She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.
“You are so tactless!”
“What? I only asked her if—”
“Couldn’t you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?”
“So? She could’ve done, I wasn’t stopping—”
“Why on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team?”
“Attacking? I wasn’t attacking her, I was only—”
“Who cares if she supports the Tornados?”
“Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season—”
“But what does it matter!”
“It means they’re not real fans, they’re just jumping on the bandwagon—”
“That’s the bell,” said Harry dully, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snape’s dungeon, which gave Harry plenty of time to reflect that between Neville and Ron he would be lucky ever to have two minutes of conversation with Cho that he could look back on without wanting to leave the country.
And yet, he thought, as they joined the queue lining up outside Snape’s classroom door, she had chosen to come and talk to him, hadn’t she? She had been Cedric’s girlfriend; she could easily have hated Harry for coming out of the Triwizard maze alive when Cedric had died, yet she was talking to him in a perfectly friendly way, not as though she thought him mad, or a liar, or in some horrible way responsible for Cedric’s death… yes, she had definitely chosen to come and talk to him, and that made the second time in two days… and at this thought, Harry’s spirits rose. Even the ominous sound of Snape’s dungeon door creaking open did not puncture the small, hopeful bubble that seemed to have swelled in his chest. He filed into the classroom behind Ron and Hermione and followed them to their usual table at the back, where he sat down between Ron and Hermione and ignored the huffy, irritable noises now issuing from both of them.
“Settle down,” said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him.
There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape’s mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class’s silence.
“Before we begin today’s lesson,” said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, “I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an ‘Acceptable’ in your O.W.L., or suffer my… displeasure.”