Draco stormed back to the Slytherin tower, slamming the door to Pansy's room behind him furiously. He sat down on her bed and cursed loudly. What the hell had happened in there? How could he just have lost control like that? He never lost control!

He shuddered. The anger… he hated it. It scared him. It was so pure, so unadulterated… almost feral. Like a natural instinct, bubbling up and taking possession of his body.

God, not the werewolf again, he suddenly thought. He put his head in his hands. Not the werewolf.

He had been fighting the werewolf for years. He couldn't remember not fighting it. Since it had bitten him when he was five…

Draco remembered that night with amazing clarity. Out at a ball, playing tag in the large, lush gardens with his best friend Pansy… the dark shadow, the red eyes… Pansy shrieking in horror as the creature ripped into his small body, tearing into the meat of his legs, fangs sinking into his hipbones, crushing them completely… his screams for Pansy to run for it, as the werewolf slammed his small frame onto the hard soil, grass and rock, smashing his spine cruelly into the sharp pebbles. Draco could remember staring at the werewolf's face, at its sinister red eyes, smelling its rancid breath, seeing the pieces of torn, shining flesh hanging in between its glinting reddish-brown teeth as he trembled fearfully beneath it and it towered above him, like a looming tower, an omen, like he was staring into his own fate.

It was the last thing he remembered.

From then on, the curse had never stopped. He had had to have a metal plate inserted for his hip. Even when he had been 'cured'… well.

Pansy was the only one who knew why Draco was always so irritable and weary on full moons.

It had been difficult. Although the werewolf no longer had power to come out, he could still feel it, could still sense it, running in his mind, searching for freedom.

And yet, he had never lost control before. Not that way.

Draco got up and walked to the window. He looked at the sky. Yes, the moon was there, shining in all its glory… partially concealed by the clouds.

Draco shuddered and his grip on the windowsill tightened as a tingle ran agonizingly slow up his spine. He turned away and closed the curtains.

It was there. But it was part covered.

He knew the wolf wasn't at its greatest unless at full moon. That was when it was at full power, drawing its mysterious strength and agility from the shining white beams of the silver-white orb.

Dumbledore's gaze floated into his mind. The pointed look, his eyes… Draco had never seen those blues any more serious and devoid of humor as he had that day.

Draco dismissed it. It was the wolf. It must have been. The moon must have been full. The clouds just… moved.

Somehow it didn't make him feel that much better.

Ron winced at the long line of expletives pouring almost endlessly from his friend's mouth, each more… creative, than the last.

"I'm not even going to ask if it hurts," he said.

"One day I will find the bastard who invented Skele-Gro," Harry gritted, "And kill him."

"Does it really hurt that bad?"

"Must I hurl you from the Astronomy Tower to demonstrate?"

"No, you mustn't!" Ron put on a shocked expression. "After all, who'll there be to make sure you don't go and accidentally kill yourself, being the idiot that you are?"

"Thank you ever so much," Harry said sarcastically.

"My pleasure."

Harry threw his pillow at the redhead with his good hand, the movement sending a shockwave of pain jolting through to his bad arm down his spine and he yelled. Ron removed the pillow from his face.

"Geez Harry, that sounds really bad," Ron said in concern.

"Congratulations. You've just broken the record for making the most obvious statement in the world."

"Who did it to you?"

"Why do you ask?" Harry asked, immediately defensive, and Ron knew who it was. He decided to play it casual.

"Don't you think I should know who broke my best friend's arm?"

"Maybe your best friend broke his own arm."

"I've never known my best friend to be a klutz."

"Maybe your best friend fell off a broom during practice."

"Maybe," Ron said. He felt a sudden surge of anger, mixed with an emotion he couldn't identify. He hesitated, then slammed his palm flat down onto the hospital table, standing up. He walked to the door.

"Ron?"

The redhead's hand twitched on the doorknob and he turned back. "Stop lying to me, then we'll talk," he said then slammed the door behind him.

As he stalked away from the Infirmary he realized what the emotion had been.

It was hurt.

"Draco?" Pansy walked into the room.

"What is it?" Draco asked, his train of thought broken.

"Someone wants to talk to you." She wrinkled her nose as she nodded in the direction of the Slytherin tower entrance. "It's a Gryffindor."

"Really." Draco got up, mildly curious. Potter? No, he wouldn't dare…

He went to the door and sighed. "Oh. It's you," he said. He leaned against the doorframe. "Come to beat me up again?"

To his surprise, the redhead looked suddenly tired. Ron ran a hand through his tousled hair.

"No, I… do you want to play chess?"

Draco must have looked startled, because a look of amusement made its way into Ron's eyes.

"There's no point saying something about catching germs or whatever stupid thing you always say. Knowing you, you've probably been in the Gryffindor towers before, doing who knows what. Probably poisoning something," Ron couldn't resist saying the last part.

Draco decided to play innocent. "As an eight-year-old? Yes. Nice view of the castle from up there." I should know, he thought ironically, remembering clinging to the castle face by his –the werewolf's- claws. "And I wasn't going to say anything before, but now I'm tempted. Poison something? Really. And who said I would go to Gryffindor? Why can't we play it in Slytherin?"

"I asked. I set the rules," Ron said firmly. He raised an eyebrow. "So, ferret? Do you accept?"

"Was that a challenge, Weasel?" Draco smirked. "Alright. I accept."

The two walked in silence to the Gryffindor tower.

"Bishop takes pawn," Ron said, watching his piece cruelly clobber one of Draco's. "Check."

"Knight takes bishop," Draco said. He looked at the Gryffindor. "That was a careless mistake."

Ron didn't reply.

"Some chess master you are," Draco said, taunting him. He couldn't resist. "Even Goyle can play better than you."

"Who's Daryn?" Ron asked suddenly. Not for the first time that night, Draco looked startled, then his features turned carefully blank.

"Why do you ask, Weasel?"

Ron ignored the jibe. "You seemed to have a fixation on him, that's all."

"Since when?" Draco snapped.

"Since a few days ago, when you were eight."

Draco was silent.

"Do you remember that?" Ron asked.

"Let's get back to the game, shall we?" Draco said. Ron looked thoughtful.

"How about we make the game more interesting?"

"Oh?" Draco leaned forward. "And how shall we do that?"

Ron grinned. "How's this. Every time a player loses a piece, he has to answer a question. No objections allowed about the question asked, otherwise he has to do a dare."

"Basically, it's a Wizard-chess version of the Muggle 'truth or dare' game," Draco said scornfully, but Ron could tell he was still interested. He was right.

"What happens to the person who loses the game altogether?" Draco asked a minute later.

"We'll just see, shall we?" Ron asked, his voice a little daring. Draco's eyelids lowered.

"Ooh, was that a flirt, Weasel? What's next, a nice little date?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I'm trying to be nice here Malfoy. Let's not get disgusting." He looked down. "Rook, move to C4."

Draco smirked. "Knight, move to B7."

Ron looked thoughtful. "Rook takes pawn," he said. He looked up at the blonde. "Now. Who's Daryn."

Draco's eyes flickered then he turned his head away. "He was my father."

"I thought Lucius was your father?"

"One question at a time. Stick to your own rules, Weasel," Draco said. He looked down. "Knight, move to A5."

"Rook takes pawn," Ron said, watching as the finely carved stone castle smashed another one of Draco's pawns. "That was careless."

Draco looked disinterested. "It was a pawn. Are you going to ask me about Lucius?"

"No, that would be a waste," Ron said. He frowned, then grinned. "Alright, I will. Who's Lucius? Apart from your stepfather. I mean, how did your mom meet him?"

"He's…" Draco scowled. "You're determined to drag this out of me, aren't you?"

"No I'm- wait, yes I am," Ron said.

"He's my uncle," Draco said, mouth twitching slightly at the look on the redhead's face. "Knight takes bishop."

He looked at Ron smugly. "And now, it's my turn."

Ron sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Shoot."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Love to, can't. I don't intend to wring my answer from your dead carcass."

"So? Ask?"

Draco looked at Ron straight in the eyes, his own ice blue piercing through the emerald. "Alright then, why do you stick with Harry? Don't give me all that crap about him being your friend."

Ron stiffened. Draco smirked. "Come on. He treats you like a dog. He does, doesn't he?" he said. He cocked his head slightly. "He's just using you."

"I know."

"And you put up with it because?"

"Because…" Ron bowed his head. "New rule. None of this ever escapes the room."

"Fine."

"Because I feel indebted to him. He… if it wasn't for him, I don't think I'd have as many friends as I have now. I guess I was just using him too," Ron squirmed. "But he was my friend, really. It's just now he's trying to push me away… so I'm letting him. I don't want him to be my friend if he's going to be like this. But I'm still staying, to try and make him happier. I mean, there's still hope, right? And besides, I owe it to him."

Draco felt stunned. "That's not very Gryffindor-ish," he said.

"Neither is your playing chess with me very Slytherin-like," Ron retorted. Draco waved his hand. "Whatever. Just get back to the game."

Ron rolled his eyes and looked at the board. "Rook to C2."

"King to A5," Draco said, anticipating Ron's move to check.

"Pawn to D3."

"Rook to F6."

"Knight takes rook," Ron said triumphantly, watching as his white piece smashed down Draco's black castle. "What happened to your dad? Where is he?"

"He's… dead." Draco looked away.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Sure you are," Draco said sarcastically.

"It obviously hurts you a lot."

"You want your father to die, Weasel?"

Ron ignored that. Draco looked down at the board. "Bishop takes knight."

"What?" Ron suddenly noticed the little black bishop sliding diagonally up the board.

"So, Freckleface. Pray tell, what has Gryffindor's little Golden Boy been doing behind my back?" Draco asked, leaning forward.

"What? Why do you ask th-"

Draco held up a finger. "This is my question, not yours."

Ron shrugged. "After you left? Him and Hermione went steady for a long time. 'Mione eventually dropped him because he was getting all weird on her, and he went after Cho." Ron paused. "Now, that was wild. He used to come back to Gryffindor all messed up, and there wouldn't be a day when you could walk past the Great Hall without seeing them snog each other.

"Sickening, really," he added. "But eventually Cho dumped him, harder than Hermione did. He went into depression for a while, then seemed to have this thing for Justin… Justin Finch-Fletchley, you know?"

Draco did. The blonde in Hufflepuff.

"I don't know," Ron shrugged. "Anyway, he didn't do anything about it. Just sat there and stared. I wasn't sure at the beginning, but when Hermione and I finally got the courage to ask about it, he said he wasn't interested in Justin in the least."

At this point Ron looked very relieved. "But he did say something weird. Something like, 'his hair, have you ever seen hair that light?' I can't really remember. Something on those lines."

Draco regarded Ron silently. "He would cry in his sleep," Ron said, almost as if in a dream-like state. "Just curl up, and cry. He never made a sound, and never told us why he was so upset. Hermione thought maybe it was because of Cho- she had dumped his pretty hard. But no, Harry didn't want to have anything to do with Cho, and he didn't seem angry towards her either."

Ron suddenly shook his head and his eyes widened. "Hey, that's unfair, I told you so much!"

"Your fault, Weasel. I never asked for so much."

Ron scowled as he said, "Pawn to D4."

"Pawn to E6."

"Queen takes pawn," Ron said. He looked at Draco. "Why did you beat Harry up so bad? What had he done to you?"

Draco didn't answer immediately. "He hit me before," he finally replied. "It's fair."

"You heal very quickly," Ron said, noticing the lack of scars and bruises on the blonde's face.

"Oh, are you going to change that now?"

"No," Ron said. "I want to continue the game. It's actually getting good."

"Thank you. I think. Pawn to E7."

"Queen to F8. Check."

"Pawn, cover the King," Draco commanded and the small black piece complied.

"Rook takes pawn," Ron said. "Check, and I get to ask another question."

"Fine."

"I would assume that you looked like your father when you were eight. Now you look like Lucius. What happened; did you dye your hair and grow it out?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "When I was little, I tried growing it out. It still stuck out at all angles and was messy. It was easier to keep it in bristles. What happened… isn't your business."

"You can't object to the question."

"And you were cheating," Draco said calmly. "You asked two questions in one. 'What happened', and 'did you dye your hair and grow it out'. I'm not objecting to the question; I've answered it already."

"Bloody hell, is it that big a secret?"

"You don't want to know," Draco said, as his eyes seemed to pierce an invisible hole through the Gryffindor's head. "Bishop takes rook."

"I can just get the Queen to take your bishop, you know."

"You wouldn't. I can get the King to take your Queen. Or have you forgotten that the King can also fight?" Draco asked. He leaned back on the chair and looked coolly at the redhead. "So, Weasel, why did you make me come here? Don't tell me you just felt competitive."

"The truth?" Ron said, looking at Draco with equal casualness. "Since you came back, Harry's been acting stranger than normal. Since he obviously doesn't want me to pound you into the ground –for what reason I honestly don't know- I decided to get you to talk to me, the only way I knew you probably would."

"How cunning of you. Has anyone ever told you that you would make a good Slytherin?"

"Not recently, thank god," Ron said. "Queen, move back. Diagonally."

"Knight move to C3."

"Pawn, move to D4."

"Bishop to E6."

Ron could see what Draco was going to do. "Move it, rook."

Draco smirked. "Bishop to G4."

"Rook takes pawn," Ron said. "That was easy."

"Like I said, it's just a pawn," Draco said, shrugging.

"But now I get to ask you a question," Ron said. "You were really different when you were eight, you know?"

"I know," Draco said. "Don't tell me that was the question because that was a really stupid one."

"It wasn't. The question was… does Lucius torture you or something? Since you're not his son, and you're so different now than how you were then."

"What?" Draco started to laugh, startling Ron. "Of course he didn't! People change, is it so bad if I do?"

"That's not… alright then, fine, let's get blunt. You were really sweet as an eight year old. I admit. Now, at seventeen, you're arrogant, pushy and spoilt. What happened?"

Despite himself, Draco felt a pang of hurt. "Something happened. After that, people didn't want to know my anymore. Alright?"

"What was it that happened?"

Draco glared piercingly at Ron. "Don't push it, Weasel."

"Alright, fine," Ron said. Draco looked thoughtfully at the board, his brow furrowing as he looked from piece to piece. "Knight to B5."

"Pawn, move to F8."

A smile broke out on Draco's face. "Knight to C4. Check, check, check and checkmate."

"What?" Ron looked at the board in shock as his white king looked around then hurled his crown resignedly at the crowing black knight.

"Now, what to do with you," Draco said.

"What… how could I…" Ron looked at the board. It had been there, so plain and simple! If only he had moved his king first… moron!

I had been thinking too much about what I should ask Malfoy next and not concentrating enough on the game, Ron thought, and cursed himself. Damn it! The game was supposed to have been a ploy to trap Malfoy into answering his questions, and now instead that ferret had beaten him.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, suddenly realizing Draco had gone to the door. Draco hesitated, but only for a second.

"Back to Slytherin," he said, the lie flowing smoothly off his tongue.

"You're not going to ask me to do anything?" Ron asked incredulously. Draco looked thoughtful, then his mouth quirked up in a shadow of a smile.

"Make Harry happy. Be a good friend," he said. He opened the door then turned back. "Oh, and by the way, happy birthday."

Ron couldn't help the genuine grin spreading over his face. "Thanks, ferret."

"Anytime Weasel," Draco replied, then left.

It was late. The Slytherin hadn't realized how much time had gone past; it had been hours since he had set out from the Slytherin tower. He was going to go back, but there was one place he had to go first.

He pushed open the door silently and moved in, feet making not a sound on the cold stone floor. His hand twisted open the door handle, and he crept in, closing the door behind him. He made his way to the bed, his hand hovering hesitantly in the air. The teen's body beneath him trembled as he curled the thick blanket closer around his shoulders and buried his face deeper into his pillow. Draco stroked Harry's dark locks soothingly.

"Don't cry, my emerald warrior," he whispered, "Don't cry. I'm here now."

He touched Harry's face gently then kissed the brunette's forehead softly, brushing back his raven-black hair with his cool hand.

"Sweet dreams," he said, and left.

That night, Harry dreamed of silver dragons flying in the moonlight and he smiled. Someone cared.

A/N: I didn't really drag out a chessboard to play it and see what happened. I just made up some coordinates. Please don't try to follow it, it was totally randomized. I don't care if I got stuff wrong, so don't comment about it or I shall be forced to kill you. I'm trying to make a game of chess sound interesting, so be thankful. This writing British-style is killing me, so I hope you don't mind if I 'Americanize' it. I'm sorry. For some reason, writing 'mum' instead of 'mom' seems strange to me. No offense.