Checkmate

The Setup Part 3

Through the elegant yelling
Of this compelling
dispute
Comes the ghastly suspicion
My opposition's
a fruit.

It's very sad
to see the ancient and
distinguished game
That used to be
a model of decorum
and tranquility
Become like any other sport,
A battleground
for rival ideologies
To slug it out with glee.

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

* * * * *

"GET UP, HARRY!" A very insistent voice kept repeating that same nonsense over and over.

Harry groaned. Ron.

"Hey, c'mon! It's getting late."

Harry moved slowly and managed to sit up. He felt like hell. "Shut up, Ron," he murmured. "I'm coming." He heard footsteps approach the side of his bed and stop. Then someone pulled back the bed hangings. Harry winced as the bright winter sunlight came pouring in on him from the window next to his bed. He squinted one eye open and looked up at his tall red-haired roommate with a scowl.

Ron whistled. "Geez, Harry," he said in a low voice. "You look awful. Are you sick?"

Harry mutely shook his head. Not sick.

Ron sat down on the corner of Harry's bed. "You didn't have another one of those, er . . . You-Know-Who nightmares, did you?" he whispered.

Harry moaned silently. Oh, yes. That's what it was - that's what was wrong with his world this morning. A nightmare. The worst nightmare of his life was waiting for him at breakfast. He pulled back his blankets and dragged himself up. "No," he sighed. "I'll be all right, Ron. I just didn't . . . sleep very well last night." There was no point in warning Ron about what was about to happen. How could he? He himself could scarcely manage tothink the words Draco Malfoy kissed me, much less say them out loud. And particularly not to Ron, who would probably die of heart failure on the spot. Well, thought Harry, then Ron may not live through breakfast either.

He and Ron met Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, and the three went down to breakfast together. Ron and Hermione walked ahead of Harry, hand in hand, admiring the twinkling Christmas lights and decorations which were beginning to appear everywhere, but they had to repeatedly stop and wait, because Harry seemed unable to keep up, and would keep lagging behind. By the time they reached the Great Hall, both of Harry's friends were casting worried looks at him. Harry kept his head down, eyes on the floor, and ignored them. He wondered if he would have to go around like that for the rest of the school year.

Harry stopped for a moment just outside the doors of the Great Hall, steeling himself before he went in. Then he followed Ron and Hermione as they slowly made their way through the packed room to their regular seats at the Gryffindor table. He could hear the usual loud hum and buzz of voices and laughter, mixed with the clink of silverware on dishes. And that was all. He glanced up a little and looked around. Nothing happened. Then, "Hey, Harry," called out Seamus in greeting as he passed. "I think you might have to cancel Quidditch practice this afternoon. I heard Trelawney's predicting snow mixed with danger and death!" The comment elicited a chorus of giggles from several younger girls who were no doubt taking Divination this term. But no one laughed at Harry. No one paid any attention to him.

He sat down, and absently took a piece of toast and laid it on his plate. This was too weird. His eyes slid across the room to the Slytherin table. Draco was there, sitting calmly, most of his face hidden behind his copy of the Daily Prophet, just as if nothing in the world extraordinary had happened. Without taking his eyes off Draco, Harry dished up some scrambled eggs and put them on top of his toast. Then he took a spoonful of peaches in heavy syrup and put them on top of the eggs.