A Game of Chess
The sun was already shining brightly through the window of the highest bedroom of the Burrow, splaying lazily across Harry’s face, when he woke up. He had slept better than usual last night and, for the first time in weeks, couldn’t remember having any nightmares; neither Ron nor Hermione had woken him up with their screaming. He felt a pleasant euphoria in his muscles as he stretched them out to their fullest extent, followed quickly by a confused somersault in his stomach, like missing the last stair heading down. He opened his eyes. Ron and Hermione weren’t there.
Of course they weren’t. It was Monday morning, and they both must have set off for their first days of work hours ago by now, deciding not to wake Harry. He couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed, not to mention a little lost without the presence of his two guiding lights.
Harry pulled a T-shirt and jeans over himself robotically and descended the stairs. On the table, there was already a plate of eggs and toast sitting at his usual spot, as well as a note on a small card sitting next to it.
"Harry –
"I’ll be in London until lunchtime today. Please de-gnome the garden if you can. See you soon.
"Love,
"Molly
"P.S. Ron and Hermione will be back before dinner. They’re sorry for not waking you up but they can’t wait to see you again."
Harry put down the note and set about eating his eggs and toast, an emptiness more than just hunger gnawing at his insides. Since neither Ginny nor George appeared to have shown their faces, he went outside and distracted himself by de-gnoming the garden, trying not to think too much about Ron and Hermione, out and about in the Ministry, starting their jobs without him. With another jolt in his stomach he wondered if they’d go out and have lunch together, and maybe share a celebratory ice cream afterward.
But what was he thinking? Surely they would enjoy the opportunity to get together just the two of them, for once without Harry present. Ron and Hermione were an item. Or at least he thought they were. Harry scratched his head. It was all a lot more confusing now that all three of them were sharing a bed every night.
The de-gnoming didn’t take nearly long enough, and it was still only one in the afternoon. Mrs Weasley wouldn’t be back for another hour and a half or so. Looking for something to do, he considered going for a walk down to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole for some enrichment. But who was he? A dog that needed to be walked?
He was so busy missing Ron and Hermione that he didn’t even notice that he wasn’t the only one walking toward the gate until he had already reached it. Ginny was carrying a broomstick giving him that intense, fierce look again with those captivating brown eyes. The way the sun was reflecting off her long ginger hair from behind gave her an almost otherworldly appearance.
“And where exactly are you going?” she said, raising her eyebrows at Harry.
“Er – a walk,” he said truthfully. Then he frowned. “What about you?”
“Luna’s,” she said unabashedly. “Don’t tell Mum, will you?” And she kicked off into the air without another word.
By the time Harry returned from his walk, it was now past lunchtime, but it appeared that Mrs Weasley had been in a rush when she got back, as she was already at work in the garden when Harry started in on the dinner she had brought back from London.
George came downstairs for the second day in a row that day, possibly setting a record for the most Harry had seen of him since the war. Something about him was changing slowly; Harry could just barely perceive part of his old humor and carefree nature coming back to him, little by little. The two of them sat at the table on the backyard patio for a game of Wizard’s Chess, which ended up taking much longer than expected, as neither Harry nor George was even remotely competent at the game. Not long after Harry had finally captured George’s king, Mrs Weasley returned to start preparing dinner, and George disappeared upstairs as usual.
Neither Ron, nor Hermione, nor Ginny, nor Mr Weasley was back by dinner. Harry and Mrs Weasley made small talk and Harry retired to his bedroom shortly after he had finished.
The sun had already set by the time Ron and Hermione had returned. They had barely opened the door to Ron’s bedroom when Harry threw himself at them and pulled them into a tight embrace. Hermione let out a scream of surprise and Ron laughed weakly, saying, “Blimey, Harry, we missed you too, mate.”
“How were your first days?” said Harry, releasing them and letting them flop onto the bed with their feet up. “What happened? Why didn’t you wake me up to see you off? What took you so long? I was waiting all day!”
Perhaps Hermione sensed the indignation in that last bit, because she looked at Harry and said in a placating tone, “We’re sorry, Harry, but you were sleeping so well, we didn’t want to wake you. And they made us both stay later than we expected. I think they were just excited we had joined their staff because they think we’re famous, honestly…”
“Yeah,” said Ron, nodding vigorously, “one of the blokes at the Auror Office kept asking me what your favorite color was, when your birthday was, what Quidditch team you support… Bit overwhelming, really.”
“And?” said Harry, looking from one to the other. “How’d it all go?”
“Not bad for a first day,” said Ron, massaging his feet. “Wish you could’ve been there, though. The other empty spot in the Auror Office went to Susan Bones. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice enough,” he added quickly, seeing the look on Hermione’s face, “but I’m allowed to wish my best mate was working the same job as me, aren’t I?” He turned back to Harry to say, “For now it’s mostly training still, though. My mentor said if I’m lucky I’ll get my first assignment by September; until then I’ll just be shadowing her. And I’ll have to stay late each day this week for extra training sessions; apparently my mentor wasn’t too impressed with how hard it was for me to throw off that Imperius Curse in the preliminary test.”
“That’s great, Ron,” said Harry. “And you, Hermione?”
“Well,” said Hermione, grimacing a little, “I won’t lie, it’s not my ideal job. But it’s interesting enough. My mentor showed me around their office, they have loads of cool ancient artifacts from all across the United Kingdom. It’s not the type of job that requires much training, though; they set me right to work translating a stone inscription from the Moste Disstingwished Worlockes Guilde – you know, the one from the sixteenth century that we learned about in History of Magic –” Hermione seemed not to notice the confounded looks from both Harry and Ron at this – “but they said I’ll be needing to stay late as well this week, to make up for some of the hours I’ll be missing when I go to Australia.”
“Oh yeah?” said Harry, raising his eyebrows. “And do you know when that is yet?”
“Er – yes,” said Hermione, “Ron and I were just discussing it at lunch today. I think it’s best if I leave on Sunday.”
Harry thought it was unlike Hermione to rush to prepare a trip that usually would have required weeks or even months of planning to meet her standards. But then again, he knew just how desperate it felt to miss one’s parents, so he decided he couldn’t blame her for this initiative.
“Great,” said Harry, “let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I have plenty of time on my hands now.”
“Thanks, Harry,” said Hermione, smiling tiredly. “What did you do today, then?”
Despite Harry’s anxious desire to hear every little detail about their first days at work, both Ron and Hermione were, understandably, exhausted, and it wasn’t long before they were ready to turn in for the night.
---
Tuesday passed much the same as Monday: Harry woke up well after Ron and Hermione were gone and tried to keep himself from watching the clock too much as the hours continued their slow march. As before, well after dark, both returned, exhausted, entirely spent, and almost immediately fell asleep. Harry felt as if he was missing out on the time of their lives, though he really couldn’t be sure whether they enjoyed their new jobs or not, as they spoke of them so little.
Wednesday followed the same pattern, as did Thursday, and it was looking like Friday would fall exactly in line like the rest. The silver lining of it all, of course, was that George was now coming downstairs with more and more frequency. Harry wondered if it was the relative emptiness of the house that attracted him out of his room, as he most often emerged when Mrs Weasley and Ginny weren’t around either. The Burrow, Harry imagined, had hardly ever been so quiet as it was that week.
Together, they passed the hours playing at Wizard’s Chess or Exploding Snap, or simply watching some of George’s favorite television programs. They spoke very little. Harry wondered if George was waiting for him to strike up a conversation, but he didn’t much mind the silence. It was enough not to be alone all day; furthermore, he didn’t want to risk scaring George back into a week of solitude by saying the wrong thing.
This was finally put to the test on Friday afternoon, when George finally broke the concentrated silence they were sharing over a game of Wizard’s Chess. Despite their mutual sub-par chess skills, the games were generally unpredictable, and even quite exciting at times, due to their dramatically different playing styles. George had once commented to Harry that he was a bit overprotective over his own King and Queen, sometimes to the point of handicapping his own ability to make moves. In contrast, Harry found George to be much more carefree with the pieces he found expendable; sometimes these gambits led him to great successes, other times to terrible defeats.
George had just risked his rook to take a pawn when he said suddenly: “I reckon we’ve got to stop all this, Harry, sooner or later.”
Harry looked up from the board. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean, we can’t just waste away our lives playing Wizard’s Chess. We should try something new like Ron and Hermione. You know, make a move. Get out of Mum’s hair a little.”
Harry chuckled. “You first.” He looked back down at the board and discovered he had forgotten the move he had been about to make. Trying to cover up this blunder, he moved a pawn forward innocently.
“What happened to you moving back into Grimmauld Place, anyway?” said George, taking this opportunity to move his rook out of the trap Harry hadn’t noticed. “Mum said you were going to a few weeks ago…”
“I – well –” Harry struggled to find the right words. “I couldn’t.”
George clicked his tongue. “That’s not the right attitude, is it, mate? It’ll only get harder if you ignore it.”
Harry took George’s last remaining knight with one of his own pawns. He supposed George was right, but it was hard to swallow such advice from someone who had barely left his room for over two months. On the other hand, George deserved a little more credit than Harry was giving him: Harry had never known, nor would he ever know, what it was like to lose a twin. Or an ear, for that matter.
George took Harry’s silence as an invitation to continue. “What d’you say we bet on it? I win the game, you have to move into Grimmauld Place or try to get another job or something – it’s completely your choice, of course.”
“Okay,” said Harry, feeling daring for the first time in a while. George was now sustaining heavy losses on his side. “And if I win, you have to go reopen Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”
A shadow seemed to pass over George’s face at this suggestion, but Harry didn’t feel much like backing down. This time, he was the one to press his advantage, both in their discussion and in the game. “C’mon, George, I think we could all use a little joy these days. And,” he said, taking a bigger risk than he himself had expected, “it’s what Fred would’ve wanted.”
George looked at Harry for a long time, and Harry knew there was a fierce debate going on inside his head. After a while, he looked back down at the board. “Okay, deal.”
Five minutes later, Harry’s rook slid forward three spaces to capture George’s king. Harry had won the bet. Why, then, did he feel disappointed?
---
Ron and Hermione returned later than ever before that evening; Mr and Mrs Weasley had already gone to bed by the time they spun out of the fireplace in a burst of green flame.
“Oh – hi,” said Hermione, clearly surprised to see that Harry, Ginny, and George had all been waiting for them in the sitting room. “Er – what’s going on?”
“Does a bloke need an excuse to spend a little time with his friends?” said George. “Actually, though,” he said with a sidelong glance at Harry, “I have news.”
“News?” said Ron, raising his eyebrows.
“I have some, too,” said Ginny.
“Same,” added Harry.
“Well, if we’re all sharing news, I suppose I will, too, although Harry and Ron already know part of it,” said Hermione.
“Blimey, now I feel left out,” said Ron, folding his arms over his chest. “You go first, then, George.”
George took a deep breath. “I’ve decided to move back into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and reopen. Tomorrow.”
Ginny roared with delight; Ron punched the air in triumph and Hermione beamed and said: “But that’s wonderful, George!”
“Cheers, George,” said Ginny, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll help you move in – I’m not leaving ‘till Sunday.”
“Wh – Sunday?” said Ron, nearly giving himself whiplash with the speed in which he turned on his younger sister. “Leaving? Where are you going?”
“Romania. I’m going to live with Charlie for a while to figure things out. I need to get out of this house, anyway.”
“Oh, wow,” said Hermione, regaining her composure. “Romania’s supposed to be really interesting – not just because of the dragons, of course, they have an really prestigious school on the shores of the Black Sea, they’re really famous for their Arithmancy program –”
“I’ll be sure not to go there, then,” Ginny muttered so that only Harry could hear. He put his fist in his mouth to stifle a laugh.
“All right, my turn, then,” he said after a few seconds, “although my news is not nearly as interesting as Ginny’s or George’s. I’m moving back into Grimmauld Place. Tomorrow, as well.”
“What?” said George. “But you won the bet!”
“Yeah, but I reckon I’ll have to face it sooner or later. It’s like you said, innit? It’ll only get harder the longer I put it off.”
Hermione did not look surprised at all. “I think it’s a very good idea for you, Harry. I’m proud of you.”
Harry blinked. He had not been expecting this at all: It was perhaps one of the first times in his life that someone had said they were proud of him. He felt strangely light; he got up to busy himself with the dirty dishes so no one could see him grinning.
“And what about you, then, Hermione?” said Ginny expectantly. “You said you had news for us, too.”
“Oh, right,” she said. “Well, as Ron and Harry already know, I’m going to Australia to look for my parents. I want to restore their memories, or at least try. And… I don’t expect to be back for a long time. Maybe September, I’m not sure. I tried to make it extra hard for the Death Eaters to be able to find them, but the trouble is now I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”
---
However, as Hermione wasn’t departing until Sunday, she was still around to help Harry move back into Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place the following day. And that was a fortunate thing, too: Her proficiency at the Undetectable Extension Charm was essential to being able to pack all of Harry’s things into compact boxes.
Harry didn’t have that many possessions anyway, of course. Apart from his most treasured artifacts, like the Marauder’s Map and the photo album of his parents’ given to him by Hagrid, most of the luggage consisted of his clothing and some spare kitchen essentials Mrs Weasley refused to let him leave without. The Invisibility Cloak he decided to let Hermione borrow, since it would probably be more useful in helping her track down her parents than sitting folded in a closet in Grimmauld Place. Ron also reminded Harry to take a supply of Floo Powder just in case.
With Ron and Hermione’s help, the move-in process was much less daunting and, overall, downright enjoyable. They spent the day getting every part of the house set up according to Harry’s desires, and by mid-afternoon the difference was palpable. It had started feeling much more welcoming than before. Harry had taken care to fasten the curtains in front of Sirius’s mother’s portrait shut tight, so there was no longer any risk of foul-mouthed intrusions on their peace.
By dinnertime, most of the work was done, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down at the dining room table in the dingy basement enjoying some sandwiches Mrs Weasley had packed for them. Harry was aware he would have to start cooking for himself the following day, now that he was living alone and poor Kreacher was – well, dead. All the same, he did not complain when she pressed the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches into his hands as they were getting ready to Disapparate.
And then, all too soon, it was time to say goodbye. Tears were falling down Hermione’s cheeks and she was hugging him tightly and promising that she’d write often, that she’d miss him so much and she’d see him in a few months… Only then did it dawn on Harry that if she was gone for over two months, it would be the longest he’d gone without seeing her since the summer after his first year at Hogwarts… He hoped she kept to her word and wrote more often this time…
Then Ron was pulling him into an embrace so strong it was almost suffocating, and he was saying he’d be there for him any time he needed, he was always just an owl or a handful of Floo Powder away, that he promised he’d visit as often as he could, that Harry had better take care of himself…
And then they were gone. And the house was empty again. Harry was alone.
It was as if something had switched off in his brain; as if a void had opened inside of him, and all the laughter and joy he had been feeling the last few hours were sucked out, leaving no trace, leaving him empty.
Harry lowered himself unsteadily into the soft armchair facing the fireplace. The fire around which they had warmed themselves was now dying. The logs were smoking heavily now. Harry shifted the chair to the side to avoid inhaling any of it.
The clock struck eight o’clock, its bells ringing loudly and suddenly and causing Harry to jump. The clock struck nine. The clock struck ten. Eleven. Midnight. One in the morning. Harry did not move a muscle.