It's Sixth Year and Harry has found an unlikely passion in Wizard's Chess. At first, it was simply a way to hang out with his mates during class, but it became so much more. It became a quiet drive, a little flame that bloomed brightly in the cold. And the best part? No one got hurt. No one died.
It's Sixth Year and Draco is one year closer to being done with this wretched place. Hogwarts feels like a carcass rotting around him. There is decay in every wall. The Chess Tournament was little more than a checkbox to be ticked on Draco's lengthy and exhaustive list of meaningless triumphs that served no purpose in the real world. What did any of this matter anyway?