A/N just a short follow up to the previous chapter
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Cho Chang was a girl who liked Quidditch.
From the time when she was six years old and her father had taken her to her first game to see the Tutshill Tornadoes, she knew that she was destined to play. There was something awe inspiring in the classically regimented formations that the teams exhibited on a run to the hoops. They moved in perfect synchronization like a flock of birds, purpose and passion in every motion. She jealously coveted the speed of the seeker as he streaked like a bullet across the sky in pursuit of that sweet little gold ball, and her dark little eyes widened with amazement from the sheer brutal strength and power of the beaters swinging their bats.
Most of all, she loved the roar of the crowds as they cheered and stomped and clapped. Anything that could generate the kind of excitement in so many people at once had to be a truly exhilarating pastime.
Her father would take her whenever he could, and they would spend wonderful afternoons together yelling and screaming and laughing. They kept a roll of parchment with the players' names and positions and statistics. They collected the special edition player cards from chocolate frogs and chased the team around Britain from game to game. At night, when Father put her to bed, it was Quidditch Through the Ages, he read to put her to sleep. No Babbity Rabbity for Miss Cho Chang, thank you very much.
What was not common knowledge outside of the Chang house was the fact that Father had actually been recruited out of school as a reserve for the Chinese National Team.
A naturally built seeker, Father had captained his house team for four years at Shenqidegondian, the magical school he attended in Weng province. Playing for his school was perfectly fine, according to Nai Nai, as long as his grades were exceptional, but she put her lead weight foot down when her only son considered making it a career.
A product of a lifetime of bowing to her wishes, her son had obediently laid aside his dream out of respect for his mother, and took a proper job at the ministry in Beijing. Eventually, he was given an opportunity to be an international liaison to Great Britain, soon afterwards meeting Cho's mother and settling down in Scotland.
To her strict and decidedly old fashioned grandmother's horror, Cho was a natural on a broom.
It wasn't proper!
Nai Nai Chang would screech at Cho's beleaguered parents in a heavily accented and somewhat bizarre mix of Chinese lilt and acquired Scottish brogue, shrill enough to make their pet Kneazle dive for cover under the parlor sofa.
A well brought up little witch most certainly did not straddle a broomstick like a common Muggle and go racing around the backyard!
But Cho couldn't help it. Forced to spend hours a day with Nai Nai, who homeschooled her while her parents were busy building their budding careers at the Ministry, the little girl wriggled and fidgeted during endless lessons in academics and etiquette. Wistfully staring out at the beautiful sky while her grandmother droned on and on, she dreamed of zooming through the clouds, hovering high above her house, and watching Nai Nai pack her ugly tartan carpetbag and finally finally going home to Beijing already!
Unfortunately, that never happened.
Faced with the inevitable and sadly wholly unavoidable reality of her grandmother's lessons and disapprovals, nothing pleased her more than sneaking into the cupboard behind the kitchen and nicking her father's forbidden Cleansweep (while Nai Nai took her afternoon nap) and tearing into the sky for a few giddy laps around their property.
It didn't matter that her grandmother seemed to have a sixth sense about her escapes. Nor did it matter that they always, always ended up with Cho getting her little backside paddled with Nai Nai's ruler. The same ruler her prim and unyielding grandmother used to measure her handwriting for neatness and the distance between Cho's back and the chair for posture.
For a few minutes, she was free.
Her parents would hear about her disobedience the minute they stepped from the floo. Nai Nai would screech and point accusing fingers and clutch her breast in despair over the shame of it all. Mother would fuss and flutter around Nai Nai, trying desperately to appease and calm the mother-in-law she didn't really like all that much, and Father would be forced to scold Cho sternly for such blatant disrespect before sending her to bed in disgrace.
But later, when the house was quiet except for the rattling snores from Nai Nai's room, Father would slip into Cho's room, Cleansweep in hand, and the two would launch out her window into the crisp clean air of the night. Clutching Father tightly around the middle, the frilly hem of her nightdress fluttering in the wind, Cho would press her cheek against his back as they whistled through the air, and no one would ever convince her that any of the Tutshill players, regardless of their impressive talents, had anything on Father.
Under the cover of darkness, he taught his daughter balance, good hand positions and strategy. When she was big enough to navigate the broom on her own, he threw practice snitches for her to seek, the poor lighting honing her skill. Every minute was pure disobedience on both their parts, but it only served to add a thrill of excitement to their nocturnal outings.
Over time Nai Nai might have instilled good studious practices in Cho, but she never broke her wayward granddaughter of her love of flight.
Or of the men who played the game.
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Harry was pretty sure that he was going to be sick.
Perched nervously on the edge of the the bench at his house table in the Great Hall, he barely heard Professor Dumbledore's announcement of the Yule Ball. Sirius had allowed him to have dinner with the rest of the students that evening in order to facilitate his opportunity to ask Cho to accompany him. The roast and potatoes might just as well have been sawdust in his mouth as that was all he tasted.
Up at the staff table his godfather was sitting with the rest of the teachers, occasionally giving Harry confident smiles to bolster his courage.
Not that it was really working.
Once the announcement had been made, Harry stole a quick peek in Cho's direction. She and the group of girls that usually clustered around her like a second, third and fourth skin, were giggling madly between themselves and scanning the crowd, most likely for suitable escorts, Harry surmised.
Slowly he watched her gaze travel to Roger Davies, Captain of Ravenclaw's Quidditch team, sitting just a few feet a way from her at their house table. Harry's stomach lurched. Roger was a decent enough bloke. Harry knew him from the pitch, and also knew how popular he was. Definitely in Cho's league and sitting so close to her. Surely he could reach Cho before Harry could.
His hopes plummeted until he happily realized that Roger had eyes only for Fleur, not even realizing that Cho and her set were fixated on him. Next to him, Ron was trying to see what had his mate so distracted, following Harry's line of vision around the room until Ron also was staring at Fleur.
Harry barely even noticed the yelp when Hermione viciously kicked Ron under the table.
Giving Roger up as a bad job, the Cho Posse now honed in on Cedric Diggory, and Harry's stomach became a pit of ice as Cedric's and Cho's eyes met across the room. Harry swore under his breath, a string of foul language that would have gotten his mouth scourgified if his godfather had heard him, maybe even possibly twice considering the impressive use and length.
The defeated Gryffindor was ready to declare permanent bachelor status when suddenly, and without any sane explanation, Cho turned her attention to him.
Her dark eyes were like pools of obsidian, her long shiny hair sheets of black silk. Harry mentally vomited over the froufrou of flowery words flowing through his mind trying to describe her.
She smiled at him, shyly and beautifully. Small even teeth that looked like pearls, shiny in the torchlight. He smiled back, all coherent thought and ability to accurately form words abandoning him like a sinking ship, and leaving a somewhat goofy look on his face. Up at the staff table, Sirius consciously hid his own proud grin behind a long sip of wine from his goblet as he watched his godson fall in love.
Around Harry, the students were starting to disperse and a moment of panic ripped through him as he realized that this was the moment! He shot Sirius a panicked look, his godfather just nodding at him encouragingly and indicating with a slight jerk of his neck that Harry needed to get a move on.
Nervously tripping over the bench as he stood up, he surreptitiously checked his breath with his hand and pushed through the throng of students to where Cho was still gathered with her friends.
She watched him as he picked his way through the crowd, nerves and tension bleeding through his pores with every step he took closer to her. From the corner of his eye he could see Cedric also pushing his way over, clearly with the same goal in mind. Spurred on in desperation, Harry thrust himself a little more forcibly into the mob until he landed, somewhat gracelessly, in front of the group of Ravenclaw girls.
Cedric's arrival was imminent, forcing Harry to make a drastic move. His carefully laid out plans with Sirius the evening before thrown out the window entirely.
"Wangoballwime?"
Cho drew back a little. In all fairness to her, he did sort of shout it. It was a bit scary actually, he realized.
"I'm sorry?" she asked, clearly confused by his inability to grasp basic English.
Harry swallowed thickly and attempted to compose himself.
"Do you, um, want to go to the Ball?" he said, hesitantly. "Er, um, with, you know, me?"
He waited in agony for a second, his courage completely and utterly abandoning him, and made a mental note to ask his godfather just exactly when the man had gone round the twist enough to actually encourage this mad behavior.
"Yes."
Harry blinked and couldn't believe his ears. In front of him, Cho was beaming, incredibly managing to ignore the squeals coming from her entourage. Over her left shoulder, Harry saw Cedric. The normally affable Puff faltered a minute when he realized that he had been beaten to the finish, but in true form he shrugged goodnaturedly and was quickly on his way.
"Really?" he asked incredulously.
Cho nodded again, giving him one last smile before her gaggle of girls dragged her away, already making excited chipmunk noises about her dress.
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Still in a daze, Harry flopped into one of the wingback chairs in front of the fire in the residence. He couldn't quite believe his luck and wondered if he had already used up his full shot for the entire tournament. That thought quickly sobered him and he was chewing on a nail pensively when Sirius walked over to the small bar table behind him and poured himself two fingers of Firewhiskey.
"Hey," he said, sitting up in his chair. "Weren't you going to let me have my first taste of that?" he reminded his godfather, pointing to the bottle.
Sirius smirked and took a sip from his glass. "I thought you didn't want it," he teased, his silvery eyes dancing with mischief.
Harry grew indignant, his forehead puckering insistently.
"That doesn't count. I had just faced a big scary dragon and Madam Pomfrey was loading nasty potions in my mouth!"
Looking at the scowl on his godson's face, the boy's arms crossed over his chest in irritation, Sirius barked out a small laugh and gave in. He grabbed another cut crystal tumbler and poured a small dollop of the spirit before handing it to the affronted teen.
"You're not going to like it," he warned.
Frowning, Harry snagged the offered glass, squared his shoulders and, in a move he thought made him look cool and mature, knocked it back in one gulp. Immediately the liquid burned a trail of flames down his throat. He choked, the excessive intake of air making him cough and sputter. The exertion of trying to breathe made his eyes water and nose run and he could still smell the faintly antiseptic odor wafting from the glass.
Chest still heaving, he happily relinquished the tumbler into his godfather's offered hand and gratefully accepted the glass of water that was waiting for him. The cool clean water immediately soothed his parched throat and he flopped back against the chair feeling a little squicky.
"I told you," Sirius teased as he took another sip of his own.
"You could have warned me," Harry said crankily, holding the water glass like a life preserver, determined to never touch the foul stuff again no matter what Ron said.
"True," his godfather agreed, a playful smile peeking around the sides of his mouth. "But what would be the fun in that?"
For the rest of the evening, Harry found it hard to concentrate on his homework. His thoughts were constantly on Cho and her beautiful smile. He idly wondered if this was how Ron felt when he was around Hermione, and if he did, what it was that was making him behave in a way that upset her so badly on a regular basis.
Because he knew, as surely as he knew that he had written a terrible Potions essay, that he would do just about anything for Cho's smile.
Still giddy he climbed into bed that night, burrowing deeply into the pillows as his godfather tucked the blankets around him.
"She said yes," he repeated, probably for the one hundredth time.
Pushing the hair from Harry's forehead, Sirius smiled happily.
"Of course, she did."
That night, Harry dreamed of a beautiful girl with raven black hair flying on a broom.
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