Chess
Ron:
Eight-year-old Ron let out a defeated sigh as he stared at the chessboard, facing yet another loss to his cousin, Lyra. He had come close this time, managing to put her king in check twice, but the sacrifices he had made left him with too few pieces to sustain his strategy as the game progressed.
Lyra's expression was indifferent, reminding Ron of some of the pure-bloods he had seen in Diagon Alley when he accompanied his brothers to buy school supplies a few weeks ago. She looked as though the chessboard had personally offended her.
"Want to play another match?" Lyra asked, finally lifting her gaze from the board.
Ron perked up. He had played against her only twice before, but he had always lost spectacularly. The best part was how Lyra would point out, after the game ended, what moves he could have made differently and how he might have won. He was improving quickly—so much so that he could already beat all his brothers and even his parents—but he had yet to defeat Lyra.
"Sure, let’s go again!" Ron began resetting his pieces, but Lyra held out her hand to stop him. They were in Dubh Castle, alone in one of its many rooms.
"Wait," she said with a thoughtful look before smiling. "Let’s give our pieces names."
"Names?"
"Yes, for example, your side can be the Team of Light, and I’ll play the Team of Darkness," she teased. "It’s like make-believe. Each piece is a character, and you have to decide who plays which role. I’ll start: Bellatrix and Fenrir will be my rooks."
Oh, Ron liked make-believe games. He could be a hero fighting a dragon or something. Here, he’d battle Death Eaters.
"The Ministry and Aurors will be my rooks," he decided after some thought. "The merchants and the Order of the Phoenix will be the knights."
His mum had told him about the Order of the Phoenix while explaining how she knew Uncle Sirius and how Uncles Fabian and Gideon had been friends with Sirius and Harry’s parents. She hadn’t put it in those words, but Bill had asked if it was a resistance group led by Dumbledore, and his dad had confirmed it! It was a shame the Order no longer existed—they would’ve been like superheroes.
Lyra simply nodded at his choices. She probably already knew since her father was in the Order.
"My knights will be Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew," she said. Ron wanted to ask who Pettigrew was but figured it didn’t matter. "Narcissa Malfoy and Severus Snape will be my bishops."
"The Minister of Magic as a bishop because he’s always preaching about how great he is," Ron snorted in amusement. "The Head Auror must be the strongest of them all, so he gets a special spot—he’ll be a bishop too. The queen will be Dumbledore because he’s the most powerful wizard since Merlin."
"I see. And your king?"
"Uh, me?"
"And your pawns?"
"I guess they’ll be the Aurors and Ministry workers."
"My queen will be Voldemort, and my pawns will be lower-ranking Death Eaters," Lyra hesitated for a moment before pointing to one of the random pawns. "I’ll be this pawn. The king will represent blood purity and tradition, I suppose," she said with a wrinkled nose, clearly in disdain. They finished positioning their pieces for the start of the game. "Which side do you want?"
"I’ll be white."
"Then begin."
"Pawn to E4," Ron commanded confidently.
...except the piece didn’t move.
Ron frowned as one of his knights jumped over the pawns and took position.
"Hey, wait, I didn’t make that move!" Ron protested.
"Unfortunately, you’re just a child. You don’t have the authority to tell the Aurors what to do," Lyra replied before commanding, "Pawn to E4."
A single pawn advanced at her command—the one Lyra had said represented her.
Realizing the trick, Ron decided to focus his strategy on the queen, the only piece he could truly control. To his frustration, his other pieces advanced on their own, following a strategy that was mostly clever but occasionally nonsensical, like sacrificing a rook to protect a knight.
"It’s the Aurors’ job to protect the merchants, remember?" Lyra explained when she noticed his confusion.
Ron stared at the board with new eyes, realizing none of the moves were random. The piece representing the Order of the Phoenix and the queen, Dumbledore, seemed to act somewhat independently, taking initiative and forcing others to react.
Meanwhile, Lyra used her pawn to clear the way for the Death Eater pieces following behind. When she commanded the other pieces, they obeyed.
"Why would Voldemort obey you?" Ron finally asked, irritated by his pieces’ defiance.
"Death Eaters care less about hierarchy and more about power," Lyra clarified, not lifting her gaze from the board. "They wouldn’t obey me as the queen or king, but as a pawn with good ideas and enough raw power to make them listen? They want victory, no matter how it comes, and they’re willing to follow my plan if I’m persuasive enough. The Ministry, on the other hand, has a hierarchy and rules to follow, so you can’t just show up and start giving orders."
As expected, Lyra won the game, and Ron could only watch helplessly as his queen fell. Even then, the game continued.
It was an incredible match, and Ron learned new strategies, but it would’ve been much better if he’d actually been able to play.
The good guys lost again.
What kind of make-believe game lets the villains win?
"Another round?" Ron asked, determined to win this time. "I’ll pick better pieces."
"Very well, I’ll keep my pieces as they are," Lyra decided, beginning to rearrange the board.
"Hermione and Uncle Sirius are the rooks. Fred and George are the knights. Bill and Draco are the bishops," Ron announced. These were people he knew, friends even, and he was pretty sure they’d follow his plan. Uncle Sirius was the kind of cool adult, so Ron didn’t worry. "Harry will be the queen because if it’s a fight against Voldemort, then it has to be Harry. I’ll be the king. Ginny, Dad, Mum, Uncle Remus, Charlie, Percy, and Tonks will be the pawns."
This way, he could control the most important pieces on the board. Even if some pawns acted independently, he could still win. The challenge excited Ron even more than usual.
"Pawn to D3," he commanded, groaning in frustration when the piece refused to move. At least no other piece moved either. "Why won’t it move?"
"You named the pieces, Ron," Lyra reminded him. "Call them by name."
"All right. Dad to D3," he said, smiling when the piece moved as commanded.
"Yaxley to E4."
The first moves unfolded, and Ron had to remember to use the new names for each command. He advanced with a strategy favoring his queen Harry.
He managed to avoid losing pieces at first, but sacrifices were inevitable and part of his plan. Bishop Bill would have to be sacrificed to clear the way for queen Harry.
"Pettigrew to F5."
Ron’s eyes and ears filled with the sounds of explosions as he watched Bill dueling a Death Eater—a short, plump man. Spells flew between them, and Bill seemed to be winning.
The noise made it hard to concentrate.
They were in a forest.
Bill disarmed his opponent, but the Death Eater was too close. He pulled out a dagger and plunged it into Bill’s side.
Ron tried to scream a warning, but no sound came from his mouth no matter how desperately he shouted. Bill lay bleeding on the forest floor, and Ron couldn’t even reach him to help.
His brother…
He didn’t get up.
He wasn’t breathing anymore.
When Ron looked around, he was back in Dubh Castle, everything as calm and silent as ever, as if nothing had happened.
"Your turn," Lyra said, looking directly at him.
This time, Ron stared at the board in horror. His body froze, paralyzed by fear. His breaths were shallow, his hands sweaty and cold as he realized what he’d done.
Just one sacrifice to clear the way for the Boy Who Lived.
Just one sacrifice.
His brother.
A sacrifice for victory. For the greater good.
"I don’t want to pla—" One of his pawns his dad moved on the board. He hadn’t commanded it.
"Why is it moving? I didn’t tell it to do that!" he asked, frantic.
"His son just died," Lyra replied as if it were nothing. "He’s grieving and angry. In those situations, people often act on impulse."
His dad had gone to avenge Bill.
He would die for it.
— A war doesn’t stop just because you don’t want to fight anymore, — Lyra said, her voice cold and detached. Ron wondered if she had always sounded like that, and he simply hadn’t noticed. — If the leader doesn’t give orders to their subordinates, they’ll have to act on their own or die without fighting, which isn’t very realistic.
If he walked away and abandoned the game, would his family keep dying? Would he keep watching them die? What would happen if he flipped the board?
Ron was afraid to find out what would happen if he did.
What if he ended up watching his entire family die because of it?
Ron needed to keep playing. Stopping wasn’t an option.
He forced himself to sit down again and tried to keep playing, but there was a nervousness he had never felt during a chess game before. Every move was anxiety-inducing, and Ron had never thought so much before making each play. He had never analyzed the board so carefully.
And still, he kept losing pieces. One by one.
Each time, he watched his family and friends die right in front of him, unable to do anything to stop it.
— Why are you doing this? — he asked, sweat dripping down his neck and his hands trembling almost uncontrollably.
— You have great talent for chess, — Lyra praised, still in that same indifferent tone. — Your mind is good for strategy.
— Why?
— Did you know chess is a war simulation game? — she asked instead of answering. — Every piece, even the pawns, has friends, family, lovers, and people who care about them, even if you don’t know their names. And yet, they’re easily sacrificed on the board, just pieces in a game. Is it fun?
Ron wanted to throw up. It was supposed to be just a game. It was supposed to be fun.
Who turns war into a game and teaches children as if it’s fun? It was supposed to be just a game, so why did Lyra have to turn it into something more?
— Tell me, Ron, what do you fight for? — she asked, looking directly into his eyes. — What cause is important enough that you would lead others to their death? What are you willing to die for? What are you willing to kill for?
— Why are you doing this to me? — Ron was crying now, and he didn’t even care. He had watched his little sister die right in front of him and hadn’t been able to do anything about it. — I’m not the only person who plays chess for fun! Why me?
— Because you’re very good at it, — she answered as if she regretted it, and for the first time since this game started, Ron saw the Lyra he thought he knew. — If you ever become a leader, I need to know you won’t see people as just disposable pieces in a game. That you’ll fight for every pawn on the board, because one day my family might be one of your pieces.
Ron’s eyes widened as he stared at Lyra.
— I don’t want to lead anyone, — he said, his voice breaking. He would never again wish to surpass his brothers. Never again wish to be in a position of power like this. The mere idea of needing to send his own family into a situation he knew could kill them, but had to be done... Ron couldn’t handle it. — I don’t want this.
— That’s fine. I don’t expect you to take on that role, — Lyra shrugged as she turned back to the game. — But if you ever find yourself in a position where you have no other choice, wouldn’t it be better to be prepared?
Ron felt his anxiety lessen a bit. He still didn’t feel okay, but it was a little better. Just a little.
— Do you want me to keep playing with you? — he forced the question out of his mouth.
— Don’t worry, I won’t make you name your pieces again or force you to watch them die, — she reassured him, looking slightly guilty. — I’m sure you’ve learned that lesson, and I hope you won’t make me teach it again.
Her sharp gaze poked at him, and Ron nodded. He never wanted to play another game like this again. Never.
He forced himself to focus on the board and think about his next move. It wasn’t over yet, he reminded himself.
— Harry to C7, — he commanded, watching his queen advance.
...because one day my family might be one of your pieces.
— Another thing I hope you learn from this game is conviction, — Lyra continued as if nothing were wrong. — Voldemort to G5.
— Conviction?
— Determination to keep moving forward and hold on to your ideals, — she explained. — Find your reason to fight. Know what you’re willing to risk everything for.
Ron stared at the board, Lyra’s words weighing heavily on his mind. What did he fight for? What had he sent Bill to his death for? Ginny? What had his mum and dad died for, like mere pawns? If it were a real war and he were the leader, would he have sent his family to their deaths like this?
Would it have been so easy? Just one order, and he could condemn or temporarily save any one of them?
— It might take time to find your answer, and it’s okay if it does, — Lyra seemed to see his torment. — But when you find your answer, guard it carefully instead of going around telling everyone. Knowledge is power, Ron, so don’t give knowledge about yourself to others for free.
— Not even to you? — he managed a small smile, though there was no humor in his eyes, still heavy with sadness from the visions he had been forced to see.
— I’ll figure out more or less what it is by the way you play, — she answered calmly. — Your strategies reflect your way of thinking, your priorities, your goals, your moral limits. Over time, you’ll also learn to read your opponent by the way they fight, but it’ll take a while.
Ron exhaled sharply as he watched Harry fall into a trap. He wanted to cry as he saw his friend die in front of him. Knowing there was nothing he could do, or that none of it was real, didn’t help ease the pain.
— How are you making me see these things? — Ron asked when he found himself facing Lyra again, who patiently waited for him to recover.
— Legilimency, — she replied with a grimace of distaste. — You should learn Occlumency to defend yourself... Actually, that would be good for everyone, so I think I’ll talk to Dad about starting to teach you all.
The game progressed, and Ron kept thinking about the same thing...
What do you fight for?
What are you willing to kill for?
What are you willing to die for?
What are you willing to risk your family for?
Ron didn’t know... yet.
***
The Burrow was as chaotic as ever, but for Ron, that was simply normal. The stacks of dishes in the sink moved on their own, washing themselves with one of Molly’s spells, while the kettle whistled on the stove and Ginny worked on her homework from the Muggle school. Their father loved reading Ginny’s assignments and learning more about people who couldn’t use magic.
It had been over a year since they started attending the Muggle school, and Ron could say that his father had finally stopped viewing Muggles through rose-colored glasses. They weren’t better or more virtuous than wizards, and he no longer acted as if they were some exotic animal to admire. It had been a gradual process, but it left Ron relieved.
Ron was sitting at the table, munching on a cookie his mother had just pulled from the oven. The sudden visit from Dumbledore had shaken the family atmosphere. It wasn’t every day that such a famous wizard showed up at the Burrow, and although Ron usually felt comfortable around visitors (they were rare, after all), something about this situation left him uneasy.
"Ah, Ron, Ginny," Dumbledore began with a fatherly smile as he settled into a chair in front of them, "What a pleasure to see young ones like you thriving in such a warm home."
Ginny crossed her arms, her suspicious gaze contrasting with the pleased expression Molly wore as she served the Headmaster a cup of tea. His sister had always had the most fiery temper in the family, and Ron hoped she knew how to stay quiet instead of picking a fight with the old man in front of their mother.
"Excuse me, sir, but why are you here?" Ron asked before Ginny could say anything.
"I come seeking something very important. Something I believe could change the future of our world. And perhaps, young Ronald, you might be the bridge to achieve that," Dumbledore maintained his friendly tone, though his eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. Ron checked his Occlumency shields, just in case.
"Me?" he blinked in surprise. "How so?"
"Oh, Ron, this is an honor! My brave boy surely can help," Molly said, beaming as she tidied up the table.
Ron had studied in History about how Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, and later, through his parents, he learned how Dumbledore had indirectly fought against Voldemort by leading the Order of the Phoenix. A small army of newly graduated students, recruited directly from Hogwarts by an adult they trusted.
How many members of the Order were still alive to tell the tale?
"I would simply like Ron to observe how Harry is doing. Sirius and Lyra are… intense individuals," Dumbledore’s smile remained, though his expression took on a note of sadness. "Sometimes their passion can influence Harry in ways that aren’t entirely beneficial."
"They saved Harry!" Ginny burst out, and Ron had to resist the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. "And what did you do? Left him with those horrible Dursleys! And Sirius? He spent years in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit, and no one did anything!"
"Ginny, that’s enough. Dumbledore did the best he could, considering the circumstances," Molly interjected firmly.
"Oh, so not telling anyone where Harry was counts? Or not checking on how he was being treated for years?" Ginny snapped, her temper completely out of control as she spoke to their mother in that tone.
"Ginevra!" their mother demanded furiously. "I raised you better than this, young lady!"
"I understand your frustration, Ginny. Perhaps you cannot see it now, but what I did was to protect Harry. Had I acted otherwise, Voldemort might have found him much sooner," Dumbledore sighed deeply, as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Ron remained silent, his mind working quietly. He knew Ginny was right in many ways, but there was something about Dumbledore that made him hesitate. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, as if he knew everything and was merely waiting for others to understand. Or perhaps it was the fact that his mother seemed to trust him blindly.
Were all the cold words Lyra had spoken about the man influencing his thoughts? Had Sirius's resentment passed onto Ron without him noticing? Was his distrust of Dumbledore his own or theirs?
"So what do you want me to do, Professor?" Ron asked finally, trying to appear more naïve than he truly was.
"I’d like you to be my link to Harry," Dumbledore smiled, as if the question was exactly what he had hoped to hear. "Talk to him, see how he’s feeling. Sometimes a friend can notice things that adults cannot."
Ron felt a strong discomfort at the idea of an adult man he had no close relationship with asking him to spy on his friend. It was disturbing how his mother seemed to find it completely acceptable.
"Sure," Ron replied, trying to mask his caution. "I can do that."
Ginny looked at him with narrowed eyes but said nothing. She didn’t speak, but Ron wasn’t sure if it was because she trusted him or because she feared being punished by their mother. She was already guaranteed to be grounded for the foreseeable future due to her recent outburst.
Molly seemed relieved by his response, while Dumbledore rose with a satisfied smile.
"I knew I could count on you, Ronald. And remember, whenever you need guidance, I’ll be here to help."
When Dumbledore left, his presence leaving an odd silence in the room, their mother went with him to see him out. Ginny turned to Ron.
"You’re not actually going to do it, are you?" she asked, her voice low and urgent.
Ron glanced at the door and then back at his sister.
"Trust me, Gin," he pleaded, then immediately pretended to fiddle with his Muggle toy when their mother walked back into the room.
"Oh, Ron, it seems Dumbledore sees great potential in you!" their mother said, her tone dreamy. "That’s good; he’ll help you secure a good job and guide you through your studies. I’m sure, with his help, you’ll become a successful man and stay on the right path."
As Molly hummed her way back to the kitchen, the two siblings exchanged a conspiratorial look. They both knew the road ahead would be complicated.
What do you fight for, Ron?