Checkmate

The Setup Part 1

Knowing I want you,
Knowing I love you,
I can't explain,
Why I remain
Careless about you.

How can I love you so much,
Yet make no move?

I pray the days and nights,
In their endless, weary procession,
Soon overwhelm
My sad obsession.

Lyrics from "You and I" from Chess by Benny Anderson, Tim Rice and Björn Ulvaeus

* * * * *

Draco walked slowly down the shadowed Hogwarts castle corridor. It was sometime after midnight. He hadn't really paid attention to where he was going; he was just walking, letting his mind lose itself in his private obsession, following the halls, avoiding the intermittent red-gold pools of lamplight, his bare feet completely noiseless on the stone floor. Dressed in black trousers and turtleneck, his face and hair, hands and feet seemed disembodied, graceful, pale as moonlight, floating ghostlike in the dark sections of the hallway. He walked like this when he couldn't sleep, and that was often these days. As a seventh year student and a prefect, he had some excuse to be out of his room at night, but he still slipped as quietly as possible along the long corridors, from strict habit, he tried to avoid running into Filch, or Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat.

Long swaths of winter moonlight fell across the floor from the high windows on his right and he paused for a moment, then walked around the pale rectangles of light, hugging the shadows of the far left wall. His fingers trailed along the cool stone, and as he walked on, he was reminding himself yet again how utterly hopeless it was to wish that he might run into another certain person out here in the middle of the night. And how hopeless it would be even if he did, because he couldn't, no, must not, let himself act on his desire.

Then he turned a corner and froze. He held very still, his mastery of the art of stillness exquisite. Twin lamps cast a confusing pattern of light and shadow from two suits of armor, but surely there was no mistaking what he saw. Was that really a pair of achingly familiar trainers and knees sticking out from between the two suits of armor?

Get a grip, Draco, he told himself. You're starting to hallucinate.

But then the hallucination sniffled and sighed, and Draco's heart did a slow melt. Suddenly he wasn't very clear about what it was he shouldn't do. Surely it couldn't hurt just to talk. If he dared. He stood for a long time completely motionless, debating, his heart pounding.

Draco knew without a doubt that he would be totally unwelcome, and that hurt so much that he almost turned around and walked away. He'll be very angry. I know that, so I can't let myself react to it. If I don't get angry back, maybe he'll listen to me. But, oh God, what if he doesn't? He might have stood there immobile, indecisive, all night, but the sound of another sniffle sparked his curiosity and concern, and before he knew it, he had stepped forward, unable to resist the longing that drew him on.

He walked down the corridor until he stood in front of the slight, dark haired figure that was slumped down between the two suits of armor. He looked down on Harry, and felt a moment of elation, for it really was Harry, who was sitting there with his elbows braced on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Then he felt a moment of shock - this was Harry, and he looked like he was - crying!?

"Potter?" said Draco, as gently as he could.

Harry's head jerked back, and he looked up and up until he saw Draco's face, then he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and let his head fall back down into his hands. "Go the hell away, Malfoy," he muttered through his hands.

Draco crossed his ankles and dropped with fluid grace to sit cross-legged in front of Harry. "Hey," he said softly. "Is something wrong?"

Harry raised his head and stared at Draco in disbelief. Did Draco Malfoy just ask him what was wrong? And if there was anyone Harry hadn't wanted to see him like this -