A/N: So sorry, I know, its been weeks since I posted the last chapter. I had been in Bulgaria for a few weeks, and then too many things to do afterwards. But I'm not giving up on this story, I swear, now I have a little more time on my hands. Hope you enjoy this chapter and please review!

The Speech

A few days have gone by since the encounter at the library. Harry, with the help of Professor Dumbledore, signed up for French class despite the reluctance of Professor Vector. Displeased with the turn of events, Professor Vector never fails to give Harry the evil eye during the class. Meanwhile, Oliver has been keeping up his regiment of grueling practice sessions for his team in preparation for their match against Slytherin tomorrow.

"Are you sure he's in this class?" Oliver asked Ron as they stopped in front of the classroom door.

"Yeah, he'll be out in a minute," Ron replied with a worried look on his face, "It's a downright case of French schizophrenia if I ever saw one."

Oliver raised his eyebrows before giving Ron a sympathetic pat in the back, "Oh. Well, don't worry," he assured him, "I'll see that he gets rid of all this bologna. Just leave it to me."

Suddenly, the classroom door burst open and crowds of students started filling up the corridors. Harry was amidst them, with his French book open, unaware of the commotion around him.

"Je t'aime," Harry read aloud as he walked down the hall, "Je t'adore. Les yeux brun—"

"Good luck on the game tomorrow Harry!" one of the love-struck sixth years shouted.

Harry turned around, his concentration interrupted, "What?"

"I said good luck on the game tomorrow Harry," the girl repeated.

"Tomorrow? Remember?" yelled out another sixth year.

Harry smiled at them, "It's a cinch," he told them, "It's in the bag. Thanks."

The girls turned the corner in a fit of giggles.

"Je t'aime." Harry started again.

Oliver finally made his way over to him, "It's in the bag huh?"

"Hi there Oliver," Harry greeted without taking his eyes of the book, "What's the matter?"

"You and your French course. That's what," said Oliver sternly, "You're going to flunk it. Then where will our team be?"

"Oh shut up Oliver" Harry dismissed. He turned back to his book, "Je t'aime, je t'adore, les yeux bleus."

"What's that?" Oliver asked.

"This is my French speech," answered Harry, "I'm springing it on a certain little Sheba this afternoon."

"Oh I get it, it's that Chang bird." the coach nodded, "Harry, have you gone mad?"

Harry looked at him straight in the eye, "Yes."

Oliver threw his hands up in frustration, "And another thing! The team doesn't understand a word you're saying on the field. They're waiting for the signals. You give them the signals in French!"

"I can't help it Oliver," replied Harry excitedly, "Language comes easy to me. I've been in the class for four days and I speak like a native," he stopped to ponder for a minute, "Not sure from what country, but a native."

"Comes easy eh?" Oliver protested, "You think your parlez-vous francais will charm Slytherin off the pitch tomorrow?"

The two of them made their way outside the castle. "I don't know, but it'll charm Chang into going to the dance with me tomorrow night."

"Harry! Harry!" Dean came running up to them breathlessly, "I found her! She's at the Three Brooksticks, having butterbeer with Malfoy."

"Fantastic," Harry cried out. Oliver and Dean watched him take off towards the direction of Hogsmeade.

"Anything wrong Oliver?" Dean asked, noticing a distressed look on his face.

"Things are so wrong, we may wind up using you on the team!" he grunted before walking off.

"Well what's wrong with that?" Dean called out after him.

"Nothing if your money is on the opposite team," Ginny popped up next to him from behind, a dreamy smile plastered across her face.

"Ginny, go away!" he screamed, glancing around nervously, "I told you the other night I won't have anything to do with you!" They started making their way back to the dorms, "I value my life. I love life, and I want to live!" Dean suddenly turned shy and looked away, "Sure, I like you. If circumstances were different, well…"

Ginny's grin suddenly turned to a frown as she spotted Ron heading towards them. She quickly ducked behind a nearby tree.

Dean unaware, continued, "…you and me, that might be how I'd like it to be.." He saw Ron coming up, only a few metres away. He looked back and saw no sight of Ginny.

"Who were you talking to," asked Ron, now standing beside him, with his back facing the tree.

"Nobody," Dean quickly replied, "I'm practicing a speech."

"I thought I saw you with somebody," Ron said suspiciously.

"With somebody?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah, Ginny."

Dean laughed nervously, "Of course not."

Ron walked right up to his face in a threatening manner, "Thomas, you don't like Ginny do you?"

"Like her?" Dean gulped, "I can't stand her. Silly girl."

"What do you mean, "silly girl?" Ron grumbled, taking a hold of Dean's shirt.

"She's great!" Dean stuttered under Ron's grasp, " She's the bee's knees. The cat's meow and she's your sister!"

Ron loosened his grip and looked around, as if he had just became aware of his actions. "Sorry," he apologized, "When I get mad, I don't know what I'm doing. It's like I'm hypnotized."

Dean straightened his shirt as the two of them walked back to their dorms, leaving Ginny behind the tree.

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The Three Broomsticks was a hotspot for the students at Hogwarts that afternoon as Harry walked into the pub. Right away, he spotted Malfoy and Cho Chang, at the booth next to the door. Malfoy rambled on about the family mansion, while Cho's eyes were looking intently back at him. Her smile grew wider and wider as he bragged on about the cherished family heirlooms he stood to inherit.

"Bonjour, Mesdames et messieurs!" Harry greeted loudly so that everyone can hear, including the darling couple.

Cho flashed an annoying look at the interruption.

"Madam, un beer de butter, s'il vous plait," Harry ordered as he walked up to the counter.

"Coming right up Harry," Madam Rosmerta replied, amused.

"Mes enfants," he continued to announce, "le francais, c'est le langage de l'amour et de la guerre." Harry picked up the butterbeer before him, "I drink a la most beautiful femme dans la chambre." He raised his mug at Cho's direction with a playful smirk, "Elle knows who elle is."

The other girls in the pub giggled loudly. Harry made his way over to couple's booth, presenting the mug with both hands.

"Beat it Potter," Draco grimaced.

Harry ignored him and turned to Cho. "Mademoiselle, I have composed a little speech just for you in your own language," he told her excitedly in an exaggerated French accent. Clearing his throat, he begins with dramatic flourish, "Jet t'aime, je t'adore. Les mains blanches, les yeux brun, les oreilles petites, les dents comme les perles, la bouche rouge. Oh mademoiselle, que vous etes belle! Que vous etes delicieuse! Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix. Le jour de gloire est arrive. Therefore, mademoiselle, after the game tomorrow, I'd be honored if you'd accompany me to the dance.

Cho stared at him angrily, as if he were a fly just asking to be squashed. "Mr. Potter, you are a pain in the neck in any language," she said calmly, "I'm going to the dance with Mr. Malfoy."

With a shattered ego, Harry looked down, unable to maintain eye contact. "You may be able to memorize lines," she added, "but you can't memorize good manners." Cho turned her focus back to Draco, smiling endearingly.

Harry sighed, putting his hands in his pockets, "Okay, Ms. Chang. Maybe it took a ton of bricks to fall on me, but I guess I get the idea. You win. I won't take up any more of your valuable time." And with that, the great Harry Potter walked out the door.

"Hey!" one of the students called out, "You keep treating Harry like that and he might lose the match for Gryffindor tomorrow!"

"I'm afraid Mr. Potter's career doesn't interest me," Cho replied smugly.

Ginny, who had arrived just in time to witness the little scene, was sitting with a few Gryffindors at another table. Suddenly, she gets an idea. "Watch this," she whispered to her table, "I'll get her interested."

She got up from her chair. "Leave Cho alone, kids," she told everyone, "Just because Harry's our hero, she doesn't have to throw herself at his feet." Ginny strolled over to the counter, "And I don't blame her. After all, what's he going to be when he gets through Hogwarts? Just the Pumpkin king of Britain." Ginny sat herself on one of the stools.

Suddenly, Cho's interests perked up, "The what?"

"Oh, didn't you know?" Ginny said innocently, "His father's the Potter Pumpkin Works."

"How sordid," Cho scoffed, "Pumpkins."

"Yeah," Ginny remarked, "60 million galleons' worth. Isn't it disgusting?" She paused as if deep in thought before getting up again, heading towards the door, "All that money, most popular guy in school, and no date," she stopped casually by Cho's booth, "maybe you're betting on the wrong horse."

"I'll beg you to mind your own business," Cho snapped.

"Temper, Temper," Ginny responded cheerfully before strolling out of the pub.

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Back at Hogwarts.

"Professor Vector! Professor Vector!" Hermione yelled out, rushing through the corridor to catch up.

Professor Vector turned around to see an out of breath Hermione running up beside her carrying the usual load of books under her arm and a stack of papers. "Oh Ms. Granger."

"I was on my way to your office. I finished correcting the examinations," Hermione said, handing her a stack of parchment, "I might as well give them to you now."

"Thank you," Professor Vector said, examining them as they walked on, "Oh yes, the elementary class. That was a fast job."

In a flash, Hermione felt someone rush by around the corner, bumping into her elbow, spinning her halfway around. She managed to keep her balance. The person quickly turned to apologized. "Oh excuse me—Hermione!" Harry greeted excitedly at the unexpected surprise, "It's good to see you."

He turned to his French teacher, "Oh, excuse me, Professor Vector," he apologized.

"Mr. Potter, you ought to watch your step in more ways than one," Professor Vector lectured, "I got your first exam paper right here," she turned to her assistant, "How did our Quidditch star do, Ms. Granger?"

"Oh, a perfect paper, 100 percent," Hermione grinned.

"I did?" Harry said, stunned.

Harry wasn't the only one, "Well, I'm surprised!" Professor Vector raised her eyebrow, "Just don't get careless. You've got to tow the mark with me. Quidditch and studies don't mix you know. Good day." With that, she walked off, leaving the two of them in the hallway.

"She's a pleasant old bird isn't she?" Harry remarked facetiously.

Hermione smiled. It was the first time since the library that they've seen each other.

"Well, I got to get to Quidditch practice," he said without moving.

Hermione started to make her way down the hall again. But instead, Harry followed her, "Gee, I got a perfect paper," he mentioned, "You know why don't you? It's all your work. It's just a vocabulary test, mostly words you taught me that day."

"Yes, I know," she replied, not looking at him.

Awkward pause.

"You know, it isn't half as much fun when Vector teaches it," he continued, "I never have the least impulse to kiss her." He lets out a weak laugh that faded into a cough.

"Speaking of your impulses," said Hermione, "how about Cho Chang?" she asked, "Are you making a dent on her with your French?"

"Nope," Harry answered. "Oh here, I'll take these," Remembering himself as a gentleman, he reached over and grabbed the stack of books from Hermione, "Guess I should've used that beater bat." He stopped in front of her, with a serious look on his face. "But that doesn't matter anymore. I knew it the second I bumped into you just now. I tell you, I just don't care. I don't care if I never see her again in my life. In fact, with you go to the dance with me tomorrow night?"

"After she turned you down? No thanks," she tried grabbing her books back, but Harry resisted.

"But that's what I'm trying to tell you," he continued to explain, "I'm glad she did, because now I can ask you!"

"Play second fiddle?" Hermione replied without much emotion, "No, thanks." She reached for her books again.

Harry held on for a second before realizing it's useless. He lets go of her books, "Guess I don't blame you," he sighed.

Hermione shifted her books slightly and continued moving down the hall, "Well, who are you going to ask now?"

"Nobody," he said glumly, "I'm not going to go stag. Guess I won't go at all."

"Not go to the dance?" Her voice came out high-pitched. This was the first time Hermione showed any kind of emotion in this conversation, "But that's silly. It'll practically be in your honor!"

They stopped walking. "I'll go if you go with me," said Harry, gazing into her eyes.

"Well," Hermione hesitated, but she couldn't resist him. "All right, " she answered, barely a whisper.

"YOU WILL?" Harry practically jumped, "Wonderful! I'll pick you up at eight o'clock! I'm late for practice!" He started to run back the opposite way.

"Good luck in the match!" Hermione called out after him.

Harry stopped at the sound of this and slowly walked back up to her, until they were an inch apart. "Oh, they sure are brown," he said softly before taking off.

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Thanks for reading, please review. I promise the next chapter wouldn't take as long as this one 