Finally got this story moving again. Sadly, right when I decided I wanted to work on it, and had a clear idea of how the chapter would play out, my computer died. So this chapter was written my hand, and then typed in on a library laptop. What a pain. In other news, I have now completely lost the plan I had for this story. However, this chapter was central to it (I do remember that), so the story should wrap up fairly soon. I think this chapter might have ended up being in a slightly different style than the others, mostly because of the time gap. We've started novels in English, and while they're horrible and make me suffer, I think they might have impacted my writing anyway. Apologies for taking so long, and for any errors that remain in this chapter, and hugs to everyone who reviewed.

"Never thought it would happen."

Draco's eyes flicked up to the girl who sat across from him, then back down to the board between them. There was a moment when he was nearly afraid that he would show more emotion, but years of practice kept his features cold and smooth. It was especially good that they did: he wasn't sure which emotion might have flashed across his face given half a chance. Most likely, it would have been irritation, for they had hardly spoken since sitting down to their game, and he liked the silence. But then again, it could have been something akin to pleasure at hearing her voice speaking to him in words that weren't insults or obscenities. Though she had always sworn at him less than the others, he doubted that it was because she disliked him any less. Rather, she seemed to hold herself above that, and let her distaste show in other ways.

He waited for her to elaborate on the thought, but she seemed determined to make him either talk or suffer of his curiosity. Damn his curiosity, anyway – it had always gotten him in more trouble than malice or petty cruelty ever had. "What would happen?" he gritted out, angry more at himself for losing the battle of wills that had ended in his speaking than at her.

Pale, delicate hands flitted across the board, touching this piece and that, as she considered her next move. "Any number of things." A piece was moved, the soft click of marble clearly audible over the crackle of the fire as she set it down. Her fingers lingered for a moment, as though she were unsure of her move, but then drew back.

Draco made his move in silence, determined not to rise to her bait and speak again. He would win this contest of wills, just as he won everything else that he competed against her in. A glance up at her through the hair that hung into his face showed a quiet, contented smile, as though she could sense the direction of his thoughts, and was amused by it. That smile reminded him of all the times he had lost to her, in quidditch or duels or verbal sparring. She was a worthwhile opponent, he would give her that. He could almost like her for it; unlike Potty, who looked at him only with contempt and dislike, Ginny Weasley seemed to find him to be at least worth the effort to fight with.

Her grin widened as his hand left the piece, her eyes crinkling slightly as she met his gaze. "Fine," she said, conceding that she would have to speak first. "Two Gryffindors in the Slytherin common room. Your farce with Hermione lasting until Christmas." Her fingers dancing across the board added 'playing chess with you.' She rested her hand on each piece in turn, reflective thought shining in her face as she thought. He had the upper hand in their game, though only just, but his last move had been the first in a sequence with which he planned to end the game. Could she see it? But no, it seemed she didn't, or she would have moved to avoid it now, while there was still time.

"Ginny." The slightly desperate cry came from the other side of the room, where up until now the Mudblood had been sitting quietly, doing an assignment that she had long ago resigned herself to having stolen. If nothing else, these last four months as his girlfriend had served to break the Buck-tooth's spirits, perhaps irreversibly so. He half expected Ginny to leave the game to go to her housemate's aid. He had expected her to at least look up. Her eyes never left the board. A slight twitch of one cheek was his only indication that she had even heard.

"True," he conceded, magnanimous after forcing her to back down first. "What are you doing here?" The question was out before he realized, damn his curiosity. He lowered his guard for a second, and wound up handing her the advantage, all tied up in a silver bow.

Her slight smirk said she knew it too. Damn if the girl shouldn't have been a Slytherin, with a fine mind and sense of competitiveness like that. "Playing chess with you."

He could have made some retort about her moping over Potty, or going off and selling herself to Zabini because her family needed the money. He could have made a snide remark about Gryffindor loyalty. He could hardly understand himself why he made his move in silence than settled back into what he hoped was a suitably arrogant pose to watch her search the board for some escape. Making a comment like that would have just proven he was on the defensive, he assured himself.

"Ginny." Her hand paused this time, and the irritation that flashed across her face was more pronounced. What was it costing her to pretend indifference, he wondered. It wouldn't be much longer before she cracked. Then she would lose the battle to prove that she wasn't a milk-hearted wimp, just as she was about to lose their game of chess. He would be the winner on every front. A pity he hadn't thought to set stakes on the game at the beginning.

But what would he have asked for? She had nothing he wanted. If it were Potty or any other Gryffindor, he might have required them to do something humiliating, or which would end with them in copious amounts of trouble. To require such a thing of her, however, would cheapen the adversity, from something truly worthwhile to the petty hatred he shared with almost everyone else in this school.

The sound of marble on marble was decisive this time as she made her move. Distantly, he found himself enjoying watching her pull her hand back from the piece. Her hands were so pale, so white against the absolute green of the marble, showing up in stark contrast. His own pieces, polished silver, shone crimson and gold with reflected firelight. Strange, that it should be so.

She must be able to see the trap forming now, he thought. The speed of my moves, if nothing else, should tell her that. It had been a good game so far, but he had no illusions as to how this would turn out. Their petty rivalries and prejudices aside, Gryffindors were chosen for courage and fortitude, while Slytherins were predisposed to being good at planning and reading people. Chess, even wizard chess – which this wasn't, as he found the ridiculous violence spoiled the mental aspect of the game – relied on those qualities which a true Slytherin possessed in abundance. Blindly charging ahead would win nothing here.

"My brother is the best chess player in Gryffindor," she said quietly, her white fingers caressing first one piece, then the next. She wasn't looking at them, he noticed; she seemed to know where each piece was, and her fingers moved to each exquisitely carved figure with assurance despite her apparent inattention. She lifted a rook, and moved it, placing it down with a delicacy that spoke to him of satisfaction in a job well done. He scanned the board, searching for some sign of what she was planning, but whatever it was eluded him. The board was dominated by his own pieces, arranged and only two moves from sealing the final trap on his unsuspecting opponent. Perhaps she really couldn't see the danger she was in.

He paused with his hand hovering over the board. "If I win, will you answer a question?" Her eyes narrowed in consideration, and he waited for the refusal that he knew would come, although not how. He could ask anything, and though he had not said as much, they both knew he would expect a full and truthful answer. He had offered nothing in return. There was no way she could not refuse, and be justified in doing so.

That small, knowing smile returned to her face. "I accept." There was no counter offer, no requirement of him should she, by some miracle, win. For a moment Draco found himself assailed by doubt. She might see the trap that was closing on her and perhaps, in reckless Gryffindor fashion, she planned to walk straight into it. If so, she was playing to lose. To what end? No, he assured himself, she still thinks she can win. She really doesn't see it. He moved the piece; one move left.

He sat back in his chair and watched her. Her eyes didn't move about as they had before, searching for the next move, but stayed fixed on the center of the board. It seemed, to him, as though she didn't see the board at and instead looked through it to something he couldn't see. She saw it now. She realized that she had been drawn into not one, but two traps.

Her eyes rose to his, and she smiled. It was a genuine smile, one he didn't ever remember her giving him before, and her eyes danced with what he could only suppose was mischief. She didn't look down, but held his eyes with hers as she reached out and moved a piece. He didn't look away, confident that there was nothing she could do at this point to avoid the trap. A single move more would place her in checkmate.

"What do you want to know?"

He could have asked anything. He could have asked her deepest secret, something about Potty or her brother that he could use against them. Later, he couldn't have said exactly why he asked the question he did, only that it seemed the most pressing and important question in the world, and that he felt he might burst if he didn't ask it.

"What are you doing here?"

Her smile never wavered in all the time it took him to finally ask, and even after he had spoken, it didn't fade. It softened, though, and was somehow the more dazzling for it. "Playing chess with you." Her eyes never left his, and she spoke the words as though uttering some profound truth.

"Checkmate."

His head snapped down of its own accord, and his eyes flashed across each of the remaining pieces. There it was, glaring back at him, so obvious he couldn't understand how he had not seen it sooner. She had turned his own trap against him, using it to lock up his pieces so that she could move to this position of utter victory. He looked up at her again, knowing that his shock was clear to read on his face and, for once, not caring. Her smile was still there, soft and genuine and – though it was so strange he wasn't sure he was really seeing it – even somewhat fond. She had such a range of smiles, for so many emotions he couldn't have found names for them all.

Zabini, sensing the end of the match, came over and hovered at her shoulder, as though trying unnecessarily to support her against the older boy. "Hey Ginny, do you want to go get some dinner?" he asked, eager to reclaim the girl's attention. She had come here to the Slytherin dormitories at Zabini's request, but ignored the boy since arriving.

It was as though someone had flipped a switch and turned off the light inside Ginny. The smile she turned on Zabini was just the same as it had been a moment ago, but to Draco it looked false and empty. Her eyes slid back to Draco. The corner of her mouth quirked, and for a second the light flickered on. "Later, Malfoy." Then it was gone, replaced by that cheerful, impersonal smile.

When they were gone, Draco sank back in his chair. His gaze locked on the chess board, and though he could see each piece in perfect detail, they seemed unreal and distant before his eyes. Playing chess with him…