Title: Checkmating the Queen
Disclaimer: This story is based entirely on the story J.K. Rowling has written. She owns all of the characters, ideas, credit and copyright. This story is made simply for enjoyment and no money is being made from this. No offence intended. No copyright infringement intended.
Warnings: Slash, weirdness
Pairings: Draco/Cho, Harry/Blaise
Summary: A devious scheme is concocted in which Blaise seeks the conquest of Harry Potter, and Draco seeks revenge.
Author's Note: I am very new to writing fanfiction, and constructive criticism and suggestions are welcome. I have quite a few stories I'm working on, most of them Drarry-related. If you're a Drarry shipper, take the time to check out some of my other works and tell me what you think.
Written for Muzzy, or KurunaGirl, for her birthday. Thanks for the picture, Muzzy, I think it's really pretty. Anyways, this is dedicated to you and your unique liking of the Draco/Cho pairing. Te quiero, Muzzy.
Checkmating the Queen
"Hey, Chang!"
The raven-haired Seeker of the Ravenclaw team came to a halt in midair, narrowing her eyes slightly at the opposing team's Seeker.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked warily.
"To talk," Draco replied, pulling up beside her near the Slytherin goalposts.
"Well, could you do it when we're not having a Quidditch match that'll determine who wins the House Cup?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"I could, but would you listen to me?" he smirked, reclining leisurely on his Nimbus 2001.
"Probably not," Chang admitted, scanning the sky for signs of the Golden Snitch.
"That was a rhetorical question."
"I don't care."
"I know you do, you just don't want to show it."
"Whatever. Leave me alone, Malfoy." Chang attempted to swerve around him and get back to the game, but he blocked her.
"Not until you hear me out."
"What is it you want from me?" she finally burst out, her patience wearing thin.
"You."
Draco had the satisfaction of seeing the ever smart-mouthed Ravenclaw rendered speechless, at least. The effect that single word had on her was hilarious; she almost fell off her broom as a stray Bludger shot past. He almost fell off himself, but only because he was bent double with laughter.
"Shut up, Malfoy," she said quietly, before angling her broom into a spiral away from him. He abruptly stopped laughing.
"Wait! It's true!" he cried after her, but his words were lost to the wind.
Sighing dejectedly, he went back to flying circles around the pitch, looking for signs of gold. A telltale glint by the Ravenclaw spectators' stand caught his eye, and he took off in pursuit. Chang was behind him in a matter of seconds, flying perilously close to his broom.
As they drew level and bore down on the Sntich, arms outstretched, Draco had a flash of inspiration, his gut instinct urging him on. Deciding to throw caution to the wind and act on impulse, a decidedly un-Slytherin thing to do, he lunged with all his might, so his fingers closed around the struggling ball.
As Chang's fingers scrabbled uselessly against the back of his head, he executed a fluid maneuver he was positive no one other than himself and Chang had seen. In a heartbeat, the Snitch was clutched in Chang's hand, while his own was empty.
It was over. Ravenclaw had won the game… because he had given it up.
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Lounging on his bed back in the Slytherin dorm, Draco was just about to speak before Blaise beat him to it.
"I'm telling you, it's going to work," Blaise insisted, waving down his protests before he'd even opened his mouth. "Chang's dating Potter, and in order to get to Potter, you have to get to her."
"Yes, but I don't see how I'm going to just steal Chang away from Perfect Potter," Draco snapped, running a hand distractedly through his hair.
"Dear, sweet, naïve little Draco," Blaise crooned, shaking his head exasperatedly, "Sometimes I marvel at the fact that you weren't the first Malfoy sorted into Hufflepuff."
"Shut up, Zabini," he groused, adding a few choice expletives when Blaise leaned over and started patting his head, mussing up his perfectly arranged hair.
"I take that back," Blaise chuckled, withdrawing his arm, "No Hufflepuff would ever swear like that. You'd scare the life out of them with that kind of foul language."
"Thank you for taking note of my Slytherin-ness," he said archly, giving his friend a whack on the head with a pillow.
"That's not even a word," Blaise muttered, dodging the pillow and lobbing it back, catching Draco in the stomach.
"Why do you want him so badly anyway?" Draco asked after a moment, curiosity getting the better of him.
"Why do I want who?" Blaise replied haltingly, shifting so Draco couldn't see his face. It didn't take a genius to figure out the universal signs for 'I don't wanna talk about it, so shove off'.
"You know what I mean," he snapped, not bothering with niceties, and refusing to relent on the matter.
"Potter, you mean?" Blaise said hesitantly, his back still turned to Draco.
"Yeah."
A pause, then, "He's hot, I guess."
"HAHAHA!" Draco burst out laughing. The idea of Potter as anything remotely resembling the adjective 'hot' was so ludicrous it had him in hysterics. He simply could not stop laughing, "You're so funny, Blaise. Ahaha…"
He was still shaking with mirth when Blaise rounded on him and lunged, pinning him to the bed with his body. Laughter dying in his throat, Draco looked up at the mask of cold fury etched on his best friend's face. Shit, he had struck a nerve, apparently.
"You think it's amusing?" growled Blaise, giving him the signature Blaise Zabini Killer Glare Stare. He's got the most bitable arse in Hogwarts; you have no idea how hard it is to get my hands on him!"
"Whoa, that's more than I needed to hear about his behind," Draco muttered, "I'll never look at his backside the same way ever again."
"Have you been checking out his arse then?" Blaise asked curiously.
"Merlin, no!" he replied, horrified at the mere prospect, "Just because my best friend is flamingly gay doesn't mean I am as well!"
"At least we won't have any problems fighting over girls, or guys in my case," mused Blaise thoughtfully.
"I suppose," Draco shrugged. They fell silent, until Draco became aware of the slightly awkward position they were in. "Um, Blaise…"
"Hm?"
"Could you get off me? We're on a bed and all… It'll look weird."
"Oh, right, sorry," Blaise promptly rolled over, so he was on his side next to Draco. "This any better?"
"Very much so," Draco told him, "I have got to work on your gay inclinations, Blaise."
"They're not gay inclinations," Blaise protested, indignant, "They're just tendencies to be… close to another person."
"Yeah, if being 'close' means to physically align every part of our anatomy," Draco muttered, just loud enough for Blaise to hear. This earned him a pillow to the head.
After a vicious battle of pillow thumping and occasional tackling, Draco fell back on his bed, feeling drained. Probably just to annoy him, Blaise flipped him over so he was on his front, and straddled his back, where he started massaging. Not many people knew, but Blaise's massages were to die for.
Settling himself into a more comfortable position, Draco posed the question he'd wanted to ask ever since the Quiddith match. "So how does this work? The plan?"
"It's simple, really," Blaise assured him, working on his shoulders, "You get Chang to notice you after pulling that Switch Swap Stunt during the game. I'd originally intended for you to convince her to talk to you during the match, but I suppose your method works, too. She'll find you soon enough, demanding to know why you gave her the Snitch. If there's anything I know about Ravenclaws, it's that they're inquisitive; they don't stop until they figure something out. So you'll definitely get a chance to talk to her."
"Okay, Sherlock, so she'll talk to me. What do I tell her? To break up with Potter and date me?" he quipped sarcastically, relaxing into the massage.
"What did you call me?" asked Blaise, hands stilling on his back for a moment.
"Nothing, it's a Muggle thing. Picked it up from Granger." He slapped Blaise's hands to get him to keep massaging.
If Blaise was suspicious of him socializing with Mudblo – Muggleborns, and Granger at that, he didn't comment on it. He and Granger had learnt to get along during their nightly prefect duties that year.
"Okay, so she comes up to you demanding the reason you let her win, you have to convince her you did it because you were smitten by her and wanted to do something for her. Hell, give her flowers and chocolate for all I care, I don't know much about seducing girls, but my little sister loves this kind of romantic shit."
"Right," he said, wondering how dumb Chang would have to be to fall for something as lame as that, "Then what?"
"Well, then you date her, she breaks up with Potter, he's heartbroken, you'll get your revenge seeing as his heart has been shattered, and I'll be there to pick up the pieces and comfort him in his hour of need," Blaise reeled off in a breath.
"There are so many flaws in your supposedly foolproof plan I don't even know where to begin," he groaned, burying his head in his pillow, "Is Potter even bi?"
"Um, well, there's been no evidence thus far, but I'm certain –"
"Why am I friends with you, Blaise? You don't even scheme an evil plot of demise properly!"
Ignoring the latter comment, Blaise replied cheekily, "My charming charisma and witty sense of humor?"
"You dragged me into this insane scheme to seduce Potter, but you don't even know if he's interested in guys!" Draco griped, hanging on to his righteous anger, "I could have gotten my revenge on him for winning the last Quidditch match in a million other more preferable methods."
"What can I say? Improvisation is my strong suit," grinned Blaise, still rubbing soothing circles on his back.
"Oh yeah? Well, improvise this," he said, before unseating Blaise from his perch on his back and recommencing the Battle of Pillows with vigor.
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The world was a blur of color. Red, green, yellow, blue, black. Black was the most dominant color. It ultimately encompassed the others, turning his vision black. His eyelids drooped, and he slumped forward, giving in to the welcoming embrace of darkness.
"Draco!"
An annoying sound penetrated his sub-consciousness, irritating and persistent. He struggled to stay under, not wanting to face reality, nor did he have the energy to.
"Draco!"
There it was again. Didn't these people understand the definition of 'noise pollution' at all? The world was dark, sweet oblivion, with nothing to trouble him from much needed recuperation.
"DRACO!"
His eyes snapped opened, and they immediately focused a Malfoy Basilisk Petrifying Glare on the source of disturbance: Blaise. "What?" he snarled, having been rudely interrupted from his nap at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall during breakfast.
"I just wanted to make sure you know what to do if, and when, Chang approaches you," said Blaise, in a kicked-puppy-dog voice that only earned him another full on glare from the blonde.
"Play nice, pretend to have a huge crush on her, seduce her, she breaks Potter's heart, I get my revenge, you comfort him, you two date and we all live happily ever after," Draco recited in a monotone. "I know what to do, Blaise. You didn't keep me up all night drilling it into me for nothing –"
"– I know, but –"
"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to sleep, something I was deprived of the entire night," Draco finished, practically glowering at this point.
"Definitely not a morning person," he heard Blaise mutter, but he was already dropping off again.
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"Malfoy, can I have a word?"
Draco turned, smiling to himself. Chang was there, though he was surprised to find her girl possey absent. They were just about to head into Charms, which the Ravenclaw and Slytherin fifth-years shared.
"Sure."
"Can we do it somewhere a bit more private?" she asked hesitantly, as though afraid to give voice to her thoughts.
"Follow me," he told her, turning and walking briskly to an unused classroom nearby, not bothering to check if she was indeed following. He knew she would.
Once they were inside, Chang rounded on him. "Why did you do it, Malfoy?" she demanded, turning a rather impressive glare of her own on him.
"Do what?" he asked innocently, smiling beatifically at her.
"You know what I'm talking about!" she jabbed a finger at him accusingly, "Why did you catch the Snitch for me, Malfoy?"
"That's funny. I didn't catch anything for you," he said calmly, gauging her for a reaction.
"Oh yes you did, and if you don't admit that I'll just have to call in a few witnesses who saw it."
Draco couldn't tell if she was bluffing or not, but if she wasn't, then the sneaky little Ravenclaw bitch had most certainly done her homework.
"Fine. I gave you the Snitch," he said, crossing his arms defiantly and giving her the universal 'So what?' expression.
"But why?" she asked again, visibly impatient.
"I have my reasons."
"Care to enlighten me? I think I have a right to know, Malfoy," she said, voice dangerously low, "As I'm the person you gave the Snitch and game to, you'd think I deserve some kind of explanation, wouldn't you?"
"And why is that?" he countered, "We're not friends, we barely know each other. I don't have to explain myself to you."
"If you don't tell me why, I'll give this to Collin Creevey," Chang tapped a picture in her hand. Draco craned his head for a look, and felt his eyes inadvertently widen with shock.
Merlin, but that looked wrong in so many ways. It was a shot of him and Blaise on his bed, probably taken last night during their discussion of Potter's demise and Blaise's winning him. The only movement the picture depicted was of Blaise pouncing on him and pinning him to the bed. The only clear message the picture conveyed was GAY in bold and capital letters.
Draco found himself re-evaluating his opinion of Chang. She had some decidedly Slytherin attributes, if she would go around bribing people to give false witnesses and dig out blackmail material on him. He found himself grudgingly respect her for those same reasons.
Well, there was nothing for it now, since if he didn't comply that picture would be in Creepy Creevey's hands, which meant it would be all over the school in less than a day. That picture would surely tarnish his evil reputation, and he couldn't let that happen.
"It pains me to say this, but I think you would have done well in Slytherin, Chang," he said, smirking at her while leaning back on a desk, "Blackmail? It isn't the general Ravenclaw style, but I like it."
"Thank you?" she said uncertainly, "Now tell me why."
"The truth?"
"Would I go all this trouble to hear a lie?"
"How would I know whether or not you'd do that?"
"That was a rhetorical question."
"So was mine."
"Why the hell weren't you sorted into Slytherin?" he demanded, straightening and frowning at her.
"Why the hell weren't you sorted into Ravenclaw?" she countered.
"My cunning and evil charisma, I guess," he shrugged.
"My wisdom and ability to outwit cunning," said Chang slyly.
"Puh-lease," he scoffed, rolling his eyes, "You, wise? That's preposterous."
"Oh, and I suppose you think you're cunning?" she shot back, sticking her tongue out at him.
"We Malfoys pride ourselves in our cunning," he said, drawing himself up, "Cunning, and our natural devastatingly good looks, of course."
"And we Changs pride ourselves in being able to outwit cunning with wisdom, and being resistant to so-called devastatingly good looks," Chang blurted, before realizing what she'd said and blushing crimson.
Draco's lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk. "Oh, don't worry," he all but purred, "I'm not going to test your resistance to my –" he leaned in until his mouth was at her ear and whispered, "– irresistible charms."
Chang, if possible, turned an even deeper shade of red. "I – uh, I'm perfectly capable of –" her breath hitched as he turned and pressed a light kiss to her cheek, "– of resisting them," she stammered half-heartedly.
"Are you?" he murmured, trailing kisses down her neck all the while, "For someone who's resisting, you don't seem to be putting on much of a fight."
His words seem to being her back to reality, as her breathing quickened and she abruptly shoved him away sharply, crossing her arms in the universal gesture of self-protection.
"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" she hissed, anger, confusion and anticipation? – evident in her voice. "You think you can just mess up my Quidditch game, then go around fooling with me?"
"Who said I was fooling around with you?" he said quietly, his gaze intent. (Malfoys didn't gaze sincerely at people; it was against every rule there was in being a proper Malfoy.)
Chang looked up, startled, and their eyes met. Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. Had her eyes always been this alluring? They were midnight black, yet sparkled with the countless stars of the heavens. Her raven hair fell in a silky black cascade, framing her delicate face perfectly, and bringing out the color of her eyes. Her lips, he noticed, were pink and maybe a bit too thin, but were currently curved into the most beautiful, shy smile he had ever seen.
The image was shattered when that smile that could have lit up Snape's dungeons vanished in a heartbeat. Instead, they pressed together to form a thin, defiant line. Her eyes narrowed, and the stars seemed to go out in them, until velvet darkness was all he could see in her eyes.
"Of course you were fooling around with me, Malfoy," she said, her voice hard, "And I would expect no less from you."
"But if I weren't?" he pressed, taking a step forward deliberately, giving her every chance to back away, which she didn't.
"There is no 'if'," Chang whispered in a strangled voice, "Because you were fooling around with me, and I know it." She turned her head away slightly, just enough so that her hair fell forward and shielded her face, though not before Draco caught a glimpse of the distraught in her eyes.
He could feel a strange emotion surface within him that might have been… guilt. It was so foreign, so unexpected, that he wasn't sure how to react. He had never felt guilty before. It was such an un-Malfoyish thing to do. But now that he had experience it, he could understand why some people couldn't stand it, and would be compelled to apologize, for everything to right itself once more.
For now he wanted nothing more than to comfort Chang, to tell her it would be okay, that he wasn't messing around with her, that he really liked her, and that he was sorry he'd lied to her. Bugger Blaise, he thought vehemently, why did he have to concoct such a mindless scheme all to win Mr. Perfectly Straight Potter?
He couldn't, no, wouldn't, do this to Cho. (Since when had he started calling her 'Cho', anyway?) He would just have to make sure he didn't lie to her, that everything he told her was true. He realized with a jolt that he would do anything to make her eyes shine and her smile resurface once more. If I just stick to the truth, no one will get hurt. I just have to not lie anymore.
"Believe me when I say I wasn't fooling around with you," he told her, "It's just – I kind of – well, I kind of fancy you… Cho."
Cho visibly stiffened, her back going rigid, though she resolutely kept looking anywhere but him. She drew a breath. "Why should I – why should I believe you?" she breathed finally.
"Maybe because I think you're the smartest cunning person I've ever met, you're also sarcastically witty, boringly intriguing, plainly pretty, and above all the only one who can resist my charms," Draco said in a rush, realizing as he said it that the words were true, "And you make me speak ineloquently, a nigh impossible feat. You also apparently make me talk in paradoxes."
Cho was silent for what seemed an impossibly long time, before she hung her head and spoke to the floor. "But… I can't…" she said brokenly, shoulders trembling.
"Can't?" Draco asked, concerned. Why was she crying? Was it something he'd said? What could he have said to make her cry? Why did girls have to bloody cry all the time? Why couldn't they just punch the guy and vent their frustration instead of bawling their eyes out? It'd be a lot easier to take a few punches to the gut, than to interpret their complex feminine minds.
"I can't…" she continued, shoulders heaving more, "…resist," she finished.
"You can't resist?" he asked, dumbly repeating after her.
"I can't resist you," she said, lifting her head and meeting his gaze.
Draco could literally feel the world shrinking to encompass the two of them, as he looked into her eyes, and saw the uncertainty, the apprehension… and the longing, the want. They were sparkling again, he noted, sparkling and shining and glowing brighter than any star in the sky.
"You… can't resist… me?" he echoed, feeling extremely light-headed and definitely not eloquent. (He was reduced to making sentence with words no more than two syllables. If ever there was a sign of ineloquence, this was it.)
"Yes, I can't," Cho said simply, before taking that one, small step, and closing the gap between them.
Feeling as though he were in a trance, Draco tilted his head down, and their lips met. Exquisite was the first word that he thought of. Kissing Cho was exquisite, she tasted of cinnamon and mint, forming a heady mixture. Their mouths aligned perfectly, as though they molded from the same piece of clay but separated.
Her hands were around his neck, though he wasn't sure how they had gotten there. His hands were running through her hair, a gesture he was unconscious of making. Her hair was soft and silky, and he found himself marveling at the texture even whilst they kissed.
It was tender but passionate, it was blazing and fiery, it was hesitant yet bold, it was exquisite and exotic… and it was every bit Cho. He was lost in a dream, as his fingers threaded through her hair, and her hands wrapped around him tightly, tugging them even closer, their lips never breaking contact.
When he first probed gently with his tongue her mouth fell open, allowing his tongue access into her mouth. Their tongues met and twined, adding a sharp burst of pleasure to the exquisiteness of the kiss. Draco lost himself in the sensation of Cho, of her lips, her tongue, her hair…
BANG! The kiss was broken as the classroom door banged open, and in stormed a red-faced and furious Harry Potter. He and Cho instinctively leapt apart, though apparently they were not fast enough, judging by the look of fury on Potter's face.
"WHAT THE FUCK, MALFOY?" Potter yelled, storming over to him and throwing him against the nearest wall. Hard. He could see stars, and they weren't as pretty as those in Cho's eyes.
Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he glared blearily at Potter. "What?" he snapped irritably, feeling the absence of Cho's lips on his own very keenly.
"You know bloody well what," Potter snapped, glowering at him and shaking him by the front of his robes, "What do you think you were doing?"
"It's this thing called kissing, haven't you heard of it, Potter?" he asked innocently, "Kissing is when two people who are romantically involved press their lips against each other's in a show of affection."
"You mean to say you two are romantically involved?" said Potter disbelievingly, his anger dissipating in a second, leaving him looking hollow and empty. He swung around to face Cho, who had remained silent thus far. "Cho, is it true? Are you two – together?" he asked haltingly, as though it pained him to say the words.
Draco expected any number of things. He expected Cho to deny that there was anything going on between them, he expected her to tell Potter how she had been tricked, forced, or blackmailed into kissing him, he expected her to break down, apologize to Potter, and the two would waltz out hand in hand.
What he did not expect was for Cho to glance apologetically at Potter, before nodding once, slowly, in affirmation. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, "Please try and understand. It's not your fault. It never was. It's mine."
Potter visibly deflated, his emerald eyes dimming, as he relinquished his death grip on me and stepped back. "I'm – I'm really happy for you two," he managed, his words reverberating insincerely in the room, "I have to go – late for class," he mumbled, before turning and all but bolting for the door, wrenching it open and fleeing the classroom.
As soon as he was gone, Cho sighed. "I was going to break up with him soon anyway," she admitted softly, "He's not my type. He also deserves someone better."
"Who is your type?" he blurted before he could stop himself.
Cho smiled demurely, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "Cunning, evil, and devastatingly good-looking types," she said, her eyes shining with the light of the universe in them once more.
Draco smirked and tossed his hair back, "Like me?"
"Yes, just like you," Cho breathed, leaning in once more.
They started right where they'd left off, and the experience was just as exquisite as ever, Draco decided, savoring the feel of those velvety lips on his own, those hands carding through his own hair, those eyes that shone so brightly, that lit up his world, closed like his own eyes, as they kissed away any lingering doubts they might have had for each other.
They never made it to Charms class.
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A WEEK LATER…
"Tell me again how you did it, Blaise?" Draco asked, bemused, staring at his friend, who was practically inhaling the croissant on his plate.
Blaise chewed, swallowed, then reached over and stole his toast, though Draco was too intrigued to stop him.
"I'm not sure myself," he admitted, grinning sheepishly, munching happily on Draco's toast, "I followed Harry away from that unused classroom, and talked to him a bit. He tried to hex me at first, but he eventually gave in."
"Right," said Draco disbelievingly. "There's got to be more to it. What is it? Tell me," he said imperiously, turning his Basilisk Petrifying Glare to good use.
"Erm, well…" Blaise muttered reluctantly, "There might have been a fair bit of massaging on my part…"
"You're joking," Draco gaped, "You seduced Potter with a massage?"
"It seems like it," Blaise shrugged, throwing back half a glass of pumpkin juice, "Still, at least my plan worked. Turns out Potter is bisexual, after all."
Draco nodded, watching with mild disgust as Blaise reached for the porridge. "Did you not eat for the past week?" he asked, exasperated, "You're eating almost half of what Crabbe and Goyle eat!"
"I'm just hungry," Blaise replied, nicking Draco's bacon and eggs from his plate, "Used up a lot of energy last nigh – yesterday."
"Used up a lot of energy last night?" said Draco sardonically, lifting an eyebrow, "And what exactly were you doing last night?"
"I was doing… ah, I was doing fitness…" Blaise mumbled, suddenly fascinated by the patterns of egg yolk on his plate, "You know…. push downs."
"They're called push ups," Draco told him, "And would this fitness of yours happen to take place in Potter's bed?"
Blaise choked on a swig of pumpkin juice, and Draco thumped him on the back.
"How – how did you –" he gasped, once he'd recovered.
"Please, I'm not stupid," drawled Draco, smirking slightly at his friend, "You never came back to the dorm after your 'late night Quidditch practice', did you?"
"I thought you were asleep," Blaise muttered grumpily, dabbing at the spilt pumpkin juice with a napkin.
"Oh, I was," he grinned, "But that doesn't mean Nott was."
"Nott?" Blaise asked, brow furrowed, "He was awake?"
"Oh yes," said Draco slyly, "He also happened to be engaged in certain activities with Daphne Greengrass last night, and he said you never came back."
"He's with Greengrass?" Blaise gasped, eyes widening at the news.
"Yes, but I digress," he replied, leering, "So how was Quidditch practice? Did you ride Potter's broom or did he ride yours?"
"Draco!" Blaise hissed through gritted teeth, "Would you keep it down? There's no need to shout."
"So he did ride you!" Draco whispered gleefully, "My, my, Potter rode you, did he? I never would have pegged you as the submissive one."
"Shut up," Blaise growled, turning an impressive shade of Weasley-red.
"Did Potter tell you to shut up, too? When you were screaming his name?" Draco snickered, shaking with mirth and holding his side.
WHAM! Draco blinked up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, wondering how he'd gotten on the floor in the first place. The chair lying next to him let him know Blaise had probably yanked it out from under him.
"Sorry," Blaise's unapologetic voice came from above, as his face came into focus. He gave Draco a hand and helped him back up.
"'S alright," Draco murmured groggily, "I was asking for it."
"Yes, you were," Blaise said, folding his arms and glaring.
Draco gave an apologetic shrug, before the effort became too much and he burst out laughing again. "You and Potter sitting in a tree… K-I-S-S-I-N-G…" he sang, cackling, already running away from the Slytherin table, with a furious Blaise hot on his heels.
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"How are things between you and Pot – Harry?" Draco inquired, watching his knight get beaten to a pulp and dragged off the board by one of Cho's bishops.
"He's much happier now, and he says he doesn't blame me," Cho replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "He and Blaise make a perfect pair, don't you think?"
"I suppose," he said with a shrug, "Blaise does look happier now." He contemplated his next move carefully; Cho, it turned out, was also brilliant at chess, and could actually beat him on occasion (which was saying something).
"I never did tell you where I got the photo of you and him, did I?" Cho asked suddenly, sitting up straighter, "I got it from Daphne Greengrass, apparently she was in your dorm that night, making out with Theodore Nott in his bed."
"Again?" Draco asked with an exasperated shake of his head, "Those two couldn't be more obvious if they walked around wearing flashing neon signs on their foreheads. I can't believe how often those two do it."
"Well, anyway, I think Nott thought Blaise jumping you on your bed would make for good blackmail material, so he took the picture," Cho finished, scooping up the remnants of his knight.
"He has a camera on hand in bed?" Draco mused, "I wonder what other pictures Nott has in that camera of his… I bet Greengrass is in almost every single shot." He nudged a piece on the board after much thought.
"For some reason, that thought makes me slightly nauseous," Cho said, shuddering, before moving another chess piece forward.
"Malfoy."
Draco looked up, surprised. Potter was standing behind him, evidently having just walked over to the Ravenclaw table from the Gryffindor one.
"Yes?" he asked, arching a brow in question.
"I'd like to propose a truce," Potter muttered, looking down at the floor.
"I beg your pardon?" Draco asked, sure he had misheard.
"I'd like to propose a truce," Potter said, louder this time, and looked up at him.
Potter looked serious enough, Draco mused. "How do I know this isn't a trick?" he asked aloud, staring suspiciously at him.
"If it is, you can always get me back for it, can't you?" Potter reasoned, grinning at him and holding out a hand. (Since when did Potter behave civilly towards him? This was a sure sign of the universe imploding.)
"I suppose I could," he muttered doubtfully, extending a hand to shake Potter's. "What the –?" he frowned, finding his hand stuck to Potter's when he tried to pull back, "Potter, what the hell did you do?"
"Oh, nothing," Potter replied, smirking, "Just an extremely useful thing Muggles invented call superglue."
Draco barely had time to glower heatedly at him before Potter yanked him forward using their stuck-together hands, effectively trapping both Draco's hands. Then Potter reached his free hand out and ruffled his Draco's hair.
"Hey, what are you – stop that!" Draco yelled, trying to free his hands, "Potter! Stop messing up my hair!"
A few excruciating minutes and countless expletives from Draco later, Potter retracted his claws from his hair, leaving it thoroughly mussed and messy.
"Blaise told me you hated people touching your hair," he said, laughing at the murderous expression on his face, "Here –" he tapped their hands with his wand, which unstuck.
Draco yanked his arm back and did his best to Petrify Potter with his infamous glare, "I will kill you, Potter," he growled.
"That was for stealing my girlfriend, Malfoy," the git replied, "But you also got me a boyfriend, so thanks anyway. This is for getting me together with Blaise, by the way –" and Potter blew him a kiss, before turning and going back, not to the Gryffindor table, but the Slytherin table, where Blaise was waiting.
It was unfortunate that Potter had his back turned, or he would have seen Draco catch the kiss, throw it away, and stomp on it. Hard. If Potter had been looking back, he would also have noticed Draco sending a whispered spell at his back, before sitting back down to his chess game with Cho.
"That was actually pretty funny," she told him, stifling a chuckle when he sent her the Malfoy Basilisk Petrifying Glare. "You look hot with your hair messed up, though," she said softly, "And don't glare so much. You'll get premature wrinkles."
The glare melted off his face in a moment. "I don't have wrinkles, do I?" he asked worriedly, grabbing the nearest silver spoon and inspecting his forehead.
"No, you don't, silly," Cho reassured him, "You look fine. Devastatingly handsome, even." She then leaned over the table and gave him a chaste kiss that sent sparks of those (what did you call them?) Muggle electricity shooting up his spine.
A commotion across the Great Hall had them breaking their kiss to glance over at its source: the Slytherin table. Potter and Blaise were snogging, but they couldn't seem to break apart. Their lips were locked together, and they were currently maneuvering their way towards the Ravenclaw table.
"Malfumsh gonusfuckinmf kishlyoum," Potter attempted to say, once he and Blaise had arrived, with their mouths still attached.
Draco did the only sensible thing then. He laughed. He laughed so hard he almost fell off the bench. He could practically feel the heat emanating from Potter and Blaise's glares, once he managed to contain his mirth.
"You did tell me I could get you back," Draco told Potter reasonably, trying (and failing) to conceal a grin. Potter gave up on talking and instead conveyed his thoughts in one very simple hand gesture: a raised middle finger.
"There's no need for that kind of language," he chuckled, "The spell will wear off in a couple of hours. Why don't you two use your joined mouths to your advantage, and 'join' the rest of yourselves, too?"
He'd meant it as a joke. Unfortunately, both Potter and Blaise didn't seem to get his sense of humor. As one, they began nodding vigorously, causing their foreheads to bang together. Then they both turned and grinned at Draco, which looked weird since their mouths were joined, and made their ungainly way out of the Great Hall, towards a broom cupboard, perhaps.
"Honestly, those two," Draco muttered, turning back to the game, "You'd think they'd recognize a joke, wouldn't you?"
"At least they're going to have fun for the next two hours," Cho said, grinning slightly, "That was quite a spell you used. Why haven't I heard of it before?"
"Oh, it's a family spell, invented by one of my ancestors," he replied, "Apparently he was quite unpopular with girls, and had never had a girlfriend before in his life. So he designed that spell to get the girls to stay with him after he kissed them, by literally joining them together."
"Must have been an interesting guy, your ancestor," Cho mused thoughtfully, chewing her lip as she regarded the chessboard.
"Most of my ancestors were fairly ambitious, yes," he agreed, "Bordering on the edge of insanity, some of them."
"Checkmate," Cho announced, beaming at him, as she took his king.
"Ah, well… Since you have the king, it's only fair for me to have my queen," said Draco, smirking at her, who blushed prettily and smiled back, her eyes sparkling.
Then Draco did a very disgraceful thing. It was utterly despicable. He dropped to the floor and crawled under the table. He resurfaced beside Cho and pulled her onto his lap.
"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly, looking up at him.
"Checkmating the queen," Draco replied, smiling softly, before tilting her head until their lips met.
Sometimes Blaise did plot schemes that were feasible, Draco decided, and this was definitely one of those times. He would have to thank Blaise later, for coming up with such a brilliant plan.
But for now, he was too busy relishing the kiss with Cho.
Exquisite. The kiss was exquisite.
THE END