A/N: For those of you who've read Part 1:

Thank you so much for waiting so long for second half of this story. Two whole months! I haven't had much time to write lately with work and college and whatnot but I am determined to get this story up and running once again, both for you lot and because I just love it too much. Also thanks for the amazing reviews.

And for those of you who haven't:

Please go and read Part 1 because I've changed a few things and...well, just go read it!

Year Five: The Order of the Phoenix

Chapter 33

Checkmate

Hermione lay in bed and stared at the grand ceiling. She should have been asleep, seeing as tomorrow would be September first, and their first day back at Hogwarts. The least she should have done was caught up on her studies, but she found herself unable to move for she was too lost in thought.

Her head was utter chaos. Firstly Voldemort was back. The image of Cedric Diggory's dead body still haunted her, and she knew it haunted Harry too. His return was a major problem, but it wasn't at the forefront of her mind, nor was the fact that Harry could've easily been put in Azkaban for using underage magic outside of school. For goodness sake her OWLs weren't even her first thought! Neither was the idea that Harry had missed out on being made Prefect and Ron –yes, Ron- had got the post instead.

Rather these things were a distant muddled thought, a faint ringing noise in the back of her head and that's because someone else had claimed her attention.

It wasn't unusual for her to think about him.

Especially not at night, when she was alone and without Harry or Sirius or Lupin or any of the Weasley family to remind her of what she ought be worried about. And not when 12 Grimmauld Place once belonged to the Black family and consequently Draco's mother, Narcissa.

Here, in the darkness of the deep aubergine bedroom, there was nothing to take her thoughts away from him. In fact, everything in this room, and the rest of the house, only served to shove it in her face.

She still hadn't forgotten what Harry had told her that day on the Astronomy Tower. How Draco had wished her dead. The memory of that day pained her. Even now she couldn't rid herself of the look in Harry's eyes when she'd told him everything. He'd looked so hurt that she almost wanted to erase everything that had happened that day, even if it meant erasing that kiss also. On one hand, she actually thought that might be better. She wouldn't be suffering the way she was now, would she? She wouldn't spend nearly every night wondering if things could've been different. If Harry hadn't opened that door. If Draco had stayed. If she'd been a pureblood.

Hermione hadn't heard a thing from the Slytherin since that fateful day.

She had thought about writing him, but decided against the idea. After all, what was to even say he'd write back? Or that she'd like what he had to say? No, she'd have rather not known. But at the same time, it was driving her mad; she had hardly slept the past few weeks for worrying about what it would be like when school re-commenced. Questions raced around the crevices and crooks of her mind, and the reasons for his sudden aversion for her went on and on. She tried desperately not to think about it. Because the more she allowed herself to think, the harder the beating she gave her self-esteem.

Finally fed up with her rather repetitive train of thought, Hermione sat up and climbed out of bed. She put on a pair of plain white slippers and a brown zip hoodie that complimented her dusty rose coloured pyjamas –and they were nothing fancy either, just a simple long sleeved top and striped bottoms. Hermione wasn't one for frills.

She tip-toed out into the hall and down the stairs, the portraits on the walls of the stern-faced Black family recoiled at her and gave her an icy glare,

"Filthy mudbloods!" one screeched,

"Besmirching the house of Black!" another grumbled in revulsion,

"Scum."

"Get out!" another bellowed.

Hermione tried to hush them, but they refused to listen,

"You little helminth! How dare you walk the same corridor as Mistress Lestrange once did?"

She ignored them and hurried into the sitting room where she hoped they'd leave her be. Hermione was surprised to find Harry talking to Sirius. From what she could gather it was something about a dream. She realised then how selfish she'd been unloading all her problems onto her friend. He had enough of his own as it was without needing to hear about her complicated romance. Or lack of, that is.

Sirius held Harry's shoulders, he gave him a small shake and looked him dead in the eyes,

"You know, Harry, the more I see you, the more like your mother you are." he murmured.

Harry smiled, Hermione averted her gaze, the moment lasted no more than a few seconds.

A moment later Sirius turned to her,

"Hermione," he said in that ever pleasant way of his, "bit late, isn't it?" he gave her a faux warning look.

The Gryffindor girl laughed, eyes darting to Harry, who stared back with such intensity she really didn't know where to look.

"What are you doing up?" Harry's godfather asked when she didn't say anything.

Hermione made her way further into the heart of the sitting room,

"Oh, I was, um, studying..." she lied,

"Of course. Your exams this year. Well, don't worry your little head over it. You'll do wonderfully."

She beamed at him. Sirius was such a good person. He always had a way of making people feel loved.

"Er, thank you." she replied, giving a small shrug.

Upon finding the sudden silence incredibly awkward, Sirius gave a court nod to the pair of them and made his leave, bidding them goodnight, even though it was a little after midnight

The door swung shut behind him. Harry sat on the sofa, green orbs focused on her. She blushed and went to lean against the arm beside him. An echoing quiet filled the room. Crashing into the walls and licking at their heels. It was everywhere. The heavy, uncertain tension between them. It had never been like this before. Never, in all her time as a witch, had she ever felt uncomfortable to be with Harry, least of all alone.

If anything she always found his presence to be quite the opposite.

Hermione mentally berated herself for letting it come to this.

"I'm sorry." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Neither of them moved now. Harry stared at a crack in the wooden floor, while she folded her arms across her chest, effectively pulling the hoodie tighter around her small waist,

"What for?" he asked, though she could tell from his tone that he already knew the answer.

Why he was making her say it aloud was beyond her. Harry wasn't the type to deliberately do something to hurt someone, unless they deserved it. So, did that mean their friendship was falling apart? Did that mean that he was having doubts about her loyalty to him? So much so, that he needed to hear the reason for her apology when he already knew it? Hermione tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears and started again, hesitantly,

"For what happened on the Astronomy Tower with..." she hadn't said his name out loud in so long, it was bad enough just thinking it, let alone feeling the way it caressed her lips as it left her mouth, "With Malfoy."

Harry said nothing, but his expression darkened, his face shifting to become distant and angry, like he was replaying the event in his head and though the memory was old, the rage he'd felt was still fresh. The-Boy-Who-Lived seemed to become suddenly enthralled in the crack, not once did his lift his head to grace her with his gaze. Hermione felt something inside her chest tighten, her guts churning. It was a feeling she'd become accustomed to, especially around Draco, but around Harry...? Well, it was entirely different. Never had Harry been so cold towards her. Even in the first few days after Cedric's death, he had welcomed her urge to comfort him with open arms. She'd thought the bond between them was unbreakable. That they were thicker than thieves. Apparently not. Hermione hadn't realised up until now how truly awful it would feel to lose that, because until now she hadn't ever thought it possible.

She touched him arm, he tensed, she glanced down at the floor. Afraid what she would find there. Anger. Hurt. Hatred. It would break her heart if she lost Harry. It would break her heart if she lost Draco. She sucked in a breath. She couldn't choose between them. They both meant so much to her. She couldn't just sacrifice the boy she loved for her best friend and she couldn't turn her best friend away for the boy she loved.

Hermione's lungs began to falter. She tried to hide it, but the truth was evident on her face.

She was going to have to pick one day. And it was an impossible choice.

"You know, if I still had a Time-Turner I'd go back and change everything." she said, firmly.

Her brows rose briefly, somehow extenuating the bossiness in her tone.

That seemed to ease some of the tension rolling off his frame in tendrils.

"Really?"

"Of course!"

He nodded once, the muscle in his arm relaxed, and his fingers found hers, she took his hand and smiled softly.

It was nice to know he wasn't quite as annoyed with her anymore, and she wasn't lying either. She would have gone back and she would have stopped that kiss from ever happening, because all it had done was hurt her and Harry. She wasn't certain what Draco thought about it. A part of her thought perhaps he was as confused and terrified as she was, but another, more logical part of her knew it probably wasn't the case.

As she stood there staring down at Harry, with his hand in hers. She wondered what it would be like if she had fallen for him instead. Things would have certainly been easier. He was kind and caring and unafraid to show his true feelings without completely losing it. He would never deliberately hurt her because he was jealous or in a bad mood or whatnot. Unlike Draco's volatile emotions, Harry was usually constant. Unchanging. Safe.

She could've easily found solace in him.

In his quiet, reserved, gentlemanly personality.

That's not to say she disliked the fact that Draco was...well, as mysteriousas he was, nor did it mean that she didn't occasionally get fed up with Harry's mild mannerisms.

Hermione liked both boys equally and for different reasons. There wasn't one she could imagine leaving for the other.

But right now, fixing her friendship with Harry was the priority.

Besides it kept her from thinking too much of Draco –she was borderline obsessive where he was concerned.

"Haven't heard much from him then, have you?" Harry said casually.

Like they weren't talking about his arch-nemesis.

She blinked and cleared her throat, she shook her head,

"No. Not a word."

"You're better than him, Hermione."

The girl cocked her head, studying her best friend.

Maybe she was, then again maybe not, but either way it didn't change her feelings for him.

Why couldn't she just have them both? Why couldn't they try to get on for her? Why were Draco's family so blooming prejudiced?

Harry stood in front of her now, hands in his pockets,

"And for all your brains, you're really rather thick if you can't see it."

She smiled, knowing he was joking but serious all the same.

"We'll see."

"Anyway," he said, in a lighter tone, "shouldn't you be in bed? Wouldn't want to get only nine O's now, would you?"

Hermione laughed and gently punched his arm,

"Jealousy isn't very becoming on you, Harry."

The boy snorted and moved around her to trace his fingertips along a ornamental glass chess set,

"Fancy a game of chess?" he smirked, she bit her lip, "Alright, I'll let you win the first bout."

She cocked a brow,

"That's not the point of the game." she shook her hair off her face, "Besides, it's completely barbaric."

"Come off it, I know you're just scared you'll lose."

Hermione gaped at him, jaw ajar, big brown orbs wider than ever.

She was most certainly not scared! She was a Gryffindor for goodness sake!

Lifting one of the tattered silk cushions, Hermione threw it at him, he brought his arms up to protect his face and gave a small chuckle,

"Fine, then, but no cheating. I mean it."

Hermione sat down on one side of the coffee table, legs crossed beneath her, Harry brought the chess set over to the table and sat down on the opposite side. The white was his, the black hers,

"White's go first." he explained, "So if you don't know where to move just copy me. Pawns-" he lifted the smallest of the figurines, a goblinesque creature, "can move two spaces but only on their first move, after that it's just one." Hermione nodded knowingly, she felt him watching her as she digested every bit of information, mentally jotted it down and stored it away for future reference, "They can only take people off diagonally. Bishops can only move diagonally as well but as many spaces as necessary. Okay?"

She gave a small smile,

"I'm sure can keep up, Harry."

He blew out a breath,

"Basically, you've got to keep the King alive, but it's best to keep your eye on the Queen as well -she's the best piece. Can move anywhere she likes, as many spaces, take off anyone..."

Three hours and eight games later, the pair were still playing and for the first time Hermione was winning.

It had taken some practice, but twenty-five minutes into this game she had removed five Pawns, a Knight, two Bishops, his Rook and his Queen, whilst keeping many of her own pieces intact. Then with one swift movement of her Knight to E three, she finally managed to get his King into a checkmate, cornering him with her remaining bishop and two Rooks.

Harry stared at the board in disbelief as Hermione let out a squeal of delight.

"I won!" she gasped, climbing to her feet and clasping her hands together in excitement, "I actually won!"

The Boy-Who-Lived laughed,

"That's one out of eight for you." he said, getting to his feet.

She stopped jumping and put her hands on her hip,

"Yes, and one is very good, thank you. Considering I haven't really played chess before today!"

Harry seemed unsure what to do with himself,

"Yeah, I know it's good, it's just..." he paused, gawkily, "After eight go's I'd have expected you to do a little better than..." he trailed off upon seeing her expression darken.

"What do you mean?" she asked, patience wearing thin.

He should have been happy for her, not down-playing her victory!

"N-nothing just, you know, it's-" his lip twitched, eyes gleaming mischievously, "it's a little bit of a naff score, don't you think?"

Furious, Hermione crossed the room to him, they were only a foot or so from one another now, Harry recoiled,

"No! I do not think it's a 'naff score'. I think it's an excellent sco-"

Harry burst out laughing. So hard, he clutched his stomach,

"I'm kidding, 'Mione. Relax!" he said between short intakes of breath.

She froze, realising what an idiot she'd been.

A second later Harry had pushed her onto the sofa and was on top of her, tickling her, she giggled and screamed and smacked him away.

Much to the annoyance of the hall's portraits.

Her eyes fell on a blonde haired boy in the Black tapestry and a painful lump formed in her throat. Having noticed her laughter cease, Harry stopped tickling her. She gazed at his lips, so different from the pale, evenly-shaped mouth she'd kissed two months ago. His mouth pulled into a smile and he stood, lending a hand to help her up, she took it and met green met brown. Both blushed furiously but didn't mention it to the other.

"Goodnight, Harry." she murmured,

"Goodnight, Hermione." he whispered back.