That afternoon, Harry spent his time at Hagrid's hut.
Cute One was there too—turns out it had been staying there for the past two days.
Blackie and Snowflake were smart enough to sense something was up.
When Harry told them he was leaving Hogwarts, they both became visibly reluctant to part.
Especially Snowflake, who kept nuzzling Harry's chest with its head.
Which, frankly, hurt like hell.
That horn on its forehead was really solid.
Harry stroked Snowflake's silver fur. "It's only been two months, and you've grown into a proper unicorn already."
Blackie raised its long neck, its tightly packed scales gleaming brilliantly in the light—truly a majestic sight.
It let out a roar that sent birds scattering from the edges of the Forbidden Forest.
"Alright, alright, no more shouting," Harry patted its wing. Blackie was already five or six meters tall.
Hagrid said that in a few more months, it would be able to fly.
Just imagining himself soaring through the skies on the back of his own pet dragon made Harry feel like he'd just downed a chilled bottle of vintage '82 Sprite.
To keep Cute One from running off again and delaying his departure the next day, Harry scooped it up and carried it around with him.
...
By dinnertime, darkness had fallen—and Harry realized that nearly three-quarters of the students had already left. Only a handful remained.
He comforted himself: Well, at least now I'll have a whole train compartment to myself. No one to fight over seats with.
"Hermione, are you in the dorms alone?" he asked.
"No, Jessica's still here," Hermione replied, spearing a piece of steak with her fork.
You lucky girl, Harry thought silently.
How could I still be afraid of the dark? I've literally died once already. How have I not gotten over this?
After dinner, Hermione returned to her dorm.
Harry trailed behind with a miserable expression. He really wanted Hermione to stay with him—but there was no way he'd admit it.
Ugh. The great Harry Potter—who doesn't even fear Voldemort—is scared of the dark like a three-year-old!
Utter disgrace.
Harry wandered into the courtyard near the main entrance of the school. There was a fountain in the center, surrounded by a ring of glowing lights. It looked nice. He figured: Why not just stay here all night?
No way was he going back to the dorm.
"Harry? What are you doing out here?" A crisp voice broke the silence.
"Uh… Cho. I'm just stargazing," Harry blurted.
"But there aren't any stars tonight," Cho said, glancing up at the cloudy sky.
"Well… there were just a moment ago. Heh… heh…" Harry gave an awkward laugh.
Cho wasn't sure how to respond.
Their relationship had always been a bit awkward.
Cho had really liked Harry, but during Christmas last year, she'd overheard him mumble Hermione's name in his sleep while unconscious. That had hurt—and so she began to act cold and distant.
She had planned to avoid him completely. But now that so much time had passed and they'd finally met again, she didn't feel any resentment. In fact, she found herself gravitating toward him, as if competing with Hermione for his attention.
She didn't even understand her own feelings anymore.
All Harry could think was: Awkward. Awkward.
He had already told Hermione that they should "break up"—though, to be fair, they had never officially been a couple.
And yet, his relationship with Hermione had naturally returned to what it once was: close, comfortable, and easy.
But with Cho… it was just off.
Harry's thoughts drifted, and his mind wandered across five thousand years of Chinese history. Eventually, he arrived at a revelation:
It's all due to cultural differences!
Cho and Hermione were opposites: Hermione was direct and expressive, while Cho was reserved and delicate, never voicing what she truly felt.
Ha! I'm a genius!
...
Cho watched Harry giggling to himself like a weirdo. She wanted to ask what was so funny—but held herself back.
Harry wanted to be friends with Cho. Even if that's all they could be, it was better than this weird limbo.
He had a vague plan.
Since Cho was so reserved, he'd have to be bold—shake her heart with cheeky flirtation and shameless lines. Otherwise, if things just kept dragging on like this, they'd drift apart completely.
I don't know you.
You don't belong to me.
We're both just standing beside strangers,
walking down familiar streets.
Ten years later,
we'll be friends again.
Still able to say hello.
But that gentle warmth…
will no longer be a reason to hug.
Lovers eventually become friends.
...
"Cho."
"Yeah?" Her gaze flickered nervously away from Harry's eyes—they were too intense, like something was about to happen.
It was embarrassing, but Harry mustered up his courage and said: "Cho, you know… you look a lot like my girlfriend from a past life."
Thunderstruck.
Cho was stunned.
"Wait, what… what did you just say?"
"I said… you look like one of my… toy dolls," Harry went all-in, practically throwing his dignity into the bin.
Cho was completely bewildered. Was this a confession?
"What's a toy doll?" she asked.
"It's… someone I could play fireworks with."
"Fireworks?" Cho asked innocently.
"No, I mean…" Harry leaned in close and whispered into her ear.
Cho's face instantly turned bright red, like she might burst into flames.
Harry's expression was pure as snow, as if he hadn't just driven that wild little train off the rails.
Cho didn't know whether she was angry or embarrassed—her eyes welled up, and tears started falling down her cheeks.
"I… I'm still just a kid… wuwuwu…" she cried.
Uh-oh. Harry hadn't expected that reaction.
Now what? He wanted to run.
A few students passed by, giving them odd looks, but no one approached. They probably thought it was a breakup.
"Cho… Cho…" Harry called softly, feeling incredibly guilty.
But Cho kept wiping away tears.
So Harry, holding Cute One in one arm, gently took Cho's hand and led her to a dark corner—better if no one saw this.
She didn't resist. Her right hand kept dabbing at her eyes, sniffling softly.
Harry looked to the heavens. What did I do to deserve this?
Standing in the shadows, Cho finally let herself go and cried openly.
After a few dozen minutes, she finally stopped. Now she only sniffled occasionally, her body trembling now and then.
Strangely, Harry found her crying voice… kind of beautiful.
Wait. Am I a pervert?
He'd never expected Cho to cry like this. It was completely different from her usual calm, quiet demeanor.
"Why are you crying?" he asked.
"I don't know," she sniffled, pausing between each word.
"Still crying?"
"No."
"Then let's go."
"Okay."
As soon as she moved, her legs gave out. She nearly fell over, and Harry quickly grabbed her by the arm.
After all, they'd been standing still for ages—and she'd spent all her energy crying.
"Come on."
Cho didn't say a word, didn't let go of his hand either.
Harry helped her along toward Ravenclaw Tower, climbing the stairs and entering the dorm building.
He was about to knock on the door when Cho said, "No one's inside."
So Harry pushed it open.
A faint fragrance wafted out.
Now what?
"Do you want me to stay with you?" Harry asked tentatively.
Cho didn't respond.
Which meant: yes.
"You're not allowed to do anything," her voice trembled—not clear if it was from the crying or something else.
"What exactly do you not want me to do?" Harry asked.
A pillow flew at his face.
...
Harry lay on Cho's bed—fully clothed, of course.
Had their relationship changed?
He honestly had no idea.
Whatever. Sleep first.
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