Checkmate

Chess. That's all it really is, an intricate game of chess. That's all this battle comes down to.

I've gotten so good at chess over the years. Sirius was a knight. Black queen takes knight. Most of the time, I don't even realize I'm playing. I make careless, costly mistakes. Black bishop takes pawn. Was Cedric really just a pawn?

But if Ron could see the board of this game, he would know that I play to win. I have to. And every player must sacrifice pieces to win, as much as he doesn't want to.

Antonin Dolohov. McNair. Augustus Rookwood. Crabbe. Goyle. All pawns taken off the board, cast aside by their player, who had better pieces at hand. But I could play good chess. There was no doubt in anyone's mind how well I could play. Not even my opponent's. Bishops both killed together. Two consecutive moves. How I miss Ron and Hermione now...

Black queen takes Remus, black queen takes Neville, black queen takes Ginny. Knight, pawn, pawn. The pieces go flying off the board, but I can't stop and mourn over them if I am to win the game. White rook takes black queen. A niece kills an aunt.

This game of mine, of everyone's, has gone on for too long. Two of my pawns go down together, clutching each other, mourning over the deaths of their children. Mourning like I cannot, yet. It must end soon if either side wants to win this futile war. Black knight taken out by Dementors, but only after harassing the king. I'm the king. The king of this mess.

One piece, one simple pawn, on this playing field is on both sides. He has no distinct color, no black or white to shield him. All he has is gray. Not many could keep a game of chess up for a year, let alone seven. And the rest of my life, before the game even began, I was just being prepared for it. A black bishop falls, and a classmate of mine throws me dirty looks in the halls. But how could I really be prepared for this hell?

The game is coming to an end, though. I can feel it. All the shattered pieces would not have the chance to be set back up, to play another day, though. One more black pawn sits there, alone on the board. His family is gone, and he has made a rash decision to join this side. Either side. All he wants is his life back, and his family back.

White queen taken by the king himself. An attempt to protect the king. A sacrifice. Above all others, he missed Dumbledore the most.

The halls here are dark, the candles flickering from their brackets on the walls casting only enough light to show him the way. He trips over loose stones that had been upturned long before, over things that could only take as bones. He was falling over bones now.

But when he reached the end of the passage, his fingers roaming over the broad chestnut door, groping for a handle, he looks back. It is all light. A perfectly clear hallway, meticulously taken care of. No stone out of place, no flaws to be seen. No death littering the floor. He was surrounded by illusions.

Handle in hand, twisted to the right gently, and the door swung open. Another dimly lit hallway, another field of illusion. He's been following these doors, these halls, for hours now. And he's getting no where. He nears the end of this one, only to find another door that twists open just as simply. But instead of darkness to greet him, a smiling, pale face takes that job.

"Glad you could join me, Harry Potter."

Twinge of pain in his head that he ignores, that he brushes away as he stares into this man's cold, red eyes. No, not cold. They could burn him alive without problem. Could end everything, and those are just eyes.

His eyes flick down to the man's hand, where a wand is gripped. The wand matches the one clutched in his own palm, a mirror image between them down to the core. Phoenix core. All around the room, the cries of phoenixes echo, though none are seen. A feather floats to the stone ground, though it soon turns to ash.

"I've come to end this." He pauses, watching the man's lips twinge into a smile. With a wave of his hand, a wave of his wand, a table appears between them. Two identical chairs sit at the ends, and the man motions to the one closest to the boy as he takes his own seat. "I've not come to talk, I want to-"

"Yes, boy, you want it to end. You want the pain and suffering," he paused as he watched the boy sit. Each word was meticulously pronounced, as if each were a powerful statement. "To end."

His turn to wave a wand. A chessboard now sat on the table, and the man stared at it instead of the green of his eyes. "Wands are useless against each other, you know. At least ours are. But how is the Great Tom Riddle's mind?"

"You dare speak my filthy name while challenging me to a simple Muggle game?" The pieces were indeed those of a Muggle, not the kind that would move on command. "I am a master at chess, Harry Potter."

"So am I."

They never lost eye contact, nor did they stop gripping their wands tightly as they moved the pieces across the board. He tried to watch at one point, to concentrate out of the corner of one eye, but the movements of the pieces were like snow falling and he couldn't catch it. Black and white snow.

With each piece set to the side, the sound of the phoenix call grew louder, more clear. And when the game looked over, the man's smile already gone, the board was swiped to the floor with the back of his arm. The boy sat there, a smug look on his face, arms crossed, his wand only just visible. "You are good, boy. But I will beat you in other ways than such a silly game.

And the chairs disappeared, the table vanished. The man's boot kicked the ash from the feather at the boy, who simply sidestepped to avoid it. The board remained on the ground, upside down, the pieces tipped to their sides. All the pieces but the kings, who stood tall and proud.

All of the spells that they cast were lost. All of everything they tried would not work against the other. Each of them grew more and more tired, more and more agitated as incantation after incantation failed. The boy's head was throbbing, but he paid no attention as their attempts grew weaker and weaker.

He saw it too late. His foot caught the edge of the chessboard, and the boy fell backwards, his wand thrown from his hand at last. The man stood over him, sneer over his snake-like lips. "Well, Harry Potter. I do believe this is," the man stepped down on the white king, his heel smashing it into pieces, "Checkmate."