---

-1-

His eyes were riveted on her as she walked across the Great Hall, laughing and joking with her friends as she drew near the Ravenclaw table and took a seat.

"Oi, Harry."

Everything about her fascinated him still. The fine porcelain of her skin, her slight, slender figure—

"Oi, Harry..."

—her beautiful, unblemished face, her rosy lips—

"Harry?"

—the sparkling jewels of her dark eyes, the way her long, shiny raven hair swung and swayed with every shake or nod—

"Oi, Harry!"

—the musical lilt of her laughter which he could hear even across the crowded hall, the sparkle in her eyes, long absent after the death of Cedric, but slowly beginning to reappear, the dazzling brightness of her smile—

"Oh, nevermind. Wingardium Leviosa."

—the way that pot of mashed potatoes just floated past...mashed potatoes?

Harry Potter blinked and looked around, watching as the aforementioned floating pot landed directly in front of his best friend, Ron Weasley, who began lumping a huge helping onto his plate.

"Really, Ron, was that absolutely necessary?" Hermione Granger asked, a familiar note of exasperation in her voice.

"'m hmmry, Hmmnne," Ron said around a mouthful of potatoes. Hermione made a disgusted noise and shook her head. After Ron swallowed, he nudged Harry in the shoulder. "So what's with you, then? You've been staring off into space all through dinner..."

"It's not space he's staring at," Hermione said, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. "Honestly, Harry, there has to be a better way for you to deal with this fixation you have on Cho Chang than staring at her through every meal like this."

Harry, for his part, turned bright red. "It's not like that!" he protested.

"Oh? Then what is it like, hmm?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Well...it's...it's like..."

"Yes?"

"It's like..."

"It's like treacle fudge," Ron said as he finished clearing his dinner plate and reached for the desserts which had just appeared on the table. "The more you see of it, the more you want it."

Harry and Hermione stared at him. "Mmf?" he asked, treacle clamping his teeth together.

"You are impossible," Hermione informed Ron, before rising from the table and stalking crisply out of the hall.

-2-

Harry leaned back in the bath and sighed deeply, folding his arms behind his head. Around him, pink and purple bubbles drifted up from the shimmering sea of golden foam that filled the enormous bath. It's good to be a prefect, he thought lazily. He felt at peace with the world—things were going so much more smoothly this year—it'd be perfect if only he could just tackle one little thing...

The door opened, and he smiled as she walked in. Her robes slid to the floor, and he surveyed every inch of her smooth, clear, perfect skin. Her rosy lips smiled and her eyes twinkled at him as she slid into the bath across from him. He drifted over to her, taking her into his arms, thrilling at the sensation of her bare flesh against his own...the smell of her, the taste of her, the bath foam filling up his nose and throat...

Harry coughed and sputtered, ejecting a fair amount of bubblebath. He felt flushed all over; a certain sensation he'd recently become rather accustomed to made itself known, and he reddened further, thankful he was quite alone. Hurrying to finish his bath, he climbed out of the pool, dried himself, dressed, and returned to Gryffindor Tower, trying not to think too hard about the dream he'd had...

-3-

Ron had already gone up to bed; Harry remained in the common room, seated across from Hermione. The latter had her nose buried in a heavy tome as usual; Harry had his Potions homework spread out before him, but was merely toying with his quill and gazing unseeingly at his blank parchment.

"It's not going to do itself," Hermione admonished, not looking up from her book.

Harry grunted and tried to apply himself. Hermione heard the scratching of his quill, and for a while, ceased badgering him.

His mind was as far from Potions as it could possibly be, though. Indeed, rather than thinking of boiling cauldrons, cold, wet dungeons, and deadly, sibilant hissing, his mind was lost among the clouds, soaring with a beautiful eagle, a lion on a wing, chasing that elusive, golden feeling...

He was brought back to reality when Hermione, having noticed he'd stopped writing, took his roll of parchment and began reading it. "Let's see how your essay is coming," she said. "'Flying in the sky, no draught of life elixir, sweeter than your smile. Beautiful eagles, exotic raven beauty, cats must chase their prey. I seek something gold...' Harry, what the devil is this? You're supposed to be doing Potions, not...not...sappy poetry!"

Harry blinked. "I...err..."

Hermione rolled her eyes and threw the roll of parchment back at him disgustedly. "You need to get a grip on yourself, Harry. This is NOT the time to be spacing out over a girl."

Harry flushed. "Errr, right." He sighed, then began toying with his quill again. Hermione glowered at him, then returned to her book.

Several minutes passed in silence.

"I lie on the pitch, and ponder this hitch...the Snitch or the witch, which shall I—"

"OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" Hermione screamed, throwing her book across the room and startling two first-years. "Get. Your. Mind. OFF. OF. THAT. GIRL!" she yelled at Harry.

Harry recoiled from her anger. "It's easier said than done, Hermione," he whinged. Looking down at the table, he blushed. "It's just...I can't help but think about her. Even when I'm not trying to, I..." He sighed. "I dozed off in the bath and I dreamed..." His blush deepened. "Well, nevermind that. It's just—"

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Alright, alright, I get the picture."

"I don't know what to do about it, Hermione," Harry said.

"Well...you could try talking to her," Hermione pointed out. Seeing Harry's poleaxed expression, she groaned. "Okay, then try the old secret admirer routine. It usually doesn't work, but there's always a chance it might."

Harry looked thoughtful. "That's not a bad idea, come to think of it..."

-4-

Cho Chang hummed to herself as she lathered her long, luxurious raven hair. She was very thankful for the modern plumbing which had been installed in the castle over the years; she'd grown quite accustomed to the luxury of a nice, long, hot shower growing up, and was ever so glad that she could continue to enjoy that guilty pleasure here at Hogwarts. In fact, since the hot water almost never ran out as it was prone to do elsewhere, it was even better; she often stayed in the shower far longer than was necessary, revelling in the feel of the hot water and thick lather on her skin.

After bending her head to let the water run down her thick black mane, she opened her eyes—

—and nearly screamed as a pair of misty, pearlescent eyes stared back at her from behind vaporous spectacles.

"Hello," the teenaged ghost before her said pleasantly.

Cho placed a hand to her chest to quell the rapid beating of her heart, while sputtering out a bit of water and soap from her mouth. "M-Myrtle...wh-what're you doing in my shower?"

Moaning Myrtle sighed languidly. "It'd be nice for someone to say hello to me in a civil manner just once...no, it's always 'Oh, Myrtle, you scared me!' 'Myrtle, what're you doing here?' 'Go away, you stupid dizzy ghost!'" Tears welled up in her luminescent eyes. "Sometimes I wonder why I bother coming out of my toilet at all..."

Cho sighed, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry, Myrtle." Forcing a smile onto her face, she asked, "So, what brings you here this evening, Myrtle dear?"

The ghost suddenly shifted moods, giggling in a most unsettling manner. "I have something really juicy to share with you, Cho Chang."

Cho raised an eyebrow. "With me? Why me?"

Myrtle just giggled and floated into the misty spray of the shower; the water cooled slightly as it passed through her. "Oh, I'm sure you'll understand when I tell—oh, but now I don't know if I should! I mean..." She sighed dramatically. "Whatever is a girl to do?"

You could let me finish my shower in peace, you dumb dead bint, Cho thought to herself. Aloud, she said, "Whatever you think is best, Myrtle dear."

Myrtle flashed a wicked smile, and hovered lower, dropping her voice to an ethereal whisper. "I saw something very interesting tonight," she said.

"Oh?" You live in a TOILET. I'm not sure I WANT to know what you saw...

"Yes. You see, I was making my weekly visit to the prefects' bathroom..."

Cho blinked. "The prefects' bathroom?"

Myrtle nodded. "Oh, yes. I like to visit sometimes—I don't say anything, mind. I just...watch..." She grinned slyly. "By the way, your old boyfriend Cedric Diggory was quite well built, you know?" She sighed. "Such a shame what happened to him..."

A look of total mortification crossed Cho's face. "Wha—the boys' bathroom?!"

"Well, yes. Why would I want to visit the girls' bathroom?" Myrtle sniffed haughtily. "Anyway..." She grinned, her spectral eyes gleaming. "I was visiting there tonight, and I saw that cute, quiet one—you know, the one with the scar—"

Cho blinked. "Harry Potter?" she asked.

Myrtle nodded. "Mm-hmm, that's the one! I especially like watching him. He's very cute, and so shy!" She giggled. "So anyway, there I was—"

"Why are you telling me this?" Cho interrupted, rapidly losing patience with the ghost girl. I think I need to report this to Professor Dumbledore...a peeping-tom ghost...

Myrtle humphed impatiently. "I'm getting to that! Though I don't know if I should bother, now..."

Cho closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten. "Alright, I'm sorry. Go ahead, please."

"That's better." The ghost smiled sunnily. "Anyway, so I was watching Harry. Skinny thing, don't you know. Not like Diggory. But cute in his own way. Well—" She floated closer to Cho, and lowered her voice to a barely discernable whisper. "I caught him having one off in the bath."

Cho blinked, then stared wide-eyed at the ghost. "Y-you mean...?"

Myrtle nodded. "Yup!" She chirped happily.

Cho flushed. "That's...erm..."

"It's not the first time, mind," Myrtle continued. "Oh, I don't think he even realises he's doing it. He has a habit of falling asleep in the bath, see, and he wanks a bit until he wakes up." She folded her arms. "Well, see, the interesting thing is, he was mumbling in his sleep this time." She giggled. "You'll never guess what he was saying."

Despite herself, Cho found her curiosity piqued. "What?" she asked.

Myrtle floated so close that Cho could feel the ghost's frigid essence chilling her bare skin, giving her goosebumps. "Your name," Myrtle rasped ephemerally. She then erupted into a fit of giggles. "I'll see you around, then!" And with that, she disappeared into the showerhead, which had mysteriously gone cold.

As a terrible heat burned its way through the Ravenclaw girl's body, she found for once she was rather grateful the hot water had run out.

-5-

Harry laid back on his four-poster bed, thinking about what Hermione had said.

It was simple enough. Write a letter, don't sign it, give it to a school owl...

But what to say?

More poetry—no. His poetry was ridiculous and he knew it. She'd laugh. She'd think he was mental or something.

It had to be something profound, though, didn't it? To get her interested?

He was no good with things like that, and he knew it.

"Just tell her how you feel about her," Hermione had said.

It sounded so simple...it couldn't be that simple, could it?

Could it?

-6-

"WHAT are you doing?" a crisp voice rang shrilly through the girls' dormitory.

"Close the door!" Cho hissed, flushing.

It was quite fortunate, she mused, that Hogwarts was a place where privacy and propriety were generally stridently observed; the scene upon which Marietta Edgecomb had just stumbled would be very difficult to explain—not to mention terminally mortifying—if anyone but one of her dorm-mates and best friends had walked in at that moment.

Cho Chang was standing in front of her dressing mirror. This in itself was not unusual; what was unusual was the fact that she was stark naked and had been, at the moment Marietta walked in, cupping her breasts with her hands and frowning at her reflection.

The door closed, and Marietta flopped down on the edge of her bed, still staring at Cho warily. "I say again, what are you DOING?" she asked.

Cho cast an annoyed glance at her, the colour slowly receding from her cheeks. "Just giving myself a look-over," she said. She turned again to her reflection and frowned. "My chest is too small," she declared.

"So's the rest of you, dear," the mirror replied. "So don't fret about it."

"Thanks," Cho retorted dryly.

Marietta slid forward slightly. "Why the sudden vanity attack?" she asked.

Cho flushed. "No reason. Just—" she shook her head. "Do I need a reason to care what I look like?"

"You do if it's a boy," Marietta said, smirking.

"It's not—" Cho sighed, turning to face her roommate. "Really, I was just glancing in the mirror after my shower and happened to think of it, that's all."

"Right," Marietta replied, rolling her eyes.

"If it's any consolation, you've a perfectly nice bum," the mirror chipped in.

Cho flushed even more deeply than before, which caused Marietta to roar with laughter.

-7-

Harry set aside his eagle-feather quill and read over the letter he'd just written. He sighed heavily, then rolled up the parchment, tied it with a string, and set off for the Owlery.

"It's horrible," he muttered to himself. "It's absolutely dreadful. I feel like such an idiot—"

"You ruddy well should, walking around talking to yourself," a painting of a grey-haired man in sixteenth-century attire said.

"Nobody asked you," Harry snapped, flushing slightly as he hurried past.

"Well, I never!" the painting said, turning away in a huff.

Harry sighed. He just knew Cho was going to read his letter and hate it, and know it was from him, and hate him and laugh at him and—

Maybe I should just rip it up and burn it and forget the whole thing, he thought.

Then he remembered Hermione saying that it'd work out alright if he was just honest...that he should just be himself.

Well, what did being himself mean?

He stood indecisively in the corridor for a long moment. The letter he'd written, he'd written as though he were simply standing in front of Cho, talking to her, telling her how he felt.

He'd once before hesitated when it came to dealing with Cho. He'd lost his chance to take her to the ball, ended up feeling hatred towards one of the nicest, bravest people he could ever hope to meet...and then saw the pain Cho was in because of Cedric's death. What if he hadn't hesitated? What if he'd asked her straight away? Would he have spared her the pain of losing her boyfriend?

That line of thought felt somehow wrong and disgraceful to Harry, but he couldn't quite dismiss it.

At any rate, hesitation usually had unpleasant consequences. Mustering his nerve, he strode purposefully forward, deciding he'd send the letter, and then deal with whatever came of it.

The worst that could happen, after all, was that she'd never know who sent it, and just rip it up.

Right?

-8-

As the morning mail was delivered, a barn owl swooped down in front of Cho. She untied the letter from its leg and gave it a bit of toast before it swooped off again.

She unrolled the parchment and glanced at the bottom; she frowned when she saw there was no signature. “Odd,” she muttered.

“Hmm?” Marietta glanced up from her hot cakes.

“No signature on this letter,” Cho said.

“Huh,” the other girl grunted. “What’s it say, then?”

Cho quickly skimmed the letter; unsure if she should read it aloud. Her eyes widened. Definitely should NOT read it aloud, she decided, as she moved back to the top of the letter and read it more carefully:

Dear Cho,
This isn’t ideally the way I’d go about this.
To be perfectly honest, I feel like a silly git; I’m sure you’ll agree that anyone who does this sort of thing must be mental.
Anyway, the reason I’m writing you is to tell you that I really like you. I’ve liked you for some time now. I wanted to say so before, but I was always too nervous or embarrassed. I’m not used to dealing with things like this. You know, talking to girls and stuff. Like that, I mean.
I also feel a bit insensitive for doing this now, when it’s so soon after—well, you know. Sorry. I know it must hurt to think about that. If it helps, I’m sure he went to a better place and is happy.
God, I must sound like the biggest prat in the world now, for bringing that up. What a way to go about telling a girl you like her, eh?
I didn’t sign my name to this letter. The reason is because I’m nervous and a little embarrassed, and I suppose shy as well—scared, too. You’re the only girl I’ve ever felt this way about, and I don’t know what to do or how to do it, and it’s really frustrating and embarrassing. I’ll get over my nervousness in time, and then I’ll talk to you in person, instead of writing a particularly silly- sounding secret admirer letter.
Just know that I am here, at Hogwarts, watching you, and I really like you. I hope you won’t hate me for being such a pathetic little coward.
Yours truly,
Someone

“So, who’s it from? What does it say?” Marietta asked.

Cho turned every so slightly pink, rolled the letter up, and tucked it into a pocket of her robes. “I don’t know who it’s from, and it’s very personal and private. And very sweet,” she added with a small smile.

Marietta stared at her for a moment, then gave a squeal and a giggle. “Cho has a boyfriend!” she exclaimed.

Cho’s flush deepened. “Not a boyfriend,” she said. “Just...an admirer.”

For several days after, Marietta—and several others—badgered Cho about the mysterious letter. She refused to say anything more about it, but whenever it was mentioned, she would smile brightly.

She carried it with her the entire week.

-9-

“That’ll have been some letter,” Hermione remarked several days later. “She’s been in quite a cheerful mood all week long.”

Harry flushed. “You think she really liked it?”

“I know she did, Harry,” Hermione said. “You did very well. It’s working—she’s interested. Now comes the next step.”

“The next step?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You keep writing to her, of course!”

Harry flushed. “I—I don’t know—if I can do it again,” he stammered.

“Why not?” Hermione snapped. “The first one was the hardest. Now it should be easy. She’s interested. She wants you to write her again. She wants to find out who her admirer is.”

“But what—what if—what if she finds out it’s me and she gets mad? And hates me? And—”

“Harry,” Hermione said in an exasperated tone. “Trust me. My advice worked once already, didn’t it?”

“Yeah—”

“Then keep following it,” Hermione said crisply. “Now, here’s what you’re going to do...”

-10-

Dear Cho,
I hope you liked my first letter. You seem to have been happy afterward, so I’m taking that as a good sign—maybe I’m presuming too much, but I have to hope, anyway.
I really want to know if you liked the first one, though, and if it’s alright if I keep writing to you. I’m still not quite ready to tell you who I am yet—I’m sorry. I’m such a coward...
Let me know if it’s alright to keep writing to you. Just drop a small note in the crack in the wall by the statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Don’t bother trying to catch me picking it up—I guarantee you won’t.
Yours truly,
Someone

Cho smiled at the letter which had arrived during lunch. This is getting interesting, she mused. She quickly took out a quill and some parchment and began working on a reply.

Dear ‘Someone’,
I did indeed enjoy your first letter, and this one as well. I don’t think you’re a coward or mental or anything at all. You’re very sweet. I wish you’d come forward and tell me who you are, but these letters are so cute, I can wait—we can play this game until you’re ready to face me. I shan’t wait forever, though.
I look forward to hearing from you again.
Yours truly,
Cho

Nodding to herself, Cho carefully folded her note. On her way to Charms, she made a detour to the fifth floor, found the statue of Boris the Bewildered, and stuffed the note in the crack in the wall. She was nearly late for class, but as she took her seat, she felt it would have been worth points from Ravenclaw or even detention just to feel as alive as she felt now.

-11-

As promised, Cho never caught her admirer picking up her note, though she spent three nights in a row staking out the fifth floor corridor. For a while, she was afraid Filch or one of the teachers had found it—until, on the morning of the first Ravenclaw Quidditch game of the year, a school owl swooped down into her breakfast, dropping off a letter.

Dearest Cho,
I’m very glad you’re letting me continue to write you. I’m also flattered you think my letters are ‘cute’...I can live with being cute. It’s better than being mental by far.
I ask that you be patient with me just a while longer. I know it’s a terrible thing to ask of you, but it’s going to take me a while to come out of my shell.
Good luck against Slytherin today. Not that you need it—you’re a hundred times better a Seeker than that slimy git Malfoy. You paced a Firebolt riding a Comet 260. Not many people can do that! You’re really something in the air. I’ll be there in the crowd, cheering you on.
Any time you want to write to me, you know where to leave the note. I’ll find it. Though if you want me to find it quickly, kindly don’t stake out the corridor for three nights in a row. I told you that trying to catch me is pointless.
Beat Slytherin!
Yours truly,
Someone

-12-

As the Christmas holidays came, Cho felt a bit saddened at the prospect of leaving Hogwarts—surely her admirer wouldn’t continue writing to her while she was away from school.

She still didn’t know who it was, although she had a few suspicions. She’d not once managed to catch anyone taking the notes from the fifth floor corridor. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear a house-elf was taking them for her admirer.

The most recent note hinted that her admirer was coming close to being ready to reveal himself. Her friends had finally ferreted out the secret and convinced her—with many a well-thrown pillow—to fork over the letters for their perusal. After much giggling, many silly suggestions were made, as well as some good advice. Marietta had suggested taking the letters to Flitwick and asking him if he recognised the handwriting. Cho had vetoed that idea—although she suspected it was a sound plan, she didn’t feel right bothering the school faculty with something so personal, and she also didn’t want to risk getting her admirer in trouble—surely writing anonymous love letters wasn’t against any school rules, but she didn’t want to risk anything that would turn him off of writing her before she at least heard from his own quill who he was.

The last Hogsmeade weekend of the term came, and Cho found herself with her friends in the Three Broomsticks, warming up with frothy mugs of butterbeer and discussing holiday plans—and, as usual, Cho’s admirer.

“I’ll bet you anything it’s him,” Marietta said.

Cho snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t put his own name in the letter like that—”

“Wouldn’t he? It’d be the surest way to throw you off the trail.”

“I still say it’s probably Harry Potter,” Padma Patil said. “He’s always looking over at the Ravenclaw table.”

“But Potter’s with Granger, isn’t he?” Marietta asked.

“Not according to Parvati,” Padma said, shrugging. “She thinks Granger and Ron Weasley are a couple, though they’d never admit it to anyone.”

“The way they’re always yelling at each other?”

“It’s Cedric,” a dreamy voice interrupted. “Writing from beyond the veil...a love letter from the afterlife...it’s so romantic...”

The girls at the table glared at the stringy-blond fourth-year. “That’s not funny, Loony,” Marietta said.

Cho smiled. “It’d be nice if that were so, Luna, but I think this one’s still alive.”

Luna shrugged. “Maybe so.” She wandered away and out of the tavern, leaving several girls staring after her in disgust.

“Tactless.”

“Mental.”

“Oh, she doesn’t mean any harm,” Cho said with a sad smile. “Leave it be, alright?”

Just then, two other fourth-year Ravenclaws rushed in, giggling excitedly. “You’ll never guess what we just saw!”

“What?” Marietta asked.

“Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, going into Ruby Starling’s Gemwares!”

A squeal and several giggles went up at the table. Cho sighed; too many of the girls in Ravenclaw were terribly obsessed with gossip about the Boy Who Lived. She, for one, thought it’d be nice if everyone just left the poor boy alone; even the Hogwarts ghosts seemed to be overly interested in things that were none of their business where Harry was concerned.

She remembered, suddenly, Moaning Myrtle’s visit to her shower so many weeks ago, and blushed.

“Cho? You’re awfully flushed. Maybe you’ve had enough butterbeer?”

“Yes, I think I have, thanks. I’m going to head back to the castle now. See you later, everyone!”

-13-

Harry sighed as they left the shop. “I just don’t know. Nothing in there...really seemed right.”

Hermione made an exasperated noise. “You want to give her a gift, don’t you? I told you—a girl like Cho would positively love a nice piece of jewelry.”

“Yeah, I know, but—nothing in there reminded me of her. I want it to be something special. Something perfect.”

Hermione shrugged. “What do you suggest, then?”

Harry was silent for a long moment. Then, suddenly, he stopped in the middle of the road. “I know!” He turned to Hermione, eyes bright. “I’ll make something for her!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Make something? Yourself?”

Harry nodded. “Sure! I don’t do too badly in Transfiguration. With a little work, I’m sure I can have something perfect ready by Valentine’s.”

Hermione just looked at him for a long time, one eyebrow raised. Just as Harry was about to deflate and admit how stupid his idea sounded, she smiled. “I think it’s brilliant,” she said.

-14-

Dearest Cho,
This will be my last letter until after the holidays.
I hope you have a wonderful Christmas. I’d love to give you a present, but right now I’m preparing to give you something very special later on—something I want you to be at Hogwarts when you receive, so I can see your face when you open it.
I’ll miss seeing you in the Great Hall and around the castle, and I’ll miss your replies to my letters.
Happy Christmas, and I’ll write to you again next term.
Yours truly,
Someone

Dearest ‘Someone’,
I hope you have a happy Christmas as well. I just wanted to leave you one last note before I leave.
I’ll miss hearing from you, but I look forward to your first letter of the next term. I really hope you’re going to tell me who you are soon.
You also have me curious about this something that you plan to give me. Knowing what little I do know about you, this should be most interesting.
Happy Christmas.
Love,
Cho

-15-

Harry sat in front of the fire in the common room, brow furrowed in concentration. On the table before him lay a single Galleon and a single Sickle. He was prodding the coins with his wand, screwing his face up in thought, occasionally muttering under his breath. Several times, someone else who had stayed behind would wander over, trying to talk to him, trying to find out what he was doing. One third-year joked to her friends that Harry was trying to duplicate his money. A second-year tried to filch the coins, and took a nasty stinging hex to the hand for his troubles.

Well into the night on Christmas Eve, Harry’s eyes suddenly widened, and he moved his wand in a circle around the golden coin. Slowly, it began to soften around the edges, as though melting. As Harry gazed intently at the coin, not blinking, its shape began to change.

Angelina Johnson, who had stayed behind to enjoy as much of her last year at Hogwarts as she could, wandered past, and stared at the table. “Hey, Harry! What’re you up to?”

Harry’s concentration broke, and the coin stopped changing, leaving it in a rough, uneven heart shape. “I’m making something for someone,” he said shortly.

Angelina’s eyes widened. “Oh! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”

Harry sighed. “It’s alright,” he said. He tapped the coin again with his wand, then moved it in a circle, and the rough shape began smoothing out, the heart becoming more defined, though with nowhere near the speed or precision as before.

Angelina stood watching for a time, then left. Harry, grateful to be without the distraction, buried himself in his work again. By the time he finally collapsed from exhaustion, the Galleon had become a rounded heart, with two delicate golden wings sticking out of the sides.

Harry spent little time on his Christmas presents when he woke, and even less time at the Christmas tea. All he could think about was finishing his present for Cho. Shaping the metal was getting easier now—which was fortunate, because he had a feeling the second step was going to be much, much harder.

He was still working on it each day when the break ended. When a stream of voices erupting through the portrait hole snapped him out of a reverie one morning, he hastily stuffed the two transfigured coins into his pocket.

“Oi Harry,” Ron called. “Have a good Christmas?”

Harry nodded, smiling. “Yeah, pretty good. You?”

“Not bad.”

Hermione came in next, and after the three discussed their holidays, and Ron went to fetch the homework he hadn’t yet done, she asked quietly, “Did you work on that special project over break?”

Harry nodded, and—after glancing around to see that nobody was eavesdropping—reached into his pocket and withdrew the objects he’d been making, which now bore little resemblance to money at all.

Hermione gasped. “Wow, Harry,” she breathed. “That’s really good.”

“It’s not finished yet,” Harry said. “I have a lot of work to do, and I’m running out of time.”

“What d’you mean, running out of time?” Hermione asked.

“It’s January, right?” Harry asked. “That means it’s only so many weeks until Valentine’s...”

“Oh.”

-16-

Dearest Cho,
As you know, it will soon be Valentine’s Day.
Valentine’s Day also happens to be a Hogsmeade visiting day.
I have something very special to give you on that day. The next time you hear from me will be then—and I’ll be using my own owl instead of a school owl. I’ll also sign my name to the letter. The time for you to know who I am has come at last. I thank you for being so patient with me, and ask only that you wait until then. I hope that, once you receive my final letter and the special present I’m giving you, that you will agree to go to Hogsmeade with me for the day. I’m anxious and nervous about it, but I feel that it’s finally time to find out, once and for all, if I truly have a chance to be with you.
Yours always,
Someone

“I knew it!” Marietta exclaimed. “I knew he’d choose Valentine’s Day as the day to come out. How romantic!”

Cho smiled and sighed happily as she folded the letter into her pocket. “Finally,” she said. “Oh, I’m so nervous—I can hardly wait, but—oh!”

Marietta grinned at her. “You look so excited it could be one of Draco Malfoy’s thugs and you’d go with him.”

Cho cringed. “I don’t think I’d go THAT far, but...” She sighed. “Whoever he is, he’s definitely someone special—I’ll definitely go to Hogsmeade with him, whoever he turns out to be.”

-17-

Harry walked up to the Owlery, clutching a small box with scarlet wrapping paper and a royal blue satin ribbon. His insides were fluttering as though he’d swallowed a hundred Snitches—today, finally, was the day. This would be the end of the secret admirer letters. Today, Cho would know. And then he’d find out whether or not she liked him at all.

He arrived at the Owlery, and the school owl he’d been using all year immediately fluttered over to him. He shook his head. “I’m afraid not today,” he said with a smile. “You’ve done well all year for me, but from now on...”

Hedwig looked up from where she was finishing the last of her dinner. She had been rather cross with him the entire year, barely deigning to look at him when he used her—which wasn’t often, he was ashamed to admit. Now, he strode over to her and held out his arm. “Hello, girl,” he said. “Today’s the day.”

Hedwig clicked her beak at him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been using other owls all year. I just couldn’t let anyone know who was sending those letters—I told you.”

The snowy owl ruffled her feathers and nipped his finger.

“But now—you have the most important job ever. You get to deliver the final letter, and this.” He held up the package. Hedwig eyed it carefully, not blinking her amber eyes.

“Make sure everyone at the Ravenclaw table gets a good look at you, Hedwig,” Harry said. “Even if Cho doesn’t recognise you, a lot of people know I have a snowy owl. Hang about for a bit, then come straight to me, okay?”

Hedwig clicked her beak and ruffled her feathers.

“Good girl.” Harry gave her an Owl Treat, then held out the package. With a brief nip of his finger, Hedwig carefully took the small box in her claws, then soared out the nearest window.

-18-

The Great Hall was decorated festively, with shining red drapings hung from the walls, cupids floating near the ceiling, and bright pink heart-shaped bubbles drifting lazily about the room. It was nowhere near as garish as the year Lockhart had been in charge of the decorations, but it was still rather sickeningly cute in the opinion of several students and teachers.

Cho felt her nerves jangling and her stomach fluttering as she sat down to the table for breakfast. “Today’s the day,” Marietta said to her brightly as she applied liberal amounts of butter to a muffin.

Cho nearly knocked over her orange juice and fumbled her knife and fork three times before she got a good start on her breakfast. Her friends stared at her.

“You okay?” Marietta asked.

Cho smiled. “Yeah. Just nervous. I mean—wouldn’t you be?”

“I guess so,” the other girl smirked.

The morning mail arrived with far greater noise than usual, as cards and packages and letters of all sorts were delivered by hundreds of owls all across the Hall. A box of chocolates landed in front of Marietta; a tissue-wrapped package landed before Padma Patil with a solid thump.

The hailstorm of Valentines began to subside, and still—nothing from Cho’s admirer.

Her friends glanced around at one another.

“Err...”

Cho sighed. “He chickened out.”

“It’s okay, Cho,” Marietta said, patting her hand across the table—

And crying out in alarm as an elegantly wrapped package landed on it.

Cho looked up. A beautiful snowy owl swooped onto the table, lighting on the edge of a platter of bangers, helping herself and fluffing out her wings, showing off her pristine white feathers.

“Oh wow—what an owl!” someone exclaimed.

“She’s really pretty,” Padma Patil said.

Cho looked at the owl, who didn’t seem immediately familiar. The owl locked gazes with her, then fluffed her wings, and cocked her head pointedly at the parcel.

“Oh!” Cho flushed. “Yes.” Quickly, she untied the ribbon and opened the package, careful not to damage the paper. Inside, a small scarlet card was Spellotaped to an elegant blue box.

“Open it! Read the card! Open it!” Marietta chimed.

Cho reached for the card, untaped it from the box, and opened it. Inside, a brief note was written in glistening golden ink.

Dearest Cho,
Happy Valentine’s Day.
I made this for you myself. I wanted to show you, in my own way, the feelings I have for you. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, you captured my heart—as though I were the Golden Snitch.
I hope you find this gift, and me, worthy of you.
Yours truly,
Harry Potter

Cho’s eyes widened. The snowy owl took off with a mighty flutter, and headed straight for the Gryffindor table. Her eyes followed the bird’s flight, and saw the beautiful owl land gracefully on the arm of none other than the Boy Who Lived.

He was looking right at her. He was blushing, but he was also smiling.

“Open it,” he mouthed at her.

Cho nodded, and turned back to the table, quickly opening the box.

“Wow!” Marietta gasped.

Wow was right.

On a crimson velvet cushion lay a beautiful heart-shaped golden pendant, with tiny delicate wings which fluttered idly, sparkling in the morning light. The pendant was attached to a flowing, liquid-like silver chain that seemed to be all one piece, yet pooled easily in her hand as she picked it up. She traced her finger along the length of the chain, looking for the catch. Suddenly, the chain broke at one point.

“Oooh, that’s a fancy charm! Jewelers only put that charm on really expensive jewelry,” Marietta squealed. “It must have cost a fortune!”

Cho barely heard a word of what her friend said; she hesitantly took the chain by the ends and pulled it around her neck, carefully brushing her hair out of the way. As her hands met at the nape of her neck, she felt the chain refasten itself; the weight of the pendant tugged downward briefly before coming to rest just above her breasts, the wings still fluttering.

“It’s really beautiful,” a seventh-year girl breathed.

“Yeah, it is...” Cho agreed. “Excuse me.” She rose from the table and crossed the Great Hall.

Harry saw Cho coming toward him, and stood, swallowing nervously. “Hullo,” he called.

She smiled at him. “Hi, Harry.”

He blushed. “So, um, happy Valentine’s Day.”

Cho flushed as well. “Thank you.” She glanced down at the pendant. “It’s beautiful. Did you really make it yourself?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Took me since Christmas. You really like it?”

Cho beamed at him. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

They stood in an awkward silence for a moment.

“So,” Harry said at last, “Er. D’you...wanna go to Hogsmeade with me today?”

Cho smiled. “I’d like that very much.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

In years to come, Harry Potter would look back fondly on his fifth year at Hogwarts—the year he spent writing secret love letters to the girl of his dreams, the warm memory of their subsequent dates, the passionate kisses they shared in secret, the promise they made to always be together...

And the heart-shaped Snitch pendant, which seldom left the neck of the woman he loved.

The best eighteen Sickles Harry Potter ever spent.

-and a Knut-

“By the way, Harry?” Cho said as they walked hand-in-hand down the road to Hogsmeade.

“Yeah?”

“You might want to stop wanking in the prefect’s bath. Moaning Myrtle’s been watching you. And blabbing.”

Harry turned very, very red. “Err...”

Cho smiled, and slipped an arm around his waist, leaning into his shoulder. “Just thought you’d want to know.”

Author's Notes

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