II. 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 honour, 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. 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 Harry had met the previous summer at the Quidditch World Cup. Mister Shiroto 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 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 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 the telly 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 holiday. 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.

* * * * *

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 on holiday, 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? Oh, and try not to let Ginny know about this. I know she's gotten over her crush, but...
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 whinging 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 fitted for a tuxedo for the ball. This had restarted Dudley's earlier tantrum, until he was made the promise of a stop at an expensive sweetshop; the prospect of being allowed his favourite 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 now Lord Voldemort had returned. 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. "Bless me, if it isn't 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, some 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 sweets 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 streamlined 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, a roll 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 of 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 looked up. His eyes widened.

It was Cho Chang.

"Er...hullo, Cho," he said.

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

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 stretched between the two. Harry's mind raced. This was Cho Chang, 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. "Er...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 shoppe.

* * * * *

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..."

Cho gave him a somber 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?"

Cho sighed, toying with her ice cream, which had begun to melt slightly. "I do. But mostly I feel a bit..." She looked down. "Three days before...the third task, I—" She paused, then sighed again. "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 well over a year. 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 er, I was just thinking..."

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

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

Cho reached out and touched his hand again, making him look up. She was smiling and her cheeks were slightly pink. "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. "Er, 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...thanks." He flushed.

Cho flushed slightly as well, but favoured 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 from her robes. With an ease born of practise, 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."

"How strange! 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.