Checkmate

This is the one situation I wanted most to avoid

My dear opponent - I really can't imagine why

So I am not dangerous then? - what a shame!

Oh you're not dangerous - who could think that of you?

You - you are so strange - why can't you be what you ought to be?
You should be scheming, intriguing, too clever by half -

Lyrics from "Mountain Duet" from Chess by Benny Anderson, Tim Rice and Björn Ulvaeus

* * *

Draco tapped twice with the knocker, and the large oak door swung open, just as Harry got to the top of the stairs. "Mr. Malfoy . . . Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore, nodding at each of them in turn from his seat in the great chair behind the desk. His voice was grave, and he gazed sternly at them over the top of his half-moon glasses, as they came to stand in front of him. Harry thought he had never seen those light-blue eyes look so unsympathetic, and he felt his stomach drop to somewhere down by his shoes. Maybe this was not going to go as easily as he had hoped. Dumbledore steepled his fingers as he fixed them silently with that pale blue gaze, seemingly at a loss for words to express his complete and utter disappointment in them.

Harry stole a quick glance at Draco. Draco was standing still and straight, his eyes downcast in an attitude of resignation. He was pale, but his chin was up slightly, a gesture not of defiance but courage, of brave acceptance of his fate. And Harry suddenly knew that this time Draco was not going to argue or defend himself, or try to blame Harry, or talk his way out of any punishment. He really has changed, thought Harry, with increasing concern for what was going to happen to him.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore in a quiet but severe tone. "It has been reported to me that a great many students witnessed an incident between yourself and Mr. Potter this morning, specifically that you first kicked Mr. Potter in the shin, and then stomped on his foot. Is that true?"

Harry knew he shouldn't, absolutely could not laugh, but the picture of how silly and ridiculous he must have looked welled up in him suddenly, and he nearly did. He looked over at Draco again, and saw Draco bite his lower lip, fighting to keep a straight face, too.

"Yes, sir," said Draco, in a slightly constrained voice.

"And did you not," continued the headmaster, "make a solemn promise to me at the beginning of this school year, when I agreed to make you a prefect, that you would absolutely not fight with Harry Potter? That you would leave him strictly alone?"

There was a long pause. "Yes, sir, said Draco softly, all traces of amusement gone.

Harry sobered instantly. Oh no, he thought. This was what I didn't know. But we weren't fighting. And I . . . I don't want him to leave me alone. "Professor Dumbledore, sir?" said Harry, trying to interrupt as politely as possible. "May I say something?"

Dumbledore turned a quelling gaze on Harry. "No, Mr. Potter, you may not," he said firmly. "You will have your chance to speak in due time."

Harry felt a large aching lump form in the back of his throat as Dumbledore turned his attention back to Draco.

"Until today," Dumbledore continued, as if Harry had not spoken, "I believed that you were going to be able to keep that promise." Then he added, in an even sterner tone, "I'm sure I don't need to remind you that you would have been made Head Boy this year, if your behavior, particularly where Mr. Potter is concerned, had not been so disruptive in the past. Your grades are the highest of anyone in your year - you are either ahead or tied this term with Miss Granger for best marks in every subject." Here he paused and eyed Harry severely, too, and when he spoke again, there was a hint of anger in his voice that shook Harry. "But I am particularly disappointed that the two of you must persist in antagonizing each other. That behavior is simply not acceptable or appropriate to your year and positions in this school, and as such, will no longer be tolerated in any way." Dumbledore stood up. "Is that clear to both of you?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry and Draco together.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"Sir?"

"A prefect must set an example for the other students. I am taking 20 points from Slytherin House for your behavior this morning, and another 30 points for breaking your promise to me. I am also putting you on probation. If there are any further incidents involving you and Mr. Potter, you will be removed from office, and possibly expelled."

"Yes, sir," said Draco, barely audible.

Harry was sure he had heard a tremor in Draco's voice. He was so pale now as to be almost ashen. Harry had never seen Draco so close to losing his faultless poise. And it wasn't fair.

"And," Dumbledore continued, "you and Mr. Potter will both serve detention."

Harry took a step forward. "But sir," he said with quiet determination, "there's something you should know."

Dumbledore turned to Harry and frowned. "Mr. Potter," he said firmly, "I have lost patience with excuses. If you and Mr. Malfoy are going to fight, then I think it's only fair that both of you serve detention."

"I will, sir," said Harry with resolve, "because I deserve it. But Draco doesn't. What happened this morning was entirely my fault. I don't think it's fair to punish him at all."

Dumbledore stared at Harry.

Draco, too, turned to stare at Harry.

And in the very noticeable moment of silence that followed, a little voice in the back of Harry's mind was screaming at him that he had just called Draco Malfoy by his first name. Harry felt his face flush.

"Harry, no - " whispered Draco. "You don't have to do this."

* * *

Professor Dumbledore stood for a moment and simply stared at Harry, then really looked at Harry intently. He stroked his beard a couple of times. He had become so weary of the seemingly incessant warfare between these two boys, that he hadn't noticed until this moment what was actually going on, here, right now. Where were the angry faces, the blaming, the insults, the thinly disguised mutual urge to inflict bodily harm? Why weren't they at opposite ends of the room glaring hate and unspeakable death at each other, as usual? Dumbledore studied Harry's very honest, and right now, very earnest young face. It was obvious that Harry was completely sincere. Then to add to Dumbledore's puzzlement, Harry blushed. On top of that, next, he heard Draco's whispered protest to Harry. Since when did these two call each other by their first names!?

Perplexed, Dumbledore turned to look at Draco to see how he was reacting to Harry's statement, and what he saw made him sit down quite suddenly in his chair. He spared a fleeting thought to the fact that his mouth was hanging open and closed it. There was absolutely no mistaking the look on Draco's face as he looked at Harry. Dumbledore's best quill quite suddenly "accidentally" fell off the desk onto the floor, and the headmaster dived after it so that he could have a moment under the desk to compose himself. It would not do at all to laugh.

So the pendulum has swung! thought Dumbledore. Oh heavens above, how it had swung. He'd always wondered if there was something else lurking behind the intensity of the reactions these two had to each other, beneath their unceasing and relentless inability to leave each other alone. And it looked like Draco, at least, had discovered that there was. But what about Harry? This development would definitely bear watching. Dumbledore came back up a moment later with the wayward quill, and what he hoped was a straight face.

He turned to Harry again, and cleared his throat slightly. "I see," he said, as evenly as he could manage. "Perhaps you should explain that, Harry."

"I tried to explain to Professor McGonagall this morning," said Harry, very seriously. "That we weren't fighting. I know it must have looked that way, but it wasn't." Suddenly Harry blushed again, and looked slightly startled.

"Go on, Harry," said Dumbledore, struggling again to keep his face stern-looking. "If you weren't fighting, what were you doing?"

"Er, playing a . . . a game," said Harry, who seemed to be getting redder by the minute. Dumbledore saw him glance swiftly at Draco, who he now noticed had moved so that he was standing so close to Harry that their shoulders were almost touching, no - were touching, and who was staring at the wall behind Dumbledore with a faintly bemused and abstracted expression. This is getting very funny, thought Dumbledore. No, no - can't think funny.

"A game?" prompted Dumbledore to Harry, in a slightly choked voice. Oh my stars and whiskers! Are they HOLDING HANDS!? A crystal paperweight suddenly rolled off Dumbledore's desk, and he had to fish around under the desk for several minutes before he could find it and restore it to its proper position. When he came back up, Draco had moved slightly away from Harry.

"Sorry," said Dumbledore, his mustaches twitching. "Sometimes these things have a mind of their own. But, you were saying, Harry - that you and Draco were playing a game?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry, unhappily. He glanced at Draco again. "And I . . . er, I . . . broke one of the rules, so he got two penalty moves."

"And, I take it, the two moves were to kick you and stomp your foot."

"Yes, sir." Harry looked ready to sink into the floor. "We didn't know anyone was watching."

Dumbledore turned to Draco. "Is this what happened?"

"Well, yes, sir," said Draco, now serious. "But I know I shouldn't have - "

"And you weren't going to say anything, about not really fighting, or not keeping your promise to me?"

"No, sir."

"May I ask why not?"

"Because I did break part of my promise, sir. I didn't leave him alone, and I'm ready to take whatever consequences you think are fair."

Dumbledore stroked his beard for several minutes, considering. "Harry," he said at last, "do I understand correctly that you have no complaint against Mr. Malfoy for what he did?"

"No, sir - none," responded Harry in a hopeful tone.

"Well," said Dumbledore, "it did look like a fight, so you will understand if I have to do something that looks like a punishment?" Both boys nodded agreement. "Then 20 points will be taken from both Slytherin and Gryffindor. There will be no additional points taken from Slytherin, nor will I put you on probation, Mr. Malfoy. But I will not remove the detention unless you both give me your most solemn word that there will be no more fighting between you. Do I have it?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

"Thank you, sir," said Draco. "It won't happen again. I intend to keep my promise."

"But sir," said Harry, then hesitated. He looked down at the floor, and his face turned red again. "Does . . . er . . . Draco . . . still have to keep that other part. . . ."

Dumbledore had run out of things to have accidentally drop off his desk, so he stroked his mustache with one hand as a cover-up for the smile he couldn't hide. Draco was gazing at Harry with that look again. "You mean what I said about him promising to leave you strictly alone, Harry?"

Harry looked up. "Yes," he said softly. "It seems . . . unnecessary, sir."

"Very well, I won't hold him to that any longer," said Dumbledore, moving his hand and letting Harry see his smile. Harry smiled back. So did Draco. And for a moment, Dumbledore was completely stunned. He had never seen Draco Malfoy smile - not like this, not a real, genuine, heart-felt smile. God, that boy could break every heart from here to eternity with that smile. That was a very sobering thought.

Dumbledore, of course, knew all about Harry's devastating break-up at the beginning of last summer. In fact, he suspected that he was the only one who knew the whole story, and he didn't want to see Harry hurt again. Could Draco be trusted with Harry's heart? Harry, who had been so broken-hearted at the end of the last school year that Dumbledore had allowed him to stay at Hogwarts all summer. Harry, who had never been loved by family, who felt this lack the way someone else might feel the absence of a missing arm or leg, or half a body. Draco had obviously somehow managed to open a door between them, and it was equally obvious that Harry was standing on the doorstep. Dumbledore had no doubt that he wanted to walk through it, would walk through it.

Dumbledore turned and nodded to Draco. "Draco," he said, "you may go. I am pleased to find that you are taking your word to me seriously, after all." Then he turned to Harry. "Harry, please stay for a moment, I'd like to speak with you a little longer, if I may."

Draco moved past Harry to the door. He turned around just before he went out, glanced briefly at Harry, then turned to Dumbledore. "Thank you again, sir," he said, then he closed the door quietly after himself.

Dumbledore sat down in his chair, and motioned for Harry to sit, too. He picked up the small crystal paperweight, and rolled it around between his hands thoughtfully. "Harry," he said finally, "I won't pretend not to see that things have changed between you and Draco. I have to say that, on the whole, I am extremely pleased by this. But, do you understand that he could hurt you so much more this way than ever before?" Dumbledore held up one hand at Harry's shocked expression. "No, I'm not saying you shouldn't trust him, or that you shouldn't be friends with him. But I am saying that right now, he has a very uncertain future, and that loving him may have consequences for you, for both of you, that none of us can foresee."

Harry slumped down in his chair and studied the floor. "I believe I have a rather uncertain future myself, sir," he said very softly. After a moment he added, "I just want to find out what the truth is. It seems so sad that we have been fighting all this time, and we could have been . . . friends. I don't know that I feel . . . anything else."

But what will you feel when you realize he is in love with you, wondered Dumbledore. After a pause, when Harry said nothing more, Dumbledore went on. "I think you should know that he came to me at the beginning of this school year, and told me that he intended to make a complete break with his father. That he wanted a chance this year to prove that he has changed, to earn my trust and a possible position here at Hogwarts after he graduates. It's the only place he feels he will be safe if he goes against his father. That was why I agreed to make him a prefect this year, and why I asked him to make that promise to me."

Harry sat up straight. "But that's great! Draco could stay here and be a teacher - you said his grades are really good - "

"Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "I believe that Draco would be a very fine teacher, and I'm considering that quite seriously, but that's not the point. We have no idea what Lucius Malfoy will do when Draco openly defies him. There could be terrible and dangerous consequences, for him, and for you. I just want you to be careful, Harry - I don't want to see you get hurt again."

Harry stood up slowly. "I understand, sir. Thank you. But something is happening between us, and I . . . I can't explain it . . . but. . . ." Harry looked down. "I don't think I want to stop it."

"No," said Dumbledore with a rueful smile, "of course, you don't." He sighed, then chuckled and winked. "Be off with you then. I'm sure your new friend is waiting for you." Harry smiled, and Dumbledore waved him toward the door. "And Harry," he said, as Harry was nearly out the door, "it's good to see your smile again."

Dumbledore watched Harry close the door and pulled at his beard thoughtfully. He looked up at a soft noise and then lifted his arm. Fawkes fluttered down from his unseen perch on the top of a bookcase to land on Dumbledore's wrist. Dumbledore stroked the bright crimson and gold feathers on the phoenix's breast. "Those two are quite a puzzle, aren't they?" he said quietly.

They were the two most powerful young wizards he had ever seen, almost perfectly matched in ability. But because of their unrelenting opposition, he had begun to fear more and more that they would amount to nothing. That they would, in effect, cancel each other out in a rivalry that would mean the total waste of both of them, by using their power for nothing more than to destroy each other. But, now . . . what would this sudden alliance mean? And was there something else about this that Dumbledore should be seeing? He sensed something, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He scratched the soft place under Fawkes' bill. "Hmm, quite a puzzle. . . ." He trailed off, thinking.

Fawkes sang a couple of liquid and tremulous flutelike notes.

"Yes, my friend," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "That might be possible, but it's very rare. And if memory serves correctly, there's never been this kind of pairing. Still . . . I intend to keep a close eye on them after this." Yes, he thought, this would most definitely bear watching.

* * *

Draco was indeed waiting for Harry in the corridor outside the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Harry," he said, pushing off from the wall where he had been leaning. "You didn't get in more trouble, did you?"

"No," said Harry. He came to stand close to Draco, and folded his arms loosely across his chest. "Nothing like that. Professor Dumbledore just worries about me sometimes - kind of like he feels responsible for me, since I don't have my Dad or Mum to talk to."

"Hmm," said Draco, frowning slightly, studying Harry's face. "I think I can guess what he was worried about." He sighed, and looked down, then he reached out and tentatively touched Harry's forearm with two fingers. "Thanks for what you did in there," he said softly. "That was the most awesome thing anyone's ever done for me." He let his hand drop away. Then he looked up and met Harry's eyes again. "I . . . think you should listen to Dumbledore, Harry, so if you want out of this game, it's okay. I'd understand."

Looking in Draco's eyes, Harry could see the sad disappointment in them, that told him how very much Draco wanted him to play. But Draco was offering Harry an out anyway. A very honorable thing to do, thought Harry, surprised again at the changes he was seeing in Draco. He smiled. Well," he said, slowly, "since you brought it up, I did want to talk to you about that. I really can't play chess in my head. So I was wondering if, maybe, you had a board we could use, and if you would mind if we went somewhere where we could have . . . some privacy? I didn't much care for the . . . er, audience thing . . . that happened this morning."

Draco looked at Harry as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. "I have a set in my room," he said hesitantly. "We could play there - I don't have roommates."

"You have a private room?" said Harry, amazed. "Where?"

"When you get to the stairs that go down to the Slytherin dungeons, look at the wall on the right and you'll see an alcove with a small brass statue of a wyvern. Just walk into the alcove, it's really an entrance into one of the small towers, and you'll see the stairs. My room is at the top." Draco was still looking stunned, strands of blond hair slipping down unnoticed over his forehead. "When can you come?" he asked softly.

"I'm supposed to have been at Quidditch practice already, so I have to go now, but I'll come tonight after dinner, after I get my homework done . . . if that's okay."

Draco nodded. "I'll get the board set up."

They stood for a moment not knowing how to break away. Then Harry said, "I guess I'd better go."

"You're already really late," said Draco.

"See you later?"

"Later."

Harry finally turned and walked away. He stopped, and looked back before he turned the corner. Draco was still standing in the same spot. He looked astonished and . . . happy. I think I like making him look like that, thought Harry. He smiled back at Draco and got a breathtaking answering smile in return. Yes, I definitely do.

* * *

When Draco got back to his room, he pulled out his wand, and pointed it at the fireplace. "Incendio," he murmured. A cozy fire blazed up in the grate. He went immediately to his desk and opened one of the bottom drawers. Then he dug around in the pocket of his robe, and eventually fished out two small packets. One contained shredded boomslang skin, and the other forget-me-nots, that he had lifted from Snape's desk that morning in Potions class. He hid them both in the drawer and closed it. Then he changed out of his school clothes and last, because he was saving the best for last, went and opened his window, and climbed up onto the deep window ledge. He sat curled up, with his knees drawn up, his arms wrapped around his knees, his back against the wall and looked out.

When he had been given this room, and first seen the view from his window, he had been thrilled. Though this room was at the top of one of the smallest towers at Hogwarts, it still had a stunning view, and it looked directly out over the Quidditch field. Draco had spent many hours this year watching the Gryffindor team practice for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with picking up strategic tips for the Slytherin team. He simply loved to watch Harry fly.

Draco looked out now and saw Harry walking out onto the pitch. Harry gave a thumbs up sign to someone in the stands, Weasley and Granger no doubt, and then he kicked off into the air. He flew straight up until he was far above the stands, then circled around and did a couple of high-speed laps, culminating in a spectacular dive. He pulled out above the ground with pinpoint precision at the last moment, then flew straight up in a spiral ascent, his body tightly aligned with his broomstick. Finally, he leveled out high above the pitch, waved to his teammates, and did a back somersault. Draco smiled. It was obvious from the way Harry was flying tonight that he was in high spirits, and Draco hoped he knew the reason why. It had been a while since Draco had seen him do moves like that - flying for the sheer joy of flight. It was great to see him fly that way again.

And while Draco had to admit that Harry was a better flyer than he was, they were very close in ability, and Draco knew that that wasn't the real reason Harry had always been able to beat him at catching the Snitch. No, it was because Harry almost always spotted the Snitch first. The truth was, since fifth year, Draco had found watching Harry far more compelling than watching for that dratted, elusive, golden-over-grown-marble-with-wings. In fact, when they were in the air together, so close to each other as to be almost touching sometimes, with Harry looking so utterly stunning in his scarlet Quidditch robes, and making those amazingly flawless flying moves, it was impossible not to watch him. Sooner or later, Draco's mind would wander, no matter how hard he tried to pay attention, and he would find himself staring entranced at Harry, oblivious to the game, lost in rapt contemplation of poetry on a broomstick.

It was something he had found profoundly embarrassing when it first started, when he still thought he wanted more than anything to beat Harry Potter. It was something he had kept as an absolute secret. Now he could laugh at himself. He knew what he really wanted now. He wanted to fly with Harry, not against him. In fact, he thought as he sat watching out the window, he didn't want to fly against Harry ever again. Not after today.

Draco made up his mind then and there to quit the Slytherin team. The Slytherins would have to find a new Seeker - they would have had to next year anyway. He fervently wished he could quit everything to do with Slytherin. He had been walking a fine line since the start of this school year, especially with Crabbe and Goyle, keeping his distance, yet not letting it show openly that he wanted nothing more to do with them. He had finally managed to convince his two former bodyguards that hanging out with a prefect would ruin their bad-boy image. He'd driven his point home by taking house points and giving them both detention when they had set off a dungbomb under Pansy Parkinson's bed. He had never let them know how fabulously funny he'd thought it had been to see Pansy standing outside her door, shrieking like a banshee in her baby-doll nightie, positively reeking of dung, or how hard he had laughed after he got back to his room. No, he'd been horribly stern with all of them, including Pansy. What was important to him now was his schoolwork, getting the grades he needed to impress Professor Dumbledore, and seeing to his duties as prefect, because if he lost his place here at Hogwarts, the consequences were unthinkable. And then there was Harry. Harry was the most important thing of all.

He watched Harry execute a perfectly beautiful backwards loop and effortlessly pluck the practice Snitch out of the air on the down roll. God, he was incredible - and Draco wanted him in every way there was to want. He jumped down out of the window, even though the practice session would go on for a little longer. He had a room to straighten and a chess game to set up before dinner. And after that, homework to do.

Suddenly a shadow darkened the still open window and Draco turned back, slightly startled. His father's eagle owl had just landed on the ledge, and was closing its enormous wings, as it stepped through the window. "Hello, Lucifer," said Draco, his voice dripping with scorn. "How's Daddy?" He took the message from the huge bird and opened it.

Draco,
It's about time you came to your senses, and have finally done as I asked. We will discuss your plan when you come home for the holidays. I will expect a detailed progress report.
L.M.

Draco went to his desk and pulled out parchment and his quill. He thought for several moments, then wrote:

Father,
My plan is proceeding even better than expected. Please send me the silver dragon ring from the carved wooden box on my bedroom dresser. I intend to give it to Potter as a Christmas gift - appropriately spelled, of course. I will see you next week.
D.M.

Draco fastened his message to Lucifer's leg, and sent the owl back. Hopefully, his father would get the ring to him right away. It was getting dark outside now, and the air coming in the open window was growing bitterly cold. Draco looked out one last time to see that the Gryffindors were coming in, but it was too dark to pick Harry out from the group. He smiled. Very soon, he would get to see Harry - not out there this time - but in here, in his own room. He reached out and pulled the window closed, then, still smiling to himself, went to look in his trunk for his chess set.