Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin

Chapter Twelve: Confessions

"Our next match is with Hufflepuff," Angelina remarked as the Gryffindor Quidditch team sat in the locker room before practice the following night. "Now, they're not likely to try Slytherin's roughhouse tactics, but we've got to have a defensive strategy to counter it, just in case. Harry, you're Plan A. If you can get the Snitch before the other team has a chance to score many goals with the Quaffle, no amount of bullying can save them."

Angelina wasn't as long-winded as Oliver Wood, but she was close. Harry didn't mean to tune her out, but at the moment he was far more interested in putting together a strategy for asking Cho to the ball.

Just as Professor Green had promised, Dumbledore had announced the ball to the students that morning at breakfast. The girls had looked around excitedly, while the boys--especially the younger ones--had simply shrugged or shot each other puzzled glances, clearly not understanding what all the fuss was about.

Hermione had listened to the announcement with interest, but said nothing to either Harry or Ron about it.

"Cat's out of the bag now. We'd better say something soon," Ron had whispered confidentially. Harry had nodded. But remembering how it had felt to ask and be rejected last year certainly dampened his determination.

"Harry, are you listening?" Angelina hissed angrily.

"Uh, yeah." Harry snapped out of his reverie. "You were talking about our defensive strategy."

Fred, George, and Ron snickered, while Alicia and Katie rolled their eyes. Ginny restrained a chuckle.

"Actually, I was talking about our offensive strategy. Never mind, I'll show you. Everyone get your brooms and come on." With that, they all filed out of the locker room and onto the field.

Two hours later, the team trudged wordlessly up the steps to Gryffindor Tower. Angelina had worked them all unusually hard that night--even Ron, a reserve--and they were utterly exhausted. As they passed through the common room, they didn't see any of the fifth-years who, Harry figured, must still be eating a late dinner. He and Ron parted with the rest of the team and climbed the staircase to their dormitory, where they mumbled their goodnights and fell into bed. Too bad, Harry thought as he drifted off to sleep. He was sure that Ron had been hoping to ask Hermione to the ball that night, just to get it out of the way.

***

The next morning, Ron and Harry entered the common room to find Hermione sitting at a table near the stairway to the girls' dormitories, poring over a book and several rolls of parchment. She was writing on one of the rolls, concentrating so hard that she didn't heard Harry and Ron walk up behind her.

"Hermione," said Harry.

Startled, she came out of her chair slightly. "AAH! Don't do that!" She eyed them resentfully as, snickering, they each pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Oh, calm down, we weren't trying to sneak up on you. You ought to pay a little more attention, you know. Say--" Ron glanced at the book and rolls of parchment covering the table-- "what is this, anyway?" But as soon as he had said it, Harry and Ron both recognized that one roll of parchment was covered in writing identical to that of the ancient scroll.

"Hermione, have you figured it out?" Harry asked eagerly, grabbing the roll on which she had been writing in English and pulling it toward him.

She raised her eyebrows. "You have a lot of faith in me, I see. Well, I am good," she stated matter-of-factly, "but even if I were a genius, translating a document this long would take me weeks. I've only just started on it."

Ron grabbed the single book that lay open on the table, careful not to lose Hermione's place. "But you are translating it? You must know what language it's in, then!"

Hermione leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. She looked a bit tired--Harry wondered how long she had been sitting there before he and Ron had interrupted her. "Yes, I was just going to tell you. Professor Thorne contacted his friend, and they worked it out together. It's ancient Moabite."

Ron and Harry gave her identical puzzled stares.

"Oh, honestly," she sighed, rolling her eyes. This irritated Harry, but he was curious enough about what she had to say that he remained silent. A quick glance at Ron revealed that he was restraining himself, too. Hermione reached out and took the book from Ron; as she flipped the pages, Harry saw the name on the spine: Ancient Scripts of the Middle East.

Hermione found the passage she had been searching for, and read it aloud:

The Moabite people lived east of the Dead Sea from the
14th century to 582 B.C. Their language was very similar to
ancient Hebrew; in fact, its alphabet is almost identical to the
one the Israelites used during the same period.

Ron stared at her levelly. "You want to tell us what that means?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, for one thing, it means that the scroll is very old. Possibly three thousand years old."

"Wow," said Harry. "It's in pretty good shape, isn't it?"

"Actually, because of Preservation Charms, it's not so unusual for a magical item to last for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years. Though Professor Thorne says it's rare to find one this old," Hermione answered. "Of course, Preservation Charms weren't invented until long after the scroll was written, so it aged quite a bit before it was charmed. That's why it's all yellow."

"Does Professor Green know how it got into her trunk?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Apparently she's sent an owl to the Ministry to find out who owned the trunk before it got issued to her. She still doesn't know. Might never find out either, if the information's classified."

"So, you still don't know what the scroll says, or where it came from," Harry concluded. "When do you think you'll know something?"

Hermione shrugged. "It'll take at least a couple of months. I'll be happy to have this finished before the end of the school year, what with O.W.L.s to prepare for. Which reminds me, have you two been studying--"

"I'm hungry," Ron interrupted, staring guiltily at the floor, "let's go downstairs."

"Hmph." Hermione looked at them both reproachfully, but said nothing further. Carefully, she rolled up the pieces of parchment and placed them, along with the book, in her bag.

Suddenly Harry was struck by a thought. "Um, Ron. I'm going to go ahead and ... save us a spot at the table. Okay?" While Hermione was looking down into her bookbag, Harry winked. Ron's face broke out in an expression of dawning comprehension, but before he could either agree or protest, Harry left. As he slid through the portrait hole, he silently congratulated himself on giving Ron the perfect opportunity to ask Hermione to the ball.

Harry jogged through the corridors, wanting to put a few minutes' distance between himself and Ron and Hermione. He knew--though he couldn't have explained how, or why--that Ron would never ask Hermione to the ball while Harry was within earshot. So he trotted quickly along, minimizing the chances that they would accidentally catch up to him, and amusing himself by picturing a flustered Ron, wearing his new dress robes, presenting Hermione with a corsage.

He chuckled to himself as he rounded a corner near the top landing of the great stone staircase that led down into the entrance hall. Unexpectedly, he saw a whirl of black robes, heard a short, startled cry, and felt hard stone hit his chest and face. His glasses made a clattering noise as they skittered along the floor, away from him. He hadn't even seen who he had run into. Before him, he saw nothing but blurry gray masses. He extended his hands and felt along the floor.

"Here," said a girl's voice, and his glasses came into contact with his outstretched fingers. Gratefully, he grabbed them and put them back on, turning over into a sitting position.

"Thanks," he said, "I'm sorry, I wasn't--"

He looked up to see Cho kneeling a short distance away. A hot, prickly wave of embarrassment surged from his face down to his feet, and suddenly he lost his train of thought.

"It was my fault," she said. She was smiling. He was grateful that she had decided to speak; it gave him a chance to think of something to say. "I was--thinking. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Neither was I," he admitted guiltily. "Look, are you alright?"

"Yeah. Are you? I think you fell a lot harder than I did--"

"Nah, I'm okay." He grinned sheepishly. At once he realized he was still sitting on the floor. He scrambled to his hands and feet, and tentatively held a hand out to Cho.

"Thanks." She took his hand and stood up.

Harry swallowed hard. Ask her, he thought to himself. All things being equal, he would have preferred not to ask Cho to the ball just after nearly giving her a concussion; but if he didn't ask her now, he might not get another chance. In fact, it was possible that it was already too late, that she already had a date for the Valentine's Ball ...

"Harry," she said suddenly, staring him in the eye seriously. "I want to ask you something."

"Oh--okay."

"Would you like to go to the Ball with me?"

His heart flip-flopped like a dying goldfish. His mouth had gone dry. Cho held his gaze steadily, showing no sign of the awkwardness he felt. "Yeah, sure," he croaked.

She smiled again. "Great."

He smiled back. "Yeah." He racked his brain painfully for something else to say, but came up with nothing.

"Alright then," she said after a moment. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah. See you."

She turned and started down the corridor the way Harry had come, then stopped. "Harry," she called, turning back around to face him. "Good luck against Hufflepuff next Saturday."

"Thanks!" he called, a little more enthusiastically than he had intended. He waved. She turned away again, and he continued down the corridor toward the stone staircase.

As he descended the stairs, he ran the conversation over and over in his mind, trying to absorb what had just happened. He couldn't decide whether to be mortified at his awkwardness, or awed by the fact that Cho had asked him to the ball. He was still contemplating this as he absent-mindedly entered the Great Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Hey, Harry!" Ron shouted exasperatedly, waving a hand in front of his face. "Hello!"

Harry turned to see his best friend, slightly pink in the face, staring at him.

"First Hermione, and now you. What is it with everyone?" Ron shrugged as poured himself a glass of cranberry juice.

"Sorry, I was just thinking. So? What happened?"

Ron suddenly became very interested in a tray of muffins. "Right, well, thanks for leaving me like that. I wasn't exactly planning on asking her first thing in the morning, you know. But," he glanced sideways at Harry, grinning, "she said yes. We're going."

Harry laughed. "You're welcome. So where is she, then?"

Ron shrugged, still staring at the muffin tray, as the shade of pink in his cheeks deepened. "Said she wanted to talk to Ginny." He motioned toward the far end of the table, where Ginny and Hermione sat talking and giggling animatedly.

Then he seemed to remember something. "Hey, guess who we ran into on our way down? Cho was in the corridor."

"Yeah. I ran into her, too." Ron looked at him quizzically, and Harry told him all about their collision, and how Cho had asked him to the ball- though he saw no need to describe the awkward pauses. When he had finished, Ron looked as amazed as Harry felt.

"Wow," Ron muttered, turning back to the tray of muffins and finally selecting a poppyseed one. "You knock her down and she asks you to the ball. If you can manage to push her off her broom in the match against Ravenclaw, she'll probably ask you to marry her!"

***

On the first weekend in February, with the winter holiday past and the term in full swing, Quidditch was on everyone's mind. The students' talk in the classrooms, common rooms, and corridors was almost exclusively about the respective houses' chances at winning the Cup. Due to their victory over Gryffindor, Slytherin was heavily favored--much to the rest of the school's disgust.

But despite Gryffindor's loss to Slytherin, only the most devoted Hufflepuffs expected Gryffindor to lose the first match of the term. Hufflepuff had already lost to both Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and most Hogwarts students had given up on them. And with good reason--it seemed that, without Cedric Diggory, the team was in desperate need of both a decent captain and a competent Seeker.

"I don't want you getting too cocky," Angelina warned the Gryffindor team in the locker room before the game. Her scarlet robes billowed as she paced back and forth in front of them. Fred and George chuckled.

"We got enough of those speeches when Oliver was here," Katie Bell put in. "Come on, Angelina, we're going to win. You saw Hufflepuff's match against Ravenclaw. They're hopeless."

Angelina fought back a smile, shook her head, and addressed Katie sternly. "See, this is what I'm talking about! That type of talk will only get us in trouble. Their Chasers aren't bad, Katie. And their Beaters are upperclassmen; Fred and George, you'll have your work cut out for you."

George rolled his eyes. "Alright, Angelina. We'll play the hardest game of our lives. Are you satisfied?"

"No!" she answered. "Harry, Justin Finch-Fletchley is a bit of a ... er ... novice Seeker, but he's learning quickly. Please keep an eye on him."

Harry nodded. He had seen Justin play in Hufflepuff's previous two matches, and he knew that Angelina was being generous. Even Malfoy had been able to fly circles around him.

"Enough, Angelina! Harry's the best Seeker we've had in a hundred years," Fred protested. Suddenly he pointed a finger at her in mock solemnity. "And I have it on good authority, young lady, that you bet a certain Miss Abbott ten Galleons that Gryffindor would win. So, enough with the Oliver Wood routine!"

Angelina glared at Fred, and swallowed, but said nothing for a moment. Finally, a funny sideways smile crept across her face. "Right, then. Let's go."

As they walked out onto the field, Harry could hear the cheers of his schoolmates. After three and a half years' worth of Quidditch at Hogwarts, he had grown used to the sound: the applause, the yells, even the catcalls and hissing from the Slytherins. An unexpected thought struck him: he would miss this when he finally left school.

To his right, Ginny's flaming red hair caught his eye. This was only her second game. That she wasn't yet used to the crowd, or the cheering, was obvious; her eyes were wide, and she looked around at the stands quickly, then down at the ground.

"Ginny," Harry called.

She looked over at him, surprised. "Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

She stared at him quizzically, eyes still wide, and then nodded.

"Are you alright? I mean, are you sure you want to do this?"

She closed her eyes, nodded again, and looked back down at the grass. "It's Hufflepuff. It won't be like last time."

"I know, but ... I just thought I'd ask. If you'd rather have Ron play Keeper in your place, this would be your last chance--"

She stopped suddenly, and faced him. Nonplussed, Harry stopped as well. He had never seen her angry before--at least, not at him. "What are you saying, Harry? That because I got hurt in the match against Slytherin, I can't handle my position? That I should just step aside and let my big brother play?" She turned away and proceeded to walk very quickly toward the center of the pitch. Harry hurried to catch up.

"No, I just meant--"

"I know what you meant. You're just as bad as my mother." She cast a furtive, angry glance at Harry. Her eyes flashed intensely, and her fists were clenched; Harry was a little frightened. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

He opened his mouth to reply, but they had reached the center of the pitch, and the teams were lining up to face one another. Justin Finch Fletchley grinned ebulliently. Harry gave him a polite smile and clasped his outstretched hand; Justin shook it vigorously.

To Harry's right, Madam Hooch began to speak.

"Alright, teams, let's have a clean match. Captains, shake hands." Angelina shook the hand of the new Hufflepuff captain, a sixth-year whose name Harry didn't know. Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and both teams kicked off at once.

As usual, the Golden Snitch disappeared almost immediately. Harry climbed above the other players and began to circle the pitch, with Justin following awkwardly at a great distance. Soon Lee Jordan's amplified voice filled the stadium.

"And the match has begun! Gryffindor in possession--no surprise there--oh, sorry, Professor McGonagall. Spinnet passes to Bell, and--BELL SCORES!"

Applause erupted in the stands. Harry noticed that a disproportional number of spectators were wearing red, and only a very few--gathered in a small knot on one end of the Hufflepuff bleachers--wore canary yellow. Three of the figures looked suspiciously like Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"Hufflepuff in possession. Archer passes to Macmillan--no! Johnson intercepts the Quaffle, and--SCORES!"

Harry continued to circle, scanning the sky, the stands, and the field for any sign of the Snitch. Justin was trying to follow, but having trouble keeping up. Harry actually felt a little sorry for him.

"And Spinnet scores for Gryffindor--come on, this is too easy," Lee voice boomed. "Ouch! Sorry, Professor!"

But Lee was right. Without Cedric, the Hufflepuff team was sorely outmatched. It was a relief when, thirty minutes and a hundred and ninety Gryffindor points later, Harry finally caught the Snitch. He landed on the soft grass of the field, holding the gleaming sphere high above his head. The crowd cheered, sounding more thankful than excited. Justin Finch Fletchley walked up to Harry and held out his hand once again. Once again, Harry shook it, but this time he smiled earnestly, and even sympathetically, back.

"It's alright," Justin said amiably, as though reading Harry's thoughts. "You can't win them all, can you?" Slowly, both teams parted and filed into their respective locker rooms.

As they walked together, the members of the Gryffindor team traded happy smiles. But when Harry cast a congratulatory glance at Ginny, she only stared stonily in return. His mood fell a little; then he became angry. Why was Ginny mad at him, anyway? He had only been trying to help when he suggested she let Ron play. He hadn't meant anything by it.

"What is her problem?" Harry wondered aloud. Ron and Hermione had stayed behind to wait for Harry to come out of the locker room, and the three of them now made their way back up to the castle. Most everyone had already gathered for dinner; only a few odd players still lingered outside, chatting about the match and enjoying the mild weather.

Hermione stared at Harry evenly. "Harry. You mean you really don't know?"

"Know what? All I know is, she's being completely impossible. I just said--"

"It's not about what you said," Hermione interrupted, and abruptly stopped walking. "Listen, she's had a crush on you since she was ten years old."

Harry's face reddened a bit; he was embarrassed now, which just made him angrier. "So? That doesn't give her the right to be unreasonable--"

"She doesn't see it that way. She's just disappointed, is all."

Now it was Harry's turn to stare at Hermione. "Disappointed?"

She sighed extravagantly. "Harry," she said as she looked him in the eye. "She wanted you to ask her to the ball, of course. And when you struck up a conversation with her--I'd bet she thought you were going to ask her. Or at least hoped as much."

Harry was speechless; he simply returned her gaze, open-mouthed. He looked to Ron for help, but Ron simply raised his eyebrows, as if to say, she has a point. Harry knew that she did, but he was not about to concede it.

"Well ... it's not my fault if she got the wrong idea! I already told Cho I'd go with her, anyway."

"But Ginny didn't know that." Hermione began walking again; the boys followed suit.

"Fine, let her be angry then. I don't care."

Surprisingly, Hermione smiled. "You could have fooled me."

Harry sighed, and shook his head. He stared into the cheerfully-lit windows of the Great Hall as they walked past. Inside, people were laughing and talking as they ate, several of them in pairs. "I'll just be glad when this whole ball thing is over with. It's a lot more trouble than it's worth."

But it was going to get worse before it got better. Over the next week, Harry found it difficult to concentrate in class; his mind kept wandering as he imagined what an actual date with Cho would be like. In Herbology, he pruned his hemlock plant to within an inch of its life. In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall scolded him harshly when, instead of making his quill disappear and then reappear on the opposite side of the room, he accidentally turned it into an earthworm.

But still, he couldn't stop thinking about it. A date--whenever the word came to mind, his stomach tightened into a fiery knot. He wondered what he had got himself into. Several times he considered faking an illness, or "accidentally" injuring himself during Quidditch practice in order to get out of it. He was certain to embarrass himself in some way, he always did around Cho. But on the other hand, Cho did seem to like him--hadn't she asked him to the ball?--and if he managed to avoid looking like an idiot, they might actually have a good time.

Before he had decided whether he would rather take Cho to the ball or develop a particularly nasty case of strep throat, it was the Saturday before Valentine's Day. When Harry awoke, he felt as though he had spent the night swallowing needles, and as the day wore on, the needles only accumulated. As it turned out, George Weasley had asked a Ravenclaw girl to the ball, as well. So at six o'clock, after Harry had changed into his dress robes, he arranged to meet Ron and Hermione in the entrance hall, met George in the common room, and set out with him for the Ravenclaw wing.

"Technically, we're not supposed to know where their common room is," George half-whispered. "But of course Fred and I have known for years--thanks to the Marauder's Map. We've sold Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes in all the common rooms--except Slytherin's." He wrinkled his nose, then shook his head. "Even the Prefects don't mind us anymore. I've arranged for Roger to let us in."

"Mm-hmm." Harry pretended to listen, but in reality he was wondering whether it would be too late to fake a debilitating injury.

"Nervous?" George asked as they turned down a corridor that Harry had never used before.

"Nah," he answered, not very convincingly.

George smirked. "Hey, it's just a date, right? What's the worst that could happen?" He patted Harry on the shoulder lightheartedly.

Since Harry had spent the past week thinking of the worst that could happen, this wasn't much comfort, but he appreciated George's attempt at cheering him up.

"Ah, here we are," George remarked as they approached a large tapestry showing a tunic-clad woman weaving at a loom. George pulled out his wand and tapped the loom three times. After a few seconds, the tapestry was pulled aside and a boy's head popped out from behind it.

"Hey, George! Hi, Harry." It was Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain. Harry had never been formally introduced to him, but it had been a long time since he was surprised that a stranger knew his name.

"Come in," Roger said, stepping out into the corridor and holding the tapestry aside for them. George and Harry walked through a stone archway behind the tapestry, and into a very large room.

The Ravenclaw common room wasn't circular, like Gryffindor's, or long and narrow, like Slytherin's; rather, it was short, but very, very wide. The far wall was lined with arched windows overlooking the Quidditch pitch and, beyond it, the Forbidden Forest. The other three walls were lined with bookshelves, which reminded Harry of Professor Thorne's office, and a fire roared in the fireplace off to the left. The room was very brightly lit by candelabras on the tables scattered around. Driven to distraction by his extreme nausea at that moment, Harry imagined the room during the daytime, with sunlight streaming through the many windows and falling on reading Ravenclaws.

But no one was reading now. Students in dress robes of all colors stood around and talked excitedly. Only a few seemed to notice George's and Harry's presence, and they just waved in greeting. A blond girl dressed in robes of a very becoming chocolate brown walked up to George.

"Olive! Looking lovelier than ever," he murmured as he took her hand, bent over, and kissed it exaggeratedly. She laughed.

"Harry, this is--" George began to introduce Harry to his date, but at the exact moment when he was telling Harry her name, Cho came into view over her shoulder, and Harry lost focus. He recovered in time to mumble a hello, just before Cho reached the three of them.

"Hi, Harry, George," Cho greeted them.

She was dressed in robes of deep burgundy, and had her hair pulled back into a French twist. The first time he had seen her on the Quidditch field, Harry had thought Cho very pretty; but the girl who stood facing him now was stunningly beautiful. Harry's nausea had disappeared, but suddenly he could not remember how to speak.

Fortunately, George did not seem to have this problem. "Shall we be off?" he asked, offering his arm to Olive in another overwrought chivalric gesture. She played along, lifting her nose high in the air and resting her hand on his arm regally, and they set off through the archway.

As Harry and Cho moved to follow them, he regained his voice. "You look nice."

She smiled wanly. "Thanks."

The four of them moved through the corridors quickly, led by an eager George. "I can't wait to see Lee play. I hear he has a great voice--wonder if I could manage to slip him a Helium Crisp beforehand--"

Harry had made a mental note to stay away from the snack table, when they reached the entrance hall and saw Ron and Hermione waving at them. Ron was dressed in the same robes he had worn to Percy's wedding, but Hermione's robes weren't the blue ones she had worn on that occasion; instead, she was dressed in a pretty saffron. She noticed Harry's puzzled stare, and whispered, "Well, I couldn't wear the same robes as last year, could I? I switched with Lavender!"

George introduced them to Olive, and then Harry introduced them to Cho. All around, people were filing past and into the Great Hall.

"Looks like we're holding up traffic a bit. Shall we go on?" Hermione asked. They nodded, and the six of them joined the crowd and walked inside.

Except for the decorations, the Great Hall was set up much the same way as it had been last year for the Yule Ball: the long house tables were missing, replaced by several round tables set up to one side. But there was no frost, mistletoe, or ivy covering the walls this time. Instead, a shimmering golden mist hung in the air. Harry noticed that there were no candles in the room; the mist was its only light source. It made for rather low light, and it wasn't as ornate as last year's decorations, but it had a certain ambient charm about it.

On the opposite side of the room from the round tables sat a raised platform bearing a set of drums and several guitars. Lee Jordan and three other students from different houses converged on the platform, picking up their respective instruments.

Harry scanned the crowd, happy at his inability to find a single dwarf dressed as Cupid. There were Draco Malfoy in his high-collared black velvet, and Pansy Parkinson, wearing frilly robes of ice blue. And Crabbe and Goyle had apparently found dates this year: Slytherin girls several years younger, who did not look keen to dance with them. And there, just entering the hall with Colin Creevey, was Ginny.

Harry almost hadn't recognized her. Even though he had seen her in dress robes at last year's Yule Ball, she looked somehow different tonight. She wore robes of a deep royal blue, and her hair, set high on her head, fell around her face, framing it in orange ringlets.

Ginny and Colin looked around; she spotted Harry and her expression changed instantly from one of contentment to one of icy disdain. Then Lee's voice echoed from the stage.

"Witches and wizards, welcome to Hogwarts' First Annual Valentine's Ball! Now, without any further delay, let's get the party started--"

At once, the band began to play. George had been right: Lee did have a nice voice after all. And he wasn't bad on the guitar, either.

"Let's dance!" Hermione exclaimed, and tugged a frightened-looking Ron onto the dance floor. George and Olive were already there, jumping about wildly.

"Harry," Cho said, tugging at his arm. "Do you want to dance?"

"Okay." It was then that Harry realized he hadn't thought this through -he didn't know how to dance! All his energy had been focused on asking Cho, and he hadn't thought for a second about what they would do when they got here. Last year, at least he'd had Parvati to lead him. This year, he was on his own.

She walked out to the middle of the floor, edging between couples dancing with varying degrees of enthusiasm. He watched them. There didn't seem to be any prescribed way of doing it, that he could tell; they were all moving different body parts randomly in time to the music. He took a deep breath. I can do this, he thought.

And he did. Once he got going, it wasn't nearly as bad as he had feared. To his great relief, he found that hardly anyone paid attention to them. The music was easy enough to dance to. And--the best part--it was so loud that he didn't have to talk; instead, he and Cho just smiled politely at each other.

They danced like this to three or four songs. Cho seemed happy, but a little distracted--or could she be nervous, too? Harry couldn't tell. Then the music quieted, and Lee began to sing a slower melody. For a second, Harry was unsure what to do; last year, Parvati had placed one of his hands round her waist and clasped the other in her hand, but no one was dancing like this now. It was less formal. He noticed that Ginny had her arms clasped around Colin's neck, while Colin had placed his hands on her waist. He had just decided to try this when Cho leaned in and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going to sit down, okay?"

Grateful for the reprieve, Harry smiled. "Okay. Do you want a drink or something?"

But she wasn't smiling back. She frowned into the distance, at nothing. "No. I just--I need to get out of here."

Suddenly, she turned and pushed her way through the crowd, away from Harry. Astonished, he stared after her. Then he noticed Fred and Angelina standing nearby, looking at him. In fact, several people were.

He ran out of the Great Hall after her. As he reached the door to the entrance hall, he just saw one of the large oak doors swing shut. Quickly he ran to the door and opened it.

Outside it was chilly. A sliver of moon hung over the lawn, surrounded by the stars that he had already seen illuminating the ceiling of the Great Hall. He could just make her out, dimly, walking at a brisk pace down the lawn. She appeared to be heading for the lake.

"Cho!" he called, but she didn't answer. He ran down the steps, overwhelmed by curiosity and concern. Ahead of him, she reached the water's edge and sat down on the ground, drawing her knees up and burying her face in her arms.

Without a word, he crept up and sat down next to her. It grew colder after a few minutes, and he conjured a small fire, which he placed between them. He didn't know what to say--he didn't even know for sure what was wrong. But he had an idea.

Finally, she spoke.

"Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--to make a scene, or anything. I'm really sorry."

"Oh, I don't care about that," he answered.

After a few more seconds of silence, she spoke again. "I still miss him."

Harry mimicked her posture: he drew his knees up to his chin and placed his arms around them.

"We danced to that song last year, you know. That's why I--I don't know why, I just had to leave." She turned her head toward him. "Harry, I have a confession to make."

He said nothing, simply turned his head to look at her. Her face was dry, but tears hung wet in her lashes, reflecting the pale sheen of the moon.

"I asked you to the ball because I thought--I thought it would help me to forget. Or something. At first I didn't want to come at all, I would have much rather sat on my bed and read--or tried to read--all evening. But I knew that wouldn't work. Then, I thought that if I asked you, we'd have fun--" when she said this, she smiled a little, so sadly that it nearly broke his heart-- "and I could forget for a little while." She brushed her wet lashes with the back of her hand. "Not that I ever want to forget Cedric. I want to remember him. I just--don't want it to hurt so much."

Cedric. He had been dreading hearing the name, dreading the guilt that he knew he would feel. The truth was that he had been trying to forget, too. But, unlike her, he had done a decent job of it. A sudden surge of grief and guilt made his heartbeat quicken.

He hadn't talked to anyone about the events leading up to Cedric's death since the night it had actually happened, when he had spoken to Mrs. Weasley in the hospital wing. Even when he had met with Cedric's parents a few days later, they had done most of the talking. But now, for some reason, he wanted to talk. He wanted to tell her.

"It should have been me."

She glanced over at him, astonished. Her mouth was open, her eyes trained on him. "What--"

He looked away from her. It was so difficult, so very difficult, but he had to tell her. He owed her the truth. "He offered to let me take the Cup," he said slowly, emphatically. "He wanted me to take it. I refused. I made him take it with me ... if it wasn't for me, he'd still be here. He'd still be alive."

For a moment, silence. Then: "No. No, no, no." She shook her head vigorously. "Harry, you were there at the end-of-year feast. You heard what Dumbledore said. You were brave, you fought--how could you have known?"

Now it was his turn to shake his head. He placed his forehead against the tops of his knees, the sheer fabric of his dress robes pressing into his skin.

"It wasn't your fault."

They were the same words Mrs. Weasley had spoken to him in the hospital wing, but when she had said them, they hadn't rung true. Now, coming from Cho, who had known Cedric and (there was no other word) loved him, they felt like a pardon. His eyes were stinging. He snuck a sideways glance at her--she looked at him for a minute, then turned away to stare over the lake. When she did this, he wiped his eyes surreptitiously, and raised his head.

Without a word, Cho slung an arm around Harry's shoulder, and they sat there together, looking out over the water, for a long time. Song after song echoed from the Great Hall in the distance. After a while, she stood up. He stood, too.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to go up to the Ravenclaw wing. Harry, I'm really sorry if I've ruined your evening."

"No," he answered earnestly. "You didn't. Do you want me to walk you back?"

"No, thanks. I'd rather go alone." She held out a hand. "Thanks for a wonderful evening."

He took her hand in his, and shook it. She smiled, and his heart broke again. Then, impulsively, she stepped forward and hugged him.

At first he stood motionless, a bit shocked. But then he hugged her back. Harry had never had a sister--just as he had never had a brother, or a proper mother or father--but he imagined that this must be what it felt like. He and Cho shared something, a bond. Yesterday she had been his crush; today she was his friend.

She pulled back from him, regarded him for a second, then leaned forward again--and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Harry." She turned around and, with her usual briskness, walked up the hill, climbed the steps, and disappeared through the oak doors.

Harry stood silently for a moment. Then he bent, scooped up the fire in his hands, and began to walk toward the castle. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure moving along the far side of the lake, skirting the Forbidden Forest. He squinted and saw that it was a dog--in fact, it was Sirius. Harry glanced back up at the castle, taking in the noise and light streaming out of the Great Hall. At the moment, a visit with Sirius was much more appealing. Harry changed direction, and made for the forest quickly, trying to catch him.