Chapter Text
“You’re winning,” Theo observed as Ron’s knight pounced on yet another of his pawns.
“Thought I might’ve been the only one who noticed.” The pawn made a very satisfying crunch under the knight’s horse. Ron looked up to gauge Theo’s reaction and couldn’t help but notice that the other boy’s eyes were unfocused. He barely seemed to be looking at the board. A memory came to him, as sharp and unbidden as the tug of a Pensieve, of Theo bent over his parchment in History of Magic with a thoughtful scrunch to his brows. This was the thing about growing up with someone—even in a school this enormous, on the other side of a semi-political, semi-social divide, you didn’t go six years without getting to know everyone else. Ron knew what Theo looked like when he concentrated. Blimey, he’d just recently beaten him in a match. This wasn’t it.
One instinct urged him to press the advantage; a different one won. “Sorry about your father.”
Theo blinked twice, catlike. His eyes refocused on Ron, who as Molly Weasley’s son had met plenty of threatening stares in his life but still felt a shiver slip down his spine at the intensity in Theo’s. “Thank you. I’ll have my work cut out for me whether I win this match or not.”
Ron shifted in his seat and swept a glance across the board. Their pieces were eyeing each other with a nervous energy that might have been infectious. “Didn’t get detention from Snape for that stunt you pulled, did you?”
“Bishop to E4,” said Theo, sounding amused. Then: “Not this time, no, but contrary to Gryffindor belief we Slytherins get our fair share from him. You know the bronze cauldron with the crack in it?”
Ron frowned. As little as he paid attention in Potions—there was usually a lot of extra entertainment, like Harry and Draco making eyes at each other behind Snape’s back—he did dimly remember a cauldron of the sort. “Yeah?”
“That was me in third year,” Theo said, eyes crinkling with his grin. “I added too much sneezewort to my Confusing Concoction and made a dent they somehow can’t fix. Snape wasn’t happy.”
Ron couldn’t help but answer his smile in kind. “Swot like you, I’d think the most trouble you ever got in would be studying too hard.”
Theo lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “If I didn’t study so much, I wouldn’t be able to get into new kinds of trouble, now would I?”
Ron ordered one of his pawns to move and watched as Theo’s pawn quailed in fright. “Take that, you shadow-licking lout!” shouted Ron’s pawn, leaping onto the square and exploding the other in a shower of dark-hued glass. After a contemplative moment, Ron said, “No one’s ever taught you lot to shrug properly.”
“I shrug perfectly adequately,” said Theo, so straight-faced it took Ron a moment to hear the laughter in his tone.
“That half-arsed shoulder-raise doesn’t count,” Ron said loftily. “You’ve got to commit to it. Really aggressive, like”—he demonstrated—“so no one thinks you’ve just got a fly to get rid of.”
Theo’s mouth quirked up as he studied the board. “You’re rather observant for a Lion.”
“Contrary to Slytherin opinion,” said Ron, in a decidedly posh accent, “I pay attention sometimes. ‘Course you didn’t get detention yesterday, because that wasn’t real.”
“It felt plenty real to me,” said Theo, but he had gone completely still.
“You were…posed,” said Ron, searching for the right words. Ridiculously, he found himself wishing for Draco’s sharp tongue. “Like you and Blaise were trying to prove something. You wanted him to challenge your claim.”
“I,” said Theo, “can’t think of any sane reason why I would want to do that.”
”A completely mental reason, then.”
Theo studied the board, eyes narrowed, and instead of answering he said, “Knight to G3.”
Twin groans arose from the knight piece in question and the Slytherin side of the crowd, and for the first time Ron glanced up to his left, where spectators were ranged among the tiered benches of the classroom. Hermione, in the centre with Harry, smiled encouragingly at him when she caught his eye. Theo’s friends were clustered in a knot in the back left corner, looking uniformly anxious.
“You don’t want to marry Parkinson,” said Ron, keeping his voice low. “But she’s your best friend, isn’t she? Queen to G3.”
“She is,” said Theo, not even paying attention to the ensuing explosion.
“Merlin’s balls,” Ron muttered. Theo’s king was in a dangerous position without the knight to defend him. What was he playing at?
Theo just kept watching him, unperturbed. Like he was waiting for Ron to figure it out.
“You’re Lord Nott now,” Ron said. “Don’t expect me to start bowing, but you are. Before that happened,” he said, more slowly, “your parents betrothed you to Parkinson. You didn’t want that, so you and your snaky friends planned that whole spectacle out.”
“Right so far,” said Theo.
The shards of glass from the knight had long since magically vanished, but Ron couldn’t stop staring at G3, reliving the fatal crunch in his mind. His back twinged in sympathy, remembering the Willow’s angry lashes. “You sacrificed your knight to give me an opening,” he said. “And you saved my life.”
”Anyone would’ve gone after you.” Theo frowned. “You thought I was Potter at first.”
”I didn’t think anyone was going to risk their own sorry arse to save me,” said Ron. “Did it get you?”
With his left hand, Theo drew back the sleeve of his robe to reveal a raised red line that jagged across his forearm. Ron winced. “Only a bit. I’ve had worse in Quidditch.”
“I reckon the Whomping Willow stings a bit more than your average Bludger,” Ron said. “What’d you say earlier? That you’d tell me why you came after me if I won?”
”Yes,” said Theo.
Ron snorted. “‘S’not exactly a fair win if you’re letting me, is it?”
“Merlin, you Gryffindors and your moral codes.”
"You snakes and your...slimy ways," Ron said without heat.
"You're almost there, Weasley," said Theo. "Try to put yourself in my shoes." Ron looked back up at him just as he pulled a hand through his hair, the rings on his fingers glittering with the movement. Ron thought he saw House crests engraved upon them, and remembered with a jolt that Theo was set to inherit not just one but two pureblood dynasties. If Chinese wizards were anything like British ones, rumours were no doubt already circulating about who Theo would choose to bear those pressures with him. Wasn’t it dangerous of him to let a match like Pansy slip out of his hands?
Wasn’t it odd that Theo, who Ron knew damn well was beyond careless mistakes, would leave himself open to checkmate? What would make him fly into the Whomping Willow and lose a chess game just to prove a point to a wizard he barely spoke to?
“You wanted me alive,” Ron said into the sudden silence. The whole room seemed to be holding its breath. “You want me to win.”
”Yeah,” said Theo. “I want you.”
Ron opened his mouth—to say what, he had no idea—but Theo ploughed on with the relentlessness of a dam finally broken, searing brown eyes pinning Ron to his chair. “I have ever since fourth year when Gryffindor beat Slytherin to the Cup. That final game, when you fell off your broom and shoved the Quaffle away on your way down—”
”My finest hour,” said Ron weakly.
“I’d never seen anyone do something like that before. You were going down but damned if you wouldn’t bring us down with you.” Theo smiled wistfully. “I’ve nurtured decidedly questionable feelings for the most anti-Slytherin boy in the school ever since.”
”Oi, I’m not the most anti-Slytherin,” Ron said. “I helped your prince get his golden boy, didn’t I?”
”You did,” Theo said. He paused. “Pansy and I have, let’s say, mutual misgivings about marrying each other. I know your family isn’t quite as ensconced in the general society madness as is mine—”
”We’re blood traitors, yeah,” said Ron. Half of his brain was responding in the conversation and the other half was reeling around in his skull yelling. Theo wanted him?
“I don’t give a soggy sock about your blood status,” Theo said vehemently. “My father did, but…” He swallowed. “The point is that I’ve gotten Pansy out of the woods but not myself. Polite society won’t stand for me entering their ranks without the promise of some sort of steadying hand.”
“So…” Ron shook his head. “You can’t just cast a Tripping Jinx on me like a normal Slytherin?”
“No,” said Theo with the hint of a smile. “I need to make a public declaration. That is, if…” Vulnerability made him fidgety. He toyed with the ring on his index finger—the Nott one. “If you’ll have me.”
“You really are mental,” said Ron, half-admiringly. “Telling me all that and not even knowing what I think?”
”Well?” said Theo.
Ron looked back down at the board. “Know what,” he said, mouth tipping up into a crooked grin, “I’m going to let you figure that out. Queen to F4.”
It wasn’t strategy, any more than Theo flinging himself at the Willow had been. It was a question. It was an offer of trust.
“Queen to G3,” Theo said, and grinned. “Checkmate.”
-
As Theo was swept up in a shouting crowd of students, Hermione dashed up to Ron and said breathlessly, “I figured it out—it was never meant to be Pansy—”
“He’s been in love with me for years, the crazy bastard,” said Ron, head still spinning as if he’d been whacked by a Bludger. He needed to think this through. “I think he wants to marry me.”
”He does?” Harry exclaimed. With the wordless communication borne of six years doing everything together, the trio ducked through the crowd—Ron spared one last glance at the chess table and Theo’s dark hair—and headed for Gryffindor Tower. As they walked, Ron outlined everything Theo’d said during the match.
“He’s right that the purebloods will be happy,” said Harry. “Dad proposed to Mum on their last day of Hogwarts, and Grandma Euphemia was so happy she almost had kittens.”
“Well, more importantly,” said Hermione, “will it make you happy? What do you want for your future?”
“Dunno, really,” Ron admitted as they collectively sidestepped a suspicious green puddle. Whenever he vaguely imagined life after Hogwarts, he thought of himself as an Auror, or maybe a Quidditch coach, taking along to holiday gatherings at the Burrow a faceless Gryffindor girl who’d changed along the way from friend to something more. None of his daydreams had ever accounted for a beguiling Slytherin boy with enough Galleons to buy the Burrow itself a hundred times over.
But if Ron really thought about it, he didn’t want to pick someone boring whose eyes would glaze over when he talked Quidditch. Yeah, he wanted someone his mum would like, but he also wanted someone who matched him in every sense of the word. Someone who was a challenge, in a good way. Theo Nott, with his dark eyes and the weight of two families on his shoulders, would be a challenge indeed.
Some impulsive side of Ron also liked the idea of being the first one to get proposed to in their year, to knock everyone else off their feet and upset all the bets on Harry and Malfoy. Theo was offering the chance to be the first at something. How often did opportunities like that fall into Ron’s lap?
“Y’know what,” he said as they crested a flight of stairs, “I think I do know. Hard as it is to believe, I like Theo. Blimey, is Harry’s obsession with Slytherins infectious?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” said Hermione. “If you agree to this, you won’t be able to change your mind, you know.”
”I know,” Ron said. “Harry, what d’you think?”
His friend scrunched up his face in thought as they walked down the hall. Harry might be oblivious when it came to his own love life, but for judgments of character there was no one Ron would trust more. “I like Theo,” Harry said finally. “He has a funny way of looking at you when you’re not paying attention.”
”Like what?” Ron asked.
“Like,” Harry said thoughtfully, “he’s found a pile of Galleons in an alleyway and is trying to figure out why no one else has snatched it up already.”
“Malfoy’s turning you into a proper poet,” Ron teased, even as Harry’s description made him grin to himself. He could work with a Theo who looked at him like that. He definitely could.
-
Theo had barely said a word to his friends in the intervening hours—he'd dashed off to the Owlery to send a reply to his mother, telling her he was sorry about his father, and he had a plan—which explained why they all but jumped on him when he burst back into the common room before dinner. “Well?” Pansy demanded. "Where've you been, snogging Weasley out of his senses?"
“Not in so many words,” said Theo as they hurried back out towards the Great Hall. "I haven't seen him since I won."
“You were letting him win at first,” Draco said. “I never thought I’d live to see the day: Theo Nott, letting a Gryffindor stomp all over him.”
”Metaphorically,” Theo said.
“And?” said Pansy impatiently. “Did he say yes?”
Theo hesitated. “He said I’ll find out at the ceremony.”
Blaise let out a whistle, looking impressed. “So that's why you've been hiding. Positively Slytherin of him to make you wait."
"But he does, doesn’t he?” Daphne interjected.
Theo didn’t have to ask what she meant. "Yeah. I think he does."
"Of course he does," Draco said. "He'd be ridiculous to turn down such an advantageous match."
"Is that all you ever think about?" Daphne said.
"What kind of Malfoy do you take me for?" said Draco indignantly, but Theo was only half-listening because he could hear the faint roar of voices from the Hall. Doxies flip-flopped in his stomach. They were early, but so was everyone else; word spread like Fiendfyre in this school.
"While I was gone," Theo said to Pansy, "did you go around making sure people would be there?"
Pansy's eyes sparkled. "I only told Astoria and Lavender Brown, that Gryffindor," she said, which was a yes.
They all paused for a fraction of a second outside the doors and the others pretended not to notice the slow breath Theo took to prepare himself for what he'd find. "Thank you," he said, voice rough. "For plotting with me."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, T," Pansy said. "The anticipation is killing me. Could we please go in so I can be awed by your declaration of timeless love to a weasel?"
Blaise mimed throwing up. Theo missed the others' response, because as soon as they walked in his eyes were searching the far table for a familiar tousle of red hair. There it was—Ron, like always, was sitting with Potter and Granger, already looking in his direction. Their eyes met. Theo didn't miss how many students nudged and whispered each other when they saw the Slytherins enter.
Ron didn't seem bothered. The corner of his mouth quirked up, as if to say, Can you believe this?, and Theo grinned, as if to say, You haven't seen anything yet. He took his seat with the other Slytherins and pretended not to be looking at the Gryffindor table out of the corner of his eye every five seconds.
His shoulders slumped with relief—only his shoulders; his mother's etiquette lessons had been drilled in young—when Dumbledore finally rose to speak. "If an old man could take up a few minutes of your attention before dinner begins," he said, quieting the general clamour in the Hall. "Our Head Girl and Boy have asked, and been granted, permission to present the trophy for the winner of the First Annual Hogwarts Chess Tournament, as well as the seventy Galleons of prize money." A noticeable murmur swept the crowd at that. "May this happy tournament last many years and foster relationships between all four of our Houses."
"A relationship is going to be fostered, all right," Blaise muttered.
"Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy, I am as anxious as anyone to see the trophy," said Dumbledore, taking a seat and an attentive posture as Draco and Granger came forward. They exchanged meaningful glances as they stopped in front of the professors' table.
Granger mouthed something, and in moments a golden blur was zipping through the Hall that she caught with both hands. It was the trophy, modelled after a chess king but several times the size. The writing engraved across the bottom glinted where it caught the fading sunlight from the enchanted ceiling. "I know it's a bit unusual to present a trophy like this at dinner," said Granger, "but we hope you'll forgive the intrusion on your time. Thank you to everyone who participated in the First Annual Hogwarts Chess Tournament."
Polite applause from most of the tables. A clump of Ravenclaws looked incredibly bored with the whole proceedings. Theo felt like doing something very unbecoming of a pureblood and flipping a table if Draco didn't get to the point very quickly. "This afternoon," said Draco, glancing at Theo as if he were a much better Legilimens than he actually was and had heard Theo's thoughts, "we found our winner: Theo Nott, seventh-year Slytherin." The Slytherins hooted and clapped. "Our runner-up is Ron Weasley, seventh-year Gryffindor." Much louder hollering ensued from the Lions' table. "Come join us."
Theo got to his feet and miraculously didn't trip all over himself as he threaded his way between the tables. He had no idea what he was doing. His father was dead, he was a lord, and the entire school was staring at him.
But when he turned, Ron was there, close enough to touch, his eyes a guarded blue. Too low for anyone else to hear, he said, "What’ve you been scheming up, Theo?”
Not Nott—Theo. It sounded so natural from his mouth. Theo said, "I think you might have an inkling."
"Theo," said Draco, smiling in a magisterial sort of way that he sometimes practiced in the mirror when he thought no one was looking. "The trophy is yours, as is the prize money." Sometime in the interim, Granger had produced a bag that clinked when she held it out. "Anything you'd like to say?"
"Yes, actually," Theo said, taking the bag in one hand and cradling the trophy in his other. He turned to face the school. Now that he was here, his nerves had stilled. He'd rehearsed this speech a hundred times when he was trying to fall asleep. All he had to do was deliver it.
All he had to do was unravel the unconscious masks a pureblood Slytherin always wore, and give Ron what he deserved: honesty.
"I won the chess tournament," Theo said, looking round at the faces that varied from wide-eyed with interest to looking longingly at the empty plates. "But with the death of my father, I'm coming to see that some things are more important than chess, or competition. Such as following your heart, no matter where it takes you." Now he looked back at Ron. "I earned this prize money fairly, and it's within my rights to do with it as I wish. I'm offering it to you, Ron Weasley. As part of my recompense." A few people gasped. Blaise was grinning. "I'm asking you for your hand in marriage."
The sickle finally dropped: the Hall erupted in noise, and Dumbledore had to raise a hand to quell the hubbub. Theo almost didn't notice. He was staring at Ron, begging him to understand. To see himself the way Theo saw him. "To play chess—really play it—requires perceptiveness. You can have every combination of possible moves committed to memory, and it won't do you any good if you can't see the game happening in front of you. You can't put up a fight if you don't see who you're playing against. And I saw you. I saw someone fearless, someone unafraid of defying expectations, someone I'd be proud to build a dynasty with. Build a future with." Theo added something that wasn't in his script: "Please."
The silence was so profound you could have heard a Thestral's wings flap. Ron said, "If you told me I’d end my school year with a recompense offer from a Slytherin, I’d ask to have whatever you were having." Scattered laughter across the room. Theo's heart was eating its way out of his chest. Slowly, Ron said, "But I know a good man when I see one. Yeah, Theo Nott, I'll marry you. As long as no one tells my mum before I do so I don't get a Howler."
Relief punched through Theo like a shock of cold water. "I'll make sure of it." He'd deal with it—with everything—later. Right now, he just wanted to savour the fact that his plan had worked. Everything had worked. And Ron was there, safe and alive and real, his eyes glimmering with laughter. Theo could get used to this. He wanted to. The chess clocks were off; for once, he had the luxury of time.
-
One year later
Ron was trying, and failing, not to eat too many dumplings—Lady Nott had apparently made them, and besides being a gracious hostess, she was an incredible cook—which was where Theo found him, standing next to the food and watching their guests swirl across the dance floor. It was perfect weather for dancing: the searing July afternoon had settled into the breeziness of early evening, and the setting sun bathed everything in a warm, incarnadine light. Underneath the magically conjured dragons and phoenixes, sparkling red as they chased each other through the sky, Draco and Harry were slow dancing so lovingly that you would've thought it was their wedding. "Having fun?" Theo asked. He was wearing a traditional ma gua, a brilliant red jacket decorated with Chinese calligraphy in gold that was constantly dissolving and rewriting itself.
"I'm marrying the wrong Nott," Ron said, looking up at him. "Your mother's dumplings are the best thing I've ever tasted. If I had this every night I'd've never come to Hogwarts."
"I'll make it for you," said Theo, smiling. "Actually, you're giving me some ideas."
"What, bribing the Minister for Magic to do your bidding with dumplings?" said Ron. "They teach you to be against corruption in my Auror training, y’know.”
Theo pretended to look offended. "I would never do such a thing. Notts exclusively issue bribes in legal tender, thanks very much."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Bribe me with some punch, will you?"
"'Course, love," Theo said, reaching for the punch bowl. Ron's stomach did a Quidditch-worthy backflip. He couldn't believe he was this lucky. Sometimes it felt like he'd dreamed the handsome, cheekboned Slytherin proposing to him in front of the entire school. But, to his continued disbelief, it was real. Some things had changed: they started working together in Potions out of unspoken agreement, which was less interesting to Ron than the way their hands brushed when Theo handed him ingredients, and more than a few people had congratulated Ron or insinuated that he was marrying Theo for money. (Harry had just barely managed to hold him back from punching Cormac McLaggen for it, but when word reached the Slytherins, Pansy and Daphne had disappeared for an afternoon and the next day McLaggen was sent to the hospital wing for, as rumour had it, painful boils in an unfortunate area.)
Ron had also learned to cast a Patronus: a Jack Russell terrier that bounded around the room yipping at the motley group of students who'd assembled to try to learn to cast the Patronus from Harry in time for their N.E.W.T.s. The dog had nuzzled its head against Theo's leg before fading away. "It likes you, Theo," Daphne said.
""Course it does," Ron said. What he didn't explain: the memory he'd used was of the final game where Gryffindor had thrashed Hufflepuff to win the Cup, and Ron had flown past the Slytherin section of the stands only to see Theo wearing a red-and-gold scarf and cheering at the top of his lungs. Ron had felt like he could have flown to America and back on the sheer invigorating fierceness of his joy.
"Let me try," said Theo, eyes shuttering for a moment. "Expecto patronum." A sleek dragon like Ron had never seen before burst from Theo's wand, with a long, undulating body and a fierce mane spiking out from its head. It swam once around the classroom, pausing to breathe a cloud of mist in Ron's direction before soaring out the window. "What kind of dragon is that?" Ron asked. "I've never seen it before."
"It's a Chinese dragon," said Theo, something strange in his voice. "Not the Chinese Fireball—that species came later. In myth, these dragons bring wisdom and good luck."
"Beautiful," said Hermione, looking awed.
"What was your memory?" Ron asked, unable to help himself.
Theo smiled, and it lit up his whole face. "You agreeing to marry me."
"Merlin, get a room," Draco said, to which someone said, "Hypocrite," but Ron, beaming back, really couldn't have cared less.
Something like that feeling came aglow in his chest when Theo handed him a cup of punch. "I think they're due to start the speeches soon," he said. "Prepare to hear a lot of embarrassing stories from my friends."
"I'm covering your ears if any of my brothers start talking," said Ron.
"Why? I like your family," said Theo. Impossibly, he did, and they liked him too—Theo had won Molly over by bringing her flowers the first time he'd visited the Burrow, and he'd proceeded to talk Ministry politics with Percy for half an hour and promise to connect him with Malfoy to talk policies about something-or-other, before turning round and giving as good as he got with the twins and Bill when they'd tried to tease him for being a Slytherin. "Sometimes I wish I had a family as big as yours," Theo said wistfully. "It's a lot of responsibility to bear alone, sometimes."
"You're not alone," Ron said. "Not anymore."
"Well, in that case," Theo said, putting out his hand, "we're going to suffer through these speeches together."
"Yeah, together. Whatever happens." Ron took Theo's hand. “Let me go and thank your mum for these dumplings.”
”She’ll love you forever,” said Theo, squeezing his hand. “Not that she isn’t already overjoyed that I’ve found a pureblood match that’s unorthodox enough to make me look like I’m an innovator who still respects tradition.”
”Glad to see you only like me for my blood type,” Ron said.
“Oh, I can think of a lot of things I like about you,” Theo said, winking. Ron flushed despite himself, love-drunk and happy and feeling so impossibly tender for the boy at his side, and together they walked over to where their friends and families were waiting.