Harry suddenly felt that the roast chicken leg on his plate had lost all its flavor.
The silent war that had just played out at the staff table, Karkaroff's fear, Moody's piercing stare, Douglas's pointed remark about a "poor wretch"-all those heavy, complicated mysteries of the adult world rapidly faded from his mind like dust blown away by the wind.
They were still there, lurking in some corner.
But at that moment, an entirely new emotion, hotter and far more bewildering, occupied all his senses.
It was nothing like the sting of his scar, a clear warning he had long since grown used to.
Nor was it like the fear he felt when facing Voldemort, an enemy he had learned to fight.
This was a warm, soft feeling that made even the beating of his heart turn clumsy.
His gaze seemed drawn by an invisible thread, unable to leave the Ravenclaw Table.
He saw Cho Chang laughing and chatting with her friends, candlelight dancing over her glossy black hair and tracing a soft halo around it.
She lifted her goblet and took a sip of pumpkin juice, the corners of her mouth rising slightly into a faint, crescent-shaped smile.
Harry's heart abruptly skipped a beat.
He felt his cheeks growing uncontrollably warmer, a wave of heat spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears.
He hurriedly lowered his head and jabbed at the mashed potatoes on his plate with his fork, making little clinking sounds as he tried to conceal his loss of composure.
"Have you got a grudge against that potato?"
Ron asked indistinctly, his mouth full of roast chicken.
Harry ignored him.
Yet his ears seemed fitted with some sort of magical amplifier, picking her laughter out of the din with perfect precision.
Her laughter was