Harry Potter and the Mistress of the Clow

5. Mahoshojo

Albus Dumbledore did not care for Muggle clothes.

Many wizards who take exception to dressing in the Muggle fashion have something against Muggles themselves. In Dumbledore's case, that wasn't the problem at all. He simply had never quite gotten used to the fit of Muggle clothes, and preferred his robes, boots, and cloak.

There was, however, one mode of Muggle dress that the elderly wizard could cope with; in Britain, it was likely to raise even more suspicion than his wizarding robes, but here...well, here, it would be his nationality and not his attire that would draw attention. And given his age, even that would likely be ignored--seniority often overcomes cultural prejudice in polite society.

So it was that the old wizard with the flowing mane of silver-white hair and exceptionally long beard came to be standing at the front door of a residence in Japan, wearing a kimono.

After all, it wasn't too different from robes.

* * * * * *

The absurdity of the sight in front of him almost made him laugh out loud. However, he was not the type to be rude to a guest. "Hello. May I help you?" he politely asked the old, bearded, kimono-clad foreigner at his front door, in somewhat accented English.

The old man seemed pleased that he could speak English, and asked, "Would you be Fujitaka Kinomoto, by any chance?"

Fujitaka nodded. "Yes, that is me."

The elderly man smiled, and bowed. "Forgive the intrusion. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I've come a very long way to speak to you. May I come in?"

"Yes, of course," Fujitaka replied, bowing. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"Delighted," Dumbledore said.

A few moments later, the two were seated at the kitchen table, sipping tea. "I haven't had this blend in quite some time," Dumbledore mused. "A good cup of tea is very cleansing, but British tea is nowhere near as satisfying as Asian tea."

"So, you've come from Britain, then?" Fujitaka asked.

"Thereabouts," Dumbledore replied with a smile. He set his cup down. "As to why I've come...it actually concerns your daughter, Sakura."

Fujitaka blinked. "Sakura? That's the last thing I expected."

Dumbledore smiled. "Understandable." He paused. "Forgive me, I'm trying to think of the best way to broach the subject..."

"Directly would be best," Fujitaka said. His smile was polite, but his eyes held a hint of warning.

"Yes, you're right, of course." Dumbledore leaned back slightly in his seat. "I suppose I should start with this." He unrolled a wrapped bundle he'd been carrying, and removed from it a thin wooden rod. He gestured at his empty teacup with it...

Fujitaka's eyes widened. The teacup turned into a parakeet, and fluttered about the room. "Masaka," he gasped.

Dumbledore spoke in clear, barely accented Japanese. "Kinomoto-san, I am a wizard, and the headmaster of a wizarding school in Scotland. I've come here because your daughter, Sakura, is what you might call mahoshojo...a magical girl, or, in simple terms, a witch."

* * * * * *

"I like that cake shop," Sakura Kinomoto said as she walked down the street toward her house. Beside her was her best friend, Tomoyo Daidouji, a dark-haired girl with cream-coloured skin and blue eyes.

"It was very delicious," Tomoyo agreed.

"Yeah, it was great," a third voice entered the conversation. This voice seemed to come from a small stuffed animal in Tomoyo's handbag. "I wish we'd gotten to bring home some--" The voice trailed off.

Sakura glanced down. "Is something wrong, Kero-chan?"

The stuffed animal frowned. "I feel powerful magic in the air. It doesn't feel dangerous, but..." Its eyes widened. "It's coming from your house, Sakura-chan!"

Sakura gasped. "Otousan...! Come on, we've gotta hurry!"

The two girls and the talking plush toy raced for Sakura's house...

* * * * * *

Fujitaka stared at the Englishman, jaw agape, eyes wide. "You...but...I...how..." He trailed off, then focused on Dumbledore's last words. "What do you mean, a witch?"

"You may or may not have been aware, but your late wife possessed a certain degree of latent magical talent. Here in Japan, the training of young witches and wizards as they come of age is very decentralized, and tends to cause tight-knit focus groups of magical activity. The kind of thing you might read about in a tabloid or see on television but never pay much attention to, because you don't see how it could be real.

"Your children both have magical abilities. Your son, Touya, can see and commune with spirits, and has a few other abilities he's learned to use over time."

Fujitaka gaped. "I...I knew he could see ghosts, but..."

Dumbledore nodded. "His magic, however, is nothing compared to that of your daughter. About a year ago, she came into possession of a particularly rare and powerful magical artifact. How a child so young could not only gain mastery over such an incredible power without any proper training, not to mention manage to keep it a secret from all but a few individuals...well, let's just say it's one of the more amazing things I've seen in my time." His eyes twinkled. "Still, your daughter has a great deal of magical power, and while she's developed a remarkable level of discipline, she needs to be formally educated in the use of her power." He paused. "And she needs to be kept safe, because she may be in grave peril."

Fujitaka swallowed. "I...how can you say this? Do you realize what you're suggesting? I mean..."

At that moment, the door flew open. "I'm home!" a young voice called, as two girls raced into the room. "Otousan, are you okay?"

Fujitaka looked up to see his daughter and her best friend rush into the kitchen. He swallowed. "Sakura," he began, "This gentleman...wishes to speak with you. And...if what he's said is true...I may have some questions of my own."

"Um...okay..." Sakura looked from her father to the strange foreign man, green eyes wide in confusion.

"Sakura," the elderly man began, his blue eyes twinkling as he stood and bowed. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I've come a very long way to talk to you about the Clow."

Sakura blinked. "Hooeee?"

---

6. Mistress of the Clow

"How does he know about the Clow?" Tomoyo asked, frowning.

Dumbledore smiled. "I know a lot of things. In fact, I believe the Guardian Beast of the Seal is lurking around here somewhere..."

"I'm right here," a voice piped up. Fujitaka's eyes widened in shock as the stuffed animal his daughter had been carrying around for the past year suddenly flew out of Tomoyo's bag and hovered in front of the elderly man, brow furrowed. "You're a wizard, then?"

"That's right, Cerberus," Dumbledore said.

"And what do you want with Sakura and the Clow?" the diminuitive creature demanded.

"Nothing too terrible," Dumbledore chuckled. "I must say you've done a rather remarkable job of training this girl, and she's shown promise, mastering the Clow at her age. Still..." He paused, a serious expression crossing his wizened face. "There are dark times approaching, and I fear Sakura may be in danger; also, she will need to learn more about her innate powers as well as the Clow before something unfortunate happens."

Fujitaka cleared his throat. "Can someone please explain what's going on here?" he asked.

Sakura blushed. "Otousan," she began, "Umm...you remember having a book in your study called 'The Clow'? Well..."

Sakura, Tomoyo, and Cerberus launched into a rushed explanation of the book, the guardian of the seal, the Clow Cards, and everything Sakura had done during the past year. At the end, Fujitaka looked as though he'd been slapped, shot at, and run over.

"But how...all that...how could you...without anyone knowing? Does Touya know?"

"If he does, he hasn't said anything," Sakura replied. She was looking at her shoes, and her voice had become rather meek. "Um...are you...mad?"

"I'm...I..." Fujitaka paused, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what to make of it. Mad, hurt, scared, shocked, proud...this is just too much to take all at once."

Dumbledore became solemn. "I'm afraid I have a bit more to add on top of it," he said. "As I said before, dark times are upon us. A terrible dark wizard who was beaten but not utterly vanquished a few years before Sakura was born has arisen and returned to power. The world is not safe, and I fear that he may seek out the Clow to increase his own power."

"So you're here to ask me to give up the Clow," Sakura stated flatly.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, child. I could not ask that of you. You are the Mistress of the Clow, and have proven yourself...you are the only one who can control the cards at this time. However, this puts you in a position of grave danger, as well as great responsibility."

Fujitaka's head snapped up. "You're not going to ask my daughter to fight some lunatic wizard, are you?"

"Nothing so terrible as that, no," Dumbledore replied. "I have simply come here to invite young Sakura to attend a wizarding school."

"Hoeee?"

"A wizard school?" Tomoyo asked. "They have schools for wizards?"

"Ah!" Cerberus shot up into the air, pointing at Dumbledore. "You're here from Hogwarts, aren't you?"

"Hogwarts?" the three Japanese people in the room chorused.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes. I'm the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Cerberus crossed his paws. "I see. I'm sorry I was so rude to you earlier, then. I had no idea you were--"

"Quite alright, I assure you."

Sakura raised her hand. "What's Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Hogwarts, child, is a school that teaches young witches and wizards about magic, how to use it, how to control their power, and all the other things those born with magic in their blood should know. It's a seven-year school, and it's in the United Kingdom, so you would be very far from your friends and family for most of the year if you attend. By no means am I going to force you to go. However, for your own safety, and for the safety of those you care about, I do believe it's for the best if you come to Hogwarts." He stood. "Kinomoto-san, thank you for the excellent tea. I imagine you and your daughter have much to discuss, and I don't expect you to make this decision right away. Sakura will get her Hogwarts acceptance letter and supply list in a few days, by owl, and if you decide to let her attend, then I'll be in touch to take care of special arrangements, such as transportation...well. I must go, and I bid you all good day."

Albus Dumbledore vanished with a small pop, leaving a very confused group in his wake.

"...what does he mean, 'by owl'?" Fujitaka asked.

* * * * * *

"--I'm sorry, Albus, I'm not quite sure I heard that right."

"You did indeed, Minerva."

Professor McGonagall sat across from the headmaster of Hogwarts, mouth agape, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Headmaster...I should remind you, traditionally it really isn't your place to decide these things--"

"I'm merely...suggesting, Minerva." Dumbledore's eyes pierced his deputy headmistress' own over his half-moon spectacles. "A rather firm suggestion, granted."

McGonagall was silent for a moment. "But...why? Surely, not some sort of addled publicity ploy?"

"Come now, Professor McGonagall, you know me better than that," Dumbledore said with a smile, eyes twinkling.

"Then pray tell, what are you playing at? He's hardly--he breaks every rule he thinks he can get away with--"

"Which makes him an ideal foil for students attempting to break the rules, I should think."

"--be that as it may--"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You do know, Professor McGonagall, that we're receiving a number of foreign students this year. Students who may not adjust to life at Hogwarts as quickly..."

"Well yes, of course. But still..."

McGonagall trailed off as Dumbledore held up a photograph. Her eyes widened.

"Is...is that...?"

Dumbledore nodded.

The head of Gryffindor House paled. "Then...that child--"

"Indeed."

"Oh...oh dear..."

"That's not the only reason, mind. If you'll indulge me..."

McGonagall gaped at the Headmaster for a moment, then sighed in irritation. "Oh, very well. It's not as if it's the worst choice, anyway."

"Thank you, Minerva."

---

7. The Visitor at Privet Drive

Harry sat at his desk, gazing at a picture and reminiscing. This in itself was not unusual; he often spent quiet evenings looking at the old photos of his parents Hagrid had given him just before his first summer back from the wizard school.

However, it was not his parents' pictures he was looking at presently. Rather, he was staring at very recent photo; it was a picture he would often pull out as the summer wore on, remembering a single, perfect moment.

Harry had been rather pleasantly surprised the day after the Ivory Ball when an owl carrying a parchment-wrapped parcel flew into his bedroom. He'd unwrapped the package, and was astonished to find a small stack of photographs--wizard photographs--of himself and Cho at the ball, dancing and looking for all the world like a very happy couple.

He should have realized there were probably some wizards at the ball. In fact, he now wondered if Mister Shiroto himself was a wizard.

He'd sorted the stack of pictures into a few piles; two shots of waltzes and two of the tango, he set aside to place in his own album, three more waltz shots were set aside to send to friends, and the last pair, one of the waltz and one of the tango, were to send to Cho. He then wrote a short thank you note and a request for extra prints if possible to the photographer, fished a couple Sickles from his money pouch to pay for them, and sent the owl back to its owner.

Just then, Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl, had fluttered in with a letter. Harry grinned; he'd never gotten around to telling Ron just who he'd invited to the ball...

Harry,
So, how was it? Was it boring? Who did you go with? Come on, mate, you've got to give me all the details!
By the way, Dumbledore's been setting things up for you to come stay. He says he'll probably come for you by portkey right around your birthday. I've told him he shouldn't let the Muggles know he's coming. They always seem to codge things up somehow.
Anyway, write back soon!

Ron

Grinning, Harry set about writing his own letter.

Ron,
The ball was a lot better than I thought it'd be. The Muggles were fairly dull, and most of the people looked so stuffy and all. But the music was okay, the food was good, and the dancing was...well, see for yourself. Turns out there was a wizard photographer at the ball, and he sent quite a few pictures.
Looking forward to coming to the Burrow later.

Harry

He wrapped up his note and one of the photos in some parchment, tied a bit of string around it, and gave it to Pig, who took off, hooting happily. He then prepared another parcel of photos, with a small note to Cho, and sent those off in Hedwig's care.

The next day, Pig came back with another letter from Ron.

Harry,
You went with CHO!? Bloody brilliant!

Ron

Even now, Harry laughed as he tried to imagine Ron's face when he saw the photo.

The summer dragged on, August fast approaching. The Dursleys were horrible as usual, but it didn't bother Harry as much as it normally would, because he was confident this would be the last summer he'd spend here, and he had the memory of the ball to keep him going, as well as the occasional letter from Ron or postcard from Hermione.

And, of course, he got a few letters from Cho as well.

* * * * * *

Nobody would ever suspect there was anything out of the ordinary about Privet Drive. Indeed, in most aspects, it was nothing more than a quiet, peaceful suburban lane, lined with two rows of neatly ordered houses, pressed from the same suburban mold, lawns neatly cared for, porches swept, windows washed, nothing in the way of rubbish or misplaced toys scattered about.

The occasional car, bicycle, or pedestrian--never a motorcycle, never a skateboarder, not here--passed along the street, quiet as you please; it wouldn't do to raise a ruckus on Privet Drive. Nothing untidy, noisy, or unusual would be tolerated by most of the residents; particularly the family dwelling at Number Four. A respectable neighborhood had no patience for anything scandalous or out of sorts.

On this cloudless day in late July, Privet Drive seemed as quiet and respectable as ever. A small red car trundled down the lane, the post was delivered with minimal fuss, and a small child rode his bicycle along the sidewalk, never straying into the grass, making no sound whatsoever.

On the side of the street opposite the child, a young woman--a girl, really, still in her teens--walked up the lane at a casual pace. She was extremely pretty, with delicate, graceful features: shoulder-length black hair bounced and bobbed with each step, warm brown, slightly almond-shaped eyes glanced at the houses she passed over a cute nose and pretty pink lips; she was sleek and fit, with slender yet toned legs and arms, and an enviable figure. Her skin tone, as well as her eyes, spoke of Asian ancestry, which was not terribly common in this part of the country, but certainly not unheard of.

Her clothes were somewhat plain yet tasteful; coral-colored sandals with inch-thick soles and slightly raised heels, a midnight blue denim skirt which swished about her thighs, and a powder-blue knit top with a design on the chest: a tiny gold ball with two silver wings.

This was the one aspect of her appearance which might define her as something out of the ordinary, if those who lived on Privet Drive recognized its meaning. Fortunately for her, very few would.

She reached Number Four, stopped, and approached the house. Striding up onto the porch, she raised a hand toward the bell...and paused, as if wracked with indecision. A slender hand went to her mouth, fingertips pressed to her lips, which were pursed as if in deep contemplation.

After nearly a full minute of debate, she reached for the bell and pressed it, and waited.

* * * * * *

"Get the door, boy," Petunia Dursley called from the kitchen. She had taken up the task of making the "rabbit food" the household was forced to endure for the sake of her son Dudley's girth more palatable, without defeating the purpose of the diet. So far, her efforts had not been entirely successful, and thus she rarely left the kitchen these days, forcing her nephew to do as many of the household chores as she could think of.

This summer, however, Harry Potter rarely complained about his chores, as the mind-numbing drudgery of the housework helped to take his mind off other things...and gave him time to think about things he found himself rather enjoying thinking about.

Harry, soon to be in his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had stood by helpless and watched at the end of last term as a fellow student, a fellow champion, had fallen victim to Avada Kedavra--the Killing Curse--at the hands of Voldemort's servant, Wormtail. He'd been helpless to stop the murder of Cedric Diggory, and helpless to stop them from using his blood to bring Voldemort back to power. For days, he'd been miserable, feeling guilty over the death of Cedric, heartbroken at the pain it had caused the girl he fancied, and guilt that he still fancied her despite the fact that she'd been Cedric's girlfriend.

Events earlier in the summer, however, had changed many things. He no longer felt quite as much guilt over Cedric's death. He felt determined to honor his fallen comrade by living life to its fullest--and so did she, who everyone had thought was Cedric's girlfriend, but who in fact had broken up with him only three days before his death.

And it looked as though, if things progressed further along the path they'd been all summer, Harry might just have a chance with a certain very pretty Ravenclaw Seeker.

Today was Harry's birthday; he was a bit puzzled at the fact that none of his friends had written him or sent him presents yet. Though he felt a bit silly feeling indignant about such things, it seemed a bit unusual that he hadn't heard from Ron, or Hermione, or Hagrid, or even Sirius at all. Nor had he heard from...

Pushing those thoughts down, he hurried to the foyer; if the bell chimed a second time, Aunt Petunia was liable to become cross. Not that anything the Dursleys said particularly bothered him anymore, but it was still an unpleasantness he liked to avoid whenever possible.

Shuffling into the foyer, he unlatched and opened the front door, and was about to offer a mechanical, unenthusiastic greeting to the visitor, when his eyes nearly fell out of his head. His mouth gaped open as his brain tried to process what he was seeing.

There, standing on the porch at Number Four Privet Drive, was Cho Chang.

"Hullo, Harry," she said quietly, offering a small, somewhat nervous smile.

"Ch-Cho! Um, hi..." Waves of nervousness, nausea, giddiness, and other feelings washed over him at the sight of the pretty Asian girl.

They stood there for a long moment, neither speaking. Aunt Petunia came to the door. "Who's there, boy?" she asked. Upon seeing Cho, she offered a false smile. "Ah, hello. The Chang girl, was it?"

Cho nodded. "That's right."

"What brings you here, then?" Petunia asked.

Cho flushed. "Um, I came to visit Harry. You know, since it's his birthday and all."

Aunt Petunia's smile faded just a bit. "I see."

"If..." Cho paused, frowning. "If it's an inconvenience....I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come without calling...."

Harry interrupted. "No! I'm glad you came. It's very nice of you to visit today. Isn't it, Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia's eyes hardened. "Yes. It's lovely." She gazed at her nephew. "Very well then. But I'd prefer the two of you not dally downstairs. You may take tea up, but please keep the noise down. Your cousin is having his nap, after all."

Harry smiled. "Come on, then," he said to Cho, inviting her inside and ushering her to the steps. As they ascended out of sight, Petunia could be heard calling, "I trust there'll be no SNOGGING up there!"

* * * * * *

Harry felt rather embarrassed. His horrible aunt had made Cho feel unwelcome (then again, Petunia Dursley scarcely made anyone feel welcome), and then suggested the two of them were going to get up to...

Pushing that thought down by clearing his throat, he turned and stopped just at the foot of the steps. "Um," he began, blushing, "there's only one place in the house we'll be free of that."

Cho caught his meaning, and nodded, also blushing slightly. "Lead the way, then," she said.

The two of them ascended the stairs. As they reached the landing, Dudley waddled out of his bedroom. For a full year now, Dudley Dursley had been on a strict diet, imposed by the school nurse at Smeltings when the obese blonde boy reached such a tremendous width that the school no longer stocked knickerbockers which would fit him. Despite the efforts of the school and his parents, however, Dudley had lost very little weight, and still looked to Harry to be as porky as he ever was.

Dudley's piggy eyes lighted upon Cho, and a strange leer crossed his face. Trotting forward as quickly as his legs would carry him, he shoved Harry aside and put on what he thought was his most charming, endearing smile. "Hello then," he said with an attempt at a bow which rather made it look like he was about to topple over.

Cho stared blankly at him.

Dudley seemed to be about to say something else, or perhaps attempt to kiss Cho's hand, when a soft voice intoned behind him, "Excuse me."

Dudley ignored Harry, and continued to simper in front of Cho. "You're very pretty. What's your name?" he asked.

Cho wrinkled her nose slightly in disgust. "I think you should apologize to Harry for pushing him like that. It was very rude."

Dudley blinked stupidly at her.

"Excuse me," Harry repeated.

The overweight boy turned, to see his cousin glaring at him. "I don't think my friend appreciates the way you're acting. I daresay my other friends wouldn't appreciate it either."

It took Dudley a moment to catch his meaning. He paled, clutched at his fleshy bottom, and ran back to his bedroom, slamming the door.

Harry adjusted his glasses, which had been knocked askew when Dudley shoved him, then beckoned to Cho. "Hurry, before Aunt Petunia decides to harass us for hearing a door slam."

Slightly bewildered, Cho let Harry lead her to a door at the end of the hall. He opened it and let her walk through first, into a small bedroom, sparsely furnished, half crammed full of junk--mostly toys--that looked to have seen much better days.

Seemingly satisfied he wasn't about to be yelled at by his aunt, Harry returned his attention to his visitor. "Um...so, uh...hi."

Cho couldn't help but giggle a bit at that, which elicited a sheepish grin from Harry. "We already covered that at the door, didn't we?"

"So we did." Harry pulled out his desk chair for her, then seated himself upon the bed. "I'm really surprised to see you here." He flushed. "Not that I'm not glad, I am, I just wasn't expecting--"

Cho smiled. "It took a lot of convincing to get Ron Weasley not to spoil the surprise."

Harry's eyes widened. "Ron knew about this!?"

"Who do you think told me where you live, silly?" Cho giggled.

Harry grumbled good-naturedly. He then hopped off the bed and knelt beside it, prying up a loose floorboard. Cho blinked at him, wondering what he was doing, and was about to ask exactly that when he stood up, holding two familiar bottles. "Is that butterbeer?" Cho asked.

Harry nodded, grinning, and offered one to her. "A house-elf named Dobby brings me a few things every week, to make sure I'm not being starved to death or anything." He rolled his eyes. "Believe me, it's a lifesaver, especially with Dudley's diet."

"So that--in the hall--was your cousin?" Cho asked, repressing a shudder.

"Yeah. I told you he was a great whale."

"No kidding. I can almost see why they wouldn't let him go to the ball...and he's very rude."

Harry shrugged. "He's spoiled. My aunt and uncle never said 'no' to him in his entire life, and give him whatever he wants if he takes a fit."

Cho pulled a face. "How terrible." She took a long swig of her butterbeer, then brightened up. "But anyway. Happy birthday, Harry." She reached into a pocket of her skirt, and pulled out a slim, oblong leather-tooled case, handing it to Harry.

He blinked. "For me?" He opened it, and his eyes widened. "Wow, Cho..."

"They're the wizard variety. A lot better than those Muggle ones you have."

Harry gingerly removed a gleaming pair of gold-rimmed spectacles from the case. They were round, much like the pair he currently wore, and sparkled in the light.

"Cho...I don't know what to say..." He looked up at her, gaping in awe. "I don't know if I can accept this..."

"Sure you can," Cho said, smirking. "It's your birthday, and that's your birthday present."

"But...they look so expensive..."

"They're not, really. Besides, the wizard eyeglass maker owed my dad a favor..." She shrugged. "Well, try them on, then."

Harry took off his battered, black-rimmed glasses and settled the new pair into place. He blinked for a moment, then looked around in wonder. "Whoa...I can see a lot better with these!"

Cho giggled. "The lenses are magical. They'll never need replacing. No matter how good or bad your vision is, no matter how it changes, you'll always be able to see clearly with those. And they've got an unbreakable charm on them--I daresay that'll come in handy."

Harry blushed, and grinned. "I reckon it will at that." He took them off, looked at them again for a minute, then put them back on. "Thanks, Cho. I mean--wow."

Cho smiled. "You're welcome, Harry." She stood up and walked over to him, hugging him briefly, then sat down beside him on the bed. "I'm surprised nobody ever gave you wizard glasses before, really."

"I didn't know wizards even had different glasses from Muggles," Harry admitted. He felt that his face would start to melt if it grew any redder. He looked at Cho, who was looking at him. Their eyes locked, and a long moment of wordless communication stretched between them. He unconsciously leaned forward a bit, noticing without really noticing that Cho was doing the same. A detached part of his mind noted wryly that in a few seconds, they'd bump into each other. Closer still, and...

"Good day, Harry Potter! Dobby is bringing--oh, hello! Dobby is very sorry! Dobby is not knowing you is having company, Harry Potter sir!"

The two teens jumped, startled, and moved apart from each other very quickly. Cho stared at the new arrival, eyes wide. Harry didn't know whether to feel relieved, or to strangle the house-elf.

Dobby looked first at Harry, then at Cho. "Is Dobby interrupting something? Dobby is very sorry..."

"It's okay, Dobby," Harry replied, trying to keep his heart from hammering in his chest. "What's up?"

"Professor Dumbledore is sending Dobby to bring Harry Potter to the Wheezys. Professor Dumbledore is apologizing, but Professor Dumbledore can't come to pick up Harry Potter himself, sir. So he is sending Dobby to pick up Harry Potter, sir."

"You mean I'm going to the Burrow? Now?"

"As soon as Harry Potter is ready, sir. Dobby has brought a portkey." He paused. "Dobby can bring Cho Chang to the Wheezys as well, miss. Does Cho Chang want to go with Harry Potter to the Wheezys?"

"Umm..." Cho blinked.

"Well, if I'm going to the Burrow, there's no point in Cho hanging about here, right?" Harry asked, even as he began to pack his belongings into his trunk.

"Oh! Let me help you pack," Cho said.

A moment later, all of Harry's things were packed in his trunk, and he, Cho, and Dobby stood in a circle, with Cho holding onto Hedwig's cage. Dobby held up a golden spoon. "Here is the portkey, sir and miss. Take hold of the portkey, and we is off to the Wheezys."

With a sharp pop, the two teens, one house-elf, one owl, and luggage disappeared from Privet Drive.

Ten seconds later, the door flew open. "What's all the racket--" Petunia glanced around, eyes wide as she took in the empty room. A single piece of paper fluttered to the floor. She scowled as she picked it up.

Gone to the Weasleys' house for the rest of the summer.

Harry

To be continued...