Harry Potter and the Mistress of the Clow

0. King's Cross

Li Ling Chang stood at platform nine of King's Cross station, waiting for her daughter to return from school.

The train that bore her, of course, would not be pulling up to that platform, or any others she could see. Even after five years, even with the other things she saw in her day-to-day life, it still took some getting used to.

Li Ling, in her late thirties and quite attractive, was highly successful considering her ancestry and gender. Not many Chinese-Vietnamese women in Britain could boast of owning two successful teahouses in London, with a dream of possibly expanding to a third location somewhere farther out, or perhaps even outside England itself. That she still made time and then some for her family was even more remarkable. She had never forgotten how stern and frequently absent her own parents had been growing up, and was determined not to repeat their mistakes with her own family.

Yet even more remarkable still was the aspect of her home life which was carefully hidden away from the eyes and ears of the world.

Li Ling Chang was married to a wizard.

Not only that, but her daughter just happened to be a witch.

She'd met Peter as a teenager, when her grandmother had asked her to stop at an apothecary for some special ingredients for a rheumatism cure. At the time, Peter, half Korean and half British, was apprenticing to his grandfather, an elderly wizard who fared better in potions and herbs than in spells and charms. He'd taken a fancy to her almost immediately, and she had thought he was cute, and she found herself returning to the apothecary less for herbs and more for conversation...and dates...and...

Of course, Li Ling didn't find out for quite some time that her boyfriend was a wizard. It came as a bit of a shock, but she loved him so dearly that she didn't care.

When her daughter Cho was born, her name went down for Hogwarts before she had her first birthday.

Now, Li Ling stood waiting, half in shadow, near the barrier that separated platforms nine and ten. Soon, the Hogwarts Express would arrive, at Platform 9 3/4, concealed from view by those who were unaware of the existence of real witches and wizards and magic. Soon, the students returning home for summer holiday would begin to trickle through the solid wall, into the station proper. Other parents were waiting now on the two platforms: a plump, matronly woman she'd seen towing an unseemly load of red-haired children every year since her daughter started at Hogwarts; a stocky, neckless man with horrible beady eyes and a perpetually twitching moustache; a frazzled-looking couple who seemed as unnerved by the invisible platform as she often was, and still others, all waiting anxiously.

Slowly, the first few students emerged from the barrier, trolleys loaded with trunks and owls in cages. A gaggle of redheads shot forth and headed for the plump woman; a girl with bushy brown hair headed for the frazzled couple; a skinny, slight boy with glasses and messy dark hair headed for the large man with no neck. More came and went, and after several minutes, her own daughter emerged into the station proper.

She knew immediately that something was wrong.

* * * * * *

Cho smiled at her mother as they hailed a taxi and the driver loaded her luggage. The smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Is everything alright, dear?" Li Ling asked as they got into the cab.

Cho remained silent.

"Do you want to talk about it?" her mother asked.

"Ma-maybe later," she replied hoarsely. "Right now, I just want...to be home."

The driver did his best to ignore the passengers as they slowly navigated the traffic toward their destination.

* * * * * *

Once they'd arrived at their modest, comfortable two-story house, the driver helped unload the luggage and haul it up to the door. As her mother paid the driver, Cho unlocked the front door and started to take her things inside.

As she reached the stairs with her trunk, the front door closed, and her mother called out to her.

"Cho?" The worry in her voice was almost heartbreaking.

Turning, she looked at her mother, fighting not to shed tears again, not to worry her mother even more. "Mum, I...I don't want to talk about it. Just yet. I--" She swallowed heavily. "Right now, I just want to sleep. I need to sleep."

Concern creasing her brow, Li Ling nodded. "A-alright, dear. Would you like some tea to calm your nerves?"

Cho nodded. "I think I'd like that."

Several minutes later, Cho had dragged her trunk upstairs; immediately after, she undressed and threw on an oversized T-shirt. Her mother arrived with the tea, and sat for a moment as she drank. "I put a little bit of diluted sleeping draught in it," her mother said. "I figured..."

Cho nodded, already feeling drowsy. "I'm glad Daddy's been teaching you a few things..."

"Alright then, I'll just...leave you to sleep. And we can talk later, when you're rested?" Cho nodded again, and her mother left, wishing her sweet dreams.

Sweet dreams...

A few tears arced down Cho's face as she slid into bed and waited for the tea to take full effect, to let her sleep...

---

1. Remember Cedric

She didn't awake until well into the morning of the next day.

Stretching, Cho blinked away the dregs of sleep from her eyes, wincing slightly at the brightness of the sunlight shining through her window. Sliding out of bed, she shuffled to her dresser and found a slightly ratty yet comfortable pair of shorts, slipped them on, and padded barefoot out of her bedroom.

The Chang house bore a strong Muggle influence, in part because her mother was, of course, a Muggle, and also because her father simply preferred the non-magical lifestyle. This being, of course, a wizard's household, there were the occasional nods to the less mundane; the fireplace was connected to the Floo network, at least one window was always open to admit post-owls, and two great horned owls nested in the loft, which provided many perches and self-replenishing food and water cups to accomodate both their own owls, and recently-arrived owls who needed a bit of rest before returning to their owners. A few other touches, mostly related to her father's work as an apothecary, were to be found here and there, but only one who knew to look for anything unusual would find it.

Paying the lavatory a quick visit, Cho began searching for her mother. She first ducked into her parents' bedroom; her mother wasn't there, and the door to their private bathroom was open, with the light extinguished. As she turned to leave, her attention fell to her mother's dressing table, where some of her jewelry was scattered about.

Her eyes passed over a pair of round, bright jade earrings lying on the table, and a small gold brooch just above them, a dragon whose sinuous body was twisted into an oddly jagged shape.

Cho's vision blurred, superimposing the image of a face over the dressing table. She bowed her head and left somberly, tears threatening to fall again.

She found her mother at last downstairs, sitting fretfully at the kitchen table. "Morning, Mum," she called.

"Cho, dear," Li Ling rose quickly and rushed over to engulf her daughter in a crushing hug. "Come on, dear, let's get some breakfast in you, and...and then we can talk. If you're up to it."

With a slight sniffle, Cho nodded, and allowed herself to be seated and fussed over.

Once Cho had tea, toast, fried ham, and eggs in front of her, Li Ling sat across from her daughter, watching her with a concerned look. "So..." she prompted, then waited patiently.

After poking at her food for a few minutes, Cho sighed. "There was...a tragedy at...at Hogwarts. Someone...close to me...died."

Li Ling gasped. "Oh, Cho...gods, I'm so sorry..." She swept around the table and wrapped her daughter in a motherly embrace. "Tell me all about it."

"He..." Cho sniffled, feeling the tears come again. "We were good friends...close...almost...more." She paused to daub at her face with a napkin. "You know about the tournament, right?"

Li Ling nodded. "Your father mentioned it. Supposed to be a big deal, but I'm afraid I haven't kept up much with the wizarding world."

"Well, he...he was one of the champions from Hogwarts. C-Cedric Diggory." Cho paused for a moment. "We went to the Yule Ball together. He..." Here, she sniffled. "He fancied me quite a bit, and I did like him as a friend, and he w-was...handsome..." She blew her nose, tears now spilling freely down her cheeks.

Her mother closed her eyes and let out a long, hissing sigh. "Gods, Cho...I can't begin to say...how awful..."

"I..." Cho began again, voice breaking, choking on the words. "Th-three days before...before the last task, before the end...we had a talk, and I...I told him I w--" She bowed her head, raven bangs obscuring her face. "I told him I didn't w-want to be more than fr-friends..."

Cho's shoulders began to heave as sobs wracked her slender frame. Her mother sat silently, one hand on her daughter's shoulder, the other reaching to take Cho's hand.

"And then he died!" Cho wailed, the sobs coming full-force now. "They all w-went in, and wh-when he came out, he...was gone." She fell suddenly quiet, no sound except for sniffling, shuddering breaths escaping her.

Li Ling pulled her daughter into an embrace and let her cry herself out. "Go ahead, then," she told Cho. "Best to get it all out...I'm right here for you..."

---

2. The Ivory Club

Harry Potter was quite accustomed to the sight of his uncle, Vernon Dursley, in a foul temper. Rarely was the stocky, neckless, thick-moustached man in any other sort of mood when Harry was around.

At present, Uncle Vernon was in one of those rare bad moods where he quite obviously wanted nothing more than to wring Harry's neck and hang him from the ceiling fan, but could not show any outward display of hostility because there was currently a rather important guest in the house at number four, Privet Drive.

"See here, Mister Shiroto...I'm rather certain the boy had his heart set on going to football camp this summer...it was football camp, wasn't it, Harry?"

"Uh...yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry murmured, trying not to let the amused smirk break through his carefully schooled neutral expression.

Vernon Dursley, whose company made drills, had been invited to join the Ivory Club, a society of important businessmen. It was quite an honor, as far as he was concerned, as well as an opportunity--many of the members of the club owned businesses that were sure to need a supplier for drills of all sorts. Not only did inclusion in the Ivory Club bode well for the Dursleys' social standing, but for their bank account as well.

The director of admissions to the society, Mister Shiroto, was a stuffy, small, middle-aged Japanese man with square-framed glasses, an expensive Italian suit, and impeccable English. In many ways, he reminded Harry of the late Bartemius Crouch, Sr., who he had met the previous summer at the Quidditch World Cup. He had come to dinner to formally extend the offer of membership to Uncle Vernon, as well as to present him with an invitation to the society's anniversary ball, which was to be held a week from Saturday. As was customary when such a dinner was held at the Dursleys', Harry was instructed to remain well out of sight and to not make a sound the entire time Mister Shiroto was around.

The trouble had begun when Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, came in early from her nightly hunt. Harry had been in the bathroom at the time, washing spilled ink off his hands, and thus had not been there to open the window for Hedwig. Therefore, she had come in through the kitchen window.

Uncle Vernon, naturally, had been quite angry, as he was sure the presence of the owl would alarm the important businessman, and would destroy any hopes he had of being accepted into the Ivory Club. However, Mister Shiroto had been rather intrigued by the bird. "How unusual," he remarked. "A lovely white owl such as this...does it belong to you?"

"HARRY!" Uncle Vernon had bellowed. Immediately, Harry had scrambled downstairs to see what was the matter, and spotted Hedwig, who flew to land on his shoulder and nip his ear affectionately. Vernon had been about to launch into a tirade, or perhaps an explanation, when--

"So, you are the owner of the owl," Mister Shiroto said, stepping forward.

"Y-yes sir," Harry stammered.

The Japanese man cracked a small smile then. "What is your name, young man?" he asked.

"Harry, sir. Harry Potter."

"Yes, this is my nephew." Vernon began. "He's...well, he's autistic, you see. So when we have company, we tend to ask him to stay in his room. Doesn't take well to excitement. Sends him into fits."

"Ah, I see," Mister Shiroto said, his smile widening slightly. The twinkle in his eyes suggested to Harry that he knew full well the story was a load of dung, but saw no reason to call Uncle Vernon on it. "It's nice to meet you, young Mister Potter." He bowed formally.

Harry returned his bow. "Pleasure to meet you too, sir." A nip on his ear reminded him of his owl. "Oh, and this is Hedwig."

"Hedwig. Delighted," Mister Shiroto replied, inclining his head toward the owl, who hooted softly.

Harry had been prepared to make his farewells and retreat to his room with Hedwig, when Mister Shiroto said something that caused quite a bit of excitement.

"Mister Dursley," he said, "I would appreciate it if you would bring young Mister Potter here with you to the Ivory Club Ball."

Uncle Vernon turned several funny colours at once, and seemed about to choke. "What?" he gasped. "Mister Shiroto...surely you can't mean--"

"I'll be giving you four tickets to the ball," Mister Shiroto said. "One each for you and your wife, one for your nephew, and one for his date."

Vernon sputtered. "But--what about my son--Dudley--"

Mister Shiroto frowned slightly, his expression reminding Harry of Professor McGonagall. "Mister Dursley, your son is rather obese, and would not look fitting in a tuxedo. Our society likes to keep a certain image. Your son does not fit that image--your nephew, however, does. I'm sure you understand."

Harry blinked. That had been one of the strangest things anyone had ever said about him, and somehow, one of the nicest--even if he felt just a little indignant about the bluntness of Mister Shiroto's comment about Dudley. Harry had no love or respect for his great blob of a cousin whatsoever, but it did seem a bit unfair to him to treat someone like that just because they were overweight.

Of course, he reckoned, Dudley probably deserved a bit of unfair treatment.

Uncle Vernon argued futilely for a moment, then finally acquiesced. Mister Shiroto made his farewells, and left. Immediately, Vernon wheeled on Harry, apopleptic with rage.

"Boy...you didn't do anything...funny to him, to make him say that, did you?"

"Of course not, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied. "You know I'm not allowed. Besides, d'you think I'd want to go to some stuffy ball that badly?"

Vernon grunted. "Well, for your information, you are going to go to the ruddy ball, and you'll be on your best behavior, and no--no--strangeness, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

"Now, we'll need to rent you a tuxedo, do something to that horrible, dreadful hair, and find you a date who won't run in terror at the sight of you." Vernon looked horribly grim.

"I can find a date," Harry said.

His uncle immediately rounded on him. "I'll not have you bring some...some...FREAKY girl along to this important ball," he hissed. "We'll find someone appropriately normal, and that's that."

"Actually, I was thinking of someone normal," Harry said. "Not everyone I know is...well...you know."

Uncle Vernon peered at him intently with his beady eyes, then scowled. "Alright then, I suppose it's better to let you deal with finding a date yourself. Bad enough I'll have to pay for a tuxedo for you. I don't have the kind of time to waste on duping some girl into being seen in public with you. But so help me if you bring some...WEIRD girl to this ball--"

"I won't, Uncle Vernon," Harry promised. With that, he headed upstairs with Hedwig.

* * * * * *

Harry sat at his desk, absently cleaning ink from the old, scratched blotter as he looked out the window thoughtfully. Hedwig sat in her cage, preening her feathers.

A ball. Certainly, it was going to be a rather stiff, stuffy Muggle affair, the type of thing he'd seen on television a number of times which looked frightfully dull even if everyone was dressed to the nines and looked as though their evening attire cost more than most peoples' houses.

Still, it would be a break from the usual routine, and any time the Dursleys were forced to deal with him like an actual person was fine with him. Although the notion of a ball brought back certain unpleasant memories...

He was snapped out of his reverie by a tapping on the window. Opening it, he admitted a small tawny owl, which dropped a letter on the desk before fluttering over to have a drink from Hedwig's water dish.

Harry,
I just thought I'd write one last time before we start getting ready for the summer vacation. I'm sure I mentioned it before, but my family is going to Australia for the summer. I hope we'll be back in time to meet up with you and Ron at Diagon Alley. I'll try to send a postcard or two.

Love from,
Hermione

Harry chuckled. Ron had been overly enthused that Hermione was not going to visit Viktor Krum in Bulgaria. He and Ron both were excited to hear about Hermione's trip when she got back, as neither of them knew much about Australia. Pity I couldn't ask Hermione to go to this ball, though, Harry mused. Of all the people I know, she'd know best how to act at a Muggle ball.

He sent the tawny owl back on its way with a quick reply, then went back to cleaning up his desk, now pondering the one major snag in the whole ball situation...

He needed a date.

---

3. Serendipity

Ron,
Just got your letter. You really don't need to worry so much about me, you know, but thanks. Tell your mum I'm fine. Actually, something rather interesting just happened here at the Dursleys.
Uncle Vernon is trying to get into a society for important Muggle businessmen. The director invited him to the annual ball at dinner last night. The odd part is, he told them they have to take ME to the ball instead of Dudley. I feel the slightest bit guilty about it, if only because the man was so blunt about Dudley being too fat to fit in, but the look on his face was priceless. I reckon they'll have to spoil him more than usual and be extra horrible to me to get him to stop whining and pouting about the ball thing. Oh well.
The biggest problem I have with this whole ball is the fact that I have to find a date. My only experience with balls and dating...well, you know what a disaster that was. There's also the fact that Uncle Vernon knows how unlikely it is that I know many "normal" girls... naturally, I plan to ask a witch, if I can figure out how to go about that. I'd probably ask Hermione if she and her family weren't vacationing, since she knows exactly how to act like a Muggle.
It's good to have something normal to worry about for a change though, isn't it?
Anyway, time to figure out this whole date mess.

Harry

Harry,
Bloody brilliant! Boring as a Muggle ball sounds, and I expect it's like the stuffy sort of thing the Ministry gets up to that Dad never makes any of us go to, at least you'll get to do something other than study all summer. And you got one up on that bullying whale of a cousin--good on you, mate!
I don't reckon you'll have any problem finding a date. Don't forget, you ARE Harry Potter. Though I expect the witches who'd love to be seen in public with you might not be as excited if it's a Muggle ball, they'll still go. Go on, then. Just pick a witch and ask.
Keep me posted. Things are boring as sod around here.

Ron

* * * * * *

The next day was Saturday. Dudley's whining had reached a fever pitch shortly after the late evening news, and finally Uncle Vernon had appeased him by promising an outing in London. Dudley had complained when he learned Harry would be going with them, but Vernon had promised that Harry would not be spending the day with the rest of the family, and was only going so he could get fit for a tuxedo for the ball. This had reinforced Dudley's earlier whining, until he was made the promise of a stop at an expensive sweetshop; the prospect of being allowed his favorite treats again finally ended the rotund boy's protests.

Shortly after ten in the morning, the Dursleys dumped Harry at King's Cross, with a meager handful of money for the rails and a snack, instructions to meet them back at the station at four in the afternoon, and an admonition not to get up to anything "funny". He was also told to expect extra chores in the week ahead to earn the few pounds they'd given him. That didn't particularly bother Harry, especially as they'd given him more than enough to get where he REALLY wanted to go while in London: Diagon Alley. He was, for the first time he could remember, thankful for the excessively baggy hand-me-downs he wore; Dudley's old pants were more than large enough on him to hide the bulge of his pouch of wizard gold, as well as his wand. Though he wasn't allowed to perform magic during the summer, he wasn't about to walk around London without his wand--not with Voldemort on the loose. Besides, he needed it to get through the archway into Diagon Alley.

A short trip later, Harry was walking through the front doors of the Leaky Cauldron. The toothless old bartender, Tom, looked up at his entrance and smiled. "'Allo, Mister Potter!" he called.

"Hullo, Tom," Harry said, waving cheerfully. Already, many heads were snapping up to look at him as he walked through the doors. He ignored the gaggle of older wizards and witches; the first time he'd come into the Leaky Cauldron, he'd been swamped, but after staying here for a time two summers past, he learned that behaving very casually and ignoring everyone staring at him tended to discourage bouts of celebrity worship.

"Fancy a room, a drink, a bit o' lunch?" Tom asked.

"Just passing through," Harry replied. "I might stop by for a bite on the way back, though."

"Righto," Tom replied, going back to polishing a glass.

Harry walked out to the empty alley behind the inn, and tapped the brick with his wand, opening the archway to Diagon Alley. The wizarding marketplace was always crowded, though the crowds were nowhere near as bad as during the last weeks of summer, when the Hogwarts students and their families gathered for school shopping. Checking his pouch, Harry decided he didn't need to stop at Gringotts today; he didn't plan on any large purchases, and had more than enough leftover gold from the last term to have a treat at Florean Fortescue's, lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, and maybe some candy for the summer.

Still, he thought as he looked up and down the street, a little window shopping never hurt anyone. After a moment's debate, he ambled off in the direction of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

He paused by the window, which was displaying the newest model racing broom (Thunderbolt - When Fire Just Doesn't Cut It Anymore), and spent a moment looking at its sleek, polished handle and streamline twigs. He snorted; it was a nice broom, but he had his Firebolt and that was just fine. He stepped through the door.

The bell over the door jingled, but the proprietor didn't look up; he was busy replacing several damaged twigs on a Nimbus 2001. That suited Harry just fine; he didn't care for drawing attention to himself. He'd never actually spent any decent amount of time in Quality Quidditch Supplies, so he enjoyed walking along the wall, looking up at the various brooms (Firebolts 20% Off - Nimbus Series Brooms 30% Off - We Take Trade-Ins On Your Old Broom) and racks of merchandise. Broom service kits, broom building manuals, robes, ball sets, and even a few things he couldn't immediately place.

As he walked along, he picked up a piece of merchandise here and there to study it more closely; a set of enruned beater clubs (Bashman's No-Break Beater Bats - For Forceful Beaters), a set of glow-in-the-dark practice balls, and rolls of suede broom wrap.

After a moment, he spotted a sign near the back wall reading "Periodicals and Catalogues". Deciding he might as well pick up a couple Quidditch magazines while he was here, he headed toward the magazine rack. A petite witch stood there, browsing a copy of "Which Broomstick". Harry frowned; the back of the witch's head was awfully familiar...

Shaking his head, he reached out and plucked "Quidditch Quarterly" off the rack. The cover showed the Bulgarian team, with the caption "Can Krum Capture the Cup? QWC Prospects"; Viktor Krum's heavy eyebrows and surly expression glowered up at him from astride a broom, with a Golden Snitch flickering past.

The witch sighed and put her catalogue back on the rack, then turned--and started slightly. "Harry?" she asked.

Harry blinked, and looked up. His eyes widened.

It was Cho Chang.

"Um...hullo, Cho," he said.

She smiled. "Hi." She glanced at the magazine he was holding. "Think Bulgaria's gonna win the Cup this year?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I don't get to follow Quidditch as well as I'd like. Not during the summer, anyway." At Cho's questioning look, he shrugged. "The Muggles I live with don't much care for anything to do with our world."

"Ah."

A tense silence broke between the two. Harry's mind raced. This was Cho, the girl he'd spent so many days and nights dreaming about. The girl who'd gone to the Yule Ball with Cedric Diggory. The girl he'd last seen crying at the Leaving Feast. He couldn't bear to face her, and yet, he couldn't bear to walk away from her either.

A sudden impulse seized him. "Um...I was thinking of going by Florean Fortescue's. Care to join me? If you're not too busy, I mean."

Cho smiled slightly. "Sure, I'm not doing anything."

After paying for his magazine, Harry and Cho left the shop and headed down the street to the wizarding ice cream parlour.

* * * * * *

Harry watched Cho as she sat primly, a raspberry-caramel-peanut butter parfait in front of her. His own mocha raisin fudge sundae lay invitingly before him, and he spooned up a bit of the ice cream.

Cho looked at him curiously. "Something wrong?" she asked.

Harry blinked. "Hm? Oh...no, nothing." He blushed, then looked down.

"Hey, Harry." He looked up, and saw concern in Cho's brown eyes. "Are you okay? Really."

"I'm fine, I'm..." He paused, looking into the searching depths of those dark, pretty eyes, and sighed. "No, I'm not fine, not really."

She reached across the table and patted his hand gently. "Want to talk about it?" she asked.

Harry felt himself starting to blush again at her touch, but quashed it down with a fresh wave of guilt. "It just feels weird, sitting here with you, eating ice cream...doing something normal. After...what happened."

Cho nodded in understanding. "Cedric." She sighed. "His parents don't blame you. I don't blame you. Nobody blames you, and if they do, they're idiots."

Harry sighed. "It's just...if not for me, he wouldn't have been there. If not for me, Voldemort and Wormtail..." At her slightly confused expression, he supplied, "Wormtail is a Death Eater. He's the one who killed Cedric. I couldn't do anything in time."

Cho gave him a sombre look. "You can't hold yourself responsible for something someone else did. Cedric wouldn't want you to feel guilty. I don't want you to feel guilty either."

Harry smiled sadly at her. "You miss him terribly, don't you?"

The Asian girl sighed, toying with her ice cream, which had begun to melt slightly. "I do. But mostly I feel a bit guilty."

"Guilty?" Harry asked.

Cho nodded. "Three days before...the third task, I--" She paused, then sighed. "I told him I just wanted to be friends."

Harry blinked. Not noticing, Cho laughed softly, mirthlessly. "Hardly anybody even knew we'd stopped seeing each other. People treated me like a glass doll for days after..."

"You broke up with him?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "Why? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

Cho gave him a funny look, then shrugged. She ate a spoonful of ice cream before replying, "Well...we just didn't really have any chemistry. We were a photo couple. We only worked in pictures. Aside from being Seekers, we didn't really have much in common." She glanced up at Harry. "Can we talk about something else?" she asked.

"Oh! Of course. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she said with a small smile. They ate their ice cream in silence for a moment. Once she'd finished half her parfait, Cho asked, "So what about you? What brings you to Diagon Alley today?"

Harry chuckled. "The Dursleys--that's my Muggle relatives--they promised my cousin a day trip to London because he was taking a fit at not being allowed to go to a high society ball."

"Oh? How come?" Cho asked.

Harry snorted into his sundae. "The director doesn't want him there because he's too fat."

"That's awful!" Cho exclaimed.

Harry shrugged. "It's hardly fair, I admit. But I can't feel too sorry for the git. He's the most horribly spoiled brat I've ever met. Maybe now the Dursleys will get more serious about his diet." He shook his head. "Anyway, it's less to do with the fact that he's not allowed to go, and more the fact that the director insisted they take me." He chuckled. "The look on Uncle Vernon's face was priceless...he honestly thought I'd bewitched the man."

Cho giggled.

Harry toyed with his spoon, contemplating a sudden notion. Here he was, with Cho Chang, the girl he'd had a crush on for two years. She hadn't been Cedric's girlfriend after all--well, not at the end, anyway. He found he still wanted to get close to her, get to know her better, maybe...

"Hey, Cho?" he asked.

"Yes?"

He paused. What am I doing? he asked himself. Have I gone mad? "This ball...I'll be needing a date, of course. It's a Muggle ball, but I don't really know any Muggle girls..." He shifted a bit, flushing slightly. "And um, I was just thinking..."

Cho raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to ask me to this ball?" she asked.

Harry turned very red, and seemed to become fascinated with his napkin. "Umm, yes."

Cho reached out and touched his hand again, making him look up. She was smiling, and had reddened slightly. "I think I'd like that," she replied.

Harry blinked. "You--you would? You will?"

"Yes," Cho said, nodding.

Harry looked stunned for a moment, then slowly smiled. "Great!" he replied. "Um, I don't have all the details yet, but I can owl you about it when I find out."

"Okay," Cho replied. She glanced at her watch. "Ah, I'm going to have to go now, Harry. I'll write to you when I get home, alright?"

"Alright," Harry said, rising as Cho stood to leave. "See you later then. And um...thanks." He flushed.

Cho flushed slightly as well, but favored him with a dazzling smile. "G'bye then," she said, and then she was gone.

Harry stood there for a moment, watching her go, then turned and walked down Diagon Alley in the opposite direction, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

* * * * * *

In the restricted backroom of the Butterfly Room, one of the more trendy and popular tearooms in London, there's a small, modest hearth which burns merrily all year round. The smoke that comes from its low-set chimney is concealed from view; the only people who know about it are the proprietress and her family.

The flames in the hearth suddenly turned emerald green, and Cho Chang emerged, brushing soot off her summer robes. With an ease borne of practice, she stepped behind a screen by the fire, opened a locker, and stepped out moments later, clad in simple brown slacks and a navy blue blouse. She emerged from the backroom into the employee area, nodding to the waitstaff, who were used to the Changs coming and going from the small room that nobody outside the family was allowed access to.

Cho emerged into the serving room and spotted her mother chatting with some guests. A moment later, Li Ling turned and spotted her daughter, and smiled brightly. "Right on time as always, dear." Li Ling paused to bid her patrons farewell, before grabbing her purse and walking out of the Butterfly Room with her daughter. They were to attend a cinema premiere today, with a luncheon following--it never ceased to amaze Cho how popular her mother was in the Muggle world.

"You look rather more cheerful all of a sudden," Li Ling observed.

Cho smiled. "I'm in a particularly good mood right now."

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What brought this on, then?"

The teenager blushed a bit. "Mum, I've been invited to a ball."

"That's lovely, dear!" Li Ling paused, then leaned closer and whispered, "A wizard ball?"

Cho shook her head. "A Muggle ball, but I've been asked by a wizard."

Li Ling blinked at that. "Well, you'll have to tell me all about it on the way to the cinema."

"I can go then?"

"Well of course, dear," Li Ling said, smiling. "In fact..." A familiar gleam appeared in her eye then. "I daresay I look forward to the challenge of making sure you have the best gown for the ball." Cho rolled her eyes and giggled. Her mother was obsessed with fashion. "So, who's the young man who's asked you to this ball? Not that I know many people from the wizarding circle..."

"Harry Potter," Cho replied.

Li Ling's eyes widened. Muggle though she may be, you didn't live halfway in the wizarding world and not know THAT name. "Well, that calls for an extra effort on your dress!" She smiled. "Won't your father be surprised when he finds out..."

By the end of the day, Cho wondered if perhaps her mother was more excited about this date than she was.

* * * * * *

The Dursleys worked Harry with a vengeance over the week after the trip to London, as though fully intent upon thoroughly wearing him out before the ball, leaving him bereft of energy. They'd been particularly suspicious of the fact that he found a date so quickly, but much to his relief, they didn't press the issue.

Dudley, of course, had been a pain in the neck all week, doing everything from coming up behind Harry and kicking him in the bum while he was working in the garden, to jeering that whatever girl agreed to go anywhere public with Harry must be the ugliest hag in the world. Fortunately, he'd stopped saying that when Aunt Petunia overheard him, turned white as a sheet, and actually threatened to withhold a meal from the overweight boy if he said the word 'hag' again.

One of the biggest highlights of the week for Harry was when he got one up on the Dursleys over the subject of his hair. Before he'd left Diagon Alley, he'd stopped in a wizard grooming shop, and bought a fairly liberal quantity of Sleekeazy Hair Potion, the tonic Hermione had used to tame her bushy mane at the Yule Ball last term. He'd tested it first to see how well it would hold, and the Dursleys actually seemed to approve that he'd done something proper with his hair for once. Of course, it hadn't taken long for them to learn that he'd used a magic potion on his hair, and that made them quite furious.

"Look," he reasoned. "I'm a wizard. That means I've got wizard hair. The only thing that works on wizard hair is wizard hair tonics." Inwardly, he knew that was a far-fetched tale, but given the history his hair had of resisting efforts to be cut or combed...

"You know perfectly well our opinion of...of...THAT kind of rubbish!" Uncle Vernon roared over his newspaper.

"It's just hair tonic," Harry replied. "It doesn't explode or turn things funny colours or make things fly. It just makes hair lie flat."

"Well...alright then. Bloody hell," Uncle Vernon muttered. "I guess a little hair tonic won't cause any trouble. It'd better not, anyway," he growled.

Saturday approached quickly. Cho had owled him her address before he'd gotten home the day they met up in Diagon Alley; the Changs lived in London proper, so the Dursleys would pick her up on their way to the ball. He'd copied the address down on regular paper and given it to Uncle Vernon, who'd studied it as though looking for some sort of hidden meaning.

"This...Chang girl. What sort is she?"

"The decent sort," Harry replied.

"Hrm. Her parents, what do they do?"

Harry was, fortunately, prepared for this question. "Her mum owns a couple of tearooms in London, and her dad's a pharmacist." Close enough.

Vernon's moustache twitched, then he nodded. "Alright, call her up and let her know when we'll be picking her up."

Harry did precisely that, and had to spend a few minutes enduring excited chatter from Cho's father ("Amazing! It's really Harry Potter! Never thought I'd see the day...") before he got to talk to Cho about the arrangements. They'd chatted for a moment, before a none-too-polite reminder from Uncle Vernon about telephone charges abruptly ended their call.

Now, less than half an hour before they were to leave for London, Harry stood in front of his mirror, scarcely believing the boy in the reflection was him. He wore an elegant black tuxedo with the finest bowtie, cummerbund, and cufflinks; his shoes were polished to a high shine. He'd polished the battered frames of his glasses so they wouldn't stand out too badly, and his hair was slicked back neatly with a liberal dose of Sleekeazy.

As he walked out into the hall, Aunt Petunia called out to him from the bathroom. As he approached, she gave him a once-over, frowned, and said "I suppose you'll do. But we've got to do something about that horrid scar."

Harry blinked. "How d'you propose to do that?" he asked.

In response, Petunia pulled out her makeup kit. "We'll cover it up," she announced.

Harry decided not to protest this, as it didn't really matter to him, and he silently endured having base and powder applied until Aunt Petunia was satisfactory that no trace of his trademark scar could be seen. Finally, she stepped back, and nodded. "There. You almost look like a respectable boy now. At least we'll be able to fool the Ivory Club into thinking so."

Moments later, and a few similar comments from Uncle Vernon, the three of them were off.