonsense, save it. I’ve enough on my plate.” 

He pivoted to Ron, dismissing Draco with a single frigid glance without even an opportunity for the other boy to speak. “Speak Mr. Weasley. You sent word you had a proposal so let’s hear it and then you can leave.”

At that last word, Ron’s nerves basically screamed at him to bolt, but a subtle shove from Draco forced him forward. He gulped once, twice. Then as best as he could, cursing himself for how his voice seemed to shake, he started. “Uh Professor,” He began smoothly, “thank you for seeing us. We’re here to discuss the possibility of creating a formal Hogwarts Chess Club—an extracurricular we believe would be beneficial to-to the school and especially to Slytherin House.”

Ron inhaled, trying to stave off the trembling in his legs. He could practically feel Draco’s annoyance emanating from behind him, the blond boy all but bristling with tension under Snape’s curt dismissal. But Ron clung to what they had discussed in the hallway moments before: treat it like a chess match—anticipate, adapt, counter.

Snape’s stare shifted between them.  “And the two of you believe you’re capable of meeting basic club standards?” he said softly. “Seven members. A thorough petition with aims and a schedule. A readiness to show you won’t neglect your academic obligations. A staff sponsor—myself, if you manage to convince me. After which, the petition goes to Professor McGonagall for registration, and only then, if you survive her scrutiny, does it reach the Headmaster for final ratification.”

Though Ron’s pulse was racing so loudly he could barely hear himself think, he was starting to get the sense that Snape’s prickly skepticism was more a measured test, probing to see if they had the mettle to see their plan through. Taking heart, Ron gave a small dip of the head. “We’re ready to work for it, sir,” he said. “We believe wizard’s chess can reflect Slytherin’s strengths—ambition, strategy, and discipline. If we fail, then… you’ll have every right to revoke your support.”

“Surprisingly well spoken,” Snape responded evenly, his gaze turning momentarily to Draco. His clipped tone could have cut glass. “I shall not reject the notion outright.”

Draco kept his features carefully neutral. He spoke only when Ron glanced at him expectantly. “We’ve done some planning already,” he said, voice placating. “If you allow it, we’ll continue gathering interested students—mostly from Slytherin to start—and outline times, meeting places, and any other specifics you require.”

Snape steepled his fingers and watched them both for several beats, his expression a mask of deep thought. At last, he emitted a quiet, sardonic hum. “Very well, Mr. Weasley,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Assuming you prove yourselves organized enough, I will ‘consider’ the sponsorship. There is currently no official chess club at Hogwarts, though I recall one existed in decades past.” He paused. “You are first years, so I suspect you know few older students who might assist. The question is: can you gather enough interest?”

Draco arched a cool eyebrow. “We can, sir. We’re quite confident actually. And we won’t trouble you unless we’ve secured the required members.”

Ron took a breath, pressing his advantage. “We’d likely open membership beyond Slytherin eventually, but we’d want to establish it here first. Maybe if we present it as a matter of House pride… it could encourage others to join. Or even lead to inter-House tournaments that Slytherin might dominate.”

Snape’s lips twitched, though whether it was a smirk or scowl Ron couldn’t tell. “You assume Slytherin would dominate. Arrogant. Yet such ambition is not entirely out of place in our House.” He let his gaze shift between the two first-years before him, “If you manage to gather at least seven names, I will consider sponsoring your club. But do not waste my time if you cannot. Understood?”

Ron felt a swell of relief. 

It was a conditional yes. 

“Yes, Professor. We understand.”

Draco inclined his head and Snape’s eyes bored into Draco’s again. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them. After a moment, Snape turned his attention back to Ron. “Mr. Weasley, you realize that once you are recognized as a founder of such a club, you must balance it with your studies? I have no desire to see your potions performance—surprisingly decent as it is—end up a casualty of conflicting priorities.”

Ron, puzzled by the unexpected acknowledgement, forced a polite nod. “I—understand, sir. I’ll keep up.”

Snape made a small, dismissive gesture with his hand. “Then gather your membership. Present me your petition as soon as it is done. If it meets Hogwarts’ regulations, and if I deem your plan worthy of my endorsement, I will sign off. Now… is that all?”

Ron, heart still pounding, simply answered, “Yes, sir. That’s all. Thank you.”

Snape lifted his quill again, eyes returning to the parchment on his desk as though they no longer existed. “Then kindly let me return to my work.”

Ron exhaled a shaky breath, stepping back. He and Draco moved toward the door, heads inclined in silent thanks. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the hall from the tension inside. Out in the corridor, the torchlight felt brighter, lighter. Ron found that he could suddenly breathe again. 

“Well,” Draco said, after a beat, lips curving. “That wasn’t so terrible.”

Ron’s heart hammered against his chest. “He didn’t say no,” he managed, a note of awe creeping into his voice. “I was so sure he’d say no. But we—we actually got a chance.” His mind raced with possibilities.

Seven members. I can do that. That's totally doable. The twisting of knots in his gut seemed to shift into an odd excitement.

Draco smirked, crossing his arms. “Indeed. Now we just need to rally enough people who want to play wizard’s chess. Should be fun.”

That evening, after classes, Ron stepped into the Slytherin common room and spotted Draco standing by the fireplace with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. All three looked up as he approached, the low, greenish glow from the lanterns adjacent giving the entire scene an ethereal sort of cast. Crabbe and Goyle each wore faintly triumphant smiles, as if they’d just received good news—or perhaps had been persuaded into something they were oddly excited about?

Draco raised a hand in greeting. “There you are, Weaselby. Took you long enough.”

Ron quickened his pace. “What’d I miss?” he asked, aiming for an easy, confident air about himself.

“Oh, nothing important,” Draco drawled, feigning disinterest, then let a smug smile creep in. “I may have just already convinced Vinny and Greg to sign on for the Chess Club. Now that you’re here, I can fill you in.”

Crabbe grunted an enthusiastic sort of agreement. “Yeah, Draco’s been explaining how it’ll work. Figured we’d give it a go—beats sitting around doing nothing.”

Goyle nodded, arms crossed. “’sides, might be fun. We can thrash other Houses if we get good enough, yeah?”

Ron felt a surge of giddy excitement. Four of us already, he thought—counting himself, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. “That’s…great,” he managed, only just keeping the grin from showing on his face. He turned to Draco. “You move fast.”

“What can I say? I prefer to be efficient.” Draco gestured grandly to himself. “So that’s four, Weaselby. We need a minimum of seven. I say we go after Pansy next—she’s so bored she might join anything at the moment, provided it amuses her.”

Ron raised a brow. “You’re sure she’ll bite?”

A wry smile curled Draco’s lips. “Pansy craves excitement, and she hates feeling irrelevant. If there’s even a whisper of attention in it for her, she’ll come around.” Then he shot Ron a sly sort of smile. “Bit like someone else I know, actually.”

Ron’s cheeks warmed, and he coughed to cover his embarrassment. “Like yourself right, Malfoy?”

Draco only laughed in response. “Let’s find Parkinson,” he seemed to giggle, “and see if my hunch is right.”

They made their way across the common room’s stone floor, toward one of the cushioned alcoves near the emerald-lit windows that peered into the lake above. Pansy was there, laying languid across one of the plush green couches, flipping through what looked like a tawdry gossip magazine, her expression oscillating between boredom and mild interest. She was petite and sharp-featured, with keen dark eyes that rarely missed a thing. Her dark hair was styled in a short, sleek bob that framed her pointed chin and inadvertently her rather distinctive pug nose. She glanced up at their approach, clearly noting the little group trailing behind Draco’s shoulder.

“This better be good,” she said with a sigh. “I’m at a particularly juicy bit of rumor, I’ll have you know.”

“Now, now, why read about drama when you can be part of it?” Draco smiled. “You’re always on the lookout for something new, Pans. Let us help. We’re starting a Hogwarts Chess Club. And we’d love to have your autograph.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Chess?” Her tone made it sound like Draco was hawking used broomsticks.

Ron cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice light. “It’s more than just a game—it’s strategy, competition, a chance to show off. And, well…” He forced a casual shrug. “You’ve said how there’s nothing entertaining around here lately. Might as well give it a go right?”

Pansy raised a manicured eyebrow. “I’ll have you know I’m not that bored Weasley. Besides, what exactly do I get out of it, aside from shoving wooden pieces around a board?”

Draco drew himself up, adopting a playful, aristocratic lilt. “Consider: a brand-new club led by us —the House’s youngest minds, drawing fascination and curiosity from the older students. We’ll hold matches, maybe tournaments, and eventually challenge other Houses. Imagine the attention that’ll bring - especially when you win.” He paused meaningfully. “And I know how much you love attention.”

Ron’s ears went hot at that pointed emphasis, but Pansy let out a tiny laugh, tossing her hair. “Well, I do indeed love attention.” She eyed Draco, then shifted to throw a glance at Ron. Pansy studied him for a moment, longer personally than Ron would have preferred, then exhaled with an affected air of fond resignation. “Fine. Only because you’re the one asking Draco. But if it turns out to be dull, I’m out.”

“That’s five,” Draco announced, throwing Ron an almost conspiratorial wink. 

See? Told you.

Pansy rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a small smile. “I suppose you’ve done me a favor. Now, do be quick about it— and get the rest of your sign-ups. It won’t be any fun if the club doesn’t go anywhere. I suppose I should consider trying to get a headstart myself to heap on the advantages ahead of time.”

With that, Pansy returned to her magazine, though the slight upward tilt at the corner of her lips suggested she was pleased. They made their way back to the center of the common room, near a wide table carved with serpentine designs. A few older students glanced at them, some with mild amusement, most with disinterest.

“All right,” Ron murmured, counting in his head. “That’s five for the Chess club already. Now we just need two more.”

“Two more? So that’s what you four have been begging about for?” Theodore Nott sneered from across the table they were at, snapping a heavy book in front of him shut with a definitive thump. He was a tall, willowy thing with a narrow face and eyes that gleamed like a hawk’s whenever he sized someone up. Sparse freckles dusted his nose, lending him a misleadingly boyish look at odds with the sharpness of his tongue and heat of his glare. 

Ron bristled instinctively, fingers flexing anxiously at his sides as Nott’s voice cut through the open air. He'd learned quickly enough in Slytherin to pick his battles carefully, but in some circumstances, they seemed just intent on picking him instead. From the very first day, Theodore Nott had been determined to expose Ron as unworthy of the House they shared, challenging him constantly with thinly veiled, not really - they were actually rather overt - insults and goading him into breaking his composure. Draco’s presence beside him felt heavy, but appreciated - grounding. It was so bizarre, he thought absently, how he had always imagined himself hating Malfoy’s cold composure—but now here he was holding onto that calm like a lifeline for himself. 

“Scuttling around, asking anyone with a pulse to join some silly chess club? Let me guess Malfoy—it’s all for Weasley’s sake. You want to make him feel less like a lost little unwanted rat in Slytherin?”

Silence fell around the group. Pansy’s lip quirked upwards from behind her magazine as she watched from her little alcove. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged looks, while a couple of other Slytherin first-years seemed to pause and observe. Off near a bookshelf, Zabini shifted his gaze upward from whatever he was reading, drawn by the tension.

Ron forced himself to maintain a mask of even calm. Keep it together. He met Nott’s sneering gaze with a lifted chin. “You mind your own business, Nott,” he said coolly. “No one asked you to join.”

Nott gave a derisive laugh. “As if I’d ever stoop to it. I don’t waste time on worthless games.”

Draco clasped his hands behind his back, eyes narrowing as his features shifted into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Worthless, is it? Chess teaches cunning, strategy—things you’d think a real Slytherin would value. Unless you’re worried you’d lose on those fronts to a lost little Weasley . You know how to play don’t you, Nott?”

Nott’s face hardened. “Don’t be absurd Malfoy. Him? Beat me? Does he even know how to play? I’m surprised his family could even afford a chess set at all considering all the poverty they seem to revel in.”

With the comment about his family, Ron’s pulse was in his ears - but he somehow managed to keep his voice measured. “Care to test that theory? Or are you too scared to back up your claims?”

The corner of Nott’s mouth twitched downwards. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Ron to challenge him so directly. He glanced around, noting how many sets of eyes were on him now. Nott visibly bristled with indignation. “Fine. If you want me to humiliate you in front of your new little fan club, let’s do it. Right here, right now.”

A ripple of anticipation spread through the watchers. Draco nudged Ron’s arm gently. “Well, shall we see how quickly you can win?” he murmured, just loud enough for Nott to overhear.

Ron bit back an angry grin. “Sure,” he said, digging out his battered wooden chessboard from his bag. He’d brought it almost by habit, never expecting to use it in such a public way. The mocking snort Nott let out at the sight of it, only fueling Ron’s desire for a match ever further.

They cleared a large round table near the middle of the common room, pushing aside scrolls. The Slytherins gathered in a ring around them—Pansy stepping in for a better view, Crabbe and Goyle flanking Draco. Even a few older students drifted closer, evidently intrigued. 

Ron set up the chessboard, scuffed edges and all, and began placing his worn white pieces in neat formation. Nott produced a sleek black marble set from his satchel, each piece polished to a mirror shine.

“An antique, isn’t it?” Pansy said, nodding at Ron’s tattered board.

Ron shrugged, refusing to show any embarrassment. “My grandfather’s. Still works fine.”

Nott exhaled loudly. “Just hurry. I’ve got better things to do than humor a Weasley.”

Ron swallowed. This is just like any other match—focus. “White moves first."

Ronald Weasley Vs. Theodore Nott

(Inspired by the 10th CC World Championship Final, 1978-84)

Ron began the game calmly by pushing his queen’s pawn forward, staking an early claim in the middle of the board. Theo, playing as Black, answered by moving out a knight, so both sides were fighting for control of the central squares from the very start.

Unruffled, Ron added another knight to help protect his advanced pawn—hinting he might soon push another pawn on the left side to gain even more space. Meanwhile, Theo maneuvered his bishop to a long diagonal (a move often called a “fianchetto”), aiming to exert pressure on Ron’s important center squares.

The early middlegame took shape once Ron developed his bishop and then castled (tucking his king safely behind a row of pawns). Theo chose a flexible approach, avoiding pawn heavy moves for the time being. Instead, he slowly reorganized his pieces toward the left side (the queenside). Ron quietly placed his queen on a central line (called a “file”), threatening to strike if Theo became careless.

Sensing the growing tension, Theo made a bold push with a pawn along one flank (the edge of the board). He hoped to undermine Ron’s strong center pawn on d4 and create openings for his own pieces. In response, Ron reinforced his foundation with a pawn move of his own, guarding against any breakthroughs and keeping Theo’s knights from finding comfortable squares. Theo eyed an opportunity on the queenside—he moved one of his rooks and repositioned his bishop, coordinating them to probe Ron for any potential weaknesses.

Ron advanced a knight to a good post, then backed it up with rooks stationed in the middle. Both players tested each other’s defenses in a cautious dance, swapping pieces here and there (for instance, a bishop for a knight and a central pawn or two). No one landed a finishing blow, but Ron gradually improved his grip on the center.

As the board cleared of several smaller pieces, there was just enough open space for Ron’s queen to become dangerous. He noticed Theo’s knight had wandered a bit too far from its king, leaving a gap in Black’s defenses. Ron seized that chance, maneuvering his rooks so they threatened checks if Theo made a wrong move. Under this growing pressure, Theo attempted a desperate push of his pawns on the right side (the kingside) to chase away Ron’s well-positioned bishop. Instead, he only created more weaknesses around his own king.

Spotting the decisive moment, Ron sacrificed (deliberately gave up) a pawn to lure Theo’s rook away from an important defensive post. Immediately afterward, Ron moved his queen with purpose, pinning Theo’s knight so it couldn’t safely move. Theo tried to prop up his defenses with his last bishop, but Ron calmly shifted one rook onto the seventh rank (a critical row near Black’s king), cutting off all escape routes.

Finally, the checkmate came in a swift, quiet move: Ron placed his queen in front of the trapped knight, delivering a final blow from which Theo had no escape.

Stunned silence. 

Nott’s mouth worked soundlessly as he stared at the board. The black king was pinned, no squares free. Ron sat back, half-relieved, half-thrilled. 

He’d done it.

For a moment, it seemed every single person in the common room held their breath. The hush pressed in on them, broken only by the crackle of torches along the walls and the faint hiss of the dungeon’s shifting air. The carved chess pieces stood like small, silent witnesses to the upset that had just occurred, their once-belligerent chattering dying in the aftermath of checkmate.

Someone in the crowd—an older student whom Ron didn’t know by name—murmured, “I can’t believe it… Weasley won?” Another whispered, “That was actually bloody intense.” 

Ron’s cheeks heated at the second remark. He forced himself not to show any smugness, despite the adrenaline humming beneath his skin. For days, he’d felt so small and uncertain here; now, in front of half the House, an exaggeration sure - but still! - he’d proven something about himself he hadn’t even realized he’d yearned to prove. That he could win.

The long ensuing pause stretched out as the gathered Slytherins digested what they had just witnessed. In the hush, Nott’s pale cheeks flared hot, an angry flush creeping from collar to brow. For one charged second, it looked like he might lunge across the table—or possibly overturn the board altogether.

But then, with shaking hands, Theodore snatched up Draco’s parchment sign-up sheet (the one with “Hogwarts Chess Club” scrawled in Draco’s elegant hand at the top). Without a single word to Ron, he scrawled his name across the dotted line with furious strokes, the quill nearly ripping the page. Then he slammed it back onto the table.

“We’re not done Weasley ,” he hissed, glaring daggers at Ron, before spinning on his heel. Quill still dripping ink, Nott stormed out of the common room, spitting venom beneath his breath.

Blaise Zabini, who had been quietly observing from the back, broke the tense atmosphere with a slow, sardonic clap. He stepped closer and let his gaze rove over Ron, then Draco, then the signed parchment that lay between them. Lean and dark-skinned, Zabini generally had a poised bearing and a perpetually uninterested demeanour that sometimes gave way to sly amusement when he found something particularly funny or fascinating. To have him actually come up to them and not the other way around told Ron at least something about the match must have been worth seeing. A faint smile, equal parts amused and impressed, ghosted over Zabini’s face.

“I suppose,” They spoke softly, “that would be my cue as well.” And Zabini picked up the quill and added his own signature to the sign up sheet with a smooth elegant flourish. “If the club is anything as entertaining as that right there was, count me in.”

And off to his side Draco let out a laugh. “And then there were seven.”

Gazing up at the sign hung on the outside of the classroom door, Harry was sure this was the place. He’d been trying to pin down Draco for legitimately days now to give him a proper ‘Thank you’ for his help in Potions last week and had been unable to find him anywhere save for their shared classes. Which didn’t work to thank the blond at all since Draco also clearly didn’t want any more unwarranted attention directed his way, much like Harry himself. Thus it was a most convenient windfall Harry had just so happened to hear through the Hogwarts rumour mill, that the ever elusive Malfoy heir should be just beyond these heavy wooden doors.

Hogwarts Chess Society

Sponsored by Professor Snape, organized by Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley.

First Meeting: This Friday at 7:00 PM in classroom 2C.

All skill levels welcome.