Checkmate

Part I - The Setup - Chapter 2

The one I should not think of keeps rolling through my mind
And I don't want to let that go.
No lover's ever faithful, no contract truly signed,
There's nothing certain left to know,
And how the cracks begin to show!

Never make a promise or plan,
Take a little love where you can,
Nobody's on nobody's side.

Never stay too long in your bed,
Never lose your heart, use your head,
Nobody's on nobody's side.

Lyrics from "Nobody's Side" from Chess by Benny Anderson, Tim Rice and Björn Ulvaeus

* * * * *

Draco lay on top of his bed, still dressed, one arm draped over his eyes so that all that could be seen of his face was a smile. Oh God, he thought, that had been so perfect. Every single moment of it. No matter what else happened in his life, he would have this memory – of Harry confiding in him, of laughing at Filch together, of the way Harry's arms felt around his waist, of that kiss.

That kiss, where for one very brief, yet very long incredible moment, time had seemed to stop, and Draco had lost himself in the taste of Harry's warm, soft mouth. That kiss had been inspired. And Dare Chess, something he had made up right then on the spot, that had been inspired, too.

It didn't matter what Harry might do tomorrow. Draco fully expected to pay dearly for the delicious pleasure he'd had tonight, fully expected Harry to be furious, to still hate him, to reject, ridicule, and tear his heart to pieces. But it didn't matter. That was tomorrow. Tonight he had experienced perfection, and he thought he could make the memory of that feeling last a very long time.

He sighed. It was, as he had said, Harry's move. He would just have to wait and see what happened. He expected he would have to go back to avoiding Harry, pretending nothing happened, that he felt nothing. Would the memory of tonight make that easier, give him something real to hold on to for comfort when he felt that aching loneliness that kept him awake nights? Or, now that he had actually touched Harry, actually knew how perfect Harry's body felt against his own, would it make it just that much harder to pretend. Either way, Draco knew he would have to walk away from it eventually, one way or another. He and Harry could never really have a relationship. There was no future for them together. His father. . .

* * * * *

Harry crept back to his dorm room under the Invisibility Cloak, got undressed and into bed, then pulled the covers up completely over his head. He lay rigid under the blankets, hands balled into fists, eyes squeezed shut, biting down on his lower lip. How could he have fallen for all that sincerity crap? The only explanation was a very simple one – Draco Malfoy was very good at playing him for an utter fool. Malfoy had tricked him again; had humiliated him, and had oh bloody hell kissed him, making a complete mockery of what Harry had confided in him.

Poor Harry Potter, crying in the hallway because he was afraid nobody loved him, wishing someone would kiss him.

Harry had no doubt that the story would be all over Slytherin House by morning, and by breakfast he would be the laughing stock of the school. It was simply too awful. He could just picture Malfoy telling the Slytherins how he had made Harry's wish come true. And the most appalling part of it, the most horrible, terrible, hideous truth of it all was that no one had ever kissed him quite like that before. Not even . . .

The lingering memories of the gentle touch of Draco's hands, his body, his lips, were imprinted on Harry's mind. Draco's voice, his soft comments and smiles, that moment when he had said, "that is not stupid," as if he had actually understood, maybe even shared, Harry's feelings, and oh God, the warm tone his voice had held when he had called him 'Harry' — all of those things were filling Harry with a deep sense of disappointment that they hadn't been real, and a tremendous ache of loss that he really didn't want to examine too closely. How could he have been so dumb as to trust that slimy git?