Rondo

Spring was cruelest, trees bursting mercilessly into emerald blooms, flowers daring to show their flaming colors after months underground. He had always preferred winter, the sharp gray skies reflecting the color of his eyes, the pale earth a relentless reminder of his heritage. As nature unfolded new life Malfoy Manor grew darker, ivy unkempt twisting over the walls, rains dampening the air in the stone fortress. Ten years had passed since that final day of their seventh year at Hogwarts, and all it took was one movement in the shadows or a flicker of a candle to bring him back to that dungeon, to the rage and loss. Harry Potter, dead, checkmated in the dangerous multigenerational game of human chess. Lucius Malfoy, the grand master, hiding his war tactics until the lethal end.

"Why am I here?"

"Sit down, Potter." Malfoy gestured to the seat under the wide window of the Astronomy Tower. Warily, I sat, keeping him in my gaze.

"Where's your wand?"

"In Gryffindor Tower."

"That was the correct answer." He smiled without showing teeth, his eyes satisfied.

"And what do I win?"

For some reason he started to laugh. "Shut up, Malfoy, you want Filch to come up here?"

"Sorry, Potter. That question. You could never imagine what you're going to win. Or lose."

"Right now YOU are not winning my patience. I'll ask you again: why am I here? Without my wand."

"Relax, I'm not going to hex you. Well, I might if you can't learn to shut that pretty mouth of yours for five minutes."

"Excuse me?"

"Harry Potter." Tasting my name on his tongue, pacing the room, turning to stare down at me. "How much do you know about your father?"

"Not very much." I had been so surprised by the question I let my guard completely down. Thinking better of my admission, I countered "He was a better man than yours. He treated people like human beings instead of objects."

Malfoy spun on his heel and the flat of his hand connected solidly with my cheek. I heard the sound of the impact before feeling the pain, and a second later I raised my hand to feel the stinging skin where he had struck me.

"That was not one of your better responses. Think before you speak. Understood?" What kind of statement was that? I nodded. "You don't know the first thing about your father. You and I, we've carried a legacy to Hogwarts, a game passed down by our fathers."

"A game?"

"Play chess, Potter?"

"Sometimes, with Ron."

"Ever win?"

"Not much."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"Why do you care?"

"It's the game we're playing."

"What?"

Malfoy was silent for a moment, looking out the window at the silver constellations. The moonlight made his hair appear even lighter than it normally was. Breathing deeply, he turned once more to face me.

"Our fathers. They were a lot closer than anyone knew. They'd known each other since the day they were born, and they were raised by their fathers to carry on this strange family game of chess. Only there aren't really pieces, just moves and countermoves in our lives that place Malfoy at an advantage over Potter, or vice versa."

"And I'm supposed to play?"

"You ARE playing. You're winning. You were the one who made the first move against me. Every accomplishment of yours has been something I've had to balance with one of my own."

"How--how is that possible? How could I be winning a game I didn't even know I was playing? What if I don't want to play?"

"You don't get a choice as to whether you play or not. As for your winning, think back to our first formal meeting."

I thought. The robe shop. No--"The train."

"When you refused me. That was unexpected. I was almost proud of you. I knew you would be someone I enjoyed playing with. I assumed you knew nothing of your lineage, yet you were so bold, acting like you knew this game backwards and forwards. Your being sorted into Gryffindor was something I had anticipated, but I hadn't figured on you becoming such good friends with Weasley. I had to figure out a way to bring you closer to me. Quidditch was a failure, and your friends are too inquisitive, too loud. Father laid into me this summer about telling you who you really are; he wants to make sure you're participating."

"I don't give a rat's ass as to what your father thinks or wants."

"It's not about what anyone wants!" Malfoy screamed, and I recoiled. "Honestly, I think hanging around Granger is actually making you stupider.

"It's about what you were born to be. We were supposed to be raised as our fathers were, to continue this game of black versus white. We'd live as enemies and--" he trailed off.

What was all this? I could see my father as Lucius Malfoy's adversary, anyone could figure that. But this game? What was it for? Why had he played? Looking up at my sworn enemy, knowledge flooded me. It was because he had felt drawn to Lucius in the same dangerous way I felt drawn to Draco, a forbidden pull deep in my bones.

"And we'd be lovers when no one was watching," I finished.

"You DO know."

"It's not knowing so much as feeling," I admitted softly. I felt like I'd left my common sense with my wand in Gryffindor, but that didn't overshadow my feeling of relief that after six years I had gotten that thought out of my system.

"When James tried to end it with my father, in their seventh year here, my father beat him unconscious in anger. He said he had no true life without the challenge of your father. No one but me knows how torn he is in his feelings for the Dark Lord. His master killed the man who shaped him. As it turned out, James couldn't live without my father either, even though he certainly tried. They both married, and they had us, but they continued the game until James died. Only their fathers knew, of course, because they had lived the same way."

"What will you do to me if I try to leave you?"

"Give me six months and you'll wonder why you ever asked that question."

Malfoy stopped his pacing and sat next to me on the window seat. I was still reeling from his information, and as he came closer I was sure he could hear my heart beating. "So now you know, Harry," he whispered, "and it's time we formally declared this game."

In a flash, he twisted my right arm behind my back and raised my left arm over my head by my wrist, knocking me onto my back. He didn't even need to say what he was thinking as our eyes locked. I knew instantly he'd seen all the glances I stole in Potions, the way I admired his cold confidence. When his lips met mine I lost all connection to the world, drowning in his warm, salty kiss. I reciprocated his passion hungrily, pressing the length of my body into his. Draco kept me his prisoner as his tongue explored my mouth, my cheek, my neck. He sucked the base of my neck lightly and I heard myself moan, delighting in what I had wanted for years.

As quickly as he had pinned me down, he stood, looking down at me lying on the window seat, my breathing shallow.

"Your move."

He was gone before I could sit up. As I stood, I looked around the Astronomy Tower, fixing in my mind the moonlight on the stone floor, the shadows on the walls. Draco Malfoy was not to be trusted, kiss or none.

"Castle, King's side," I spoke aloud.