Here's a chapter I hope you'll find more interesting. Sorry about that last chapter…and for the inordinate wait…I am an impossibly distracted person. Tell me what you think! Have a blast…

Liannimation

Ch. 10: Clemency and Inclement Weather

"Who do they think they are, accusing you of messing around with Draco Malfoy, of all people?" Madeline asked when they were back in their room.

"He's chatted with me a couple times…didn't know it was such a big deal," Cho said after a bit of thinking; she wanted to put it in the most casual way possible.

"He chatted with you?" Madeline said with a somewhat ironic tone in her voice. She threw her purchases onto her bed, "Hah, it almost sounds chummy." She laughed.

"Sure does," Cho said. She didn't like talking about this subject. It made her nervous.

The next week was lively. People left and right were ridiculously giddy and chattering endlessly about the upcoming event.

Maybe it was just the weather. After all, it wasn't that much of a deal—the grass was merely green.

Madeline already had been asked by Roger Davies. By Tuesday, Amita was asked by Cameron Grant, the tall, bespeckled Keeper of the Quidditch team. Again, Cho felt that familiar twinge of jealously and insecurity. She wondered if she had recently acquired an invisible repellent. Not that she was desperate…but she wanted the flattery at least.

Wednesday came and went. More girls were being asked to go to the ball, and none of them were Cho. Two more days left until the ball. She sulked quietly.

"I'm sure someone will ask you…there's still two days left, after all," Amita said sympathetically. Cho appreciated the concern, but not the pity. If no one asked her, she would be left alone to stand by the wall. It was her senior ball! And she intended to be the center of attention.

It was Thursday evening, and Cho and Amita sat in the courtyard, parchments at hand. The sun was low, the air was cool, and other students lounged quietly, scattered on the stone benches or the grass. It seemed that after a week's worth of gossip and flirting and blushing, people were just beginning to settle down and engross themselves in the calm. Only, for Cho, that wasn't the case. Really, it wasn't so much of a catastrophe… in fact, she had convinced herself that going without a date would be perfectly fine. But what was eating her was that no one at all had even made an attempt. She was terribly frustrated.

Amita was writing furiously, but Cho sat idly, playing with her quill and staring at her ink-well.

What a load of bollocks, she thought, I don't deserve this. Damn, I used to be one of the first to be asked to any sort of event. What…am I off-limits? It's bloody ridiculous…

Her spiteful ponderings were cut short when someone approached her. Cho stopped chewing on her quill, and turned lazily, for she was in quite an atrocious state. She'd expected Roger Davies, or some other twot to come and remind her of practice or whatnot. However, she was quite surprised to find herself looking at Harry Potter. It was late in the day, and his hair was jutting out in every direction.

"Harry! Hello," she said, staging a cool smile. She knew already what he was going to say, noticing his shifting posture and curious expression. She braced herself.

"Hello, Cho. How are you?"

"I'm well. And you?"

Harry adjusted his glasses.

"Fine," he paused, and looked at her, "I was wondering…have you already found someone to go with to the ball?"

Cho smirked inside.

"No, Harry,"

Harry immediately perked up. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Then, would you like to go with me?" he asked. "For old times' sake," he added. Cho remembered the similar circumstance in her fifth year, and smiled.

"Of course. Meet me in the Hall at say…8:00?" she said.

"Uh, yeah. See you then," and he turned to leave before she had a chance to mention a goodbye.

"Quite an improvement from two years ago, eh, Cho?" Amita taunted.

"He's a bit of a loony," Cho speculated, "But, damn. So glad someone asked me."

"He's quite the little cutie,"

Cho laughed.

And so Cho had a date to the ball. It had taken a while, but she had one. Even if it was Harry Potter. Sure, he was a tad bit adorable, but she told herself that he was a date, and only a date: too annoying to get involved with again.

It was Saturday at 7:30 in the evening. Cho grew more and more aggravated that Amita and Madeline kept their little conflict going for so long, but to ease matters, she had made separate arrangements for getting pretty. They all looked ravishing.

Seven fifty-five, and Cho left her room to meet Harry. She noticed (with slight smugness) that she turned heads as she walked down the packed stone corridors. The school was a-buzz with very primped, very eager sixth and seventh-year students.

Cho listened to the soft clicks of her heels against the marble as she trekked the long distance to the Great Hall. Turning the corner she saw Harry, leaning against the stair pillar.

She stood, like a fairytale, at the top of the grand staircase in full gown and glitter. Harry straightened quickly and looked at her, eyes-all-a-gleam. She wore a white dress—a shiny satin: very Hepburn-esque (Audrey). Strapless, hemmed at the top with black lace and a thin black ribbon around the waist to not give the impression of a wedding dress. To accessorize: long black gloves and a beautiful (and sizeable) lattice of jewels fastened around her neck. Her hair was thrown up in an elegant up-do with stands of curls hanging down behind her ears.

Harry looked quite impressed. A bit dazed, but nonetheless very impressed. He himself did not look too badly. Cho always liked a man in a suit.

The Great Hall was decorated marvelously. Cho thought it strange, for she had just been in there the previous morning to eat breakfast—then it had been perfectly bland and normal (of course, she was quite aware of a little something called magic, but it was still such a hoot). The usual long dining tables were gone and the floor had been cleaned and polished to a crystal sparkle. The ceiling was afloat with large, dimly lit lanterns and the walls were draped in soft blues. Fairies hovered here and there.

"Cho," Harry said after a while.

She smiled: an acknowledgment. Then she turned her attention to the grandeur of their surroundings, "Looks bloody amazing,"

"I'll say," Harry said, looking at anything but the décor.

They had arrived a bit early: the band was barely beginning to play and most people were still sitting at the small, candlelit tables that were scattered near the walls. Cho was going to propose to sit down, but was cut short by a loud, excited "Oy!"

Harry's freckled friend, Ronald Weasley had come out of nowhere, accompanied by a girl by the name of Lavender Brown, presumably his date, and a lone Hermione Granger.

"Harry, mate!" he hit Harry on the back, and then glanced at Cho. Cho stood silent for a moment. Hermione, sensing the slight tension, spoke up.

"Hello, Cho. Having a good time?"

Cho felt a bit like a deterrent, but she had no choice but to join in conversation. She only wondered where Amita and Madeline were off to…

"Oh…we just got here. Not much going on now, I suppose," she motioned toward the stage where the band was still setting up. She paused and cocked her head, "Haven't you got a date, Hermione?" She asked this because Hermione was alone, and with Ronald Weasley and his date. Cho had always assumed the Weasley fellow and Hermione had something together, but this Lavender girl was most definitely all over him; it was quite disgusting really, and Cho crinkled her nose. However, we shan't delve too deeply into it. Back to the story:

"Yes," she sighed, motioning at an approaching figure. It was a boy Cho did not know the name of. He saw Cho; looked her up and down before saying hello.

"Seamus Finnagan," he introduced himself as in a surprising Irish accent. He was tall—quite tall—with lively eyes and a very charismatic manner about him, "And you…must be Cho Chang. Harry's little wet dream, I presume?"

Harry choked a bit at this, Hermione opened her mouth to object, and Ron snorted. Cho laughed.

"Finnagan!" Harry warned. And Seamus Finnagan flashed a sneaky smile at Cho. Harry looked flustered and soon enough, he ushered Cho away from the group.

"What a sod," Harry said through clenched teeth.

Cho snickered, "Oh, don't worry about it Harry. He's really quite charming."

"He's not charming, he's a sod."

"You're too hard on people." And they settled at a table the color of peppermint pasties.

Another half-hour of small talk, and Cho wanted a drink. Harry offered to go retrieve one for her, but to be honest, Cho just wanted a break. She made her way through the quickly developing crowd to the punch fountain. The Hall was now loud and crowded—the music was blaring and it smelled distinctly of people.

She found a clean goblet and filled it, stood sipping for a while. Where were Amita and Madeline, for crying out loud? This ball was a flop thus far—Harry was such a git. And here she was, engulfed in a sea of very sweaty people, her best friends not even present to provide the needed comfort. How very disappointing.

She turned around, ready to leave when she saw one Draco Malfoy, standing not four yards away. He was with his friends, only he was not part of the apparently hilarious conversation. His face was neutral, head tilted a bit to the side-- eyes drifted to look directly at Cho. She was startled—both by his presence and by her own involuntary reaction: her stomach did a dreadful double take. She did not understand.

When Malfoy had seen that she had noticed him, he twitched—she had never seen Malfoy twitch—and quickly re-joined his group's conversation. Cho tossed her goblet down, and returned quite reluctantly to her date with Harry Potter.

As Harry came back into sight, she actually sighed.

Another four dances and Harry still hadn't asked her to dance. He insisted on sitting idly and making sketchy conversation. Cho didn't know why he was being such a boring, stupid arse—it wasn't like they did not know each other at all. Finally, she had grown too impatient. She was going to dance with her date—be it Harry or not.

"Harry, we're dancing. Come on."

Harry looked so surprised that he knocked a fork off the table.

"Come along," she stood up, and they walked toward the center of the Hall.

She had three minutes of sweaty fingers, trod-on feet and simply horrible music to face. They started dancing, and Cho started to wish there was an escape latch somewhere close.

The song was slow, moaning, absolutely irritating. With very bad instrumentals. And then she bumped into someone.

"I see you've lowered yourself, Chang. Potter? Truly. How distasteful."

Harry looked about to kill.

"Malfoy," he said in a tone nothing short of absolute and unadulterated loathing, "Get the fuck out of here."

Malfoy chose to ignore him, kept his attention on Cho. He was dancing with a pink-clad Pansy Parkinson, who was in fact, glaring hideously at Cho. Surprisingly, Malfoy's hair was not greased back, his wavy blonde tresses (if you can call them that) left to fall freely (she never noticed he had wavy hair. Hm). He wore black robes over a white dress shirt and tie. Very neat.

"Potter seems a bit touchy, Chang. Wonder what's got him up in a twist?" He winked

"Don't start, Malfoy," Cho said resignedly, "You aggravate far too much,"

Harry still looked furious, and his grip around her waist tightened.

"Potter, I must probe. How did you, of all people, manage to snag a girl like Chang? Now, Granger, I can understand…" Before Malfoy could finish his sentence, Harry had him by the shirt collar.

"Shut up, Malfoy," he said maliciously. Some people were watching curiously, hoping for a fight.

"Oh, stop it Potter, you're making me blush," Malfoy said in a perfectly conversational voice. Cho pushed Harry off of Malfoy.

"Harry! What the fuck is your problem?" She led the vein-popping Harry hastily away despite the disappointed objection from the crowd. She thought Harry was being extraordinarily daft and she couldn't help saying it.

"Malfoy had been your arch nemesis for half of your life, Harry! I thought you'd have built up an immunity by now—he only does it to see if he can get a laugh…or a vein to pop. Honestly, control yourself."

Harry looked mad.

"He insulted you right in front of me," he said furiously.

"I'm quite capable of dealing with those issues myself," she said indignantly.

"But—" he stopped himself. "I'm sorry." But he didn't look any less angry.

It was arguably more maddening for Cho.

Again, another session of sitting. Harry seemed to be sulking. Cho sat, playing with her glass, wondering where the hell her friends were. And then a miracle.

"Cho!"

Cho looked up and saw, with a great rush of relief, Madeline pulling Roger Davies behind her.

"Well, speak of the devil!" Cho said, instantly brightening, "Where the fuck have you been all night?"

"Around," Madeline said, blushing, "It's only been forty-five minutes, don't shout." She had her emerald gown on—brilliantly shiny earrings to match. Her hair was down in vivacious corkscrew curls, and her blushing made her look all the more gorgeous. Cho stood up.

"Harry Potter, as you all are aware," Cho said, motioning toward Harry. He stood up and walked around the table to join them.

"Roger," Cho said, acknowledging her Quidditch captain.

"Cho," Roger said, smiling, "You look great,"

At this Madeline cast him a questionable look and Harry's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Why, thank you," Cho said brightly, "You enjoying the ball so far, then?"

"Too many people," Madeline said with a sneer, "So, Roger and I are going to get some folks to join us in the Common Room. We've smuggled a couple kegs of butterbeer and I'm sure with your help we can spiff it up to look like a proper party. Want to join?"

"Beats this joint," Cho said with a scoff.

Within the hour, they had set the stage for a party in the Ravenclaw Common Room. Lights were dimmed, music (to a specific preference) was generated, and Cho had cast a tricky little charm on the room to make it bigger. Five large barrels full of butterbeer were present, complete with Engorgement Charms.

In fifteen minutes, ten people had arrived—another fifteen, and the room was chock-full, music blaring. Cho had seemed to have lost Harry, but she was not complaining. Someone came along with a tray, and soon, she had downed two cups of the sweet alcohol (alcohol in the wizarding world is sweet and oh so buttery). Some rounds of Exploding Butterbeers followed (Exploding Snap with some tweaks) and then dancing and more drinks. After an hour or so of various activities, Cho was worn out and chose a chair to settle down in. The floor was occupied by some very unconscious witches and wizards. She had only had about four or five drinks—butterbeer had a much slower effect on the body than Muggle alcohol, but things were beginning to get slightly tipsy.

Soon Amita had approached her. It was the first time Cho had seen her since seven o'clock that evening (it was close to 11:30), and she was startled by the numerous bangles and ornaments that hung, reflecting off most everything (it was dark). Amita's long hair was in an incredibly intricate braid, a gold plait entwined through. A few stray hairs had escaped, and she was alone and looking impossibly sullen.

"Meeeeta," Cho crooned happily, "You're bee-yoooti-ful!"

"Hey," she said. She could tell her friend was probably the most sober individual in the room. Cho offered her a butterbeer. Amita waved it away.

"Where's Cameron?" Cho asked, taking a swig and kicking off her heels.

Amita rolled her eyes and pointed. Cameron Grant's long gangly limbs were wrapped quite tightly around someone in the far corner of the room.

"Oh," she said.

"I know. Fuck, I don't care." And she sat down beside Cho.

Not five minutes later, Roger Davies came around. He looked aimlessly around for a moment, and flopped on the ground next to Amita.

"Hey, Amita," he said thickly, "Hey Cho…why am I so tired?" He put his arm around Amita. "Pretty Amita," he said with a giggle (a masculine one).

"Come on," Roger said, getting up and pulling at Amita's arm. She got up without a word. He started to lead her to the dormitory entrance, and she followed. If Cho wasn't so crunked, she would have stopped them and she would have noticed the total look of confusion and guilt scrawled on Amita's sober face.

After they had left, Cho got up and found herself absorbed once again in a luscious cup of bubbling butterbeer. She took it and wandered to the dormitory entrance, hoping to find some company. The party was still raging with boisterous, drunken students, and Cho had no intention of hurting her already discombobulated head. She climbed the stairs carefully, and managed to push open a door. There, she was startled by a most unusual scene.

Roger and Amita stood against the bedpost (Cho wasn't completely sure who's bed it was), his arms around her waist and his face close to hers. This brought Cho slightly to her senses. Cho had expected Amita to look pleased, happy that she was getting what she had been bickering about for over a week, but she noticed her looking precisely the opposite.

Amita was obviously torn—she stood hesitantly, eyes wide, wondering what her next move was to be. Cho still remained unnoticed.

And then Amita stepped back, making Roger stumble a bit. She slapped him—hard—and turned to leave. Amita's eyes flickered over Cho, and then at something behind her. Her eyes widened further yet and Cho looked around to see what the matter was.

Madeline had been behind her the entire time, and she had not noticed (of course she was horribly impeded, but it happens). Amita opened her mouth, once, twice, and then tried to run out of the room, but Madeline stopped her.

"Madeline, I'm sorry," Amita cried, near tears.

Madeline's brow was furrowed and her face was white. She looked over at Roger, who was still standing drunkenly. He waved hello. She swept over promptly, and slapped him with more force than Amita had (which was very hard). With this, he actually fell on to the bed in a drunken stupor. Madeline looked back at Amita, her voice shaky,

"Oh, I'm sorry too, Mita!"

They embraced, cried, whatever.

Now that I've got that little problem patched up, back to the real story.

Cho confusedly left the dormitory where her two best friends had recently re-sealed their friendship. Her head still swam and her knees were wobbly. Reaching the bottom of the stair, she wandered back into the noisy Common Room. And without delay, she was intercepted.

"Cho! Where were you? I haven't been able to find you for more than an hour…whoa, are you drunk?"

Cho looked at her date with the most skeptical expression she could muster.

"No, Harry. No, I am not drunk. I tend to walk like this on a regular basis..."

"Let's get you somewhere, come on…" Cho felt herself being led.

"No really, Harry. I don't need to be patronized—" she was surprised she still kept a decent vocabulary.

"You need to be somewhere else. Anywhere but in here."

Cho couldn't respond.

She felt herself stumbling out of the Common Room, across the hallway. Soon, a crisp blast of fresh air woke her. Harry had opened a window, and was trying to gain her attention by snapping.

"Stop. Stop snapping," Cho said, waving her hand, "What's that dreadful noise?" She heard a drilling pitter-patter, and couldn't put her finger on what it was. Rain, perhaps?

"Cho, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine. Stop asking." She closed her eyes and rubbed her head.

"You're not. Sit down." She felt herself being forced onto a cold bench. He sat down beside her.

"Cho," he said, taking her hand, "I'm so sorry about what happened tonight. You were right, I overreacted,"

Why is he telling me this?

"I couldn't take Malfoy's shit. I just care about you so much,"

This sounds rehearsed. Is it rehearsed? It's rehearsed. Yeah.

And before she could blink an eye, she saw one Harry coming straight at her face, groping and feeling, groping and feeling. This sobered her up much more.

"Harry!" she tore her lips away, tried to back away; she was completely sober now. His breath was free of alcohol. He persisted, and she slid herself off the bench. Harry sat startled, a look of realization, and even disgust etched into his face. He looked as if about to apologise, but she didn't care how sorry he was. She whipped around and swiftly ran away.

She was in shock and close to tears by the time she had stopped running. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Then again, how could she be? She was Cho Chang: sharp, reserved…not stupid. She had been taken advantage of, or whatever you call it…drunk, smashed, so stupid.

She found herself in the silence of a nearby open corridor—one right next to the courtyard. It was raining hard.

She was sober. Completely.

She made her way to the end of the walk-way where the columns stopped and a lone washroom stood to her right. She walked in and washed her hands, looked in the mirror. Her makeup hadn't been ruined, for she had used a special brand of "Anna's WonderFinish" that evening (it really did wonders). In fact she still looked decent, despite the atrocious emotional state she was in. She straightened her gown and walked back out.

And ran head-first into the chest of an incomer.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled. And then she saw who it was and she blinked three times. Draco Malfoy stood before her once again. How many times had this happened?

"Chang!" Malfoy seemed just as surprised as herself, "What are you doing?"

"Taking a piss, what does it look like? What are you doing?"

"Boys' lavatory, Chang." He smirked. But the smirk was a little off. His dress robes had been discarded, and his tie was undone, shirt sleeves rolled up sloppily. His hair was even more unruly than the last time she had seen it.

"Hm," she said nonchalantly.

"So that party's really something—even if it is Ravenclaw," he said, letting her through the doorway. Apparently he had chosen not to go to the loo after all, "Why aren't you attending?"

"I was. Got crunked and came here to not make a fool out of myself."

"Likewise,"

Cho braced herself for another snide remark. But it didn't come.

"You're not surprised?" she asked.

"Surprised?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"I expected you to say something about my drinking. Most people do. That's what you do, Malfoy—you throw these things back in people's faces."

Malfoy scratched his head.

"Not surprised, Chang. Prefects have their fun." He said this so casually. The wind was picking up outside. The wind now howled through the exposed corridor.

"I'll walk you back," he sounded passive—a passive Draco Malfoy? Unheard of! They started their way through the wind, the pouring rain not able to reach them.

Cho had been holding a shawl, but the wind caught it from her loose grip and sent it flying out into the courtyard.

"Bloody brilliant," she said.

""Use a Summoning Charm," Malfoy suggested.

"Don't have my wand," (How are you supposed to carry around a wand when you're wearing a ball gown?)

Malfoy pulled out his own wand and tried once. No result. Again, and still nothing.

"I can't locate it through this blasted rain," he said, squinting, and attempting once more.

"Shit," Cho said, "Well, don't worry about it. Just leave it." She really didn't care about it anyway.

"No," he said after some consideration, "We're getting the damned thing." And with that, he walked through the columns and into the heavy rainfall.

Cho stood bemused for a short moment. He'd gone out in that awful downpour to get her shawl. She really didn't understand him. She waited for another two minutes, and he was still not back. The rain was not getting any lighter.

And then, she didn't know what possessed her to do it, but she stepped into the rain.

The droplets hit hard and evenly. She felt it drip down her back and ruin her ball gown. She looked around the courtyard for a sign of her shawl—and Malfoy—but couldn't see a clear foot in front of her. She stumbled over a table, a few bushes.

"Malfoy!" she called, "Where are you off to?" She shook water out of her eyes.

"Over here!" came his response, "You came out here? Jesus, woman,"

"Where is here?" She meandered some to the right.

"Between…the fountain and the edge of the courtyard."

Cho slowly made her way through the haze, with only the light from the lavatory to guide, and soon enough she saw the sopping wet figure of Malfoy. He stood, holding her drenched and sufficiently ruined shawl. She approached him and gently took it from his grip.

"Thanks," she said, "You really didn't have to,"

The rain was becoming softer, still a downpour, but things were clearer. The velvety patter off the stone courtyard was the only thing Cho was listening to, and the light from the washroom corridor washed over softly. Her mind was blurred and incoherent. Why was Malfoy looking at her that way? He was so close—too close. But she didn't move.

"Oh, but every day I subject myself to the pouring rain."

Malfoy had developed a certain softness in his expression—something Cho had never seen in anyone, least of all in Malfoy. It was endearing, stunning, and above all, utterly and genuinely kind.

"And I'm just your average run-of-the-mill damsel in distress?"

The rain dripped off her chin.

"Absolutely not." And he kissed her.

--Oh, how I will love thee if you push that lovely little button there in the left corner. Constructive critisism or just quite lengthy messages are preferred. You've read up, now write up!--