CHECKMATE
PART I – THE SET-UP
Chapter 2
The one I
should not think of keeps rolling through my mind
And I don’t
want to let that go.
No lover’s
ever faithful, no contract truly signed,
There’s
nothing certain left to know,
And how the cracks
begin to show!
Never
make a promise or plan,
Take a little
love where you can,
Nobody’s on
nobody’s side.
Never stay
too long in your bed,
Never lose
your heart, use your head,
Nobody’s on
nobody’s side.
Lyrics from “Nobody’s Side” from Chess by Benny
Anderson, Tim Rice and Björn Ulvaeus
* * *
Draco
lay on top of his bed, still dressed, one arm draped over his eyes so that all
that could be seen of his face was a smile.
Oh God, he thought, that had been so perfect. Every single moment of it. No matter what else happened in his life, he
would have this memory – of Harry confiding in him, of laughing at Filch
together, of the way Harry’s arms felt around his waist, of that kiss.
That
kiss, where for one very brief, yet very long incredible moment, time had
seemed to stop, and Draco had lost himself in the taste of Harry’s warm, soft
mouth. That kiss had been inspired. And Dare Chess, something he had made up
right then on the spot, that
had been inspired, too.
It
didn’t matter what Harry might do tomorrow.
Draco fully expected to pay dearly for the delicious pleasure he’d had
tonight, fully expected Harry to be furious, to still hate him, to reject,
ridicule, and tear his heart to pieces.
But it didn’t matter. That was
tomorrow. Tonight he had experienced
perfection, and he thought he could make the memory of that feeling last a very
long time.
He
sighed. It was, as he had said, Harry’s
move. He would just have to wait and see
what happened. He expected he would have
to go back to avoiding Harry, pretending nothing happened, that he felt
nothing. Would the memory of tonight
make that easier, give him something real to hold on to for comfort when he
felt that aching loneliness that kept him awake nights? Or, now that he had actually touched Harry,
actually knew how perfect Harry’s body felt against his own, would it make it
just that much harder to pretend. Either
way, Draco knew he would have to walk away from it eventually, one way or
another. He and Harry could never really
have a relationship. There was no future
for them together. His father. . . .
* * *
Harry
crept back to his dorm room under the Invisibility Cloak, got undressed and
into bed, then pulled the covers up completely over his head. He lay rigid under the blankets, hands balled
into fists, eyes squeezed shut, biting down on his lower lip. How could he have fallen for all that
sincerity crap? The only explanation was
a very simple one – Draco Malfoy was very good at playing him for an utter
fool. Malfoy had tricked him again; had humiliated him, and had oh
bloody hell kissed him, making a
complete mockery of what Harry had confided in him.
Poor Harry Potter, crying in the hallway
because he was afraid nobody loved him, wishing someone would kiss him.
Harry
had no doubt that the story would be all over Slytherin House by morning, and
by breakfast he would be the laughing stock of the school. It was simply too awful. He could just picture Malfoy telling the
Slytherins how he had made Harry’s wish come true. And the most appalling part of it, the most
horrible, terrible, hideous truth of it all was that no one had ever kissed him quite like that
before. Not even. . . .
The
lingering memories of the gentle touch of Draco’s hands, his body, his lips,
were imprinted on Harry’s mind. Draco’s
voice, his soft comments and smiles, that moment when he had said, “that is not stupid,” as if he had actually
understood, maybe even shared, Harry’s feelings, and oh God, the warm tone his
voice had held when he had called him ‘Harry’ – all of those things were
filling Harry with a deep sense of disappointment that they hadn’t been real,
and a tremendous ache of loss that he really didn’t want to examine too
closely. How could he have been so
stupid as to trust that slimy git?
Tomorrow,
Malfoy would have his sport, Harry would bear it bravely and as nonchalantly as
possible, and then Harry would go out and feed himself to the giant squid in
the lake. Hopefully it would all be over
very, very quickly.
* * *
His
father. . . .
Draco
sat straight up, rigid and horrified, his face suddenly drained of all
color. His father! Oh God, how could he have let himself lose
control like that? He had been avoiding Harry
for a very, very good reason. Draco
stared unseeing out into his dark room as Lucius Malfoy’s face swam up before
his eyes, the horrible scene from this summer replaying itself once more in his
mind.
His
father’s cold sneering face loomed toward him as Lucius stood up and leaned
menacingly forward, planting his fists in the center of the great mahogany desk
in his study. His voice was a low icy
hiss, vicious with suppressed anger.
“You will do as I say, boy! It’s
time you proved to me just where your loyalties lie. The heir of this house will serve the Dark Lord.”
Draco
stood on the other side of the desk, trying to remain outwardly calm, to appear
cool and unruffled, while his guts were seizing up in knots. He had known this day was coming. Had looked forward to it once. When
had everything changed? How long had
the knowledge that he loved Harry and despised his father been growing in him,
so that it burst now with startling clarity on his mind in this moment? How long?
“No,”
he said, firmly. “I won’t.” He met his father’s eyes, not with defiance,
but with cold unshakable certainty.
“Disown me.”
“I
WILL NOT!” Lucius slammed his hand down
on the desk with a thunderous crack.
It
took all of Draco’s self-control not to flinch.
“This
is your last year at that Hogwarts School.
This is your last chance to get me Harry Potter. And you will
do it.” Lucius leaned further forward,
malicious lights sparking fire in his steel-colored eyes. “I expect you to think of a plan to capture and
deliver Harry Potter to me before the end of this school year. And if you fail . . .” Lucius smiled at Draco. It was an ugly, totally cold, smile. “I will get Harry Potter anyway, and I will
give him and you both to the Dark
Lord.” He paused. “Do you understand what I’m saying, boy?”
“Yes,”
said Draco, his voice shaking with loathing.
“I understand perfectly.”
“Then
get out of my sight until you have something to tell me that I want to hear.”
The
vision faded, and Draco fell back limp on the bed. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself to
stop the trembling that shook him. No,
he and Harry had no future at all, unless you could count being served up as an
entrée to the Dark Lord together as a future.
And of course, it was very unlikely that Harry Potter would want to have
any kind of future with him anyway. The
rejection he had always felt from Harry threatened to resurface. He tried to remember what Harry had said
tonight. “Then, I’m sorry,” he had said. “If it’s not too late to say so.” Maybe it was
too late, had always been too late for them.
Draco
stared up at the ceiling of his room, his thoughts churning, his emotions,
always so carefully controlled, turning him inside out. He felt he was standing, unbalanced and
swaying, at the edge of a vast, limitless void, a bottomless pit of
darkness. If he made the wrong choice,
he would fall forever. Be lost,
forever. And in that moment, he knew,
for him there was only one choice. One
choice, and from it, only one possible plan.
Slowly and painstakingly, he formed this plan, turning it over and over
in his mind, shaping it, examining its flaws, crafting every part with
intricate care. He kept his mind far
away from the part of him that was terrified by what he was about to do. There was no time for that.
Draco
got up and went to his desk. He opened
the top drawer and took out a piece of parchment. With an unsteady hand, he dipped his quill
into the bottle of ink and started writing:
Father,
I have done
as you asked. I have devised a plan to
get Harry Potter that I believe is perfect.
In fact, I think it may even surprise you. When I have things in progress, I will let
you know.
Your son, and heir,
Draco
Draco
waited for the ink to dry, then folded the parchment into a small packet. He went to his window, pulled the leaded
glass panes open, and whistled softly into the frosty night sky. Within a few moments, a huge eagle owl,
silent wings outstretched, was perched on his windowsill. Draco fastened his letter to the owl’s
leg. “Take it to Lucius,” he commanded,
and without a sound, the owl was gone.
There was no turning back now. If
he failed, he knew with certainty, that Lucius Malfoy would kill him.
And
Draco would want him to.
End Chapter 2