Chapter 19
DAWN
The next day, a ghost brought Harry's concerns firmly back to the present. When he swung back the portrait of the fat lady to exit Gryffindor Tower on Monday morning, his left arm went straight through Nearly Headless Nick on the other side. The sensation of plunging into an ice cap made him fall backward onto his book pack.
Nick was too het up to notice. "Where is Minerva? I must speak to Minerva. That Severus Snape. Who does he think he is?" The ghost was so distracted that he allowed his head to loll from side to side.
"Uh, Professor McGonagall isn't—" Harry stopped because the subject of his sentence was rushing up the hall.
"Sir Nicholas," she called out respectfully, "Sir Nicholas. The good friar told me you wanted—"
Nick whirled so fast that his head took a moment to catch up. "What's this about Snape refusing to let the Almost Axed Acrobats perform? We've added five members! We've practiced and practiced! Snape knows that better than anybody. He gave us no inkling he wouldn't approve. But the Bloody Baron said Snape put his foot down." Nick stamped his own foot for emphasis, although it was too insubstantial to make a sound.
Professor McGonagall raised her hands calmingly. "Severus thought perhaps it might not be appropriate—"
"Appropriate! Isn't Cirque du Soleil known around the world? Doesn't the Peking Circus entertain the queen?"
Slowly, Harry got back on his feet. He didn't know what performance of the Almost Axed Acrobats Nick was fuming about, but he did think it a stretch to compare robust humans in leotards to partially dismembered ghosts, one of whom had an axe planted in the middle of her skull.
"We'd love you to perform," McGonagall soothed. "Hallowe'en would be—"
"A whole 'nother year away!"
Harry raised an eyebrow. What was one year to a being who'd been around for over five hundred?
"Sooner, then. At the St. Mungo's Spirit of Giving Fete. Your own special ... spirit show."
This time Nick paused. "We were looking forward to Christmas. For the finale, we planned to form a giant tree."
Professor McGonagall blinked rapidly, as if struggling to retain her composure. "I'll propose adding you to the charity fete at the next staff meeting. The Almost Axed Acrobats in Midwinter ... Madness. I won't let Severus veto the idea."
"The Bloody Baron told me Snape called us a bunch of discombobulated buffoons who couldn't be allowed to ruin the night." Nick lifted his chin. "I prefer to think of us as free spirits."
With that statement, his form began to dissipate into wisps that slowly drifted up the hallway. Professor McGonagall leaned back to avoid a smoky curl.
Harry stepped over the Gryffindor threshold and up to his housemistress. "What was that about the Almost Axed Acrobats wanting to perform at Christmas?"
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "The announcement is to be made at breakfast, but I might as well tell you now. Last year's Yule Ball was so popular that the headmaster wants to make it a yearly event. It'll be a week before Christmas this time because so many parents complained that their children preferred to stay for it rather than going home."
Another Yule Ball. Why was his throat suddenly dry? For the same reason his stomach felt hollow and his head felt light. Of the tasks he'd faced the year of the Triwizard Tournament, the challenge of finding someone to escort to the Yule Ball had placed slightly above tricking the Hungarian Horntail. At the same time, Harry felt a sizzle of excitement. The Yule Ball would be a do or die deadline to find out how Cho really felt.
Professor McGonagall folded her arms inside her long black robes. "I was surprised Severus had such a strong reaction to Nick's offer, but I'm glad he did. Can you imagine those hacked up spooks cavorting above the dance floor? The mind boggles."
With that, she pivoted and strode back up the hall. Harry stayed, fiddling with the straps on his book pack. This year he'd ask Cho early. This year he'd just do it. As he resolutely followed Professor McGonagall, he could feel his heart beating double time.
During Wudang Shen meditation exercises Sunday night, Cho so insisted on concentration that Harry didn't dare bring up something as mundane as the Yule Ball. Monday and Tuesday, his nerve failed him. Even when Cho smiled and said that the following morning, he could start flying, he couldn't muster the courage to pop the question.
Wednesday, when he slipped outside before sunrise, the sky was polished obsidian, the stars were diamonds, and the half-moon was a luminous chip of pure magic. Cho waited at the end of the patio, gazing up at the glittering beauty. Harry gazed at her. In less than an hour, Hogwarts would awaken. Right now he had Cho to himself. If he couldn't ask her in the midst of this splendor, he never would.
She turned, as if aware of him watching, though he'd done his best to not make a sound. "Good morning, Harry. Time to fly. Breathe deeply, open your thoughts, and follow me."
With that, she leapt, whipped her legs into an aerial run and shot out into space. Her energy filled him. But he didn't follow her yet. Methodically, he exhaled all the stale air. He expanded his abdomen, and then his chest. Lifting his shoulders and opening his mouth, he drew the pre-dawn chill deep into his lungs. Chanting mentally as he'd practiced for weeks, he bounded between the marble dragons. All the while, he focused on Cho, floating over the frosted gardens.
Then he took off.
His legs made great strides above the patchwork of dead, gray flowers. His robes spread behind him. Smoothly, he arced back to earth, only to spring once more toward the sky.
I'm flying! Harry thought happily and, for a moment, took himself out of the magic. As he began to drop, he looked again to Cho. Her laughter was as effervescent as morning sparrows. Her spirit buoyed him up again, and he vaulted toward her. Passing in midair, he reached out and just missed her fingers.
Wheeling and dipping with Cho recalled the square dance magic of Halloween—except that this time he was both enchanter and enchanted. Cho's view of magic, passed down to her through generations of magical women, was of bonding with the flow of wonder that always surrounded them. As they wove closer and closer to the forest, he sensed their lives intersecting as well. No moment was more perfect than now for asking Cho the question that would tell him whether she was his girlfriend or just a friend who was a girl.
With a few airborne strides, Harry brought himself face-to-face with her. "Cho. The Yule Ball is coming up in a couple of weeks. Do you think—could you, would you consider, well, going to it with me?"
The instant Cho heard his question, her smile faded. "I can't."
Harry began to plummet.
As the ground rushed up at him, his fear of smashing into it loomed larger than his disappointment. He clutched at whatever strands of magic he could, pumped his legs, and aimed toward a giant oak several yards away. His decaying arc made him fear he'd miss it. Then he caught sight of a sturdy branch and grabbed for it. When he pulled himself up, he saw Cho already clinging to the tree, looking shaken.
"Harry. Let me explain. The reason I can't is—"
"What are you children doing up there?"
The harsh voice exploded through the darkness, startling them both. Harry peered through the branches to the clearing on the other side. His stomach twisted. Snape, recognizable despite his hood, was standing with his hands on his hips, glowering at the out-of-bed students. Beyond him, Harry thought he could make out a steaming cauldron.
"Oh, no," Cho breathed beside him. "Does being in this tree technically put us in the Enchanted Forest?"
"Being caught anywhere by Snape technically would put us—" Harry cut his sentence short. The professor had stalked through the underbrush and was now standing beneath them, pointing his wand.
"Come down. Now. I'll direct you. First Miss Chang. Then Potter."
Cho obeyed. Harry followed. If Wundang Shen had filled him with wondrous power, having his fall controlled by Snape made him feel weak and useless.
When Snape glanced back over his shoulder, Harry's gaze followed to a rose-pink potion shimmering over a sapphire flame. He lost sight of it when he thumped on the ground.
Snape grabbed his wrist, yanked him up and thrust him towards Hogwarts. Harry stumbled, then began plodding to the castle. Head bowed, Cho trudged beside him. They continued in silence until they'd climbed the stairs to the porch.
"That's far enough."
When Harry turned, Snape's gaze was probing.
"Sir," Cho said quickly, "I was teaching Harry Wudang Shen."
When Snape continued to study him, Harry put in, "That's the ancient Chinese discipline of—"
"I know what it is," the professor snapped. Then a bitter smile twisted his lips. "It all comes so easily to you, doesn't it, Potter?" When his dark eyes flickered to Cho, Harry wondered whether Snape was referring to flying.
"Not that easily, sir," Cho answered. "Which is why we came out so early to—"
"Without permission. Without a chaperone. Someone less tolerant than myself would say you were dangerously close to committing PDA."
When Harry saw Cho cast her eyes down in embarrassment, he stole a glance at the professor. PDA? He couldn't possibly mean Personal Digital Assistant. But what else? Permissionless dawn adventure? Permanently disabling activity?
"PDA would be grounds for detention and for deducting points from both your houses. Take warning."
Snape's intense scrutiny receded into a brooding look that let Harry relax. At least, neither of them was getting detention now. Then he frowned. Why was the professor being so reasonable? Was he, perhaps, remembering some permissionless dawn adventure he'd had with Lily? No. Never.
"The Enchanted Forest is especially treacherous at night," the professor added. "Sometimes I must go there to gather potion ingredients that lose their power during the day. It's your good luck I was taking a walk and could stop you from getting into danger."
Harry nodded, not letting his face betray his sudden curiosity. Why was Snape pretending he hadn't been brewing a potion?
With a jerk of his wand, the professor swung the front doors open. "Go inside. Now. Each to your own house."
"Yes, sir."
Snape pivoted on his heel and strode off—back to his cauldron, no doubt. When Harry looked at Cho, she looked away. A knot forming in his stomach, he entered Hogwarts. She hung a few yards back, painfully reminding him of her answer: I can't.
But once the doors closed behind them, he heard her whisper, "Psst. Wait."
Turning, Harry watched Cho hurry towards him until she was close enough to make his heart skip.
"I'd love to go the Yule Ball with you. But I have family obligations. The morning after the term ends, I'm leaving for China to visit my great-great-grandmother."
Cho's soft smile was all the reassurance Harry needed. He wanted to spill everything—how long he'd dreamed of her, how she inspired him, how much he adored her. But his self-confidence didn't quite reach that far. With a sinking feeling, he realized he couldn't even divulge his questions about Snape to her. Somehow Cho was still outside the circle of friends with whom he shared those worries. Instead he asked, "The great-great-grandmother who taught you Wudang Shen?"
Cho nodded, and her satiny black hair cascaded down her shoulder. "She stays in a monastery high in the Wudang Mountains—a glorious place. You should see it."
Warmth suffused Harry. "I'll miss you, but I'm glad you have a chance to visit your great-great-grandmother. She must be quite a lady."
"She is. In a hundred years, I couldn't attain her mastery at Wudang Shen."
A hundred years. Harry cocked his head. "How old is your great-great-grandmother? I'd think she'd be a bit frail for flying."
Cho grinned. "Flying is no problem for her. And she's only fifty-five."
"Fifty-five?" Harry repeated in surprise. With a quick calculation, he figured that four generations would have had to borne children at age ten.
"Fifty-five when she died," Cho amended. "My great-great-grandmother is a ghost."
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