Harry sat straight up in his bed at the first tinkling of the silver bell winging softly overhead—a gift from Albus from his enchanted gadgets collection several Christmases ago. He jumped out from underneath his pile of comforters without hesitation, hardly noticing the bone-chilling cold of the stone floor beneath his bare feet. He paused for a single moment to throw on a winter-weight robe before dashing into the fireplace, not even registering the movement of his arm as he automatically threw Floo powder into the fire.

The summons could only mean that Voldemort was on the move. Finally—finally—they would be able to do more than wait. And perhaps—

No. It was too early for hope. Much, much too early.

[[center:***]]

Nymphadora Tonks, along with several other members of the Order of the Phoenix, were already in Albus'—McGonagall's—study when he tumbled out of the fireplace. Her eyes were bright, her face flushed, her long mane of blue-streaked flaming red hair sticking out in all directions as if caught in an electric storm. She waved. "Hi Harry!" she called to him. "That was fast! We got here only two minutes ago."

He quickly went to her. "Is it...?" He asked tersely.

She nodded. "We called everyone as soon as we were sure. But even though we found the right unlocking spell, the message still makes no sense."

"No...?" He took the piece of parchment from her hand and glanced down at it.

"It was in Hermione's ciphrascript—and a good thing too, because we know that at least two of our non-Arithmanthic-Rune-based code-spells were broken. But when we ran it through her reverse ciphrascript spell, all we got out were a bunch of letters and numbers. We've tried running that through the unlocking runes again; heck, we've even tried running it through the master ciphrascript spell—you know, that brilliant spell Hermione put together to unlock Voldemort's messages?—but we couldn't get a word out of it. Hermione is on her way here, but I have to say that we're stumped. I mean, what sort of message is 'Pee-dash-Cee-four', 'Pee-dash-Gee-six', anyway?"

He barely heard Tonks as he glanced down the orderly list of instructions. "Get Ron," he commanded in a low, tight voice.

"Ron?" Tonks repeated, puzzled. "But—"

"No need," his friend answered from behind him. He sounded slightly out of breath. His robe was on backwards, and there was green ash in his hair.

Harry silently handed over the parchment. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked quietly.

Ron's eyes widened like a child opening his first Christmas present. "Oh...brilliant!" he exclaimed. He ran a hand through his hair, and ash rose in a green cloud around his head.

Tonks sneezed. "Brilliant? What?" she asked confusedly, rubbing her nose.

But Ron was already hurrying towards the round table McGonagall had conjured for the meeting, eyes rapidly scanning the message.

"I think we'll see in a moment," Harry replied distractedly, and hurried after his friend.

"That's not fair!" Tonks complained, and sneezed again.

Minerva McGonagall began the meeting with a short rap of her wand-end on the table, and all heads immediately turned to her at the deep, resonant gong-like sound.

"As all of you know by now, we received a ciphrascripted message early this morning from one of the Order, who is currently situated in a most valuable—and dangerous—position. Our ciphraspell experts from the Ministry have already reverse-ciphrascripted the message. A part of this message was further solved by Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Ronald Weasley. Observe."

A wave of her wand conjured a large, ordinary Muggle chess set spreading across the entire length of the table, and she nodded at the man standing across the table. "Mr. Shacklebolt, if you please?"

Shacklebolt looked down at his parchment—a copy of the one that Ron currently held and announced, "Pawn to C-four."

The white Queen's Bishop's Pawn hopped forward two squares.

"So that's what it is!" Tonks exclaimed from somewhere down the circle. Several people glared at her for the interruption.

Shacklebolt continued, "Pawn to G-six."

As the Black King's Bishop's Pawn moved to his square, Hermione, seated on Ron's right, whispered, "That's not a usual opening, is it?"

Ron shook his head and whispered back, "It was, a few centuries ago, before Pawns could jump two steps on the first move. It's used to free up the Bishop before the center gets crowded." He added thoughtfully as Shacklebolt announced the next moves, "Or maybe this opening was chosen because it's called the 'Great Snake'".

Harry clasped his hands together tightly under the table as Shacklebolt continued to call out moves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Auror Ademeus, seated further down the table, yawn and complain to his companion, "If they had to wake me up to watch a chess game, couldn't they at least have made it Wizard's Chess? It's no fun if you can't even see the pieces being bashed around. Besides, what sort of idiot sends a secret message as a chess game?"

He saw Shacklebolt glaring at them from across the table and noticed with a start that his right hand was clutching his wand hard enough to imprint an image of the carved handle into his palm. He released it slowly. The first tingles of what promised to be a spectacular headache flashed across his temples. Harry resolutely ignored it and tried to concentrate on the moves.

"That's us, isn't it?" he asked Ron softly. "He's showing us our moves."

"Yeah, I think so," Ron replied absently. "We should be Black. White always makes the first move, and that would have been You-Know-Who."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, seated at the right hand of the Black King, gazed down at the battlefield with the same quiet gravity. Harry almost wished that it was Wizard's Chess—anything to break the hush that bespoke too painfully of the losses they had endured throughout the long war. But there was only the sound of Shacklebolt's firm voice directing the pieces on the board with excruciating precision.

"Look," Ron whispered suddenly. "The Black King's Rook. Black is attacking with that piece as its center. See the Black Queen's Bishop? It's defending the Rook from the back ranks. Black's entire offense is centered on those two pieces right now."

Harry nodded, watching intently as the Rook pressured the White pieces into retreating one by one. Then White took the offensive, and Harry gripped the arms of his chair tightly as White assaulted the Black center. Their defenses held, but little by little the White pieces advanced. Heedless of the danger, a rearing Black Knight charged into the midst of the battle and challenged White's domination with flamboyant courage. Harry held his breath as the Black Rook dashed towards safety with the Black Knight covering its retreat. But just as it seemed that the two pieces had reached safety, a White Knight leapt out from behind a line of advanced White Pawns and captured the Black Knight. Harry's heart clenched painfully.

But there was no time to mourn for that gallant, courageous, foolish Black Knight. The White pieces were pressing their advantage with greater daring than before, and the Black side retreated little by little. The Black Queen finally stepped out of its place at the King's side to hold off their enemies. Miraculously, though pressured from all sides, the Black Queen stood firm against all White attackers as Black maneuvered towards safety. Harry shivered, barely breathing, unable to take his eyes off that one piece. Run! he cried to it silently. Save yourself! Someone, help!

As if it had heard his prayer, the Black Bishop came gliding forward from behind the White lines to take one of the White Knights. Black surged forward, battling fiercely now, taking back all the ground it had lost.

"Oh, well done!" someone cried from the other end of the table, and several people clapped.

"Oh no," Ron breathed beside him.

"What—" Harry began to ask, but Shacklebolt's voice interrupted him.

Someone gasped. They sat stunned as the Black Queen was taken.

"It's okay," Ron murmured shakily. "It's okay. We got their Rook and Knight for the Queen. We're still in the game."

Harry dropped his face into his hands, closed his eyes for a moment. But Shacklebolt's steady voice went on directing the pieces. Harry shook his head, once, roughly, and sat up straight in his chair.

The atmosphere in the room became grimmer, tenser, more focused as the game went on. More pieces were captured, and positions negotiated by both sides, until only a few main pieces were left on each side. Severus' message came to an end, and the pieces on the board sat still, awaiting the next move.

"That's it," Ron said softly. "That's the Endgame. We'll win or lose by it." He leaned forward, studying the board with a general's intensity. Everyone was silent as they waited, charting moves to the best of their abilities in their minds. Shacklebolt stood like a great pine tree beside the battlefield as he too studied the board.

"I don't get it," Ron muttered to himself. "The White offense is centered around the King, but..." The Black King stood besieged by a legion of White pieces, but Ron's gaze was on the Black Queen's Bishop, once more perilously deep in enemy territory. His eyes followed the checkered battlefield back to the line of the Black's defense, finally coming to rest on a passed White Pawn right beneath his gaze. But to reach it in time, they would have to....

Harry saw it a moment after Ron. "No," he whispered, as pieces glided with mechanical precision in his mind to their own deaths. "Ron, no!" he said urgently as Ron stood and opened his mouth to speak.

"Do it, Weasley. We have to win this game." The steel in Draco's voice rivaled Harry's. Harry glared at Draco, who met his eyes implacably.

Ron stood gazing uncertainly at Harry.

Another voice spoke. "Rook takes Pawn." Harry stared speechlessly at McGonagall. There was no quiver of uncertainty in her voice.

After a moment's pause, when it seemed that even the dawning sunlight had frozen upon the table, Shacklebolt said, "Rook to C-seven." The Rook advanced and captured the Pawn.

"Ron!" Harry was gazing down at the line newly-inked into the parchment in Ron's hands, but it was Ron who choked out, "Queen takes Bishop." His hands clutched white-knuckled at the edge of the table.

"Queen to D-six," Shacklebolt murmured. The Black Bishop faded from its square as the White Queen approached.

Harry's heart was pounding so painfully hard that the next words seemed barely a whisper to him as McGonagall continued, "Rook to A-eight. Check."

The pieces seemed almost to move by themselves now, as if they, too, knew the inevitable conclusion.

No, Harry thought. No. Not like this.

"Queen to F-eight." Ron's voice was steady now, almost eager. "This is chess," Harry still remembered him saying once. "Sometimes you have to make sacrifices."

"Rook to C-eight," McGonagall declared firmly.

"Queen takes Rook," Ron responded swiftly.

Sacrifices...

Harry closed his eyes, but the Black Rook fell endlessly into oblivion in the darkness behind his eyelids.

"Rook takes Queen." There was an edge of exultation in Minerva McGonagall's voice. "Checkmate!"

A moment of silence descended upon the room as the game concluded. Then someone cheered, and the chess moves disappeared from the parchment still clutched in Ron's hand to reveal four lines written in a thin, crabbed, elegant hand that Harry immediately recognized. He took it from Ron's hand and read,

[[break:line]]

Gift the Light bequeathed to those they left behind
Secrets of the Snake reveal the Riddle's mind.
Guide in darkness o'er the Merlin's Dance takes flight
Flaming Phoenix soars with Dragon in the night.

[[break:line]]
His mind went utterly blank.

"Harry?" That was Hermione's voice. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry sat frozen, the words blurring in front of his eyes.

He felt her warmth behind him, but could not move. Hermione did not try to take the parchment from him. Instead, she leaned over his shoulder and tilted it up for a better look.

McGonagall and Shacklebolt were looking questioningly at them now. One by one, the other occupants of the room fell silent.

Finally, Hermione looked up. "I think this is the actual message," she said.

The room erupted with a babble of questions and shouts of disbelief. "What? There's more?" Harry heard the Auror next to him exclaim incredulously.

Harry felt the warmth of Hermione's hand against his. "It's okay, Harry," she said gently into his wordless despair. "We'll find a way. We'll figure it out."