Ron's face was scarlet.
All his life, he'd been taught that jealousy was ugly.
Admitting—to someone he actually liked—that he was jealous of his own friends… that felt like stripping his skin off in public.
Theodore, though, just looked surprised at first—then faintly impressed.
Yeah. This is Ron, all right.
In the original timeline, he'd never shone as brightly as Harry or Hermione, but he'd always had this: the ability to speak his mind and dissect his own flaws honestly, even when it hurt.
Staying exceptional was hard.
But admitting you weren't exceptional? That needed its own kind of courage.
Ron stumbled on, like someone confessing to a crime.
"It's ridiculous, right?" he said hoarsely.
"You lot treat me like a friend, and I'm… jealous of you."
"When I realised that, I thought—Merlin, I don't deserve Gryffindor. I should've been shoved into Slytherin with all the sneaky gits."
Theodore looked at him for a long moment, then said very seriously,
"No. Not ridiculous at all. Ron, you're actually kind of incredible."
"Everyone wants to show their shiny side. That's easy. But almost no one dares show their ugliest side, the parts they're ashamed of."
"Very few people can do what you just did. I certainly can't."
Ron thought Theodore was just trying to make him feel better. His voice rose a pitch.
"But there isn't anything ugly about you," he blurted. "You're—well—you're… perfect."
"In the Muggle world or the wizarding one, you're like some sort of model student."
"Everyone likes you, your marks are brilliant, now you're on the Quidditch team—by Merlin, I can't think of a single bad thing about you."
Theodore laughed and shook his head.
"Ron, that's just because you don't know."
"The truth is… fine. Since you were honest with me, I'll return the favour."
"There are plenty of times I'm… deliberate. Calculating. I'm not always sincere. Sometimes, if I want something, I lie for it."
"I will never be as straightforward about my own heart as you just were. I can't do what you did."
"That's why I think you're amazing. It's a rare quality."
Ron stared at him, dazed, not entirely sure what Theodore was getting at—but the earnestness was hard to deny.
Theodore let the subject shift sideways.
"Also," he said lightly, "I don't think you've noticed something that's really obvious from the outside."
"You've got a very clear talent."
Ron blinked. It was the first time in his life anyone had said that to him.
"Me? A talent? Where?"
Theodore pointed at the battered chess piece still rolling between his fingers.
"Right there."
He wasn't just saying it to cheer Ron up. Wizard chess was where Ron's talent lay; the original story had gone out of its way to highlight that.
In Hogwarts, no one could match him on the chessboard.
Not even Hermione—with all her books and cleverness—could last more than a few moves before being wiped off the board.
Dominating a school full of bright witches and wizards, many of whom loved chess, said a lot about Ron's talent.
He'd never had real coaching, either. Everything he knew, he'd pieced together himself.
With proper training, his level could skyrocket.
Quidditch had more glamour, yes, but wizard chess was widely loved in the magical world. There were tournaments. There were professional chess wizards.
Some of those professionals weren't any less famous than mid-tier Quidditch players.
If Ron could become a professional—even place in a few tournaments—maybe that awful seed of inferiority in his chest would finally shrivel.
The prize money alone could change plenty.
At the very least, he'd be able to swap that hand-me-down wand for something that actually responded properly to him.
Theodore had thought about that before. Ron's second-hand wand was a major handicap.
But if Theodore tried to give him a new one, Ron would refuse on the spot.
In the original timeline, he'd agonised over simple gifts from Harry, just because he couldn't afford to reciprocate.
Giving Ron a chance to earn his own wand would be far better.
In the original story, he'd never been given that opportunity.
But this wasn't the same story anymore.
Theodore's gaze slid briefly to one of the lesser-used talents in his System list, tucked away like a dusty book in a back corner.
He'd never had much cause to use it before, but tonight, it finally had a purpose.
It was the talent he'd gained from the goblin Ragnok and his circle—Transcendent Chess Sense, a talent that gave him an unnatural edge in any game played across a board.
Theodore had no personal interest in becoming a chess grandmaster.
But using it to coach Ron?
That, he could do.
With the right training, Ron might not just be the best in Hogwarts—he could be the school's first true chess saint.
He laid out his plan, talking quietly while Ron listened, eyes widening a little more with each sentence.
Then he pulled over a copy of the Daily Prophet and flipped straight to the sports section. Tucked between reports on Quidditch results and broom testing was a column clearly listing upcoming competitions.
"There, look." Theodore tapped a notice. "Two months from now. Small wizard chess tournament. Hallowe'en Eve."
"First prize: ten Galleons."
"Let's go win it."
Ron stopped breathing for a moment.
Ten Galleons…
For him, that was an enormous sum. He'd never seen that much money in one place in his life.
But entering a tournament?
Could he do it?
His mind hadn't answered yet, but his hands did.
They were trembling, just a little.
There was a heavy, alien feeling stirring in his chest—dangerously close to hope.
Champion.
He'd never taken first place in anything.
All his life, he'd been under the shadow of his brothers: Bill the curse-breaker, Charlie the dragon tamer, Percy the prefect, the twins with their pranks and genius for mischief.
But wizard chess…
Wizard chess was the one thing he trusted himself in.
Maybe… just maybe…
Without quite realising it, Ron found himself filling out the entry form, copying the required information from the notice onto a scrap of parchment.
"Theodore," he muttered, rubbing his hands together, "could I… borrow your owl? And—um—some entry fee?"
Theodore raised an eyebrow, then grinned.
"Owl usage, entry fee—those come out of your prize money."
"Oh, and my training fee. If you win the championship, you're buying me dinner, Ron."
"Training?" Ron echoed blankly.
Theodore rolled his eyes.
"You didn't honestly think we'd just stroll in and grab the title with no prep, did you?"
"This is how these people make their living. Small tournament or not, every serious player you meet will be stronger than anyone you've gone up against before."
"For the next two months, I'm your sparring partner. We start tonight."
"Send the letter, set up the pieces. We don't have time to waste."
Ron nodded so fast his hair flopped, gratitude and nerves warring in his expression.
That night, they played until nearly one in the morning.
Ron staggered back to the dorm at last, collapsed on his bed, and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
Even in his dreams, his mind was tracing the lines of the chessboard, replaying positions he and Theodore had fought over all evening.
The ugly knot of jealousy he'd confessed earlier had already dissolved into nothing.
—
The next morning, Ron shuffled around in a sleep-deprived daze, staring at chess notation while he splashed water on his face.
He had no idea how he made it from the dorm to the Great Hall.
When he finally looked up, Theodore was already at the Gryffindor table, eating.
Theodore caught his eye and made a quick gesture: Tonight. We keep going.
Before Ron could reply, a sharp flurry of wings filled the hall.
Owl post.
Dozens of school owls swooped down, dropping letters and parcels onto plates and laps and into outstretched hands.
Two long, narrow packages landed right in front of Theodore and Harry.
Even with his foreknowledge, Theodore blinked.
According to the original timeline, this was where Professor McGonagall sent Harry his Nimbus Two Thousand.
Now that Theodore had also been fast-tracked into the team, it made sense she might sponsor a broom for him as well.
But four broom-shaped parcels?
That was new.
He examined the tags.
One was exactly what he'd expected: from Professor McGonagall, containing a Nimbus Two Thousand, with a neatly underlined note reminding him not to open it at the table.
The other bore a different signature.
Lucius Malfoy.
There was a thick envelope fastened to the outside.
Theodore broke the seal. Inside was the finest vellum and an elegant, flowing hand.
Lucius expressed his gratitude for what Theodore had done for Draco Malfoy. In addition to the Nimbus Two Thousand enclosed as a gift, he had prepared something "more specific" to Theodore's talents.
Given what he'd heard of Theodore's remarkable ability, Lucius wrote, he believed this gift would be of great use:
A slip, issued in the name of the Board of Governors, granting you special permission to borrow books from the Restricted Section.
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