Wizard Chess Slash

Wizard Chess Slash:

A Serious Series of Satirical Slash

By: Josh Riddle

Chapter 1:

Groping in the Great Hall

It was a dark and stormy day. December's torrential winds had swept the Hogwarts grounds with such ferocity that most students had to retreat to the castle for warmth. Storm clouds had gathered over the grounds and pelting rain had darkened the sky and blurred the horizon. Fred and George Weasley, who had been bewitching snow-bludgers to chase their friend Lee Jordan, finally gave up and hurried back to the Castle. They called out to their friend and fellow Gryffindor Dennis Creevey to go back with them, but Dennis, who had been skating for several hours, a wistful yearning look on his face, shook his head in refusal.

It was the early afternoon, with many students preparing to go home for Christmas. The Great Hall was nearly empty. Scattered about the long House tables were a few small groups of students: some enjoying a light lunch of sandwiches and tea; some talking with friends absentmindedly about things they were going to do on holiday.

Despite the absence of hundreds of milling and talking students, Peeves, Hogwarts' resident poltergeist, had made the most of the quiet and had filled the hallways with raucous cackling and the sounds of mayhem. Earlier in the day, he had zoomed in and out of the Great Hall, had stolen glass ball ornaments from the Christmas trees and proceeded to adorn the body parts of the various persons in the portraits with a special gift or two. After Prof. McGonagall had rescued a pair of puffy French wizards wearing pink and purple robes from harassment by an unusually long candy cane, Peeves abandoned the portraits and went on to drop mistletoe on unsuspecting second-year students. He would then sing to each pair of students the various possibilities of making use of the mistletoe with one another.

Harry and Ron, who had already received two sprigs of mistletoe and had tried to look grateful, sat at the end of the Gryffindor table hunched over a game of Wizard Chess on Ron's old board. Like everything else of Ron's, the game had once belonged to someone else in his family. After five years of playing with the Weasley Chess set, Harry still had difficulty convincing the pieces to obey his moves.

"Don't do that! You're leaving me open to his Knight, boy!" ranted a disgruntled Bishop. Harry grimaced as the Bishop removed a small hip flask from the folds of his robes and took a swig.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked Ron, prodding the surly Bishop to take Ron's pawn.

"Dunno," Ron said. "Probably working on SPEW or some campaign to protect the Giant Squid. Honestly, the next one will be E.L.F., 'Encouraging Luna to Fart'."

Eyeing Harry's Bishop with his face screwed up in concentration, Ron moved his Knight from behind the Queen to take the Bishop. When Ron ordered the Knight to move, the Knight slapped his knee with unbridled enthusiasm and, grabbing hold of the reins on his horse, charged forward towards the Bishop.

"Bloody hell!" screamed the Bishop, hastily stashing his hip flask back beneath his robes and lunging to the side. A terrified Pawn threw his hands over his face and ducked just as the Bishop smashed past him. The Knight, galloping along, waved a wide-rimmed cowboy hat in the air and yelled, "Yee haw!"

The crash was so loud that several students at the neighboring Hufflepuff table looked over at Harry and Ron with surprise. One of them, Mary Sue, was the only American student in Hogwarts. It always surprised them that Mary Sue resembled Harry so much that she could have been his long-lost twin sister: short, messy black hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses framing her piercing green eyes. Of course, Harry didn't like Mary Sue because she was always lurking around the Gryffindor table trying to act cool, along with her equally annoying boyfriend, Kyle Dustruffle, a creepy and disturbing seventh-year Hufflepuff who looked far too old to still be a student. Flanking them were Mary Sue's best friends, Claire and Cassandra, twin sisters in Ravenclaw whom Hermione disliked. She told Harry it was due to their "obstinate arrogance," but Ron sniggered that she hated them because they had higher test scores.

The Bishop had apparently tried to dive out of the Knight's path, but the Knight gave him a swinging kick and sent him sprawling across the board. The Bishop was slumped upside down on the side of the board with his legs in the air and hanging behind his head.

"Don't mess with Texas!" the Knight screamed with a southern drawl. "YEE HAW!" he yelled, twirling his cowboy hat around in the air.

"He's a bloody menace," Ron said, shaking his head. "Fred and George got him for me last year when Crookshanks ran off with my other Knight. They bought him at the Quidditch World Cup off a witch from the Salem Witch Institute. He's American," and with these words, Ron shrugged.

Harry was watching the Knight, who, upon closer explanation, looked less like a Knight and more like a cowboy. Unlike the other Knights who wore silver armor and battle gear and draped British heralds over their mounts, this Knight wore blue jeans and chaps and a tight white t-shirt, large black cowboy boots kicking his horse's sides. The saddle was made of brown leather and had rawhide strips hanging from it that the Knight jostled around as he jumped up and down in his saddle.

"Y'all are doin' a-okay," the Knight said up to Ron enthusiastically. "Me and ole' Bessie are rarin' to go again! I'll show them foreigners what we're made of down South! YEE HAW!"

"Do me a favor," Ron said as two of the Pawns from the discarded pile ambled on to the board to carry the stunned Bishop off to the side.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Use your Queen to take my Knight. I'd sacrifice him, but he won't listen to me unless I'm lining him up to kill something. Fred and George think it's because he's American."

"Uh, sure," said Harry, looking down at his pieces to find a way to take Ron's Knight. He spent several minutes considering his options, distracted by the Knight's continuing "Yee haw's" and his own pieces shouting different moves at him.

"I'm not completely useless, you know!" exclaimed his Queen, whose arms were crossed defiantly while she tapped her foot on the board in a bossy sort of way that reminded him of Hermione.

"Right," Harry said to himself, moving the Queen to take Ron's Knight. Expecting a great explosion, Harry closed his eyes and turned his head slightly, but instead he heard a gasp and the sound of something or someone being slapped.

"Good one!" Ron said excitedly.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Your Queen slapped my Knight," Ron said. "She slapped him hard!"

"Why?" Harry asked, looking down at the board. The Knight was hanging his head down as his horse slowly trotted off the board with a broken, sullen look about him.

"Your Queen didn't like my Knight trying to get cheeky with her. So she slapped him!"

The Queen looked both exasperated and insulted as she busily tried to adjust the crown atop her head. "What an uncivilized, offensive thing to say to a Lady," she exclaimed, crossing her arms annoyed. "We are not amused! We are royalty!"

"She's royally 'something' alright," Ron said with a snort.

As the other pieces began heckling the Knight in protest of his unwanted advances on the Queen, Hermione bounded up the length of their table in the Great Hall and slammed her books down next to the board, shaking it and sending several pieces into fits of protest.

"I'm finally done," she said with a sigh, sitting down next to Ron.

"On what?" Ron asked looking at the dozen or so large books she had been carrying. "The rest of the year's homework?"

"Don't be stupid," she chided him, taking a sandwich from a plate of food next to them. "In two years, we will be taking our N.E.W.T.'s, and I want to be ready."

"Hermione," Ron began, but stopped when he saw the look on her face.

As the afternoon wore on, she continued to watch them play, but opened her books as well. Hermione began with a book covered in purple taffeta and gold lame entitle Braving the Boggart: Why I Cry So Often, The Unauthorized Biography of Gilderoy Lockhart, by Frankie Floo, but then she immediately switched to a large, bulging book entitled Sweaty Shafts & Big Balls: The Physiology of the Male Quidditch Player, by J. E. Alexander. After turning over Pointless Postulating: The Mysterious Disappearance of the RH Ship, by Lilac Gailstorm, she finally settled on a large scaly book that seemed to be dripping with water, From Loch Ness Monsters to Giant Squids: An Overview of English Water Creatures that like to Slash Wizards, by Lindsey Pervielf.

By now, most of Harry's Pawns had been carried off the board in various states of unconsciousness, while Ron's pieces, sensing a sweeping victory, began to cheer him own with renewed confidence. Harry, who was not completely involved in the game, had drifted off thinking about the lines he had done in Prof. Umbridge's office the night before: I will not lick...

"Oh, no," Hermione groaned, looking over her shoulder at one of the side doors leading from the Great Hall.

Harry's head turned around as Ron continued to study the board. "What?" he asked, moving his Rook into position to Check Harry's King.

Harry's eyes followed Hermione's to the door, where Crabbe and Goyle were ambling in with their faces smeared with food and their hands filled with various chocolates. Harry figured that their looks of glee and satisfaction probably came from their satisfaction at stealing those foods from the timid first-year who had received them as an early Christmas present.

Crabbe and Goyle, who had managed to become larger and bigger than even Harry's cousin, Dudley, were wiping their mouths on the fronts of their soiled robes. They wore green badges fastened to the fronts of their food-stained robes.

"What?" Harry asked with exasperation. "Are those Prefect badges?"

"No," Hermione said. "Look closer," and as she and Harry looked, Ron stared down at his own Prefect badge and made to readjust it on his chest.

Crabbe and Goyle's badges were green and flashing silver letters "W.W.D.D.?" on them. Ron finally looked up in time to see them passing by. "What's that?" Harry asked Ron. "What's 'W.W.D.D.?' supposed to mean?"

"Probably 'We Want Draco's-"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed reprovingly, cutting Ron off before he could finish as he and Harry broke out sniggering.

"It's true!" Ron said back, laughing and accidentally knocking over his King with his elbow. The King, who was already squatted on the board asleep, still in the same square as where he had been when the game had begun, merely pushed his large crown back onto the top of his head and dropped his chin as he returned to snoring.

"If you must know," Hermione began with an air of superiority. "It doesn't stand for that. It stands for 'What Would Draco Do?'"

"No it doesn't!" Ron said.

"Yes, it does!" Hermione retorted.

"How do you know?" Ron asked.

"I heard that fat cow Pansy Parkinson talking about it in the Prefects' Bathroom the other day. Millicent Bullstrode made them for the Slytherin house."

"What were you doing in the Prefects' Bathroom with Pansy Parkinson?" Ron asked heatedly, shifting on the bench slightly.

"Nothing..." Hermione mumbled.

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?" Ron asked scathingly.

"Why did she make them?" Harry asked quickly, sensing the direction of Ron's next flurry of question.

"Something about Quidditch, I'm not sure," Hermione answered, watching Ron's Pawns giggle conspiratorially as they tried to steal the King's jewels. The King, fast asleep, did not notice as they removed his family's jewels from under his robe and began to play with them.

"Well, if you ask me, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. 'What would Draco do?' Who cares? Just sit around and be a stupid git- that's what Draco would do! Who'd be thick enough to come up with something like that? And who'd be even thicker to wear them?" Ron fumed.

"Apparently, Crabbe and Goyle," Harry observed, watching them stuff down sandwiches at the Slytherin table, elbowing a timid second-year away from the plate.

"They're only doing it to upset people," Hermione observed. One of Ron's remaining Rooks was chasing the Pawns away from the King, calling for the other pieces to help him protect the King's jewels.

"Well we should make our own badges for the D.A. then," Ron said finally, looking back down at the board and appraising the pieces.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed under her breath. "Keep your voice down!" Hermione scolded, looking at the Slytherin table to see if anyone had heard him. She moved another book in front of her to begin reading, The Psychology of the Perverse Mind, by Dr. Portia Nim fu Meniak.

Just then, Fred and George bounded into the Great Hall, followed by their good friend Lee Jordan. All three were bundled in cloaks and maroon and yellow striped scarves, flecks of snow falling out of their red hair as they shook off the storm from outside.

"Who's on top?" Fred asked excitedly.

"Hope it's one of us," George chimed in, reaching across the table for the plate of sandwiches.

"Pass 'em 'round, mate," Lee called out, sitting opposite them. "I'm starving!"

"What have you three been up to?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Playing with each other," Fred answered, grinning back at George and Lee.

Hermione eyed them with growing skepticism. But the three of them were settling into the plate of sandwiches, which was instantly filled with more sandwiches once they finished the plate off.

"Hungry?" Harry asked bemusedly, still trying to decide how to save his King.

"Famished!" George said while grabbing another sandwich. "Lee gave us both quite a workout!"

"You two kept up pretty well," Lee joked, grinning mischievously with a knowing expression.

Several minutes passed as Harry tried to decide his next move. His King was shaking uncontrollably, watching Ron's Rook point at him with one finger, then draw his thumb across his own throat. Several other pieces were joining in the verbal abuse, especially when the panicked King slipped on the puddle that had formed beneath his own feet and fell on the board with a dull thump.

"Ha!" screamed the Rook, slapping his side and laughing with a deep grunt. "Yer next!" Hermione watched the Rook with a preoccupied expression over the top of her latest book, That's Music to My Ears: A Guide to the Magical Properties of Song, by Dr. John Caius.

Harry considered using his Queen to save his King, but there was a crashing sound from outside the Great Hall, and as they all turned to look, Peeves the Poltergeist came zooming back in just a few steps ahead of Argus Filch, Hogwarts' cantankerous caretaker].

"You've done it this time, Peeves!" Filch screamed with one clenched fist raised above his head, the other clutching his chest as he panted across the Great Hall. "I'll have you for sure!"

"Hard and big just like a rock," Peeves began in his usual sing-song manner, flying wildly overhead above the tables and dropping mistletoe bunches on the students. "Kiss me now and grab my-"

"PEEVES!" Filch screamed, stopping for a moment to lean against the Ravenclaw table, his fist still in the air. "You've gone too far this time!"

"What's he going on about?" Ron asked.

Fred and George were laughing madly. "Filch doesn't appreciate Peeves's latest songs. Oy, Peeves!" Fred called up to the poltergeist, now circling over the Slytherin table and dropping mistletoe bunches on Crabbe and Goyle, who grinned with mouths full of sandwiches. "What's that last one you sang to Angelina and Katie?"

Peeves, hearing Fred, raised his voice in an ear-splitting cackle. "Roses are red, and so are rubies; if you lean back nicely, I'll kiss your-"

"PEEVES!" Filch screamed again, throwing silverware up at him from the tables. Fred and George were applauding Peeves from the bench, who was taking an exaggerated bow in midair as forks and knives arced over his head and plummeted dangerously onto the Slytherin table. Ron, who was laughing hysterically, stood up to give Peeves a standing ovation.

"STUPEFY!" a cold, nasty voice rang out in the Great Hall. A blast of red light hit Peeves the poltergeist squarely in the chest, spinning his bowtie in place. He was in mid-bow when the spell hit him, and he remained frozen so in midair above the Slytherin table.

Harry and everyone at his table turned to see Professor Snape, their hateful Potions Master, gliding seamlessly across the Great Hall, his wand held at his side. Filch was jumping up and down like a drunken fool, screaming obscenities at Peeves, who continued to hover, motionless, in midair.

Snape stopped before Harry's table, taking a moment to look down at each of them. His eyes moved coldly and steely over Harry as if he they were nails being dragged down his back, and as Snape's eyes passed across his body, Harry felt an unusual sensation, though for the first time it was not on his forehead.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape began with great relish. "Would you please explain to me why a fifth-year Prefect is encouraging a Poltergeist to use inappropriate vulgarities in front of younger, more impressionable students in the Great Hall?"

Ron gulped as a reflex, his eyes wide with terror. Ron, though he hated Snape nearly as much as Harry, did not possess the fire or the tenacity to stand up to his bullying. He stumbled on his words, trying to respond.

"Sit down, Mr. Weasley," Snape said, still holding his wand at the ready on his side, as if he were going to use the Imperius Curse on Ron in order to force him to obey him properly.

"Please, Professor, we were just-"

"Silence!" Snape hissed at Hermione, his eyes never leaving Ron. "Miss Granger, once again, you speak without anyone asking you to. It is unfortunate that your insufferable cleverness in class follows you outside of lessons like some horrendous stench."

"You'd know!" Ron spat before Harry could say anything. Snape's eyes grew wide with surprise, but almost as instantly they were replaced with an unbridled pleasure and satisfaction.

"Detention," Snape tongued slowly, the word caressing his lips. "And fifty points from Gryffindor for your tongue. And..." he said, clearly savoring the pained looks on their faces as he drew out his sentence, "I will be confiscating your Wizard Chess."

"What?" Ron began to argue. "You can't do that!"

"I can," Snape said. "Just as I can take another ten points for questioning my authority."

"But... but..." Ron stammered. Hermione reached under the table and grabbed hold of Ron in such a way that the look of anger and frustration on his face melted away with a calm, relaxed expression, his tense shoulders shrugging and his jaw going slack as a dreamy look glazed over his eyes. Harry, knowing that Ron could have gotten more points deducted from their House had he continued to argue with Snape, was thankful once again for Hermione's quick thinking.

"That's right, Ms. Granger. I am pleased to see you have found more productive uses for your hand. It would seem that it is far better suited to calming Mr. Weasley down than interrupting me during class. Now," he paused, raising his wand and waving it over the Wizard Chess board and pieces, "I will be retaining this in my office until I feel you have learned your lesson. In the meantime, I suggest you take some time to reevaluate what kind of example you set for others as one of the Gryffindor Prefects, and how you might be responsible for the pathetic showing your House has put out this year at Hogwarts."

Snape looked to Filch, who was using a halberd from one of the suits of armor to hook Peeves's frozen body with little success. Snape waved his wand, and the Poltergeist's body floated downward to within arm's distance of Filch, who grabbed at him greedily with a lusty hunger in his eyes. Filch tucked the frozen body under one arm and stalked out of the Great Hall, laughing madly to himself and calling out for his cat, Mrs. Norris. The students could hear his voice in the distance: "We've got him now, my sweet; oh, we've got him now!"

"You will serve detention tonight, Mr. Weasley, in my office." And after saying this, Snape spun around and stalked out of the Great Hall, the Wizard Chess game following behind him in midair. Some of the pieces meekly squealed out to Ron in fear, and Harry's old Bishop giving Harry a rather rude gesture with his fist.

"I don't believe it," Ron said lazily, that relaxed look still on his face as Hermione pulled a large book in front of her and propped it open and standing up. Harry was unable to see most of Hermione or Ron over her copy of Fisting for Fun: An Insider's Look at Working with Dragons, by Al Burntup, with a Foreword by Charlie Weasley.

"At least he didn't take more points away from us," Hermione cooed, watching Ron collapse on the bench.

Look forward to the next chapter in the Wizard Chess Slash Series: