III. The Muggle Ball

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The decent sort," Harry replied.

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

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

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

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

Saturday came, and Dudley left the house around three in the afternoon to spend the night over at one of his friends' houses. He'd taken a new tack on the situation, and was now laughing at Harry's misfortune to spend an evening at such a boring party while he'd be having fun playing computer games and eating stuff he wasn't allowed. Now, less than an hour before they were to leave for London, Harry stood in front of his mirror, scarcely believing the boy in the reflection was him. He wore an elegant black tuxedo with the finest bowtie, cummerbund, and cufflinks; his shoes were polished to a high shine. He'd polished the battered frames of his glasses so they wouldn't stand out too badly, and his hair was slicked back neatly with a liberal dose of Sleekeazy.

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

The sun was just beginning to set when the car pulled up to a modest-looking two-story in one of the more middle-class areas of London.

Uncle Vernon checked the address and grunted. "Not much of a house," he muttered. He glanced back at his nephew. "Well, go on then. Pick up your date."

Harry got out of the car, walked up to the house, and rang the bell. His stomach was doing flip-flops, and he was sure he was sweating so profusely all the makeup covering his scar was washing off. He stood, trying to calm his nerves, waiting for the answer.

The door opened, and a slim Asian man of average height with silver-rimmed glasses stood there. He looked at Harry. "Er, hi," Harry said, feeling his voice crack. "I'm here to pick up Cho."

The man, who Harry assumed must be Cho's father, blinked. "Harry Potter?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

He saw the familiar flicker of eyes to his forehead, and a confused frown. "Makeup," Harry supplied quickly. "My aunt thinks the scar is horrible, and doesn't want me walking around in public with it showing."

"Ah." Mister Chang paused awkwardly. "Well, Cho should be ready in a minute..."

At that moment, another figure bustled up inside the house. "Is that Harry, dear?" asked a woman's voice.

"Yeah," Mister Chang said, stepping aside. "Oh, by the way, I'm Peter, and this is my wife, Li Ling." Li Ling stepped into the door, and Harry immediately saw where Cho got her looks from. The woman was quite striking, even though she had to be in her forties.

Harry inclined his head to them. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

A moment later, a sound from inside drew Harry's attention...and he froze.

"Hullo, Harry," Cho called, smiling at him as she strode to the door.

"H...hullo," Harry replied, feeling a massive blush creeping across his face.

Cho wore a flowing red silk dress, with glittering, shimmery gold patterns woven into the material. The dress had a high collar and reached nearly to the floor; it clung tightly to her curves, yet not too tightly, accentuating her figure without overdoing it. Crimson high heels adorned her feet, barely peeking out from the hem of the dress. Shimmery gold bracelets hung from her wrists, and she wore an intricately-detailed dragon brooch at her throat. Round jade earrings graced her earlobes. She wore a minimal amount of makeup, which accentuated her natural beauty; her eyes sparkled, her lips were an inviting shade of dark pink, and her raven hair was even sleeker and shinier than normal, bobbing and bouncing as she walked.

Harry stared in awe for a moment, before stuttering, "W-wow....y—you look really p-pretty Cho. Er. Wow."

Cho blushed slightly. "Thanks." She looked him up and down. "You look really nice in a tuxedo, Harry." She glanced at his forehead. "Makeup?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Blame my aunt." Cho giggled at that.

Mister Chang seemed a bit less awkward now that his daughter had confirmed the identity of the young man standing at the door. He smiled broadly and produced a camera from his pocket. "Come on, you two, let's have a picture, then."

"Daddy," Cho groaned, but stepped out to stand beside Harry and take his hand. The two smiled, Harry still blushing furiously, as Mister Chang took a few pictures. Finally, he put the camera away, and smiled. "You have a good time tonight. Not TOO good, mind," he added with a wink and a grin, causing both teens to blush.

"Enjoy yourself, dear. It's nice to meet you, Harry," Mrs. Chang said.

Final goodbyes were exchanged, and the two teenagers made their way back to the car. Harry held the door open for Cho, then got in himself. Vernon barely waited for them to both be in before he sped off.

Aunt Petunia turned in her seat to take measure of Cho. "So," she asked, "Where did you meet our nephew?"

Harry and Cho had already rehearsed this via owl. "At my mum's tearoom, a couple summers ago. He was in London with friends, doing school shopping. They stopped in for a bit. I was there helping Mum out, and I took a break to talk to them."

Petunia nodded. "And did he mention anything about his school at all?"

"Only that he goes to a boarding school in Scotland, one I've never heard of. He says it's in an old castle, but it's dreadfully dull."

"And what about you?" Vernon asked. "What school do you attend?"

"Beauxbatons, in France. It's a finishing school for girls of high society families."

Vernon frowned. "Never heard of it."

"I expect you wouldn't, unless you had a daughter."

Uncle Vernon grunted, but said no more about it. "You seem like a decent enough girl, then. I'm Vernon Dursley, this is my wife Petunia."

"Pleasure to meet you," Cho replied. When she was sure neither of them was looking, she glanced over at Harry and rolled her eyes. He stifled a chuckle.

* * * * *

After another half hour of driving, during which very little small talk was exchanged, they pulled up to a lavish hotel, where a number of valets were busy parking cars and ushering guests into the lobby.

"Good day sir," one of the valets greeted. "Right then, 'ere's your ticket, let's 'ave the keys then...right, off you go, do 'ave a good evening sir." It hardly seemed like any time passed between stepping out of the car and stepping into the ballroom.

A number of thoughts went through Harry's mind as he looked about the place. The first was that the similar scenes he'd seen on television were surprisingly accurate. The room was posh, ostentatious, and stuffy; the floor was richly carpeted in velvet around the edges of the room, with a large, open square of marble tile in the centre. One end of the room held a shallow orchestra pit; the musicians were already in place, tuning their instruments, dressed immaculately in white tuxedos with powder-blue satin trim. Two large mahogany tables stood to either side of the orchestra, laden with fine tablecloths and silver candlesticks at regular intervals. Around the edges of the hall, a number of small, round tables with fewer seats stood, set only slightly less elegantly than the large tables, with single brass candlesticks in the center, and brass placards engraved with numbers. Bright crystal chandeliers hung overhead, and many people milled about the hall, ages varying from as young as Harry to older than some of his professors.

The second thought Harry had was that although there seemed to be a festiveness to the atmosphere, and certainly plenty of light laughter was rippling through the numerous conversations, an overwhelmingly stifling sense of stuffiness pervaded the posh ballroom. These were people who constantly had something to prove to their peers and perceived lessers, even when ostensibly having "fun".

Most importantly, though, Harry was worried about making a fool out of himself in front of Cho. What his relatives and all these high-society Muggles thought, he could care less about, but he certainly didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his beautiful date.

He felt a nudge in his ribs. "Stuffy lot, aren't they?" Cho whispered in his ear. He turned to her, and she grinned. Despite his nervousness, he grinned back.

Mister Shiroto came over then, greeting them all with a broad smile. "Dursley, good, glad you could make it. You and your wife look quite fashionable this evening. And young Mister Potter, it's a pleasure to see you again."

Harry bowed. "Thank you, Mister Shiroto. It's good of you to invite me." He paused. "Oh, and this is Cho Chang."

"Charmed, miss," Mister Shiroto said, taking Cho's hand briefly. He then blinked. "Chang? As in Li Ling Chang?"

"That's right, she's my mother," Cho replied. "Do you know her?"

"Know her? Why, I make it a point to visit her establishment at least once a month," Mister Shiroto replied. "Charming woman, really knows how to run a proper tearoom. Come to think of it, it's high time we invited her to join the Ivory Club as well..." He chuckled. "You certainly take after your mother, my dear. Do tell her I said hello, would you?"

"Of course," Cho replied.

"Well then." Shiroto clapped his hands together. "Vernon, Petunia, you'll be sitting at the left head table, with the junior members and initiates. You two," he addressed Harry and Cho, "I'll put you at...hmm...table C-19, over there." He handed Harry a small foil card. "There's your table number, in case you forget."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied.

Vernon turned to Harry. "Well then, you'd best get over to your table," he said. "I reckon they'll start in a bit. I'm sure you won't do anything inappropriate, will you boy?"

"Of course not, Uncle Vernon." Harry offered his arm to Cho, and escorted her over to a small round table with two seats. He noticed that the 'C' section was rapidly filling up with other teenagers, many of whom looked as nervous as he felt. As they sat down, he muttered, "Look at him, telling ME how to behave, the great stupid git." He glanced up at Cho, and blushed. "Err, sorry."

Cho giggled. "That's alright." She pulled a face. "No offence, but I don't think I much like your aunt and uncle."

Harry laughed. "None taken. I positively hate them. Almost as much as they hate me."

A waiter pushing a silver cart laden with drinks came up to them. "The drink menu," he said curtly. "If you fancy wine or champagne with dinner, best not to ask for it now. We only allow one glass of alcohol each for children."

Harry ordered a glass of cranberry punch for himself, and Cho asked for iced tea with lemon. The president of the Ivory Club stood then and made a lot of boring announcements that neither of the two teenagers cared much for, then asked that everyone toast the new members of the society. They joined in on the toast, then half-listened to a few more boring speeches. Finally, the president announced that the dinner menus would be placed in an hour, and the orchestra rose to begin the first dance of the evening.

Harry stood, nervously. "Er. Wanna dance?"

Cho giggled. "Of course."

Blushing, Harry held out his hand to her, and she took it as she stood. "I'm not very good at this," Harry said. "The only time I've ever danced, I just let myself be dragged all over the floor."

"You'll do just fine," Cho said as the two of them walked out onto the marble floor. The musicians started playing a slow waltz, and Cho surreptitiously helped Harry place his hands just so, then gave him a pointer on how to lead. "And remember, no need to rush or move about a lot," Cho whispered. "Just one little circle is perfectly fine, it's all most of the people here will be doing anyway."

"Got it," Harry replied, and shakily began to dance with Cho.

As he fumbled with his feet, he looked up into her eyes. She has such beautiful eyes... For the longest time, Harry focused on nothing but Cho's deep, dark brown eyes, the slender, slightly round shape of her face, her small, perfect pink lips...

"See?" Cho exclaimed, breaking his trance. "Nothing to it!"

"Huh?" Harry blurted.

Cho giggled. "We've been dancing for three whole minutes, Harry. You haven't stepped on my foot once yet." She smiled.

"I—we have? I haven't?"

"Mm-hmm," Cho replied, leaning just a bit closer. "Like I said, nothing to it."

And Harry nearly stumbled right onto her foot, but caught himself. As he looked at her again, even though her shining eyes and radiant smile threatened to reduce him to a quivering puddle, he realized that there was, indeed, nothing to it. As long as he focused on Cho, the dancing just happened; his feet knew what they were doing, and didn't fancy his mind getting in the way.

He risked a glance away from her and saw that some of the couples around them weren't faring nearly as well; half the teenage couples who had risen to take the first dance were now back in their chairs, some of them looking rather cross, and many of those still dancing were often wincing in pain as feet were trod upon and many a dancer proved completely incapable of leading.

He looked back at Cho, smiled, and decided to let everything but the music and the girl in his arms bugger off for a spell.

* * * * *

After half an hour, the two finally exhausted themselves and returned to their table. The waiter with the drink cart appeared out of nowhere and refreshed their drinks, then deposited the dinner menus on their table. As they sat, Harry caught a glimpse of his uncle, who was giving him a very odd look. Uncle Vernon turned back to talking with Mister Shiroto and another businessman, and Harry turned his attention to the menu in front of him.

"Your uncle looks a bit disappointed you didn't trip on your feet and make a scene," Cho observed.

Harry snorted. "He's probably already decided I used magic to bewitch my shoes or something."

Cho giggled. "I dunno, certainly seemed magical enough to me..."

"Hey! I didn't—"

"I'm just teasing," Cho said, reaching over to lightly bop his head with her menu. She then turned her attention to the menu itself, frowning. "Now, what do we do here...I admit I've never been to one of these myself..."

Harry spotted a pair of silver ink pens in holders by the table placard, and handed one of them to Cho. "I reckon you mark what you want here, see? They'll probably come and get them in a bit."

They marked their menus, and the waiter came along to collect them, saying their meals would arrive shortly. They sat sipping the last of their drinks, and watching others drift off the dance floor and to the tables. "This is kinda fun," Cho said.

"Yeah. It's not half as bad as I thought it'd be," Harry agreed. "It helps that I'm here with you," he added without thinking. Cho blushed. A moment later, Harry's mind caught up with his mouth, and he blushed as well. "I mean..."

Cho smiled. "I'm enjoying being with you too, Harry."

An awkward silence descended.

"Hey Cho, tell me more about you," Harry said suddenly. "I mean, I'm in bloody history books, but I don't really know a whole lot about you."

Cho paused to think. "Well, what would you like to know?"

"Well...your family, for starters. Your mum and dad seem very nice."

Cho smiled. "Yes, they are. My mum's a Muggle...she runs a couple teahouses—you already knew that. She's pretty popular, gets invited to a lot of social events and things. Cinema premieres, things like this..." She shrugged. "And my dad's a wizard, though you wouldn't know it to look at him most of the time. He fancies the Muggle life. He runs an apothecary, mostly Asian remedy stuff. Most of his customers aren't even wizards, just old Chinese Muggles who don't trust doctors." She paused. "Your family...are they always this way? I mean, the way they're acting tonight?"

"Worse, usually," Harry grumbled. "I'd rather not get into it right now, but let's just say if I had my way about it, I'd live with the Weasleys during the summer and never go back to the Dursleys' place again."

Cho winced. "I'm so sorry." She frowned. "But couldn't Professor Dumbledore—"

Harry shook his head. "I wish, but I'm stuck with the Dursleys until I'm through with school."

They were interrupted by the arrival of their meals. They spent a few minutes eating in silence; after several small bites of food, Cho looked up. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"Tell me more about Harry Potter. Not the Boy Who Lived, not the Triwizard Champion, or the youngest Seeker, or all the other rubbish people heap on you. Tell me about you."

Harry blushed. "Well...what do you want to know?"

Cho looked at him for a moment. "Well, let's see. How about..." She paused, and reddened slightly. "That article last year. You and Hermione...are you—I mean—"

"That article was a load of dung," Harry said sharply. "Hermione is one of my best friends, but that's all we are, is friends. I've never thought of her that way, and I'm sure she's never thought of me that way." He paused, and smiled slightly. "In fact, I'd wager the one she fancies is Ron, and he fancies her, but they don't seem to realise it yet."

Harry hoped he wasn't imagining the look of relief that he thought he saw flit across Cho's face. "So, what do you like to do besides Quidditch?" she asked.

Harry paused to think about that, finishing the last of his dinner as he did so. "Well, mostly the sort of thing everyone likes," he decided. "I enjoy some of my classes, I don't like some of the others, I like to read—sometimes—I really like to fly, of course. I'm really fairly normal and boring when someone's not trying to kill me or something."

Cho gave him a mock glare. "I don't happen to think you're boring at all," she said.

Harry blushed. "Er. Thanks." He looked up. "What about you then? What do you like to do?"

Cho shrugged. "About the same. Flying, Quidditch, reading. The telly when I'm at home, but I usually read while I'm watching it anyway."

Harry noticed that most of the tables were emptying again, and more couples were on the floor. "Er, wanna dance some more?" he asked.

Cho smiled. "Sure." The two of them walked over to the dance floor. They made idle conversation as they danced the next three songs, mostly about their teachers and classes, keeping quiet to make sure nobody overheard them.

After a time, the music stopped. "It's traditional," Mister Shiroto said from the head table, "to end the Ivory Ball on a high note." Polite chuckles met his rather dry pun, and he smiled before continuing. "Shortly, the last dance of the evening will begin. On behalf of our president, I'd like to thank everyone for coming tonight, and hope you all enjoyed yourselves. I also hope everyone will get out on the floor for the last dance; as most of us are rather inebriated at this point—" Another round of chuckles, "—it should be most entertaining." The seated couples began moving out onto the floor, and Mister Shiroto took a moment to speak with the conductor.

"Wonder what they're going to do?" Cho asked.

"Dunno," Harry shrugged.

The music began slowly, at first only the strings building the melody. The tempo soon increased, with more of the musicians joining in, and in moments, everyone had begun to realize what the last dance was to be.

Harry paled. "Oh, no..."

Cho frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Cho...this is a tango!"

Cho blinked. "So?"

"I don't know how to dance the tango!"

Cho smiled. "It can't be that hard. Besides, it looks like fun..." She giggled as she watched some of the more well-lubricated older people half-falling on each other as they tried to stay on their feet.

Harry turned red. "Are you sure? I mean..."

Cho offered her hand with an encouraging smile. Nervously, Harry reached out to take her hand, then slid his other arm around her waist...

Later, he'd have sworn some sort of magic really was cast upon them. As before, there was a brief false start, and then he looked up into Cho's eyes—those beautiful, brown, lively eyes—and something inside him decided he could do anything for the girl with those beautiful eyes.

Several couples stopped to watch as the two flushed, nervous-looking teenagers paraded around the ballroom, cheek to cheek, keeping perfectly in step with the music, dancing as though they'd spent years perfecting the tango. A few steps went awry at first, a turn was missed, but soon the two were dancing as though possessed, seeming to notice nothing but the music and each other.

The dance lasted for almost ten minutes, and when it was over, many people applauded. Harry and Cho looked around, saw many people staring at them and clapping, and blushed furiously. A moment later, a very stiff, disapproving Uncle Vernon and an equally unpleasant-looking Aunt Petunia came to collect them. "Come along, you two, it's time we got the young lady home. No dallying."

* * * * *

Uncle Vernon seemed rather upset when Harry got out of the car as they arrived at Cho's house. "I have to see her to the door and say goodnight properly," Harry explained. "It's only good manners, right?"

Uncle Vernon grunted, and Harry opened the door to let Cho out of the car, then escorted her up the walk. They stood by the front door for a moment, neither saying a word.

"Harry...I had a really good time tonight. Thank you for asking me."

Harry flushed. "I—I had a good time too. Thank you for going to the ball with me."

A moment passed in awkward silence. Uncle Vernon blew the car horn.

"Right, well, I'd better be off, then. Goodnight, Cho."

"Goodnight, Harry." Just as Harry turned to leave, Cho stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He turned, and was surprised when she leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I'll owl you," she whispered.

"Er, yeah," Harry stammered, blushing. Vernon blew the horn again, and he left.

As he returned to the car, Uncle Vernon turned to stare at him, beady eyes glistening. "Think you're a clever one, do you? Thought you could show off tonight, make yourself look respectable, fool people into thinking you're normal!"

"It's not like I even had anything to do with my going along tonight," Harry shot back.

"But you ruddy well enjoyed yourself, didn't you?" Uncle Vernon snarled. "Well, you may fool people who don't know you for what you really are, but don't think you'll fool us! You'll be up early tomorrow with chores, and not a word of complaint! Do you hear, boy?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

As they drove through the night, Uncle Vernon loudly complaining all the while, Harry leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and smiled. At the beginning of the summer, he'd felt ashamed that he still had a crush on Cho after all that had happened.

Now, with the warmth of her kiss still upon his cheek, and the memory of the sight and smell of her fresh in his mind, he knew that he did indeed still feel that way about Cho, and more...

...and shameful though it may be, nothing had ever felt quite so right.