CHECKMATE

PART II – THE GAME

Chapter 6

Who’d ever guess it?

This would be the situation –

One more observation –

How’d we ever get this far

Before you showed me what you really are?

Lyrics from “The American and Florence” from Chess by Benny Anderson, Tim Rice and Björn Ulvaeus

* * *

Even working as fast as he could, it was well after eight o’clock before Harry finished his homework, and was able to sneak out of the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Hermione were off somewhere having some private time together, and Dean, Neville, and Seamus were concentrating on a major project they had due next Monday for Advanced Herbology, so no one questioned Harry when he simply walked over to the portrait hole and stepped out. He had no intention of telling anyone where he was going anyway. If they missed him before he got back, well . . . he’d figure that out later.

He walked quickly through the halls and down the flights of stairs. He was both excited and nervous at the same time. Oh come on, Potter, he said to himself, admit it. You’re scared as hell. He thought about what Professor Dumbledore had said that afternoon about Draco’s father. He had taken the warning seriously, because he knew that he was probably going to be forced to face Lucius Malfoy and other Death Eaters sooner or later – he knew he was their prime target. That thought sickened him, and he wanted more than anything not to have to face Voldemort and his followers again. He didn’t intend to, if that was at all possible. But Voldemort was a known danger. What was really making him nervous right now, what was far more immediate and unknown, was what Draco could do to him – and what that might mean.

Harry thought back to what Draco had done to him that afternoon while they were talking to Dumbledore. Even now, just thinking about it made his face flush. He had been trying to explain to the headmaster that they hadn’t been fighting, and suddenly he was aware that Draco was leaning against him. Then Draco’s fingertips had found his under the sleeve of his robe, and Draco had let his fingers travel, oh-so-softly, and oh-so-slowly, up the inside length of Harry’s fingers, up over his palm to his wrist, and back down again. Then he had slipped his fingers between Harry’s and held hands with him for the briefest moment. Thank goodness that paperweight had rolled off Dumbledore’s desk – at least, maybe Dumbledore hadn’t noticed what Draco was doing. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds, but Harry was nearly reduced to a quivering mass of incoherent jelly before Draco gave his hand a squeeze, and stepped away.

No one but Draco Malfoy had ever been able to elicit these intensely emotional reactions from him with just a look, or a word, and now a touch – or, oh God, a kiss. That had to mean something important, and nervous or not, he did want to find out what.

Things had changed so fast between them, and so completely, that yesterday’s reality seemed like a lifetime ago, and so, on top of being nervous, Harry also felt confused and apprehensive. Did he really trust Draco now? How could he, in one day, erase six years of ill-treatment and distrust from his mind, and yet that’s exactly what he seemed to be doing. This still might turn out to be some kind of deceitful trick, but he’d seen very convincing evidence that Draco really had changed. Somehow Harry was very sure, he just knew in a way that he couldn’t explain, that it wasn’t a trick, that the change he was seeing in Draco was real. His heart was asking him to believe in Draco, to forgive him and trust him. But, should he? Thinking about it just led him back in circles to unanswered questions. With Draco was the only place he would be able to find the answers, and so he went.

Harry had no trouble finding the alcove that was the entrance to the tower stairs up to Draco’s room. Funny that he had never noticed it before – but a lot of Hogwarts castle’s architecture was like that – you never saw it unless you knew it was there. The stairs spiraled up with doors at every level. Harry counted five doors before he got to the one at the top. He wondered briefly who lived in all the other rooms, but every coherent thought drained out of his mind when he found himself facing Draco’s door. It was now or never – did he knock, or did he run screaming back to the safety of his cozy little Gryffindor cocoon? Well, weren’t Gryffindors supposed to be brave? Harry decided he didn’t like cocoons. He took a deep breath and knocked.

After a couple of seconds, Harry heard quiet footsteps, the door opened, and then he was looking into that breathtaking pair of light gray eyes that seemed to kindle when they saw him, that sent a matching spark leaping up inside him in response.

“Hey, Harry,” said Draco, softly. And he stepped aside to let Harry come in, then closed the door behind him. They looked at each other for a few seconds in a shy and awkward silence. Draco was wearing black jeans and a soft black knit sweater; he was barefooted. Somehow Draco always managed to make the simplest clothes look elegant, while Harry – Harry was still wearing his school shirt and vest with a pair of old jeans and his usual sneakers – an outfit he had never felt self-conscious in, until this moment.

Draco glanced over at his desk and then back to Harry. “I have three more Arithmancy problems to do,” he said apologetically. “Do you mind if I finish?”

“No,” said Harry. “Of course I don’t mind.”

“Then come sit by the fire,” said Draco. “That’s where I have the chess board set up. I have to keep the fire going most of the time in this room – it can get really cold.” He gave Harry a lingering glance, then walked over to his desk and sat down.

Harry looked around the room for the first time and was stunned. In front of the fireplace on his right, two big, overstuffed armchairs sat facing each other across a small table. Beyond them, against the far wall, was Draco’s desk, and in the corner next to that was a tall bookshelf full of books. The curtained double bed sat about mid-way down the room to his left, with its headboard also against the far wall, and Draco’s trunk at the foot. Between the desk and the bed was a huge arched deep-set window with leaded glass panes. On the far side of the bed was a night table, and against the far left wall was a large wardrobe. Harry could see that there was another door at the end of the room next to the wardrobe. Several lamps hung from the walls, adding circles of golden light to the flickering glow from the fireplace. “This is an amazing room,” he said, very impressed. “What’s the door over there for?”

“Bathroom,” said Draco absently, in the middle of a problem.

“You have your own bathroom!” Harry was astonished. He had never in his entire life had a bathroom to himself.

Draco turned, and looked up from his writing for a moment. “All the other seventh year Slytherins share rooms in this tower, but this is the only one with a bathroom. It’s meant to be a teacher’s room, really,” he said. “I was very lucky to get it.”

A teacher’s room. Harry smiled. Then Dumbledore meant for Draco to stay next year – had had enough faith in him at the beginning of this year, to give him his teacher’s room now. Just knowing that made Harry feel a little less uneasy, and he went to sit in the closest of the armchairs, the one that faced into the room, toward Draco’s desk. He watched Draco working for a few moments, then leaned over to examine the chessboard and pieces that were set up on the table between the two chairs.

It was an exquisite set. The pieces were carved of onyx and alabaster, the squares on the board were inlaid with a very dark wood and mother-of-pearl. Harry picked up one of the black Knights. It was an intricately carved, rearing dragon, its wings half-spread, its eyes tiny red gemstones that winked in the firelight. The Rook was a crenellated castle tower, with blooming rose vines entwining its circular walls; and the Pawns, each one kneeling gracefully on an open flower or leaf, were delicate fairies that seemed to sparkle from the inside the way real fairies do. Harry had almost never seen anything so lovely. Each piece was incredibly detailed and perfect. Harry carefully replaced the dragon, noticing that Draco had already placed the three moves they had made last night and this morning.

“Done,” said Draco just then, from his seat at his desk. He closed his book, rolled up his homework parchment, and came to sit in the chair opposite Harry. “What do you think?” he asked, nodding at the board. “It was my grandmother’s set. She taught me to play.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Harry, smiling. “I’m almost afraid to touch it. Is it wizard chess?”

“Oh, no,” said Draco, “definitely not. I hate wizard chess – too messy, no elegance. You have to move these pieces yourself.” He curled up into the chair, pulling his bare feet under him to one side.

Harry kicked off his worn sneakers and pulled his feet up into his chair too, but sat cross-legged with his knees sticking out over the arms of the chair, his elbows on his knees, chin resting in his hands.

“And speaking of moving, it's your turn, Harry,” said Draco, quietly.

Harry glanced at Draco. Draco was at risk, now. He looked nervous, his hands were twined together in his lap. Harry could do anything, ask anything. Harry looked down and studied the chessboard. He knew his next move on the board . . . but the question he wanted to ask was going to be far more embarrassing for himself than for Draco. Even so, it was what he wanted to know. He stared at the board as if contemplating his move, letting that be a camouflage for the fact that he was trying to think how to word this first question – the one that had plagued him all day. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Finally, he reached out and picked up the little dragon he had looked at earlier. “Knight to F6,” he said. He glanced at Draco, then down. “You asked me this morning how come I liked that kiss so much.” He looked back up and met Draco’s eyes. “What makes you think I did?"

The tension seemed to vanish from Draco's face. He smiled softly at Harry, and relaxed back into his chair. “Because you're here.”

Harry’s heart did a funny lurch at the sight of that smile. God, he was so unprepared to deal with the impact Draco’s smiles had on him. They were so new, so unexpected, so . . . mesmerizing. Harry shook his head, fought to keep his focus on what he needed to say. Draco’s response was embarrassingly perceptive, but not what he wanted to know. “I don't mean now,” he said, after a moment. “I meant this morning – we hadn't even talked, when you said that.”

Draco grinned at him. “I knew as soon as you walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry. I figured you would probably react one of two ways – that you would like it and be going crazy trying to figure out why, in which case you wouldn’t tell anybody, or that you would be horribly repulsed and show up at breakfast with a horde of Gryffindor thugs and beat me to a pulp. Actually, that's what I expected to happen,” he added. “But when you came in to breakfast looking like you hadn't slept all night, so adorably pathetic and confused, I knew.”

Harry wasn't at all sure he liked being so predictable and transparent – but Draco wasn't making fun of him. In fact, had he just said Harry was ‘adorable’!? Oh, shit. Harry had hoped that he could keep how much he had been affected by that kiss to himself a bit longer. But that seemed futile in the face of Draco's certainty. Adorable!? I’m in deeper trouble than I thought here.

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “Maybe I did like it, but that doesn't necessarily mean I want to do it again. Maybe I just want to be friends with you, Draco, now that you've let me know we can. Maybe I just want to put a stop to all the fighting.”

Draco looked down at his hands, letting his long silver-blond fringe fall forward to hide his eyes. He was silent for a long moment. Finally, in a very quiet voice, he said, “If that's all you want, Harry . . . I can do that.” He tossed his hair back with a slight movement of his head, looked over at the chessboard, and then reached out and moved a white dragon. “Knight to C3.” He looked up at Harry. “What do you want, Harry?”

Harry met Draco's eyes, and a large ache blossomed in the pit of Harry’s stomach. A cool reserve was in Draco’s eyes now, the openness that had turned those gray eyes soft with warmth was gone, and Harry felt the loss of that warmth as a blow to the gut. “I don't know,” he said faintly. But just then, facing that cool distance in Draco’s eyes, he did know. He looked down abruptly, breaking the eye contact, somewhat startled by his reaction, and felt heat flush to the tips of his ears. He knew what he wanted. More than anything, he wanted that warmth back, wanted to look back up into those silvery-gray eyes and see them go warm for him. He wanted Draco to touch him in that tender, gentle way he had last night, wanted to hold Draco and bury his face in that silky blond hair. He wanted Draco to kiss him again. And knowing this left him feeling horribly shaken.

He had come here expecting to take things slowly, but this was not slow. He had completely underestimated the effect Draco would have on him – being here, alone with him in his room, knowing how Draco felt, and what Draco wanted – and what his own responses to that would be. This morning in Binns’ class, he had wondered why he wasn’t more shocked about Draco’s attraction to him. Probably, it was because the feelings he was thinking about then were Draco’s, but now that they were his own, he was shocked. His sexuality was in shreds, and he couldn’t seem to adjust to his changing emotions quickly enough to be able to put any of what he was feeling into words. What could he say? It was happening too fast. All he could do was sit there feeling shocked at himself, and rotten for hurting Draco. “I’m sorry. . . .” was all he could manage.

Draco had drawn his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs. He was watching Harry intently, as if trying to understand what Harry wasn’t saying. “Your move, again, then Harry,” he said at last, in a hurt tone, “if that’s all the answer you can give me.”

Harry could think of only one question – the one he desperately needed the answer to. His glasses had slipped down his nose a little, and he absently pushed them back up, then studied the chessboard, stalling again. The atmosphere between the two boys had become distinctly strained, and Harry was feeling rather unnerved by the tone of Draco’s voice. Finally, he said, “Pawn to B5,” and reached out and moved the piece with a slightly unsteady hand. “I’ve seen you at the dances and things with girls,” he said very quietly. He paused, took a deep breath to try to steady the slowly rising panic he felt, and forced himself to finish the question. “So, how did you know you were . . . gay?”

Draco shifted uneasily in his chair. He pushed back the hair that had fallen down over his eyes again. “I guess I must be,” he said hesitantly, “since it turned out that the person I want to be with is a guy. But I don’t feel attracted to any other guys . . . or girls. Just that one person, who,” he added, barely audible, “has never been interested in me.”

Harry stared at him in disbelief. “So you came up with this elaborate chess scheme just to make me sleep with you?” he asked in amazement. As soon as the sentence was out of his mouth, though, Harry knew he’d said something very wrong.

Draco’s eyes flashed like silver lightening. He came uncoiled from his chair, and stood up faster than Harry would have believed possible. “I think you should go,” he said coldly. “Now.”

“Draco, no – ”

Draco stepped swiftly over to Harry, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of the chair. “Just get out!” He pulled Harry, who was much too surprised to resist, to the door, opened it, shoved Harry out, and slammed the door behind him. A few seconds later, the door opened, and Harry’s shoes came hurtling out, one of which hit Harry squarely in the middle of his back.

“OW!” Harry turned around just as the door slammed shut for the second time. He found himself standing at the top of the spiral stairs, in the dark, freezing cold tower, facing the door that had just been slammed in his face. Numbly, he picked up his shoes. And faced the door again. Damn and double bloody hell!! What just happened?

He tried to calm down and think back. Draco had been resolutely honest and open with him, even when it so obviously hurt. And Harry had just sat there and allowed confusion to make him a coward, had hurt Draco even more with his silence. Then had made him angry on top of that, though he wasn’t entirely sure why Draco had reacted like he had. He thought back through what Draco had last said, and was mortified. Oh God – he just told me that he’s never wanted anyone but me, and I totally missed that. He groaned inside. Git Master strikes again! But still, Harry didn’t think that was why Draco had thrown him out.

Now what? he thought. He turned his head and looked down the long winding stairs, then back at that closed door. There was no way he was going back to his dormitory. He wanted back in that room with Draco. Everything he wanted right now was behind that door. He rubbed his hand through his hair and sighed. I have to go back in there to talk to him, that’s what.

He took the step that put him up beside the door and laid his head against it. From just on the other side he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a muffled moan. Harry was horrified. “Draco!” he said, in as loud a voice as he dared. He knocked softly. “Draco, please let me back in!” He waited a moment listening. He knocked again. “I’m sorry!” He shivered slightly. Damn, it’s freezing out here! “I don’t want to leave.”

The door rattled slightly as if someone who had been leaning against it had moved.

Harry tapped on the door again. “Draco? I want to talk to you, and I’m not going to go away. I’m going to stand outside your door all night if I have to.” He shivered again, then leaned his forehead against the door, and sighed pitifully. “It’s freezing out here. If you don’t let me in soon, there will be nothing left of me but an ugly block of frozen git!” He paused to listen again. He could almost sense Draco on the other side of the door. “Draco,” he said, and this time he made his voice as serious as he could, “I need to tell you something. That you’re wrong – what you said about me not being interested – it isn’t true.”

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind him. “Well, well,” said a smug, sneering voice. “If it isn’t Harry Potter! How fascinating!”

Harry whirled around, to stand with his back pressed up against Draco’s door, clutching his shoes to his chest with one hand. He found himself face to face with Pansy Parkinson dressed in nothing but a filmy nightgown.

Oh. Dear. God.

“So this is what the Ice King has been holding out for all this time,” said Pansy, her voice dripping with barely concealed contempt. Then her eyes narrowed speculatively and she smiled at Harry in a mischievous, seductive way that made his skin crawl. She stepped closer to him and her voice turned to pure syrup. “Or did he throw you out, too?” she asked softly, looking up at him through lowered lashes. She placed one hand on the doorframe by Harry’s shoulder. Her fingers started to tiptoe towards his collarbone.

Harry gulped, and edged away.

“You know, I wouldn’t throw you out if you ever came to visit me,” she purred. She leaned forward until her pouting lips were only inches from Harry’s.

Harry jerked back and his head banged sharply against the door. DRACO!! he screamed silently. Open this door NOW!!

Suddenly, as if in answer, he felt empty air behind him where the door had been, and a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled hard. Harry stumbled backwards into Draco’s room and was unceremoniously shoved to one side. He watched stunned as Draco leaned out the door, wand in hand and said, “Obliviate quintminutus.” Then Draco quickly pulled his hand back in and held his wand behind his back.

“Pansy,” said Draco in a flat, annoyed tone, as if he’d just opened the door to her knock. “What are you doing here? You know I don’t like to be disturbed in the evenings when I’m studying.” He looked her up and down and frowned, disgusted. “For God’s sake, you’re not even properly dressed.”

“I . . . I’m sorry, Draco,” said Pansy in a very altered, subdued voice. “I’m not sure . . . I can’t remember why I came up here. Something about doors slamming . . . and voices . . . maybe.”

“Everything seems perfectly quiet to me,” said Draco firmly. “Go on back downstairs now, before you catch pneumonia or something. There’s a good girl. Go back to your room. Yes, that’s it – down the stairs. Good night.” He shut the door, and sighed heavily. He looked sideways at Harry. “You,” he said, flatly, “were almost in a lot of trouble.”

Harry slumped back against the wall next to the door, his eyes closed, glasses slightly askew, and bit his lower lip. He was freezing, had just been badly unnerved, and he wasn’t sure if Draco was still angry. Maybe he should leave after all. But then he felt warmth, not touching, but very close, and his glasses were gently straightened. His shoes were lifted out of his frozen grasp, and he heard them drop to the floor.

“You okay?” said a low voice near his face.

Harry opened his eyes, and Draco was standing so close to him that he startled slightly. There was still a look of angry wariness in Draco’s eyes, but Harry saw concern in them as well, and that was close enough to the warmth he was missing that he reconnected with his thoughts from outside in the tower, the resolve he had felt to come back in here and be honest. “No,” he said, in an aggrieved whisper, “I’m not. I’m half-frozen, I’m going to have nightmares about pug faces with lips for weeks, and I don’t understand why you threw me out in the first place.”

For a moment, Draco looked torn between laughing and being angry. His eyebrows went up and then down in a frown – anger won out. “I threw you out because what you said was really rotten – how could you think that this was just some scheme to make you sleep with me, or that I’d even want you that way – ”

“Because that’s what you told me this morning!” said Harry, cutting him off. “That you intended to “take all” and lose your virginity at the end of this chess game.”

“That’s not what I said at all!” retorted Draco loudly. “God, Harry, how in bloody hell am I going to make you sleep with me? Use the Imperius Curse? Even if it wasn’t illegal, I happen to know it doesn’t work very well on you. And I really can’t imagine that you would be such an idiot as to sleep with me if you didn’t want to, just because I won some dumb game and asked you to!” Draco was standing with his hands clenched by his sides, glaring at Harry. “But the worst thing is, you obviously think I’m the kind of sick jerk that would ask you to do that!”

Harry had stopped looking at Draco, and was staring down at the floor, biting his lower lip again, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked up only after there had been a long moment of silence, when it seemed that Draco was finished yelling at him. Draco had turned his face away from Harry and was also looking down at the floor. Harry found, to his surprise, that he wasn’t angry, that what he wanted most was to understand what Draco had meant. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, in a steady resolute tone, “if I misunderstood. But, I don’t really know you at all, Draco. The person I used to know was a jerk. This morning, when I said I didn’t believe you were a virgin, you said that you intended for that to change by the end of the game. And I can’t think of what else you might have meant by that.”

Draco moved only to cross his arms over his chest, but didn’t say anything. He seemed locked in an inner battle with his own anger and hurt feelings.

Watching him, Harry felt a very strong urge to reach out and touch him, to stop the hurt. The distance between them made him ache inside. He wanted to pull Draco against him, and hold him, so that there was no distance between them anymore. And this time that feeling didn’t shock him quite so much, it felt somehow . . . acceptable. Still, there was a large gulf between thinking it might be okay and actually doing it, so he waited, hoping Draco would say something. But finally, when the silence had stretched out for what felt like a very long time, he asked quite sadly, “Do you still want me to leave?”

Draco looked up quickly. “No!” he said, as if startled by the suggestion. He looked at Harry for a second then looked back down. “No, don’t go. I . . . I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just yelled at you like that.”

Harry took a deep breath of relief, and the tension in his gut relaxed a bit. “Forget it,” he said. Then he went on, in a gently teasing tone, “I can stand up to a lot worse than that from you, Malfoy.” He saw a hint of a smile appear on Draco’s face. “So,” he said, trying to coax more of that captivating smile from Draco, “I take it then, that I was wrong when I thought you were planning to throw me to the floor, rip off my clothes, and have wild meaningless sex with me if you won this game?” He had hoped to make Draco laugh, and was completely surprised by Draco’s very different reaction.

“Oh hell, Harry,” said Draco softly, and he blushed to the roots of his hair. “That’s not what I meant at all,” he continued seriously. He took a deep breath. “Maybe because I was trying to tease you – goad you into playing, and I was embarrassed about the virginity thing, it came across like that. Obviously, you haven’t had a very high opinion of my morals since you thought I was sleeping with the entire Slytherin girl’s dorm, but they all call me . . . what Pansy said.” Draco paused, and then continued in an even softer voice. “The truth is, I’ve always had this stupid idea – that I wanted to wait until I loved someone, until someone loved me.”

At Draco’s words, a small inner knot of fear, that Harry had barely been conscious of, gently unraveled and slipped away. “That is not stupid, Draco,” interrupted Harry quietly, deliberately using the words Draco had said to him last night – words that had meant a great deal to him. Draco’s gaze flickered up to his for a second, and Harry saw a flash of recognition in them, before Draco looked down again.

“The point is,” said Draco, continuing with a bit of a catch in his voice, “I know you don’t love me . . . God, I don’t know if you can ever even like me . . . but I wouldn’t want to sleep with you, unless you did. I was just hoping by the end of the game . . . if you got to know me . . . maybe you would. . . .”

He looked back up finally and met Harry’s eyes. “Last night wasn’t planned – I was supposed to be staying away from you. But then you had your arms around me, and I . . . I made up this chess game right then as an excuse to kiss you . . . because I wanted to so much, because I thought I’d never have the chance again. I never expected it to go beyond that, until you walked in to breakfast. All I really wanted to do with this game was to give us an excuse to talk . . . or whatever else. . . .” His voice trailed off and he sighed, and looked down unhappily at his feet. “I’ve already told you that you can stop playing if you want to.”

Harry had been completely surprised when Draco blushed. He had turned the most wonderful shade of rose-pink. Harry was almost too distracted by it to listen, but every word that Draco was saying was thundering through him, tearing his heart up. He marveled again at Draco’s ability to be unflinchingly honest about his feelings, and at the way his own feelings were changing from one minute to the next. He watched Draco’s face intently while he talked, and when Draco paused and looked up at him, the sincerity in those gray eyes made his throat ache, and when Draco looked back down, Harry again felt the wrenching loss of that gaze. So now, it was his turn to try to be unflinchingly honest.

“I want to keep playing,” said Harry. “It is making us talk, and I want to do that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have come tonight, or I would have walked away after you threw me out.” He took a deep breath. “I’m trying very hard to sort out how I feel about you, but what I’m mostly feeling right now is nervous and confused. And,” he added gently, “it isn’t fair for you to get hurt and angry because I don’t understand you yet, or when I don’t know how I feel. You’ve evidently had some time to think about this, but I’ve had less than a day.”

Draco looked up and smiled at him repentantly. “Being patient and fair have never been high on my list of personality traits, Harry,” he said. “Not everything about me has changed.”

But Harry knew he was teasing, and he wasn’t at all immune to the tender smile that Draco was giving him, or that soft look in his eyes either. “It’s your move,” said Harry, trying to ignore the fluttery sensations of half panic, half thrill that were stirring inside him when Draco looked at him that way.

Draco eyes held Harry’s for another brief spellbinding moment, then he walked to the table, set his wand down, and stood studying the chessboard.

Harry followed him, and sat down in the chair he had been sitting in earlier, feeling thankful to be back by the warmth of the fire again, but also feeling a bit tense from the suspenseful anticipation of what Draco would do with his next move.

Draco contemplated the board for a little while longer, before moving his piece. “Pawn to G4,” he said, as he glanced over at Harry. Then he curled back up in his chair and faced Harry squarely, with a steady reassuring gaze. “Tell me how you do feel about me, Harry. You don’t have to have figured out what it means. Just tell me what is going on.”

Harry sighed and flopped back against the back cushion of the chair and closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try. But the reason I said I didn’t know earlier is because things keep changing. Every time you talk to me, or look at me . . . or touch me,” he added softly, “my feelings about you, about how I look at things between us, change.” He opened his eyes and stared into the fire for a minute, then over at Draco. Draco wasn’t looking at him, but Harry knew he was listening intently. “I feel confused – by knowing that just yesterday I thought I hated you, but today I don’t.” Harry paused, and ran a hand through his tousled hair, thinking. “No, I don’t mean that. . . I don’t just not hate you now. The person that you’ve been last night and today is someone . . . I think I could like a lot – that I think I might want to be close to – maybe very close to.”

Draco looked up at that and met Harry’s eyes. That wonderful warmth was back, making Draco’s eyes shine like silver moonlight through soft gray mist.

A little thrill tremor ran through Harry. God, he has the most unbelievably beautiful eyes. Harry felt he could easily get lost in those eyes. He looked down, feeling slightly flushed. After a moment he continued. “I said maybe I want us to be just friends because I feel like this is happening too fast – that you’re pushing me into something I don’t want – but another part of me does want it. You’ve made me feel things I’ve never felt before – in fact, I haven’t been able to think of anything else all day. But then I’m confused because . . . I’m sure I’m straight . . . or I was sure . . . and now –” He stopped abruptly, and then, after a moment’s pause, slowly stood up, his eyes downcast. “Oh hell, Draco,” he said softly, “when you kissed me last night, that was the best kiss of my life, and I’ve been kissed a lot.” He reached out and moved a black dragon. “Knight to C6.” He looked up at Draco. “Why haven’t you tried to kiss me again?”

Draco grinned at him, and raised one eyebrow. “Two very simple reasons, Harry. First, I didn’t think you wanted me to, and second, it’s your turn. I’m not going to kiss you again, unless you kiss me back first.” He stood up too, looked down at the board, and moved his King Pawn one space. “Pawn to E3. So, why haven’t you kissed me back?” he challenged.

Harry stared down at the chessboard. Quite a few reasons went quickly through his mind, including Dumbledore’s warning, the question of his sexuality, and the ever troublesome, what will Ron say? But he couldn’t tell himself anymore that he didn’t want to – he did. Nothing he could think of was able to stand up to the strength of the desire he was feeling right now to hold Draco and kiss him again. Nothing else mattered but this moment and this person.

What Draco had said earlier suddenly flashed back into his mind – “It turned out that the person I want to be with is a guy. I don’t feel attracted to any other guys, or girls. Just that one person.” Was it possible that you could find a person, could love that person, and it didn’t matter if they were male or female, but they were just the one you needed and wanted, the one that fit so perfectly – and that was what made it right? Could it be that simple? Draco evidently felt that way about him. And maybe Draco was that person for Harry, too, because oh God, touching Draco had felt so right –

“Harry?” said Draco, quietly, hesitantly. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Harry looked up at Draco, and slowly smiled. “No,” he said. “Except to say I think we’ve talked enough.” He paused for a brief moment. “Knight to G4.” He moved his dragon and captured Draco’s Pawn. He picked up the small white fairy and stared at it for a moment as it lay in the palm of his hand, then set it down to the side of the board. He took off his glasses, folded them and set them carefully on the table, then stepped out around the table and looked at Draco.

Draco looked up from the chessboard and met Harry’s eyes, blond hair spilling down over his forehead, one side of his lower lip caught behind his teeth, his eyes showing surprise and a sudden shy hope.

Draco couldn’t have looked more desirable if he had tried. Harry was entranced. Maybe it really could be this simple. All of his inner conflicts faded away. “Come here,” he said softly.

End Chapter 6

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