Chapter 23
TRAIN
By Thursday evening, the term was over. In his sleep, Harry flew with Cho over craggy peaks jutting above fleecy clouds. Friday, he awoke just as Hedwig was returning from her nocturnal hunt. He dressed quickly to meet Cho.
She awaited him on the porch just as she had that glorious morning when he'd learned she liked him. This time she wore a gray serge cloak lined with white fur that highlighted the ebony of her hair. When she turned, his heart soared to see a single diamond framed in gold sparkling at her throat—his Christmas present to her. When Harry reached out to take her two overstuffed carpetbags, she smiled and handed him one.
They slung their burdens over their shoulders, and set out down the stairs to the frost-covered trail that led around the lake to the Hogwarts Express. Harry couldn't recall just what they talked about, but when at last he stood facing Cho on the empty platform, he felt like several old doors had quietly closed and enticing new ones had opened.
Mist from the lake obscured everything outside the glow of the station's single lamp. Their breath looked like steam, reminding Harry of the rapidly approaching train. When he heard the distant hoot-hoot of the whistle, he felt a bittersweet ache in the pit of his stomach. He had so much to say, but what he was feeling couldn't be put into words.
Cho dipped her head, then gazed up from under her long, feathery lashes. "I'm not some delicate China doll, you know. I won't break."
Without further thought, Harry wrapped his arms around her. Awkwardly, they moved their heads from side to side, like passers-by uncertain of which way to go. Then she closed her lips over his. Lost in joy, he was vaguely aware of the train chugging closer. Its approach only pulled him more urgently into his unexpected, wonderful, heady communion with Cho. He ignored the hissing air brakes and the billowing steam. Only when he realized that the train had stopped beside them did he draw back far enough to focus on Cho's sparkling almond eyes.
Harry could feel a goofy grin spread across his face. His glasses were fogging over. As he wiped them and returned them to his nose, he thought, That was a kiss I'll remember forever. Feeling both bashful and exuberant, he grabbed her bags. "Time to board." Humming a Christmas carol, he took a step toward the last carriage's open door.
He froze, gaping up at a maliciously sneering Snape.
"Good morning, Potter. Indulging in a bit of trainspotting, are we?"
Harry was so aghast, it took him a moment to register the additional surprise that instead of wizard robes, the professor was wearing denim and leather.
"Good morning, sir," Cho said quickly. "I'm leaving on holiday. Harry is helping carry my bags."
Snape slowly descended to the platform. "Indeed. And what better time to yield to a little PDA."
When Cho winced, Harry bit his lip. Peculiarly distracting adieu? As Snape turned to motion to the elderly baggage handler who had just unloaded three cartons onto a dolly, Harry scanned the professor's strange attire—rawhide boots, jeans too slim for the current fashion, and scarred leather bomber jacket zipped to the neck. His black robes he'd wadded under his arm. For once, his long, unkempt hair went perfectly with his costume. Surely, there was a secret here Harry could use to keep Cho and himself out of trouble.
After the decrepit baggage man wrestled the handcart over, Snape pressed a gold galleon into his hand and waved him away. When the professor faced them, Harry stood at attention.
Snape gazed from one student to the other with an expression Harry couldn't read. "PDA is against the rules. I warned you."
"But I have written permission," Harry said indignantly. "From Professor McGonagall."
"To commit PDA?" A ghost of a smile hovered on Snape's lips. "I think not."
The amusement in his black eyes said he'd realized Harry hadn't a clue what PDA meant. Well, Harry wasn't going to grant him the pleasure of being asked.
"The headmaster has requested that we allow students the choice of detention or lost points. Miss Chang will have to opt for the latter if she doesn't want to miss her train, unless—" he arched an eyebrow at Harry "—she was forced."
"That's it," Harry blurted out. "I forced her."
Cho gasped. "You did not."
Snape chuckled under his breath. "Chivalrous by claiming not to be."
A loud whoosh from the train made Harry jump.
"That's right," Snape continued. "If Miss Chang doesn't board now, the Express will depart without her. So we'll leave it at that: forced."
"But that's not—" Cho began.
"Let's hurry," Harry interrupted, swinging her bags into the train, then following them up. Inside, he peered around the dimly lit carriage for a comfortable seat, then stowed the luggage under it. Outside, he could hear Snape's "That will do," countered by another exasperated murmur from Cho. When he passed her coming in, she was scowling. "See you next year," she muttered and marched to her seat. Before he could respond, Snape yelled, "Potter. Come down here this instant."
Harry trudged out of the carriage. When he looked over his shoulder to watch it go, Cho's ivory face was pressed against a window, staring at him without expression.
"So," the professor resumed, dragging Harry back to his immediate troubles, "which will it be? Detention or lost points?"
"Detention," Harry mumbled.
"Naturally. Can't let the house down, can we? I could give you detention tonight so that you miss the Yule Ball." He paused, leaving Harry hanging while he shook out his robes, swung them over his shoulders, then smoothed them down to hide his Muggle jeans. "But I'm not heartless."
Harry clamped his teeth to keep from revealing his opinion on that subject.
Looking disappointed at not getting a rise, the professor continued. "Instead, you will report to Mr. Filch Saturday morning after breakfast. In the meantime, you will assist me with these boxes."
Harry eyed them dubiously. Their plain brown cardboard didn't reveal by so much as a bar code what they might contain. As he put his entire weight behind the cart to make it budge, he thought how easily Snape could cast a spell to float the cartons safely to the castle. No, he grumbled as a half hour later he tussled the obstinate dolly into the headmaster's office, the little tyrant had made him sweat the load the whole way.
From the hearty smile on Professor Dumbledore's face as he looked up from the magical photographs he'd spread across his desk, Harry could see that Snape's overnight trip had not been a secret. "So kind of you to help, Harry. I've been looking forward to this shipment for a long time." Several of the auburn-headed witches and wizards in the pictures—not to mention the portraits of previous headmasters up on the walls—seemed to smile their thanks as well. Were the photos relatives? Harry remembered from Tom Riddle's diary that, when younger, Dumbledore had had red hair.
"No problem, sir," he replied, then glanced sidelong at Snape. "Always eager to lend a hand."
In the sunlight streaming through the window behind the headmaster, Harry could see that Snape's ride on the night train must have been taxing. His face appeared somewhat drawn.
"I'm looking at memories," Dumbledore said softly. "Maybe you'd like—"
"Harry has done us a service," Snape cut in. "He mustn't miss his breakfast."
Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps, you're right, Severus. Someday."
Despite their fatigue, the cold black eyes still managed to threaten Harry into a hasty farewell. Clearly, Snape didn't want anyone present while he and the headmaster discussed the mystery packages.
As Harry escaped down the winding secret staircase, he thought, So much for Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria Powder. Any positive effect had definitely worn off.
That night, Harry waited until the last minute to put on his dress robes. The emerald green outfit Mrs. Weasley had picked out the year before hung a bit shorter but still fit reasonably well. Glancing at the mirror on the dormitory door, he ran his fingers through his unruly black hair, shrugged, and turned the knob. When he ambled down the steps, he found Ron already huddled on one of the overstuffed chairs by the fireplace. His friend smiled glumly.
Unlike last year's second-hand, lace-trimmed monstrosity, Ron wore brand-new robes of a royal blue that went rather well with his carrot-colored hair. "A gift from George and Fred," he explained.
Harry nodded, not revealing that the gold galleons to buy the outfit had really come from his own Triwizard Tournament winnings. Sinking into a chair, he gazed into the fire, trying to ignore his friend fidgeting into increasingly awkward positions of nonchalance. Soon his mind's eye filled with a picture of how lovely Cho had looked at last year's ball. But the vision was marred by his memory of her inscrutable stare at him out the train window.
Hearing a cough, Harry twisted to see Angelina frowning down at Ron. Her athletic body looked elegant in a soft white gown elaborately embroidered in indigo, ruby and amber.
"It's from Eritrea. Say you like it."
"I like it," Ron mumbled.
Angelina rolled her eyes and flounced onto the couch. "Oh, George! The favors I do for you!"
Then Hermione descended the stairs, and Harry heard Ron gulp. Once again their pal had transformed into an astonishingly pretty girl. Gold combs tamed her chestnut hair, pearls gleamed at her ears, and sea green robes flowed around her. Ron's speechless admiration seemed to fill her as she stepped past him and up to Harry. "Ready?"
Harry offered his arm. "You look stunning." Resisting the temptation to peek at Ron, he led Hermione to the portrait hole.
Behind them, Angelina laughed. "You can close your mouth now, sport. And you'd better dance at least seven dances with me, or I'm reporting you to your brother."
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