"Qiu Zhang?"
Damon turned his head and found himself staring at a familiar, delicate Asian face.
He exhaled in relief—at least it wasn't the "Cho Chang" from the movies. The girl before him… hmm… actually bore a faint resemblance to Yang Mi. Damon paused, then smiled warmly.
"That must be Zhang Qiu, right? Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you."
Her eyes lit up, and she laughed, scooting closer to Harry while leaning toward Damon.
"Ah! You know my name! Everyone else always calls me Qiu Zhang, and I spend so much time correcting them. Eventually, I just gave up. You're the first one to get it right!"
"Well, I've always been interested in Chinese culture," Damon replied, deliberately twisting his accent. "Ni-hao?"
Zhang Qiu giggled, her expression brightening even further.
"It's nǐ hǎo, not nihao," she corrected gently, before slipping easily into conversation with him.
Harry, caught between them, shifted uncomfortably as Zhang Qiu's sleeve brushed his arm—or was that her knee against his leg? His heart raced, caught in a swirl of happiness and unease. Why did Damon, of all people, seem to connect so effortlessly with her?
"Good morning, Damon. Morning, Harry."
Ginny and Luna arrived, slipping into the seats beside Ron—just two spots away from Damon.
"Good morning, Ginny," Harry greeted, blinking rapidly. Her beauty dazzled him; even Malfoy's sharp tongue would have struggled to find fault with her today.
She was still only a first-year, yet rumors already swirled of admirers chasing after her. Harry suspected her heart leaned toward Damon, though Ron swore it was him. Harry found that hard to believe.
Sure, his spellwork had improved this semester, but compared to Damon, the professors, or even Voldemort, he was still a long way off. "Expelliarmus" felt laughably inadequate now that he'd glimpsed the vastness of the magical world.
Not that Voldemort was weighing heavily on anyone's mind these days. With both Dumbledore and Damon around, the Dark Lord didn't stand a chance—not against one, and certainly not both.
Besides, a new name had dominated the headlines of the Daily Prophet: Caliban Mortos.
"This bloke's a monster! How many Death Eaters has he taken down? Ten? Twelve? It's like he's singlehandedly wiping them out!" Ron exclaimed, leaning over Harry's shoulder at the breakfast table.
"Yeah, look here," Harry pointed to an article. "A Death Eater even begged the Ministry to remove his Mark, swearing he'd rot in Azkaban if it meant being free of Voldemort."
But despite the shocking news, surrounded by beautiful girls, neither Harry nor Ron could fully focus on the paper.
Damon pushed back his chair at last. "I'm full. Enjoy your breakfast. Goodbye, Zhang Qiu."
"Goodbye," she replied with visible regret, her hand lifting in a little wave. Unlike the others, though, she didn't follow Damon's retreating figure with her eyes. Instead, she turned back to Harry.
"Thank you, Harry. He's exactly as I imagined—a wonderful, gentle man."
Harry's cheeks burned. "You're welcome. Yeah… Damon's really great."
To his mortification, Cho's blush matched his own—Ginny's, too. Only Ron remained unaffected, scowling at the lot of them like someone who'd bitten into a sour beet.
"What were you talking about?"
Hermione dropped into the seat across from them, hair frazzled, looking like she hadn't slept properly in days.
And in truth, with Valentine's Day fast approaching, no one was more stressed than her—not even Damon himself.
Known or unknown, students had been swarming Hermione with desperate pleas:
"This is my only chance!"
"Please, it's my lifelong wish!"
"If you don't help, my looks, my charm, my very soul will be wasted!"
They begged her to deliver their love letters to Damon, demanding he read them on the spot during Valentine's Day.
"Merlin's socks!" Hermione groaned, throwing up her hands. "They all treat me like Damon White's personal owl. The stack of letters is this thick!" She measured a length between her palms. "Do they even hear themselves?"
"You're right, Hermione," Ron said, smirking. "They should just go to Chacha Barton in the Owlery."
She shot him a withering look.
"I heard," Luna spoke suddenly, her dreamy voice cutting through the conversation, "that if you write a love letter on the scales of a purple-robed Scaled Beast, the person will definitely dream of you. But sadly, they've all migrated to Albania."
Her words were so random that silence fell over the group.
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it and shut it again.
Ron coughed awkwardly. "Er… purple what?"
"Purple-robed Scaled Beast," Luna repeated serenely. "Though some say it's really a lost fragment of Ravenclaw's magic. Few can find it anymore."
Harry bit back laughter, sneaking a glance at Luna—and caught Cho smiling too. His mood lightened instantly.
Ron, however, looked as if he'd just swallowed a dung beetle. He pushed his plate away and stood.
"I'm off to class." He clapped Harry on the shoulder, a surprising look of encouragement on his face. "Take your time. Enjoy the moment."
Harry blinked, startled at Ron's uncharacteristic wisdom, then gave a grateful nod.
"Oh! I should go too!" Hermione exclaimed, bolting upright. "Finals are in four months, and here I am wasting time on nonsense! I need more electives!"
She scarfed down the last of her toast, somehow eating faster than anyone else despite arriving late, and hurried off.
"It seems Valentine's Day hasn't infected her at all," Cho said softly, watching Hermione retreat with a wistful sigh.
Harry swallowed, cheeks pink. "And you? Have you been infected?"
Her eyes flicked to him, the faintest blush on her cheeks.
Harry's heart skipped.
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