Not mine.
Checkmate, Chapter 1
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/798255/1/
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By Naadi
Author of 10 Stories1. Chapter 12. Chapter 23. Chapter 34. Chapter 45. Chapter 56. Chapter 67. Chapter 78. Chapter 89. Chapter 910. Chapter 1011. Chapter 1112. Chapter 1213. Chapter 1314. Chapter 1415. Chapter 1516. Chapter 1617. Chapter 1718. Chapter 18 and Epilogue19. Appendix: The Chess Game
Rated: T - English - Romance/Angst - Draco M. & Harry P. - Reviews: 2,046 - Updated: 05-01-06 - Published: 05-26-02 - Complete - id:798255
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Disclaimer: Characters are, of course, owned by J.K. Rowlings. I own nothing, but oh yes, would SO love to borrow Draco indefinitely.
Warning: Draco/Harry slash. Rating for this story is PG-13.
Author's Note – March 2007. Checkmate is now five years old – I wrote all the planning notes for the entire story in February and March of 2002 – so for new readers, please note: Checkmate is an alternate seventh year story that is based on the events of the first four Harry Potter books. Any events that occurred in the books after Goblet of Fire had not yet been published when this story was plotted, and therefore were not incorporated within the Checkmate story line. The events of Harry's fifth and sixth years in Checkmate are not the same as those in Order of the Phoenix or Half-Blood Prince.
CHECKMATE
PART I – THE SETUP
Chapter 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 pants 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.
