"How's the holiday been treating you?"
This dinner with Cho had been arranged before term ended. But Tom had spent nearly all his free time renovating the new house, so aside from confirming the time, he hadn't really kept up with her life.
Cho tilted her head, thinking for a moment before replying:
"It's much easier than school. At first it was wonderful—I went shopping at nearly all my favorite stores, tried all the food I'd missed. But now… it feels dull again."
She chuckled at herself.
"Really, it's like this every break. The novelty fades, and I end up missing Hogwarts—friends close at hand, interesting things always happening. And, of course, Quidditch."
"You really do love Quidditch," Tom observed.
She looked like she belonged in the literature club—a soft, pretty girl. Yet she was all heart for sport.
"I suppose you're waiting for your chance to shine in the matches?" Tom teased.
Cho's expression dimmed slightly.
"Not until Delia graduates next year. She's better in the air than I am—more experienced."
"That's fine," Tom said casually. "Gives you another year to sharpen yourself. Besides, your team wasn't winning this year anyway. If you had played, you'd only be blamed for the losses."
Cho was long used to Tom's bluntness, but she still choked on that remark.
"Even though we lost the first match against Hufflepuff by more than two hundred points," she said stubbornly, "theoretically Ravenclaw still has a chance at the Cup."
"Oh, sure, sure—your optimism is… familiar," Tom replied with a wry smile.
She shot him an exasperated glare. "Just wait. Next term, Ravenclaw will crush Slytherin."
"You know me—I don't care who wins. But if you do, I'll congratulate you."
The subject itself didn't matter. What mattered was who he was talking with. And across from him sat a strikingly pretty girl. Even Quidditch talk was entertaining in that light.
"I've loved the Tutshill Tornados since I was six. Their seeker's dive-rotation technique? They pioneered it. From then on, I wanted to become a great Seeker myself."
"How many matches have you actually seen?" Tom asked curiously.
"Not many," Cho admitted, shaking her head. "Mum and Dad work too much to take me anywhere far, so most of the time I just watch the moving photos in the paper."
Tom thought wistfully that if there were proper TV broadcasts, the wizarding world would discover a whole new realm of entertainment.
In fact, broadcast magic had existed long before Muggle television—but it was hopelessly outdated. The equipment was expensive, clumsy, and required a wizard to constantly channel magic as a "living camera," their eyesight dictating the angle. No innovation, no progress, and fewer and fewer craftsmen who even knew how to build the devices.
No wonder Nicolas Flamel held such contempt for modern alchemists—stagnant, complacent, unworthy of the name.
They lingered in the dessert shop until sunset before heading out again, this time to a nearby Chinese restaurant.
Cantonese cuisine, of course. Abroad, authentic Chinese food usually meant Cantonese—especially in Britain or Canada. Sometimes, it was even truer to the old traditions than back home. Other regional dishes, though? Most were mangled beyond recognition to suit local palates.
Cho was surprised to find Tom so knowledgeable about Chinese food. Her fondness for him deepened, tinged with admiration.
"Next time I'll bring some photos of my hometown. The mountains and rivers there are beautiful."
After dinner, they returned to the Leaky Cauldron. Cho would Floo home from there.
Before they parted, Tom slipped her the WhatsApp Notebook and instructed: "Don't use owls anymore. It's inconvenient—and dangerous."
Dangerous? Of course.
If Daphne ever discovered owl post flying back and forth to Cho, she'd never stop nagging.
Soon enough, the evening passed into the eve of Tom's departure for France.
That night, Lady Greengrass's message arrived. She would be taking him to visit Amelia Bones.
Tom collected several prepared samples and stepped through the Floo Network to Greengrass Manor. From there, he and Lady Greengrass traveled together to Amelia Bones's home.
Her house was in a small village in Manchester. To the Muggle neighbors, it was invisible, cloaked in magic. This was the way of wizardkind: though some mingled with Muggles, their worlds rarely touched.
"You've arrived at just the right time," Amelia greeted them warmly as they stepped from the fireplace. "I've just finished dinner. Not as good as a house-elf's work, perhaps—but edible."
"Dinner made by the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Who would dare claim it's inferior to an elf's?" Lady Greengrass quipped.
It was the first time Tom had ever seen her joke so openly. Clearly, she and Amelia shared genuine trust.
Amelia merely rolled her eyes at the banter and ushered them toward the table.
The house was modest—two stories, simple and functional. More than enough for Amelia, as Lady Greengrass had already explained. A single woman, living alone.