QLFC Reserve League

S1, R1

Captain: Romance

TW: Unrequited Love; Swearing

Harry picked up two champagne flutes, handed on to his date, and sipped the butterbeer. It fizzled on his tongue and he held his arm out for Cho. She smiled at him.

"Did I tell you that you look very handsome? Your robes suit you very well."

Harry smiles at her, his cheeks heating. "Thanks," he murmurs, as though he had been the one to choose the outfit. He hadn't chosen it.

Lavender Brown had, in exchange for a letter of recommendation to Twilfitt and Tattings, and the girl had exclaimed profusely that the viridescent green paired very nicely with his eyes, bringing out the golden tones of his tan skin. She had even given him a temporary eyesight potion and a hair lengthening potion when Harry had offhandedly mentioned the way his hair curled when left longer than an inch—now he was sporting a mop of curls on the top of his head that dropped over his eyes and the sides of his head were cut short. Apparently the style was called an undercut.

When Harry looked in the mirror, he almost didn't recognize himself. He'd always looked the part of a scraggly orphan raised by his muggle relatives—though that last part wasn't public knowledge—so to himself so dressed up… to say that it was a shock is an understatement.

"You look amazing in blue," Harry said, returning the compliment. "The stone of your necklace is an opal, right?"

Cho smiles brightly at him; she looks strangely pleased.

"Yes! It is," she says excitedly. "Fire opal. It used to be my mother's but she gave it to me for my 11th birthday—when I got my Hogwarts letter."

Before Harry could say anything else, not that he really had an idea of what to say to that, the Great Hall went silent. Cho makes a soft gasping sound and is staring at the entrance. Harry turns to look to see what caused mass silence. His mood curdles like bad cheese.

Are you fucking kidding me?

It was Tom Riddle—of bloody course it was—and he was just standing there, arm in arm with his date.

He was wearing all black, dark as night, robes—only he could get away with wearing pure black on Valentine's Day—and looked like he'd walked right out of the Witch's Weekly.

His date is tall and dark—just like Tom—and dressed in bright red. Her hair is shoulder length but voluminous with puffy curls that expand to the length of her shoulders and collarbone.

They float, because it honest to God looks like they're gliding on air not walking like the rest of the human beings in the room, to a table and Harry watches as Riddle guides her into a chair.

He turns back to Cho as whispers swarm through the room, rubbing his forehead to stave off the ever-present headache that only pounds strongly when Riddle is within eye-sight. Riddle had that ability, to make Harry's head feel like it was stuffed with wool, and Harry would very much like it if Riddle stopped doing that.

Music begins to play and Harry smiles in what he hopes is in a charming way. Girls liked to dance apparently—or some of them did at least; Ginny wasn't a dancing person—and Lavender had drilled into Harry that he should have at least 3 dances with his date. "Would you like to dance?"

"I would." Cho places her hand on his shoulder, her other one held high in Harry's hand, and he settled his hand on the dip of her waist. Not too high or too low for it to cause a scandal or break protocol.

They step onto the dance floor and Harry tries to not think too much about what he's doing otherwise he'd surely mess up the steps. Cho does wonderfully, only barely edging onto the tips of his toes only once.

She had apologized and Harry laughed, reassuring her that it was okay and then proceeded to nearly bump them into a table. That had set them both off into more rounds of laughter.

It settled into a smooth dance, talking a little bit and they swayed to the music gently rather than dance like all the other couples in the mass of bodies.

Harry paused, however, when Riddle and his date glided by. Riddle looked at him with eyes cold as ice chips, pale blue eyes that made a shiver go down his back. His date looked delicately happy, a bright orange liner flicking over and under her eyes and it was bright against her dark umber skin.

She was beautiful, ethereal, and confident.

A match made in heaven, Harry thought bitterly. Or Hell, so that they don't smoke the rest of us out. At least in Hell, it's hot enough already.

His mind distracted, he was no longer focused on the dancing and Cho pulled them back to a table. She sat down across from him and toyed with the golden edge of her dress. Harry's attention drifted back to the couple dancing, twirling and smiling with their perfect white teeth and he digs his fingers into his palm.

A pale hand slides over his clenched hand; Harry looks up to see Cho's eyes are soft with sympathy.

"Who has your heart today, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth reflexively to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Air passes soundlessly and he shrugs awkwardly.

"Mine is torn tonight, split between dancing with another man and dancing with another woman," Cho whispers softly. "She looks radiant, like an unearthed gem, and he is brighter than the sun… I wish it were me in their arms tonight but instead they have each other."

"Oh." Harry doesn't know how to respond. He holds her hand gently instead, like it could fix the cracks in her heart.

Cho smiles at him; it's a sad, trembling smile. "Broken hearts on Valentine's Day… whoever said love is profound on this day is stupid; obviously the broken hearts outweigh the happy ones."

Harry stares at their hands, the contrast of his tan against her pale skin, and for a brief moment, there is a thought of what Riddle's hand would feel like against his—of whether it would have sparse rough patches, of how his nails look, and how their palms would feel sliding against each other.

"Yeah… it is stupid."

They go flying instead.

Snitches race in the air as they swerve around each other to catch them, and nobody sees them—no teachers, no prefects, no one.

Harry grips the wood of his broom as he flies, the wind tousling his long curls, and his heart feels lighter than it has the entire night.

When they're done, adrenaline pumping through their blood, hearts lighter than before, and breathless smiles on their faces, they kiss.

Cho tastes like spiced biscuits and butterbeer, her dress is soft when Harry touches it, and her dark hair looks brown instead of black under the moonlight.

Kind of like Tom's.

They pull away. He looks at her, she looks at him, and they're both looking at each other.

They kiss again.

An understanding settles between them that night. Neither are seeing each other, when they look at each other for a moment they see somebody else, and that's okay.

And Harry knows he shouldn't be doing this with her, kissing her even though he wants it to be someone else, using her, but she's using him too, isn't she?

So, maybe, they could just use each other for the night and pretend that there aren't gaping holes in their chest because their hearts are bleeding and broken, in somebody else's hands.

Not that they knew that particular fact, of course.