Chapter 27: Chess Match of Doom

Hermione was eager to get back to talking to Professor Snape after her meeting with Ron, but between the warm soup, his afternoon potions, and hopefully her sheets, Snape had dozed off in her absence. As getting Snape to rest was one of S.N.O.R.T.'s primary goals, Hermione didn't begrudge him the sleep.

Heading back to the kitchen, she got a bit of late lunch for herself instead and returned to Snape's room. She supposed she could have gone down to the library, but she found herself hanging out quite often in Snape's room in much the way she'd hung around the Gryffindor common room. Snape had never mentioned her spending her off-duty hours in his rooms, but then he'd never kicked her out either. An action she knew he wouldn't hesitate to perform if he was bothered by her presence.

So, settling into her chair with an egg salad sandwich, she pulled out her book of the moment. It was a treaty on Magical Theory: the same subject Professor Vector had suggested as reading material for Snape. She'd actually meant to give the book to him, but hadn't been able to resist the urge to open it and read a few pages first. She's instantly been hooked on the fascinating information. She'd even come across annotated references to the concept of Affinity. Once she finished the book, she planned on seeking out the older original works.

Tucking her feet up under her, Hermione thought to lose herself in the words only to find her mind too restless to concentrate on the book. When she'd read the same paragraph three times, she finally gave up. Slipping in a bookmark, she closed the book and let it rest in her lap, laughing softly at herself. She knew the bookworm reputation she had. Wouldn't her Housemates be surprised to find Hermione Granger with too much on her mind to read?

It wasn't that she didn't have a lot to think about, though,with Professor Vector's offer of an apprenticeship. The offer had both surprised and thrilled her. It was everything she could have hoped for her future. Good Arithmancers were a rare commodity in the wizarding world, and Hermione knew, without arrogance, that she could be a very good Arithmancer. To learn the things that Vector could teach her would ensure her place in the wizarding world by giving her avenues of access into almost every career path available to her, including most branches of the Ministry, if she was inclined in that direction.

Her decision was easy, and she'd wanted to say "Yes" immediately when Vector had made the offer. She knew that there had been a time when she would have made that leap without hesitation. Now, she'd held back. She'd wanted to give herself time to properly consider and evaluate and think.

Not quite the proper Gryffindor anymore, am I, she thought with a wry smile. Proper Gryffindor, indeed. Looking over to the sleeping man across from her, she knew he was the reason she wasn't proper anymore. She couldn't say she minded, either. He'd taught her so much. She had no doubt he could teach her even more.

Letting her gaze linger on Snape, she evaluated his condition, something she couldn't do when he was awake and watching her with those dark eyes of his. The enforced bed rest and regular meals were obviously good for him. The dark circles under his eyes looked more like smudges now, rather than bruises, and the sunken places beneath his cheekbones had started to fill in, though he still had a pinched, stressed look to him.

His skin tone was better: more his usual pale, rather than the sickly pallor she'd seen him wearing for what she now realised was quite a long time.

As she watched, he shifted slightly in his sleep and murmured something unintelligible. His movements, though, were those of normal sleep and not the tormented, night-hag ridden man she'd seen those first few days before she'd sent Rink for the sheets she'd made.

Watching him now, Vector's words from earlier rang in her head.

Don't expect him to be your friend, you'll just wind up tying yourself in knots.

She sighed softly.

Vector's words had unexpectedly stung, but at the time, she'd not wanted her professor to know how much they had hit home. She completely understood Vector's warning. She knew first hand the ease in which Snape kept people at arm's length and how easily he could puncture a person's defenses and leave them wounded and bleeding. Snape, she'd discovered, chose his friends with careful deliberation. In comparison, Gryffindors tended to have a vast network of close friends, casual friends and acquaintances. So far, she'd seen only three people that Snape seemed to be friendly with: Professor Dumbledore, Healer Alverez and Professor Vector.

I want to be his friend . . . his confidant . . . his . . . . Here her thoughts skittered away unformed and unvoiced.

She sighed again. "Maddening man," she whispered. "Nothing with you is ever easy."

The maddening man didn't so much as twitch. Shaking her head to rid herself of wayward thoughts, Hermione opened back up the book, forcing herself back into the words.

A loud thump woke her, ingrained habit of being awakened by similar loud thumps in the past had her reaching for the book that shouldhave been in her lap.

She blinked away the clinging remains of her dream. No book. She'd fallen asleep in her chair while reading. Again. Leaning over, she went to grab the book, only to meet the assessing and somewhat curious eyes of Professor Snape.

Embarrassment flooded her, tell-tale heat suffusing her cheeks.

"Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to wake you up."

He gave a minute shrug. "I was awake."

Hermione got the rather odd feeling that he'd been watching her while she'd slept, much in the same way she'd been watching and contemplating him earlier. Only she doubted he'd been contemplating the mysteries that were Hermione Granger the same way she'd been contemplating the mysteries that were Severus Snape. She stifled the snort that thought engendered. It wasn't like she even had mysteries.

Beginning to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze, she sought to distract him. "What time –"

"Close to dinner time. It would seem that we have both slept away the afternoon." He continued to give her that measuring look that had her wondering what he was thinking. Then, in what seemed to her to be an abrupt conversational turn, he asked, "Have you considered Professor Vector's offer?"

"I've thought about it."

"Good." He shifted on the bed and into a sitting position while Hermione resisted the urge to assist him, knowing he would not want the help. When he was comfortable once again, he said, "Tell me your thoughts."

A warm feeling spread through her chest at his words — words she knew others would hear as rather dictatorial. Hermione wasn't concerned with the iwords/i. She was listening to his tone and watching his body language. His words said, 'You are a lowly servant and must bow to my dictates.' His actions though — his expression of interest, his focus, the way his body was angled towards hers — all said, 'Your thoughts and opinions have merit.' And Severus Snape, she knew, accorded meritorious worth to very few people.

Wrapping herself in that warmth, she began to tell him her thoughts.

They had long since gone past the topic of Vector's apprenticeship offer, their conversation winding down paths that went from minor gossip about the Order: Tonks and Lupin's not-so-secret romance . . . Death Eater Dark Revels: "utter rubbish!" . . . Hogwarts: A History: "Do not believe everything that books tells you." So caught up in their conversation, Hermione was surprised when the door opened to admit Professor Vector.

Vector gave them both a smile. "I hope you don't mind, but I was thinking that maybe we could do this over dinner. There are way too many people trying to eat downstairs. It's a little overwhelming."

Snape, Hermione noticed, stiffened slightly, his expression, while still friendly, taking on a more reserved cast. "Come in, Vector. The suggestion seems a good one." Turning, he glanced at Hermione. "Can you bring back dinner for yourself and Professor Vector as well as my own?"

Hermione gave him a small smile and then included Vector in it. "That shouldn't be a problem. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Hermione headed out the door as behind her Vector conjured several of her blackboards and the swirling matrix appeared to hover over Snape's bed.

Not wanting to miss anything, she hurried down the stairs to get the dinner trays. Now that the elves had taken over the kitchen, Order members took their meals in the house's formal dining room. She bypassed the room where she could hear the click of cutlery and china and made her way down the second set of stairs.

She was still putting together the trays for herself and Vector when Ron slid past the kitchen door, his shifty-eyed expression giving him away before he even opened his mouth.

"You aren't getting out of it," she said, heading off the weasel attempt she knew was coming.

He frowned, his brows drawing down tight together in disgruntlement. "The least you could do is let a bloke get his argument out before you cut him off at the knees."

Hermione laughed, more at Ron's thunderous expression than at his peevish objection. "Sorry, Ron, but the only reason I can think of for you to be skulking around is because you want out. I'm not asking a lot. Just something to take Professor Snape's mind off being cooped up in bed."

Leaning up against the kitchen table, he snagged a glazed carrot from a dish, ignoring Hermione's sound of annoyance at his picking through the dishes with his fingers. "But Hermione –"

"Don't whinge. And don't you dare put the fingers you just ilicked/i back in that bowl. You aren't getting out of this. You said you'd do it."

"But it's not fair. You caught me in a weak moment. I was vulnerable. I'd just successfully completed the Blitzer Hang. That was monumental. I was riding the high of victory. I didn't know what I was agreeing to."

"Ron, you were hanging from the bottom of your broom by one hand and a leg. It wasn't . . . oh, fine," she amended, with a roll of her eyes, "it was monumental. But I still need you to play Professor Snape."

"But–"

"I promise not to leave you alone with him. Besides, he's confined to bed and can't use his wand. What's he going to do?"

Ron snorted in disbelief. "You think that's going to make me think he's helpless? Not even a Hufflepuff firstie is that stupid. He's . . . he's Snape," he declared, as if that encompassed and summed up his entire argument.

"Ron –" Hermione clamped her mouth shut as she heard herself slide into whinging. Nagging could get Ron to finish his assignments. It wouldn't get him to willingly interact with Snape.

"Just think about it," she said after taking a breath. "It doesn't have to be tonight. Harry's back now, so it wouldn't work anyway. Just, you know, next time Professor Dumbledore takes Harry off with him. Maybe tomorrow afternoon." She took another breath. "I really would appreciate it.'

Ron quirked a small grin. "If I were Fred or George I'd be asking that you do my homework when Hogwarts starts up again in two weeks as payback."

"If you were Fred or George, you wouldn't be allowed within five feet of Professor Snape's door."

His hand reached back towards the carrots. She slapped it away.

Tucking the offended appendage up under his other arm, he said, "You still owe me."

"I know, Ron. But please, believe me, this is important."

Ron gave her look, his eyes narrowed. "Just –" He cut off abruptly, then sighed and let her off the hook. "Fine, Hermione. Next time Harry leaves."

She was too thankful for the reprieve to question her good fortune. "Thanks, Ron," she said as he headed back out the door.

Gathering up her things, she set the trays to following her with a swish and two flicks of her wand. Then she went back upstairs to Snape and Vector.

Even when she was expecting it, had even instigated it, Hermione still found she was surprised later the next day when, after a brief rap on the door, Ron shouldered his way into Snape's room wearing the countenance of a man going to the gallows.

For the briefest of moments it felt like she was staring at a Muggle still-life — Snape reclined on his bed with one brow raised, Ron poised like a rabbit mid-flight, eyes wide and body half-twisted back towards the door in order to make his escape, and her, half in her chair and half out.

Then the tableau broke as Ron found his courage and raised his chin in obvious defiance of his nervousness, and in all probability, in defiance of Professor Snape as well.

Ron's eyes flickered to her and back to Snape. "Hermione said you were bored and might like a game of chess." It was part question and part statement with a little bit of challenge thrown in, as if Ron thought Snape was going to accuse him of making the whole thing up.

Not sure which player in the drama to focus on, Hermione found her gaze flicking rapidly between the two.

"Mr Weasley," Snape acknowledged, his voice as frosty as if he stood in the classroom. Ron tensed, but before he could stomp from the room, Snape spoke again, his voice sliding into more conversational tones. "I find that diversion at this point . . . no matter the source . . . is always welcome."

Hermione let out the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. That, as far as Snape responses went, was fairly cordial. Then again, he couldn't just leave off all the insults or Ron would have known something was up. It would be a fine balance between being his usual acidic self but easing off just enough so Ron could let his guard down.

A flush crept up Ron's neck, but he held his ground. Hermione felt herself relax. Not that she should have worried, she chided herself. Snape was, after all, the consummate spy and Slytherin. If anyone could walk that fine line, it would be him.

Laughter bubbled up, but Hermione snapped her teeth together and held it in as Ron sent her a disgruntled glower that she easily read. Ron had just revised what she owed him for this. But if this worked, if they got Harry back on the right path and Voldemort was vanquished once and for all, she'd give Ron anything he asked for in exchange for this favour.

She gave him best encouraging smile and hoped it was enough.

After that first tension-filled moment, the rest seemed anti-climatic. Ron entered the room and set up the board and chess pieces with a quiet efficiency that spoke of long practice. Snape had said nothing until Ron had offered him the traditional pick of chess pieces within Ron's closed fists.

"Right."

Ron's fingers had opened to reveal a black pawn. Without another word between, the pieces were returned to the board and play began.

Hermione attempted to be interested, but somewhere between Ron moving a pawn and several moves later, Snape moving a Bishop, she lost all interest. Chess, she'd determined, had all the appeal for her of Quidditch but without the sometimes heart-stopping flying that at least lent that game occasional interest.

Her own boredom with chess annoyed her at times. Chess was a time-honoured, logical game of strategy. It was the kind of game that should be right in line with her strengths. It was the kind of game she had a feeling she should enjoy. She gave the two combatants a swift glance, taking in Ron's steely-eyed determination and Snape's faint smirk of superiority. The phrase 'dull as dirt' floated through her mind and she fought to repress her snicker of amusement, positive that neither Snape nor Ron would find her comment funny.

An hour or so later, Hermione stifled a yawn behind her upraised book. How can a game so boring keep two people so riveted?

She had no idea who was winning or losing. To her eyes, the board was just a jumble of scattered pieces. Although from the few remaining pieces on the board she'd guess that the end would be coming soon. With a shake of her head, and another barely covered yawn, she went back to her book — magical theory, now that was interesting.

It was an odd choking noise that brought her attention back from her immersion in the printed word. Looking up, she blinked a few times. Prolonged reading tended to make her eyes a little dry. A second later, the noise was repeated and this time, she recognised it as having come from Ron.

He was staring at the chess board in something that Hermione could only name as awed horror. She couldn't see why. She did understand that Ron had lost, if Snape's rather self-satisfied expression, and Ron's keeled over king were any indication, but she wasn't sure why the game was eliciting such a reaction from him. It didn't happen often, but she'd seen him lose before.

Snape caught her eye. "I thought you said that Mr Weasley would provide a challenge." The self-satisfied look went to something that more resembled arrogant smugness. "I see no challenge."

Ron's head slowly rose from his contemplation of the board, his back straightening with the movement. He had a fierce expression on his face that Hermione usually only saw when he was guarding the Gryffindor goals during Quidditch games.

"Reset the board," he said, his voice low and steady.

Snape smirked and leaned back into the bed pillows, the very picture of languid nonchalance.

"Really, Mr Weasley, I don't see how you –"

"Reset. The. Board."

Snape's lips twitched, one corner curling up. Hermione felt a little shiver skitter down her spine at the sight. She knew Ron would see a sneer in that expression. Hermione, however, was reading a full-blown Snape smile. He was pleased.

With seeming unconcern, Snape tapped out a specific pattern onto the corner square of the board. On his last tap, all the pieces scrambled back onto the board, taking their places with military precision. Hermione saw the black king look up at Snape and then over to Ron. She would swear that she could see the little wooden man swallow hard.

She paid more attention this time, or at least tried to. She'd seen enough games to recognise Ron's series of opening moves. The moves were some kind of named strategy, but she'd never taken the time to learn it.

Each player's moves were done lightning quick, as if both Ron and Snape were making moves according to a pre-arranged script, until Snape moved one of his knights. Ron's hand, already reaching for a pawn, drew back before his fingers touched the piece.

Fingers rubbing against his thumb, Ron raised his eyes and studied Snape's face; looking for what, Hermione hadn't any idea. Snape gazed back impassively, his expression curiously neutral after the arrogance from the earlier game.

Ron reached for the board again and moved one of his castles. The game resumed, but this time, each player studied the board with fixed concentration at each move.

Back and forth.

Move and countermove.

Advance and retreat.

Good God, this is a boring game, she thought.

But then she gave herself an admonishing shake. Whatever was going on in this game was holding Snape and Ron spellbound. Tension lined Ron's shoulders as he hunched further over the board. Snape, Hermione noted, was relaxed, his expression of satisfaction, if she was reading him correctly. Which was why she was completely startled when a moment later Snape reached forward and tipped over his king.

Ron's expression was the epitome of gobsmacked for all of two seconds before it slid into excitement. Abruptly, his expression morphed into a mixture of puzzlement, concentration and suspicion.

Hermione caught her breath then let it out as Ron's expression cleared of the suspicion, though the puzzlement remained. He finally offered up, "Good game, Professor Snape."

Snape's expression had barely changed, if anything, Hermione thought, it had deepened into satisfaction. "It was indeed an excellent game, Mr Weasley." He paused. "I would enjoy additional games, if you are so inclined."

Ron blinked. "I . . ." His eyes flicked over to Hermione, then back to Snape. "Yes, sir. I would enjoy that."

Below them, the grandfather clock in the front hall chimed four o'clock. Ron's eyes widened. Hermione could almost read Ron's mind: the afternoon had mostly vanished and Harry would be returning soon. Snape knew it as well, so she wasn't surprised when Snape dismissed Ron, though it was the gentlest dismissal Hermione had ever seen Snape give.

She flashed Snape a grateful smile and slipped out of the room after Ron. Figuring that she'd have to run to catch up with him, she wasn't prepared to find him leaning up against the wall opposite Snape's door. Trying to stop her forward momentum, she tripped over her own feet and landed with a muffled thump and whoosh of breath against the solid wall of Ron's chest.

For a brief moment as Ron's arms closed around her, Hermione flashed back on all of her carefully hidden girlish fantasies of her and Ron. Just as quickly, she felt a vague sense of wrongness and, finding her footing, she stepped back as an embarrassed flush darkened her cheeks.

"Sorry about that, wasn't expecting you to be there."

Ron didn't say anything but was not watching her with that same contemplative expression he'd used on Snape.

"Ron?"

He shook his head, more as if he was trying to shake loose a stubborn thought rather than in answer to her comment.

"It's fine. Hermione did he–"

"Did he what?"

"Was he . . . never mind. I don't know what I'm thinking or even what I'm saying."

Not sure what was bothering Ron, Hermione lay a hand on his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I'll see you later."

Ron walked away, not surprised when Hermione re-entered Snape's room. With a small flare of not-quite-jealousy, he realised that she'd been comfortable in that room with Snape.

Taking the stairs slowly, he mulled over what he'd seen. There was something going on there in Snape's room. Ron knew it, with the surety of being the subject of the twins' plots for his entire life. Every instinct he possessed was clamoring at him that not only were Snape and Hermione up to something, but that somehow, without even being sure of how he agreed to it, he was now part of the plot.

And that chess game . . . Ron admitted that the first game had been all Snape. Ron had underestimated the Potions master, and Snape had caught him in one of the slickest and tightest strategies Ron had ever seen. Even now, Ron wanted to analyze the game.

It had been a new strategy to Ron and one he looked forward to mastering. The second game though, Snape had played differently. His play was no less brilliant, but somehow Ron got the impression he was missing something. Snape had opened with Hobson's Choice. It was a fairly tame opening, but gave the player the later choice to either play in a defensive or aggressive style. Ron had countered Hobson with a strategy that was typically used to force the player using Hobson into the defensive strategy.

For a few minutes of play, Ron had thought he'd dominate the game to a speedy victory — right up until Snape had changed his game, his whole previous strategy with a single move, effectively abandoned Hobson for Grayson's Secret Gambit.

Then the play between the two had really begun. Ron had never successfully seen the Gambit played, as it favoured subtle traps within traps and maze-like formations that were ultimately designed to lead the other player to defeat. Ron had been especially proud of himself as he worked though each layer of trap, always finding the move that would lead him to safety and ultimately to victory.

He had won.

Ron's downward progress stopped. He had won, hadn't he? Snape wouldn't throw a game, and one false move on Ron's part would have ended in his rather quick defeat. But there was that suspicion, that prickling at the back of his neck that usually appeared right before Fred and George ended up turning him purple or into a fish or some other bit of craziness.

Ron looked back up the staircase in the direction of Snape's room, remembering Snape's defeat and the strange satisfied smile the man had worn.

He had won. I did. At least I think I did.

Ch 28: Back to Hogwarts

 

Author's Note 1: Hello loyal readers. I can't believe how many of you guys stepped forward after the last chapter and said you were still reading, had been here since Chapter 1 and were waiting patiently for me to finish. I'm even more surprised that there weren't any threats of violence and bodily harm to hurry up with it. You guys are the bestest.

In the interest of actually getting to the point of the story, well, one of them anyway, I've decided to scrap several additional filler scenes that round out the final weeks of summer at Grimmauld Place. Unfortunately this means that chess time between Ron and Snape hit the cutting room floor. A good editor probably would have cut them anyway as being not pertinent to the action. There will be one final scene at Grimmauld Place and then the action will jump back to Hogwarts where the story will finally(!) at long last, start it's downhill slide towards blood, death, mayhem, secrets, reveals, surprises, romance and Lil' Sev.

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