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Chapter Text

The day has finally come. A day Ron Weasley never thought would come. Here he was, standing in the rays of the September sun by the red phonebooth, his right hand resting on the strap of his leather bag, amazed that he had finally made this decision. After a month's notice, he resigned from being an auror forever. Ron left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a clear conscience - in the nearly two and a half years he had been with the ministry, he and Harry had tracked down and caught most of the fugitive Death Eaters. They traveled across Europe: they were in Russia and Ukraine, the Carrows hid in Andalusia; they apprehended Rabastan in Croatia, and they were unable to find Rodolphus despite their best efforts. They were in Cyprus, Mallorca, spent a lot of time in Czech Republic looking for Yaxley, and in Warsaw, they managed to capture Thorfin Rowle with the utmost effort. Ron would not have survived this fight, had it not been for the fact that one of the Polish aurors who helped them had not lost his head after losing his wand and stunned Rowle with a bottle of vodka. While saying goodbye to Stanisław Koniecpolski before returning to England, Ron had a deep cut on his cheek; for the first time, he thought that a career in the Auror's office might not be his calling. He faced death more than once in his life, but when Rowle pointed his wand at him, Ron suddenly thought that he had recently asked Hermione to marry him. He recalled how happy they were while planning the wedding. He thought about how much he would like to have children with her. After a while, the thought of parents who had already lost one son came to his mind - Ron wasn't sure if his mother would survive another blow like this.

When he got home that day, he saw the fear in Hermione's eyes. She watched with concern as he changed the dressings on a deeply slit cheek. Ron had a scar until today. He then kissed her passionately, putting all his love and devotion into that kiss. He held her for a long time, pressing her tightly against him, and her scent; her soft, delicate scent of verbena and vetiver made him feel calm and relaxed; he didn't want to let her go, as if he was afraid he would lose her. Ron never told Hermione what happened in Poland, nor did he mention that he had decided to change his profession then, as soon as he and Harry had cleaned up this mess. He couldn't leave his best friend without help, at least for a while. Within six months of Rowle's apprehension, they'd managed to get things right, and Ron didn't want to risk his life any longer; not for catching common criminals. He cast a final glance at the red phonebooth through which he left the ministry using the exit for petitioners. He handed out his badge, passes, signed the relevant documents - he officially ceased to be an officer of the Auror's Office.

He stretched and walked down the street, whistling merrily, for the first time in a long time he felt no stress or pressure, he was calm and relaxed. There will be no more missions, poring over maps, and evidence, endless interrogations finally came to an end. He had to be continuously ready to serve; it didn't matter if the Auror's Office called him in the middle of the night or at dawn. He was exhausted by constant responsibility for Harry's life, who was his partner after all. During the last week, Ron realized that he had practically not unpacked his travel bag in two years. He spent less time at home than somewhere far away, hunting down criminals with arrest warrants. He didn't know how Hermione managed to endure it all; they hadn't had much time for each other for the past two years. She was finishing Hogwarts first; they only saw each other on weekends. Ron used to live in London then, in a tiny flat, saving half his wages each month so they could rent something more decent together. Hermione wasn't working, she didn't have time. During the summer holidays, she gave private lessons, and her parents helped them financially, but it was Ron who had to provide for them. When Hermione attended law school, they moved to a bigger apartment, Ron got a promotion and a raise, and their financial situation stabilized a little. Unfortunately, he had to work more and more: he got up at dawn, went to bed late at night, brought home papers and files over which he pored for countless hours. Hermione never complained about anything, she never had any pretense, but Ron knew how much she missed him. When they made love, he could see the longing in her eyes. Her touch was different; more insistent, as if she wanted to enjoy intimacy in advance. Ron kissed her passionately, gliding his hands over her smooth, olive skin. He couldn't get over how beautiful she was; he loved her round hips and small breasts; Hermione's low moan was the most beautiful sound to him. When Ron woke up cuddled to her back in the morning, his face nestled in her hair, he struggled to hold back tears. Nothing drove him down deeper in despair than going back to work after the short, intoxicating moments spent with Hermione when they both had time off.

"Never again," he thought as he lit a cigarette, "Never again."

He looked at the Leaky Cauldron and took a deep drag. He never considered what he might do after he quit his career in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so when George offered him a job in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Ron was overjoyed. Not because it had favorable financial prospects for him, but because everyone was worried about George. Fred's death left a mark on him that never will be erased. For a while, Georgie did not eat nor sleep and practically did not leave the store on Diagon Alley. He did not visit his parents; the mortuary atmosphere at home could only worsen his already fragile mental state. Mother cried all the time; father aged several years in a few months. George visited only Bill and Fleur, where he spent long hours by the sea. His eyes lost their feisty, old gleam. He became serious and subdued, stopped joking, and turned his crimson suits into black. Ron was worried about him. He didn't want to lose another brother, so when George offered him a job in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes he was as happy as ever. As he traversed the Leaky Cauldron, he greeted a few friends, bowed slightly to the bartender, and walked out into the dingy yard behind the bar. He opened the passage to Diagon Alley with an automatic movement and headed to his brother's shop.

As usual, there was a crowd in front of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Even though the shop was already closed, the customers were trying hard to get in. Ron grimaced - he hated teleportation; he still had scars from splinching in 1997, but he hated a loud crowd even more. As an auror, he continuously had to deal with it: onlookers, journalists, press conferences, questions from the audience... Out of my way, now, let me pass! Yes, I'm an auror, should I wave this badge closer to you? Hey, what are you doing? You're a civilian - you have no right to be here, this is a crime scene for fuck's sake! Well, where's that press pass? Ah, you have forgotten? Yes, yes, accreditation my ass, get out of here! Ron didn't want to deal with it anymore. He buttoned his leather jacket and disapparated with a soft pop - just to appear seconds later in the small room in the attic of his brother's store. George was already waiting for him.

"Hi," Ron said hesitantly, "I'm sorry I came like this, but I didn't want to deal with the crowd..."

"Come here."

George stood up and hugged him tightly; Ron did not expect it, for a brief moment he felt as if he was a little boy again. As if none of these terrible things happened, and he would play with his favorite teddy bear upstairs. They both looked at each other for a moment, not knowing what to say.

"I'm glad you made up your mind, thank you," George began after a while, sitting down on the pouf. "I really need help; I can't do it alone..."

"No, it is I who should thank you," Ron said, "You don't even know how happy Hermione will be; we'll finally have time for Wach other. I'm done with law enforcement."

"Yeah, how is she? Have you met her parents yet?"

"A long time ago, right after she went to Australia to get them," Ron stretched, "Come on, I was not supposed to meet my future wife's parents? Hermione's fine; she is studying for her finals, she also has an internship in the ministry... I can't wait for it to end."

"I'm not surprised," George smiled at him. "Sounds awful. Listen, I have a request..., I've been trying to sort Fred's things for some time, but I can't do it," his voice quivered, Ron felt his stomach turned, "I'd like to throw them away, or I don't know, give them for charity, but I can't..."

"Sure, no problem," Ron replied, trying to hide his nervousness. "I'll come one day with Harry and Hermione; they'll help me."

"Thank you," George quickly wiped a tear running down his cheek, Ron pretended not to see it, "I just miss him so much... I know it's been over two years..."

"We all miss him," Ron felt tears flooding his eyes against his will, "I know how hard it must be for you. If you need anything, you know where to find me, I will always help you."

"I know, thank you," George smiled crookedly at him, "I have seen mom and dad lately; they gave me this cardboard box for you. These are your stuff, mom thought you'd like to look through it. You should visit them, they asked about you."

"Thanks, brother," Ron looked at the large box standing in the corner, "Well, what about this job, what should I do?"

"Would you like to be a partner? You could do everything Fred did, you know, promotion, advertising, you would also deal with accounting... And I need help in the store…"

"Wait what?" Ron gasped, "Partner?"

"You're my brother, I won't hire you as a regular employee," George shrugged his shoulders, "It seems to me the only fair option."

"I don't know what to say…"

"Then don't say anything." George smiled, and something Ron hadn't seen in two years lit his eyes. "Come on, I'll show you everything."

Chapter Text

Ron came back home well in the afternoon; George insisted on showing him everything today; it wasn't possible to refuse him. Ron examined every little nook and cranny, every corner, every broom closet. He got acquainted with products he did not know, with their properties and prices. He looked through the accounting books, checked the current marketing, and came to the conclusion that it was not bad; he was sure that he would handle it. He even had a few ideas. Ron put a cardboard box from his parents on the red carpet in the living room, made himself some tea, and then began to browse the content of the box.

There were pictures from school, old letters from Harry and Hermione, family photos. Ron smiled as he looked at the photograph taken in 1993 in front of the Great Pyramid. All nine Weasleys, smiling and happy, unaware of what was coming in a few years. He found an old sneakoscope that Bill gave him, a pack of sugar quills, Quibbler's Special Edition with Harry's interview in it. At the sight of his old wand broken at the beginning of his second year at Hogwarts - Ron smiled fondly and put it into a box which he then hid deep in his desk. He grimaced in disgust as he pulled out his dress robes, the ones he had worn for the Yule Ball, and without regret put it on the garbage heap. And there it was - beneath the robes, at the very bottom of the box, Ron found his old, worn-out wizarding chess set. His heart started to beat faster; Ron felt a growing excitement. He hasn't played in years; he hasn't had time. First, the Horcruxes, the war, then his almost three-years career in the ministry. He forgot at all that there was such a thing as chess, and yet he loved it. This game always brought him relief and peace; it relaxed him. Ron methodically planned his every move, anticipated what the opponent would do; while playing, his only concern was a situation on the board - with time he even stopped losing. With trembling hands, he took a chessboard out of the box and hastily laid out the pieces on it. Staring with glittering eyes at the black and white board, he smiled to himself.

"Pawn on e-4," he said after a moment and watched intently as the white figure obeyed his orders. "You don't even know how much I missed you."

*

When Hermione returned home, she was surprised by the blur of flickering light falling on the hallway floor. Ron was usually still at work at this hour, especially recently. She was curious about what happened. Hermione walked down the hall and stood in the threshold, leaning against the wall. Her fiancé was sitting cross-legged on the carpet and playing chess. He could not see her, absorbed by what was happening on the board. There was a mug of cold tea standing next to him.

"Horse on c-7… Check and mate!" Ron said suddenly; there was pure joy in his voice "Ha, I won! Again!"

"Good evening, darling," Hermione said and smiled. "I'm glad you're home so early; what happened?"

Ron quickly turned, as if embarrassed by what he'd been caught in. Hermione thought sadly that despite what he had done, Ron was still having problems with self-confidence. He was always so brave, valiant, resourceful. When they laid cuddled to one another, relaxed and calm, talking about meaningless things, Hermione ran her fingers up and down his scars; thin, milky white scars all over his arms and chest, the ones Ron got from the brains during the battle in the ministry. Even now, three years after Voldemort's fall, she often struggled to hold back tears when she looked at Ron's scars while he was shaving in the morning. He was so handsome with his broad shoulders and narrow hips; auror's work changed him a lot. He was athletic and well built, but living under the constant pressure of stress and danger made him alert for each small noise and sound. Ron lost this boyish, swashbuckling gleam in his eyes; he was older and mature; all the events from the past left a mark on him. He lost many friends, Fred died; Greyback severely mutilated Bill, Ron was tortured, beaten - it would be hard to deal with for an experienced adult, not to say for a seventeen years old boy Ron was at that time. And yet here he was: an accomplished young man, who dealt with his past and accepted everything that happened. He started to smoke and was wearing mostly black; Hermione loved how this colour pointed out his pale complexion and red hair. She adored his leather jacket combined with shirt casually unbuttoned at his neck and slim fit black jeans. She loved that he always was clean shaved. Although his style was still careless and a bit messy, there was something seductive about it, something intriguing - it had this raw twist that made her think of Philip Marlowe and Humphrey Bogart. When she watched him leaning back casually on the chair reading files, cigarette in the corner of his lips, she always felt a thrill of excitement; she loved to look at him. For two years he has provided for them practically alone. He never complained about it; he wanted to make her happy. When she was at Hogwarts, she knew he was saving as much as he could so they could move in together. She couldn't stand the thought that Ron still felt that he wasn't good enough for her. Hermione loved him more than anything, he was everything she could have ever wanted. Even when he asked her to marry him, she had the impression that he was prepared for a negative answer; when she agreed, for a moment she saw the disbelief in his eyes.

When she laid her head on his chest, when he was close to her everything suddenly became simple and easy. His deep, smooth voice, his touch, his scent; his clean, cool, spicy scent of musk and pine tree - it was the best remedy. She didn't know what to do to make Ron finally believe in himself.

"Good evening, sweetheart" he got up quickly, accidentally knocking over the cup of tea, "Oh no, sorry... I'll fix it in a moment." He waved his wand briefly, and the wet stain disappeared immediately. "I'm glad you're back, do you want some tea?

Ron walked over to her and kissed her, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and he pressed her tightly against him. She felt the warmth of his body through his clothing. Hermione missed him very much, she missed his touch, she missed his voice. Sometimes after he left for work, she nestled her face into Ron's pillow; she wanted to feel his clean, seductive scent of musk and pine. She struggled to hold back tears, knowing they wouldn't see each other for a long time. When Hermione graduated and returned to London she bravely endured his absence. She accepted without blinking an eye on his endless missions, she never said a word when Ron was informing her that he had to go to Russia for three weeks. She understood that he had to pore over files and spent countless hours on interrogating suspects. She waited for him when he did not come back from the ministry all night. Hermione was fear-sick when his letters from abroad were delayed several days. When he came home with a bundle of papers and read the files until dawn, she was calm at least; while falling asleep, she saw the light in his office, she knew that he was close to her. Suddenly she realized how much these two years had cost her, how tired she was of being constantly afraid for him. When they finally broke the contact of their lips Ron gently stroked her cheek, looked into her loving eyes, and smiled.

"No, thank you…" she said sitting down at the table, "Well, in fact gladly."

"Right away," he replied, pouring Earl Gray into Hermione's favourite mug, "I quit the law enforcement today."

"And how are you?"

"I'm fine," Ron placed a steaming mug in front of her. "I hated this job, I didn't have time for you, for anything... I wouldn't have worked there if it hadn't been for Harry… Finally, I will be at home with you, that's all I need."

"It was very hard for me too," she replied, feeling that her voice got stuck in her throat, "I'm sorry that I don't work, that you are alone with all this…"

"Come on," Ron took her hand, "I can do it a little longer. You have finals in six months, everything will be fine. We can stay in this apartment for a while, it's comfortable. I could also take extra hours in the store…"

"No," she said firmly, "I want you to rest. You've been pushing yourself these past two years, I was worried about you." Hermione looked at him with concern. "I love you."

"I love you too. I have a gift for you," Ron pulled a red velvet box from an inside pocket of his jacket. "As a future lawyer, they will suit you."

Hermione opened the present and took out pretty silver, and black opals earrings. Ron never ceased to amaze her, he always managed to hit her taste perfectly.

"Thank you, they're beautiful," she said and smiled at him, "I have something for you too, I think you'll like it."

She handed him a large, rectangular box wrapped in black paper. Ron tore it impatiently and he saw a beautiful, alabaster chess set.

"How did you do it?" He asked with sincere admiration, looking closely at the pieces, "It must have been very expensive…"

"I saved some money," she said and squeezed his hand. "I always regretted that you quit chess, I loved watching you play. I observed your matches in the common room back at school…"

"Really?" Ron blushed a little, "You never told me that…"

"I don't know why," she replied, suddenly it struck her that she rarely told him how much she appreciated him, how much she loved him. "Your chess talent has always impressed me a lot. I thought that since you'll have more time, you might want to get back to playing? You could join the Wizarding Chess Federation, participate in tournaments… Next year the World Championship is taking place."

"You think so?" Ron stared at her in disbelief, "I don't know..."

"You can always try," Hermione stood up and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I think you'll be wonderful."

Ron kissed her passionately and stood up while lifting her. Hermione giggled as she cuddled up to him.

"Tomorrow is Saturday and I'm not working," he said and opened the bedroom door, "Neither do you, is that right?" 

"Yes," Hermione impatiently unbuttoned his shirt and unfastened a silver buckle of his belt, "Berta will fill in those reports for me."

"Just perfect," Ron said as he pressed his lips against her neck, his voice huskier than he would expect, "Now everything will be different."

Ronald Weasley joined the Wizarding Chess Federation. For the first few months, he played fiercely with all members of the lower ranks, honing his technique and getting back into shape. After a few years of hiatus, his skills got a bit rusty but that only motivated him to increase the number of training sessions. Hermione was smiling under her breath when she glanced surreptitiously as Ron was playing chess, as he made notes concerning tactics and technique. She smiled at him as he told her how he was promoted in the Federation's hierarchy, how he started winning again and stopped losing. They were already married for a few weeks and thought about buying a larger apartment. Finally, their financial situation was stable and they did not have to worry about money. They visited friends and acquaintances, left London for weekends. Hermione introduced him to various Muggle pastimes - Ron especially liked the movies. So they went to the cinema; to multiplexes and arthouse cinemas, to box office hits and little-known alternative images. They watched Spielberg and Polanski, Jarmush and Buñuel; Ron especially liked Tarantino and Hal Hartley and even subscribed to various Muggle cinema magazines. They went for walks, spent a lot of time in the countryside, and he always had the alabaster chess set from Hermione with him. He practised for two hours each day, conscientiously and persistently, he never missed a single training session. They were very happy, they planned the future, their first child - Ron did not want to have a large family, they agreed that two children were enough. Hermione remembered how Ron opened up to her one day and said that he would never want any of his children to feel less loved than the other ones. Hermione did not pressure him, she realized that he wanted to provide his children with better conditions than he had in his childhood. 

When they returned home one afternoon in May, discussing vehemently the feminist interpretation of "Rosemary's Baby" (Ron also became interested in Muggle philosophy at one point) an owl sat on a window stick holding a letter in its beak. Hermione handed him the bags and went to pick up the mail. She threw a few knuts into a pouch by the leg of a nice barn owl and looked through the correspondence, to enter the house after a while.

"Something interesting?," Ron asked, putting the kettle on the stove. "Anything for me?"

"There's a postcard from Neville and Luna," Hermione handed him the card. "Besides, only the bills."

"I will play in the final of the world chess championship,'' Ron blurted out suddenly, not looking at her, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you…"

"Excuse me?"

"I will play in the final of the world chess championship," Ron repeated and looked at her,"I didn't tell you because I was afraid that I would not pass the elimination... But I passed, I have beaten every opponent! I had a perfect time, and the last match I won thanks to Mortimer Trap."

"This is wonderful, darling!, "Hermione walked over to him and put her arms around his neck, "I'm so proud of you!"

"Really? After all, I may not win…"

"Even if you become the vice-champion it's still a great achievement."

"Thank you," Ron smiled at her, "I just wish I could be the best at something."

"When do you play this match?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!" Hermione frowned. "It complicates things a bit, I have a trial tomorrow... I'll reschedule it to an earlier hour. I'll pick you up."

*

When at eleven o'clock in the morning Ronald Weasley sat in front of the board, staring into the cold eyes of the chess world champion, he tightened his hand on his lucky coin in his pocket. A cold determination grew in him; he was calm, there was no trace of previous nervousness. Staring at the black and white figures on the board, his thoughts were back on its usual, logical track. When they shook hands and drew the pieces - world champion white and his opponent black - the game finally started. Ron methodically planned his movements, he analyzed the situation on the board; anticipated his opponent's decisions. His mind was finally sharp and clear. Time passed, measured by the clicks of the chess clock.

Chapter Text

The Wizarding Chess Federation's headquater's hall was elegantly and tastefully arranged. Marble floors, wrought iron railings, and a tall, mahogany counter at which a bored receptionist read a book. Harry and Hermione sat on the comfortable leather couches waiting for Ron to finally finish his match. The problem was that he had been playing for almost an hour and a half longer than expected. The clerk refused to let them upstairs, arguing that they could interrupt the match and distract the players. Most of the staff had left, it was after six pm, and Hermione was getting more and more stressed.

"Why isn't he coming out yet?" she said, nervously tugging at the cuffs of her shirt, "Harry, what do you think is going on?"

"Hermione, calm down; since he's not coming out, he must be still playing," said Harry, patting her on the shoulder. "Maybe you'll want to come over on Saturday, Ginny will make a cake…"

"I'm sorry, Harry, I have no head for the cake and the weekend now," she growled and stood up, "Ron is playing a world championship match; I can't think of anything else!"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, '' Harry cleared his throat, "But…"

"Do you always have to be like this?" She said reproachfully, "Stop undermining him, you know that he still has problems with self-confidence; you should know it best! Focus on him at least once for fuck's sake, not on yourself!" 

Harry stared at the floor in silence; he refused to admit it, but Hermione was right. Ron was his best friend, his greatest support, and Harry always took him for granted. Suddenly he felt like an idiot; he recalled all the situations he might not have come out of alive if it weren't for Ron. In Warsaw, he would have been hit by a ricochet and it probably would have killed him, but Ron's shield spell saved his life. Harry was unconscious when Ron and Koniecpolski apprehended Rowle, and yet as a lead he took all credit for it. Harry remembered how Ron stuck his neck out as an auror, even though he didn't really like this job and didn't want this career; he only did it out of duty and because Harry had asked him to. After constant pestering from Harry's side Ron stayed in the Auror's Office for another six months, but even then Harry still couldn't let it go. He looked at Hermione who was pale with stress, and immediately decided that he would be better for Ron.

"Hermione, I ..." Harry broke off because he heard a sudden movement on the stairs.

After a while, they saw Ron in his leather jacket and slim fit black jeans walking towards them, clutching a small golden statue in the shape of a chess horse in his hand. A swarm of journalists followed him, shouting over questions. Anatol Baryshnikov has been a world champion continuously for twenty-five years, how do you comment? What prompted you to give up your career in the ministry? After all, you were very successful... How did it happen that a niche player defeated the world champion with twenty-five years of experience? How long have you been playing chess? Is it true that during your first year at Hogwarts you played a winning game against the pieces enchanted by Minerva McGonagall? Hermione looked at Harry and smiled widely. When Ron shook his friend's hand and stood by Hermione's side, she saw pure pride in his eyes. He was shining with satisfaction and confidence, Hermione had never seen him in such a state. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him as he lifted her, pressing her tightly against him. There was something different in that kiss - something nonchalant, something feisty; and yet it was so right, so familiar. When they finally broke the contact of their lips she looked in his blue, dreamy eyes, and saw a burning desire in them. Hermione felt her knees buckling - Merlin, she wanted him so badly.

"I told you! I told you you were going to win!" She exclaimed, not caring about the journalists crowding around him, "I'm so proud of you!"

"Will you keep playing chess?" asked the black-haired journalist, next to whom a purple pen suspended in the air was writing something down in a thick notebook.

"Of course I'll keep playing chess," Ron replied and lit up a cigarette, wrapping his arm around Hermione's waist, "I'm the world champion after all."