Christ Almighty. I am so sorry that I have not written in…a year and a half, give or take? I started writing this chapter last summer when I was in Argentina and now…well, now it's March of 2008 and I was rummaging through some of my old computer files and I happened upon this unfinished installment. Things have inevitably changed in such a long stretch of time and I thought it would be interesting to quickly finish this one up (I don't even remember where I was headed with it) and start with some new material. Well, as much as I can pull out of my ass with the current schedule I'm leading (the things they demand out of young people these days in the world of academia, it's shameful).

Enjoy!

Ch. 15 The Effect of Nectar on Hard-to-Please Asian Women

So she was attracted to Draco Malfoy. So what? For Pete's sake, it wasn't like this was the first time she'd spotted a good-looking boy. Besides, Harry Potter had proven to have grown into himself wonderfully—tall, handsome, brilliant eyes and even a newly-proven maturity. And they were together!

Lust was irrelevant now—laughable, even—because she had already snagged the full package.

Cho sat on a sun-warmed marble bench reading her Potions text when she heard the soft pattering of feet behind her. Today between Arithmancy and Potions she had an unusual hour of free time, and was enjoying some time alone in a people-free courtyard. She had not expected anyone to interrupt but with the noise at her back, she instinctually flinched and took her eyes away from the page she was reading.

Harry was trotting toward her with a spring in his step, green eyes sparkling.

"Hey, you," Cho chirped, head cocked lightheartedly. She was content in the lulling sunshine, and seeing that someone wanted her company sparked her to be all the more cheerful. "And what brings you here at this hour? You should be in class."

Harry flashed his classically white, straight smile.

"I have a surprise," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and standing playfully far away from her, "and I couldn't wait to tell you so I'm taking an ever-so-lengthy bathroom break from Charms."

"Oooh, what is it?" Cho asked.

Harry stared at her mischievously and after a few seconds, said, "I've gotten reservations for us at Nectar's Grove!"

Cho's eyes widened and she let out a gasp of disbelief. Nectar's Grove was the most upscale restaurant in Hogsmeade, a location that students rarely saw the inside of because it was for only the richest and/or the most prestigious of wizards. To confirm a reservation was one in a thousand…but then again we are speaking of Harry Potter.

She stood up, letting her Potions book drop behind the bench and moved toward Harry. She smiled.

"Harry," she said, as she wrapped her arms around his waist, "Thank you."

Malfoy sat in Charms, quill in mouth, lids heavy. He hadn't been getting much sleep with finals approaching. Today, a double session with the Gryffindors and his head hurt from the abominable ruckus. All he could do to save himself was sleep through it…

But just as he was comfortably drifting off something hit him on the back of his neck. Resignedly, he let out a sigh and turned around. Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan sat two desks behind him, snickering and making obscene kissy faces. Rolling his eyes, he sat back, eyes straying absent-mindedly over his Charms text. Didn't they ever get tired of it?

Blaise, seeing that Malfoy was awake shot him an 'oh bugger them' look and passed him a note. Malfoy didn't see why he insisted on being secretive—the class was a joke, after all. But he picked it up and unfolded it nonetheless.

Christ, bloody Gryffindors, it began in Blaise's meticulous handwriting, They really ought to be put down, the whole lot of them. But it'll never happen. Malfoy smirked at his friend's very precise statement. But anyway mate, you want to go down to The Hogs Head with Flint and some others tonight?

Malfoy thought he could use some alcohol after a long week of studying far into the night. Fuck yeah, was his succinct reply.

Both Madeline and Amita seemed to find the whole proposition very charming.

"Chooo, Nectar's Grove!" Madeline whined, dipping her quill into the inkwell. She was adding some finishing touches to her final paper for Muggle Studies, "If it were any other guy, your best luck would be a night at The Hogs Head…maybe some making out,"

"And you're going tonight, right?" Amita asked.

"Yeah," said Cho, "Nine-thirty reservation,"

"What are you going to wear?"

Cho paused. She hadn't thought about it.

"I don't know,"

Amita stopped flipping through her History of Magic textbook and regarded Cho with a confused half-smile, "You don't know?" she inquired, "Cho, that's so unlike you. It's bloody Nectar's Grove!"

"Yeah…" Cho smiled, "I guess I never got around to it. Haven't been on the ball so much lately,"

"No, shit," Madeline observed quietly.

"So what do you think you'll wear, then, now that the subject has been brought up?"

"Err," Cho's wardrobe quickly ran through her head, "Really, I don't know,"

"Cho!"

"What?"

"Let me remind you that you're eating dinner at Nectar's Grove. Shall we go up to plan an outfit?" Amita seemed anxious to get away from her studying, a rare occurrence.

"No," Cho said nonchalantly, "I really ought to finish this write-up."

"Come ooonn," Madeline pried, gently tugging at Cho's sleeve, "This is so unlike you. You always know what to wear for every occasion,"

Cho honestly did not see what the buggle (!) was. She did not think that what she wore that night should be such a pressing matter. She did not always know what to wear and she wondered how much her friends really knew her.

"It's only seven, guys. Honestly, give a girl some room." The latter sentence seemed to mirror quite a lot in her life. We shan't dwell.

However, in about an hour and a half, Cho shoved her papers back into her book bag and retreated to her dormitory.

In the silence of the empty room she sat down heavily on her unmade bed, kicked her closet door open lazily. She knew the occasion called for a much higher level of giddiness, but she didn't have it in her. She had been under a constant state of exhaustion recently.

After some ruffling about, Cho decided upon a neat green dress that ended just above the knees and a sleek, plunging neckline (with her unblessed endowment, this was hardly a sluttish statement). She was surprised to find a black cardigan under her bed that she had not seen in several months, and the warm, breezy night called for layers the cover for her bare arms was welcome. Clasping a delicate gold necklace around her neck, she washed her face, did her makeup, and brushed her hair. Finally, she stepped into some black, pointy-toed heels, and voila, she was finished. It was ten to nine.

Sighing, she wished she had spent longer writing her essay on the 1578 Scottish Goblin Revolts rather than having so much extra time to kill. She hated doing nothing.

So she decided to make her way downstairs slowly and wander the grounds for a bit, pass it off for some extra Prefect duties. Her heels made hard clacking sounds against the cold marble hallways, and her dress swayed slightly with the movement of her hips. The night was growing still, but colder, and she puller her cardigan closer around herself. As she rounded the corner to the stairwell of the fourth floor she saw the trim frame of her Quidditch captain approaching up the steps.

"Well, if it isn't Roger Davies," Cho said, arching an eyebrow when he had seen her.

"And Cho Chang—looking good as always," he winked playfully. "What's the occasion?"

Cho remembered her dress and heels, "Oh," she shrugged, "Harry and I have plans tonight,"

"Oh? And where?"

"Nectar's Grove,"

Roger raised his eyebrows, "Potter's heading for home base, I see,"

Cho crossed her arms, "Cute, Davies. So witty," She glared at him.

Cracking a handsome smile, Roger grabbed her and mussed up her hair a bit. Not too much, though—he knew better.

"Only my favorite Seeker deserves the best treatment," he said after letting her go from his grasp. He punched her lightly on the arm and smiled warmly, "Don't let him go, Chang. Even if you're fraternizing with the enemy, so-to-speak, Potter's a good guy. Besides, you two are perfect together,"

Cho's disposition became a little icy with this assertion, "Perfect? And how?" she inquired with an annoyed tone.

"You know, Chang." Roger said as if she really did know, not having caught her tenor, "Just don't let him snag the Snitch before you, and I won't hurt the sucker too much," He turned to leave, "Well, I'm off…don't forget practice tomorrow evening,"

"Yeah," Cho said with a heavy heart, "See you,"

"Have fun!" He winked suggestively for good measure.

She sneered.

Cho was in the Great Hall by 9:20 and Harry was already there, sitting at the bottom of the main stair, looking off into space. Cho snuck up behind him, tapped his back with her foot. He lurched forward slightly, and (she could tell he was smiling even if his back was toward her) lifted his hands above his head to find hers. She grabbed his hands and helped him to stand up. When he had turned around, his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"You look great, Cho," he said, pecking her lightly on the lips.

"Well, gee thanks," she said. A perfect couple, were they? Tonight she would test that.

The pair Apparated into Hogsmeade about a block away from their destination. The summer night licked their faces as Cho looked around at bent shops that appeared slightly cramped and uncomfortable alongside the smoothly-worn street. The familiarity of the quaint Wizarding village struck a small chord, and she felt for a moment that there was no place else she'd rather be than there—in the safety of the known. She shook the idea away quickly, denying that she could ever be so inextricably tied up with such straight-laced notions.

"Shall we then, madam?" Harry said in an air of mock-politeness, offering his arm and giving Cho a brief flash of his pearlies.

Cho couldn't refuse the fact that the gesture was cute, but still she felt an instinctual plunge in the pit of her stomach. Nonetheless she smiled and accepted Harry's arm.

The dark cobbles were illuminated in patches below the lit shops and pubs, making Harry and Cho's shadows flit in and out of outline as they strolled by. They passed the Hog's Head, no doubt packed on a Friday night, the light peeking dully through the dust-laden windows. Bangs and shouts of laughter sounded distantly from inside the shabby bar, and Cho suddenly had a strong inclination to join the raucous festivities.

They arrived at the end of the street in front of a building of tan brick, elegant columns on either side of the glass door. Tiny balls of lights hung suspended in mid-air over the well-trimmed shrubbery, and marble fountains filled out the small, but handsome lawn. As she advanced up the red stone path to the entrance, she saw that the liquid flowing from the white fountains was not water, but a thick golden syrup; Cho could only assume that the restaurant was true to its name.

Inside, it was as equally beautiful—thick velvet drapery of a deep indigo covered the wood-paneled walls, and high-stretching arches of gold gave the room a rich, enclosed aura. Cho stood transfixed for a moment, taking in a scene completely different from all that was Hogsmeade (which was charming but admittedly a bit scruffy). Beside her, she saw that Harry was in a similar state of awe, green eyes ogling the elaborate arch that they were standing beneath.

"Blimey," Harry breathed, "Quite the Hog's Head, don't you think?"

"How did you get us reservations here again? I think I see Rufus Scrimgeour over there." Cho pointed to a corner where the Minister of Magic sat (he dies!!!)

"Scrimgeour," Harry scoffed, dismissing the name. Grinning, he pointed at himself, "Harry fucking Potter,"

Cho tried to suppress her laugh, but ended up snorting distastefully just as a smartly dressed waiter bustled up to them.

"Oh," the waiter sniffed quietly before turning to Harry, "Harry Potter! What an honor. We have your table ready. This way please!" He led them to a table under a small round window and handed them their menus.

"Something to drink, Mr. Potter?"

"Err, just some pumpkin juice,"

Cho ordered the same, and the waiter left them to decide on dinner.

"So, do you like it?" Harry asked after they had settled on a meal of marinated chicken (magic marinated chicken, no doubt, since I can't think of anything more imaginative).

"What?" Cho looked away from the tiny candles hovering under the domed ceiling, "Oh, this place?" She smiled, picked up her pumpkin juice and pointed at it knowingly, "Top-notch stuff, Harry."

Harry seemed to relax at this, and perhaps it was too obvious because Cho arched a brow. "You were worried I wouldn't like it?" She asked.

Harry shifted, embarrassed, "Yeah, well there was always that slight chance…"

Cho set her glass down on the white tablecloth.

"Harry Potter." She said sternly, "You know that practically every girl wants to be taken here…even if it will never happen. Don't beat yourself up, for Pete's sake."

"You're not every girl, though."

Cho picked up her glass again, almost compulsively, and held it under her lips a moment before challenging this contention.

"Hardly,"

Now, Harry's eyebrows arched.

"You're smart," he said.

"Hah,"

"Funny,"

"Sure,"

"Obnoxious,"

"Oh?"

"Hard-to-please,"

"Prove it."

"You just spent a good two minutes denying a simple compliment, Cho."

He was right.

"You're right. So what? It still doesn't make me one-of-a-kind,"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but their dinner came and they were both swept into a temporary state of silence. The chicken was very good.

But a mere three minutes into eating, and Harry decided to pursue what he'd been after earlier.

"Cho,"

"Mmhm?" Her mouth was full of food, but managed to choke out, "This chicken is superb," to show that she was consciously listening.

"Yeah," Harry said looking down at his own plate, which held a meal very different than Cho's, "I think it's charmed to satisfy your personal taste." There was a pause, and when Cho didn't say anything, Harry continued.

"When I first met you, you seemed really sweet and shy. You played Quidditch. You had me head-over-heels…someone I thought I could definitely, you know, get along with." He pushed his food around on his plate while he said this, but when the gravy and the chicken looked to be of the same consistency he stopped and looked at her. "By the time I'd realized I'd fabricated my own fantasy—built you up as a completely different person, I had run you off.

"And since we've recently hooked up again, I met you with my vision unclouded and found I'd fallen in love. It sounds dumb, and maybe it's another one of my cock-and-bull imaginings, but even if it is I don't give a shit. That's how happy I am to find that the truth is way better than the invention."

Cho stared at him, skeptical.

"I still don't understand why I'm so special."

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and his mouth twisted in his thinking.

"Well…who defines what's ordinary and extraordinary, anyway? I discovered how smart, funny, obnoxious and hard-to-please you are," he said, reciting bits of their conversation from earlier, "Maybe a person can be extraordinary just by being difficult."

Again, a ball from left field. She'd expected the usual card: "Cho, I've never met anyone like you before". Or something a little more disgustingly prosaic, as "When I look into your eyes I see stars (how can you say that isn't special?)" It would have made her vomit.

She was glad she wasn't vomiting, but she wasn't so happy with the conclusion she had deduced.

Harry was sensitive. He was witty. He was mature. He understood Cho like no one else did. They were perfect together.

And now she really did want to retch.

A few blocks away, the process of retching was actually, tangibly, and chunkily underway.

"Blaise! Sit up. Blaise. Please. No, aim at the bowl, Blaise." Malfoy stood nervously next to his moaning friend in the cramped and soggy bathroom of The Hog's Head.

"I'm beginning to think that last round of "Warlocks" wasn't such a wise choice," Blaise mumbled with surprising coherence as he drew his head away from the filthy toilet rim to look bleary-eyed at the tragically sober Malfoy (A/N: "Warlocks" is the wizard's equivalent to "Kings". I bet theirs is a lot cooler).

"Yeah," Malfoy replied, "Neither were the five others."

"HMmmmm, yeah," Blaise stared dreamily at his blonde friend for a moment before saying with a strain in his voice, "Shit, man I've got to learn how to hold my liquor," and he heaved one last time into the bowl, "But I feel fantastic now."

Malfoy noticed a stray bit of carroty upchuck threatening precariously to drip onto the floor next to his shoe so he seized Blaise by the arm and began shakily to help him up.

"Okay, good let's get you back," he glanced at his watch, "Blimey, mate it's only 11:00!"

"Don't make fun," Blaise wagged a floppy finger as if he were scolding, "Lightweights are people too."

They Apparated back into the Prefects' dormitory and after Malfoy had wrestled Blaise's trousers off and rolled him under his blankets, he decided to go back. He had been without a drink tonight since he knew Blaise would most likely end up purging three-quarters of his digestive tract, so as he popped back onto the dark streets of Hogsmeade, he was looking forward to the warm, affectionate embrace of Firewhiskey.

But as this is my story, an unexpected treat is always just around the corner.

Malfoy turned in the direction of the pub, but saw instead the dim outline of a girl.

"Cho," he exclaimed rather stupidly, "What're you doing out at this hour?"

"Oh, just prowling the alleyways," Cho Chang replied, a hint of sarcasm barely discernible behind her exhaustion. Malfoy couldn't help but notice the neckline of her dress.

"Hm." He was struggling to feign detachedness. "Figures."

He expected her to dismiss him immediately and continue walking back to the castle (he assumed that was where she was headed), but instead she remained still for a few awkward minutes, her arms crossed, a conflicted look etched into her features. They stood a good seven feet apart from each other.

He couldn't remember the last time they had spoken—surely their very brief history was quite enough to make this void in dialogue painfully discomfited. But just as he opened his mouth to break the silence, Cho beat him to it.

"D'you…want to…get a drink or something?"

The strain in her voice was enough to betray her mercilessly. Malfoy smirked brightly at her as he recognized the marvelous and beautiful living proof of a genuine Harry Potter fuck-up.

I suppose Harry is rather unrealistic—I mean, he's like 17 or something and acting like he's 30 , and though as much as I'd love that to happen, in retrospect it makes me sound sort of like an idiot. Besides, was getting rather bored of Harry, trying to decide when Malfoy was going to come in

In any case, I hope you enjoyed this new installment (after 546789808765 years of waiting!) It wasn't that great, but it's SOMETHING. Expect better stuff to come?

Review! (And make it GOOD because it'll prompt me to write faster).

liannimation