Let me first say that J.K. Rowling would be appalled if she saw what I did with her little Cho Chang. Of course I give absolute credit to the woman for thinking of these characters, but it is entirely up to me—my duty, one can say—to mold those personalities into something so much more, and, also, something much more vapid. By Jove, is this a fanfiction or what?
I've changed the prologue from its original message, hoping the new words will evoke a certain frame of mind that may help you understand why the heroine of the story is the way she is.
For those living in the company of lily-white:
Prologue
Cho Chang was tired of being type-cast. The reticent little Asian girl was growing stale, and the glass just seemed half empty.
And it was not from the cause of men deprivation—she had plenty of options—it was more a matter of luck. There was of course, Cedric Diggory. He was smart, good-looking...a good kisser...and, so unfortunately deceased. Yes it was was tragic, but it was irritating that everyone knew they were a perfect couple, thus it was expected. Cho thought Harry Potter would be a swing toward a change, but as it turned out, he was quite preoccupied with his own very disturbing issues. With his violent mood swings and scant experience, he was galling, belligerent; an archetypal drama queen. Call it heartless, but she wanted something so much different.
Cho's image at Hogwarts had always been the same. She was smart, subdued. At a glance, she might have well been any other run-of-the-mill Madame Butterfly. Indeed, submissive, foreign innocence in fact inhabits all those with flat, dull faces and narrow eyes.
Her parents had squeezed her into the package. After getting A's in all her classes, which were all suspiciously International Baccalaureate Program-like, her mother would ask accusingly, "Why you not get better grade? You do higher or no sport!" They disapproved of her place on the Quidditch team which was one reason Cho played so hard; she was part of a team other than the Potions Club.
She hated soap scum and worms and the color brown. She hated the image she'd trapped herself into. She hated arrogance. She hated sweaty hands and public bathrooms. She hated the smell of ginger.
She feared loneliness.
She loved tulips.
Constructive criticism for the following chapters, if you please.
-Liannimation