Chapter Two: Enter the Colonel
After a nice, long nap, Harry awoke just as the Hogwarts Express was pulling into Hogwarts Station. Harry was a bit disquieted by the arrival; it was odd not to hear the nervous chatter of first-year students or Hagrid's booming voice leading them to their destination. The passengers—all fourth- through seventh-year students—stepped off the scarlet train, and began making their way to the castle proper. The anxiety in the air was palpable; the students didn't know whether to be excited at the prospect of working with the man who trained the Aurors to fight, or fearful of the circumstances that made his presence necessary.
* * *
By the time all the students had assembled in the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling was colored a magnificent shade of twilight rose, and everyone was beginning to feel a little restless. Ginny Weasley found her brother's table (naturally, he was seated with Harry) and kept an eye on Harry from a moderate distance, being careful to duck out of view if he ever looked her way. Just when it seemed that things would never get a move on, Albus Dumbledore walked up to the large podium and began speaking.
"Welcome to the first-ever Hogwarts summer school sessions!" he said with a warm smile. "The staff and I have long considered having one, but until now there have always been more… pressing concerns. It is unfortunate that the impetus for this session's creation had to be the revival of Lord Voldemort,"—there was an audible disturbance as the student body shifted nervously at Dumbledore's mention of the name; however, he continued without stopping—"but that is the way these things go. I am most anxious to hand this podium to our special guest and teacher, Colonel Quoniam Quinn, but I have a few things to say before I do.
"First, I shall explain the daily schedule. As the purpose of this session is to arm you with the knowledge and skills you will need to successfully survive if attacked, there will be no classes unrelated to this matter. All students will receive individual instruction from Colonel Quinn once a week—first years on Monday, second years on Tuesday, and so on. The time not spent with Colonel Quinn will be divided between honing the skills you learn from him with the regular staff, and learning complementary defense skills not normally covered in your regular classes. Fridays are Tournament days, where you will have a chance to put what you have learned to practical use. Finally, due to the unqualified success of the Yule Ball last year, there will be a Summer Ball on the night of Saturday, July 27th. So mark your calendars!" Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "And now, without further ado, I am most pleased to introduce your special summer-session Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Colonel Quoniam Quinn!"
Dumbledore began clapping, and the entire assembly joined in as a middle-aged man with cropped hair, a fair amount of chin stubble, and bulging muscles took the podium. He was dressed exactly as Harry would have imagined a wizard soldier would dress; he was wearing forest-green robes, cut very short and close to his body. There was a slightly manic glint in his eyes as he began walking from the teachers' table to the podium.
"His rank of Colonel is honorary," Hermione whispered to Harry, "as there is no wizard military. But if there ever is, you can be sure he'll be the first signed up."
"What's that?" asked Ron, who hadn't quite heard what Hermione had said; but, before she could reply, a roaring voice erupted from the front of the Great Hall.
"Well, well, well! I can honestly say that I have NEVER seen a sorrier bunch of weak, slimy little wannabes! Alastor was right, you are all in VERY sorry shape. I'll tell you right now: if the weakest, most broken-down wretch of a pitiful excuse for a Dark wizard were taken straight here from Azkaban without a chance to rest at all, and I left you maggots on your own to stop him, he'd kill half of you before you so much as stunned him."
Harry knew this to be false, remembering his victory over the severely weakened Voldemort in his first year, but decided not to say anything. Quinn, meanwhile, paused to sneer at the student assembly before continuing.
"That can change, though, and for your sake it damn well better. I can teach you everything you need to know about fighting Dark wizards. Six weeks with one day a week of personal instruction may not seem like much, but that's actually the standard length of the beginning-level Auror training program. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, this is the Real Deal. Don't make the mistake of thinking it will be easy. I had one kid who thought he knew it all, before I put him through the ropes. Bright kid—powerful wizard, real lady-killer—but he bit it one week after I was done with him. He didn't pay attention when I was discussing the finer points of Multiple Curse-Target Tracking, and then he got ambushed by a group of Death Eaters." Quinn spoke slightly more softly now, and muttered something under his breath that sounded like "Poor kid," before hardening his face and moving on.
"DON'T be that kid! Do what Papa Quinn tells you to, and you'll be just fine. But, let me stop a moment to make one thing absolutely clear." The slightly manic glint in his eye now turned totally insane. "I will DESTROY you. I will break you in places you didn't know could move. I will make you hurt worse than a Crucio curse, and then I will force even more pain on you. I will make you ache so badly that when you get out of bed that you won't think you can move at all—and when you do, I'll send you back to that same bed aching even worse.
"You will bleed. You will rip, and you will tear. You will hate me, you will hate the stinking Hell-slime from which I was spawned, and you will make these opinions known to your fellow students at every available opportunity. But I won't give a rat's ass about your namby-pamby feelings, and neither will you—because at the end of these six weeks, once I've taken you to hell and back, you will be a lean, mean, Dark-fighting machine. You will be able to hold your own in a fight for your life against the meanest sunzabitches Voldemort can throw your way. And—" Quinn showed a hint of a wink in his eyes as he continued, "despite how you feel when you're in the thick of things, you will love me for it once you're done. That is all."
Quinn's features slackened somewhat, and he left the podium. The students were too stunned to react, not knowing what to make of their new teacher; judging from the wry smile Harry saw on Quinn, that was exactly the intent of the speech. Harry noticed that Snape, back at the teachers' table, looked extremely pleased with the audience's reaction. Dumbledore retook the podium, and said a few nonsense words; immediately, a sumptuous feast materialized. Dumbledore smiled and said, "Dig in."
* * *
"Right scary git," said a visibly shaken Ron as the three of them ate.
"What? Scary? Get off it, Ron! I'm sure it's all just an act. Quite convincing, though. He's just saying that to get you motivated—and scared silly. Judging by the look of you, he's succeeded nicely. What a wonderful teacher," replied Hermione, positively beaming.
"Yeah, 'great teacher,' right. The only reason you're not afraid of him is his figure."
"What?" asked Hermione, innocently.
"Like I didn't see the way you looked at his rippling muscles. Ugh, how gross."
"Just what exactly are you implying?" Hermione seemed very flustered.
"Oh, get off it yourself! Harry, isn't it obvious Hermione over here fancies our new teacher?" Before Harry could have responded one way or the other—though he did notice Hermione's vacant stare during Quinn's speech—Hermione exploded, responding:
"FA-….FANCY him! How utterly…utterly….DISGUSTING!"
"Whatever, Hermione. I thought it was bad when we had Mr. Lockhart, but it looks like now I might have to call Wizard Child Services or something." Ron and Harry both had a good laugh, and Hermione was quite upset.
"Honestly, Ron, I had hoped that maybe you had matured since last year. I wonder what gave me the idea that you would ever grow up…"
"Mature? I'm mature! Just not middle-aged, haha!" cracked Ron; Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up.
"I'm done. See you in the Common Room, if you can act your age."
* * *
Ron started feverishly apologizing, and followed the seemingly deaf Hermione all the way back to the Gryffindor Common Room; Harry knew better than to interfere. He figured any intervention on his part would just make things worse, and besides, this would be the perfect opportunity to talk to Cho. He looked around the Great Hall for her, and spotted her sitting quietly at an excited table of sixth-year Ravenclaws.
For fifteen minutes, Harry tried (and failed) to screw up enough courage to go and talk to her. He did, however, come to the realization that the difficulty wasn't really about liking her or not liking her; he was having trouble because he didn't know what to talk about. If he did like her, how could either of them feel anything other than guilt about a potential relationship, after the death of Cedric? If he didn't like her, and so had nothing to confess to her, what could he say as an introduction that wouldn't make him look like a blubbering idiot?
It seemed an unsolvable dilemma to Harry, who seriously began considering just heading up to Gryffindor Tower and getting some extra sleep before what was sure to be a long, hard day tomorrow—but he didn't. Finally acquiring the needed resolve, he bit his lip and (making a mental note not to bring up Diggory) went over to her table. Standing beside her, he began talking hurriedly.
"Hichoiwasjustwonderinghowyouweredoingyouknowaftervoldemortkilled—" and Harry stopped, mortified, as he had almost mentioned Cedric Diggory after less than five seconds of talking. Cho either didn't notice or didn't care, and smiled weakly.
"Hello, Harry." For some reason, Cho's simple greeting hit him like a glass of wine, and all the tension present mere moments before simply evaporated.
"Hi, Cho. You know, I—"
"Oh, sorry, Harry, please sit down." Cho placed her hand on the empty seat next to her; Harry, who was still standing, blushed furiously as he took the seat. "Now then, what were you saying?"
"No-… nothing… Just, I've been meaning to talk to you, about…some things…" Cho laughed, but there seemed to be very little happiness in it.
"Well, go ahead! We have all the time in the world—nothing to do tonight but talk."
"...Right. Um. See, the thing is, I don't want to—I don't know—freak you out, or anything… But I kind of need to get off my chest that, well, for the past year and a half I've had this gigantic crush on you." Harry's voice began quavering slightly, and his eyes were pointed directly at a spot on the floor two inches in diameter. Cho just sat there, motionless, as if she had not heard a thing.
"I don't even know if I still like you. I mean, who can tell, after something like…like…like Cedric's…" Harry trailed off, his voice now shaking; Cho stood just as stoically as before, but Harry noticed wet spots at the corners of her eyes.
"A-anyway. I just wanted to get it out in the open, is all. I'd never think of… of even thinking about trying to start something with you—that's not why I started this conversation. As bad as I feel about Cedric, I know you have to feel a hundred times worse. And, while I'm at it, please let me apologize—I don't know if you've heard this, but Cedric would be alive right now if I had just taken his offer of the Triwizard Cup—I'm so sorry, Cho. I am, and I just have all these feelings bottled up, and—" Cho broke down crying, and Harry stopped talking. He figured he'd done it, now; he had upset her to the point of tears, and she'd never want to talk to him ever again. Why had he ever even tried to do something so ruddy stupid? Cho collected herself and spoke.
"Harry… I… thank you, for your honesty, and your…your apology… but, you know, it's really all unnecessary. Of course I knew how you felt, and it was always sort of a… a little nagging something, that made me feel bad—the knowledge that I was breaking your heart. I used to think, how different things might have been, if you had asked me to that ball before Cedric….oh, but that's all rubbish, just useless speculation." Harry nodded in agreement.
"And as for your apology," Cho went on, "oh, Harry, please don't feel sorry. It's a testament to your strength of character that you offered to share the Cup with Cedric, and just unlucky circumstance that he…he died… because of it." Harry felt better, if not quite fully absolved. "You know, I think you're very brave, to come over here and tell me all these things. Makes me wish things could be different—you're going to make a very special girl feel very happy one day, Harry. Hmm…maybe that girl you're always hanging with—Hermione, isn't it? Yes, Hermione." Cho laughed lightly, this time with genuine humor. "That is, if your red-haired friend doesn't get to her first—a distinct possibility, I think, judging from the way they're always at each other's throats." Harry's face lit up in surprise.
"Me? With Hermione? What, are you kidding? And Ron liking her? You sure you don't need to see Madam Pomfrey?" Harry laughed, and Cho replied with a smile.
"I'm dead serious, Harry. I may be only one year ahead of you in school, but I'm two years older than you, and I know some things about boys and girls."
"Whatever you say…"
* * *
Harry and Cho continued talking, still seated at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall, until late into the night. They talked about their families (Cho's father was apparently the brother of the unfortunate headstrong wizard Colonel Quinn had told them about in his introductory speech) and their backgrounds, their hopes and dreams, and their thoughts on life in general.
The end result of all this was that a new bond of friendship had been formed between the two. Both knew that there was never to be anything romantic about it—at least not until far into the future, when they had had time to adequately deal with their feelings about the death of Cedric—but both were glad that this was the case because both weren't really sure they liked the other in a romantic way.
After several hours had passed with Harry and Cho talking, Snape came by and shooed them off to bed. Harry hugged her goodbye, and Cho made him promise to hang out with her more often from now on. Exhausted but triumphant, Harry made his way to Gryffindor Tower, gave the Fat Lady the new password—"Fiddlesticks"—and collapsed into his bed, feeling the best he had in a long while.