CHO CHANG'S EIGHTH YEAR
By monkeymouse
NB: JKRowling built the Potterverse; I'm just redecorating one of the rooms. And one of the great things about JKR telling the story from Harry's point of view is that stuff could be happening all over the wizarding world that Harry isn't aware of.
Rated: PG
Spoilers: Everything
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1. "Mother, father, I beg you"
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The trip back to London on the Hogwarts Express was at first the quietest Cho could ever remember. Normally, students, freed from the constraints of faculty and prefects, would chatter like magpies about any and every subject: dating, families, Quidditch standings, OWLs and NEWTs, summer trips; every aspect of life.
Not now. The murder of Albus Dumbledore, the most senior wizard known to most Hogwarts students and faculty, accomplished enough in so many fields that he had long ago stopped being "famous" and was instead "history," left a hole in the world that perhaps could never be filled. Cho had spoken with him exactly once: when she and three other students were placed into the lake as part of the Second Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. She'd found him to be everything she'd imagined: knowledgeable without being stuffy, humourous without being flippant, sympathetic without being indulgent. Cho had no idea where one studied to become Headmaster of Hogwarts, but apparently it had come naturally to Dumbledore.
Now, Cho was where she'd spent important parts of the past three years: in a train compartment with Marietta Edgecombe. The other girl had thrown off her robes as soon as she'd gotten on the Express, packing them away as if they burned her skin. She sat in a light blue pair of Capri pants and a blouse that was an even lighter shade of blue. She was one of the few who dared change out of her robes before the train even started moving.
"Well, don't give me that look," she said half-seriously to Cho, who was still in her robes as the steam train started the long journey to London. "It's not as if being here was so wonderful for me. For either of us, actually."
"I've had my moments," Cho smiled at her classmate.
"Really? You mean the moments with Cedric or the moments with Harry?"
Cho thought a second, then her smile widened slightly. "Yes."
"Lucky you, then." Marietta had finished rooting around in her trunk for a bottle of butterbeer; she opened it and took a long pull. "I don't see much happening for me, even with my Trelawney spectacles."
"Speaking of which, do you think they'll ever get around to making us sit our N.E.W.T.s?"
Marietta plopped down onto the seat and took another long drink. "Let's see. The war is on and You Know Who has returned. Fudge has been sacked and Scrimgeour will be wearing two hats until he sorts out the new Head of Aurors. People at the Ministry are checking their backs every five minutes for knives. I'd say throwing tests at fewer than a hundred students is a low priority. Maybe we'll get tested if the war ends by Christmas; otherwise, they may just let it go altogether."
"You make it sound as if we've wasted seven years!"
"Maybe I have, if all I'm going to do is follow my mum into the Floo Network."
"And speaking of the network."
"Traffic is down, if that's what you're asking. Mum tells me that everyone takes it for granted that somebody's listening in. The only question is who."
"Well, we know that You Know Who would listen in, but are there others?"
"Take a number. Those who were loyal to Umbridge have their own faction, and so do some others who thought Scrimgeour was wrong for Minister. Scrimgeour's got a lot in his cauldron, even without the war."
Cho nodded, then sat at the window for most of the trip. She may have been watching the scenery go by, probably for the last time, or she may have been lost in her thoughts. She certainly had enough of those to deal with, including her last conversation with Harry Potter. More than a year ago, they'd ended up barking at each other over Marietta and her betrayal of Dumbledore's Army. And Cho felt utterly rotten about it afterwards. She could never work out a way to talk to Harry again after that, to see how he felt. As far as Cho was concerned, all was forgiven and forgotten; on the other hand, it seemed impossible to talk to Harry. Especially since he'd started seeing the Weasley girl a few weeks before Dumbledore's murder.
Very strange, that. He'd stopped seeing her almost at once, according to student gossip. Did he fancy himself Voldemort's next target, then, and want to keep her out of harm's way? Had she actually done something to put him off? Or did he simply lose interest in the face of a threat more real than any he'd faced since his encounter with Voldemort as an infant?
Cho didn't know how to figure this one out. She had just spent the past seven years mostly in the company of other Ravenclaw. She knew how to analyze a problem, how to arrive at a sensible solution, and how to break open double meanings of words in search of a trick answer. When she was with Cedric (and, by extension, came to know a number of Hufflepuff on a first-name basis), she learned the need at time for perseverance, for attacking a problem relentlessly even if one doesn't fully understand it yet. None of this prepared her to fall for Harry Potter, who turned out to be the quintessential Gryffindor. Anyone whose first instinct is to charge into a burning building needs neither brains nor perseverance.
Cho let out a long, loud sigh. Once again she had to face what she well knew, what many of her friends knew: she was still, despite all odds and circumstances, desperately in love with Harry Potter, and unable to do anything about it. And, once the summer was over, Harry would be back at Hogwarts for his final year, and she'd be with her family in Diagon Alley, and they could go years without seeing each other again. Not the best of prospects, as Marietta would say.
Fortunately, at that moment, Eddie Carmichael opened the compartment door unannounced, as was his habit. "What's the good word, ladies?"
Before she could give a verbal answer, Cho's stomach growled. Loudly.
Eddie fell to the floor laughing. Cho had to cover her face to keep from bursting out laughing. And, of course, this was the moment that the trolley witch brought the snacks around.
The rest of the trip sounded more like its usual self. There were still long stretches of silence, of course, as the students contemplated what might come next in a world where Voldemort was once again a factor. But, now and then, laughter or singing would erupt in one compartment or another. Even the oldest students, after all, were not so far removed from being children, and their spirits could not be kept down forever. Something would bring them to life, if only for a little while, whether that something was sports or jokes or love.
Cho didn't focus on that during the trip back to London, however. She had a more important mission in mind. She'd had it in mind for days.
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She found her father waiting just outside the barrier in King's Cross; him and a handcart for his daughter's luggage. "I suppose this is the end of having elves take care of all this for you," he smiled, as he shifted her trunks and an empty owl-cage to the handcart.
"I could have done that myself, you know," Cho said, "but thanks."
"Well, now you're back, what's so important?"
"Something that has to wait until I'm home and speaking with both of you. Sorry to be so mysterious, daddy, but I've had quite a revelation, and I need to talk to both of you about it."
"I suppose you don't want me to play Twenty Questions about it."
"Let's just leave it until I get home, please."
Chang Xiemin had to respect that. He piled Cho's luggage into a horse-drawn carriage, which took off with a jerk as they settled inside.
"I don't understand; why are we going home like this?"
"The death of your Headmaster has had echoes even in Diagon Alley. You'll see."
The streets and alleys around King's Cross were as crowded as usual late on a summer evening, with both Muggles and magicians taking advantage of the long days and warm temperatures. Last year a cold mist had descended on London to announce the return of Voldemort; this time, the cold and misty feelings were provided by the people, who, even as they tried to enjoy the balmy weather, glanced about continuously for anyone whose appearance might be a bad omen. Things were, if anything, worse.
The horse-drawn cart steered down a very narrow alley, which barely let the cart pass. Finally, Cho recognized the neighbourhood as Knock Turn Alley, where dodgy wizards dealt in questionable goods. Cho had never been warned to avoid this neighbourhood, though; her parents dealt scrupulously and even-handedly with the merchants here as well as in Diagon Alley. For refusing to take sides, the Changs were respected in both parts of town, and few could say that.
The cart made an abrupt turn, and Cho realized that they had just passed Gringotts' and were in Diagon Alley again. With a sick heart she saw that Ollivander's wand shop was still shuttered, which didn't bode well for Ollivander. Still, if something had happened and his body had been discovered, someone would have moved on the property long ago. No news (of Ollivander) was quite literally good news in this case; Cho was surprised to realize that this was just one aspect of wartime life to which she would have to adjust.
Customers passed in and out of the Chang apothecary shop; Cho's father gave her a look as if to say, I'll take care of the baggage, while you go and help your mother. She walked into the shop and, without a word of welcome, her mother Lotus Chang spoke up: "I need dittany and camphor bark from downstairs."
Welcome back, indeed.
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The shop stayed open until almost sunset. People were stocking up, intent on preparing all sorts of potions, charms, and remedies. Cho tried to guess what was being made from the ingredients, but had to give it up. Either many of these were old recipes, kept secret within the family, or new inventions appearing in some magazine or other. The one thing all of these potion-users had was desperation. They hoped to be ready for whatever might befall them.
Finally the store was locked up after the last customer left, and Cho and her parents went into the house where a cold supper had been laid out on the sideboard hours earlier. Fortunately, the family cat, Chairman Miao, couldn't get through the enchantments and was sleeping happily on the sofa after finishing his own dinner.
No sooner had the tea pot started pouring for the three Changs when Lotus spoke up: "Did the papers get it right, then—was it Snape that killed Dumbledore?"
"That, and worse," Cho said. "By most accounts, the blow was supposed to be delivered by young Malfoy. It's so typical of You Know Who if he suspected the loyalty of the elder Malfoys; this way, such an atrocity binds them to him."
"So the Potions Master kills the Headmaster and is never heard from again."
"He stopped being Potions Master last year: Horace Slughorn took that role. Snape taught Defense Against the Dark Arts; pity nobody taught Defense against Snape. In any case, we've seen the last of him, I'm sure."
"Not as long as he's still breathing," Cho's father sighed. "He may not be welcome at Hogwarts, but he can still cause all sorts of mischief."
Cho took a deep breath. "And that's what I wanted to ask you two about. After seven years at Hogwarts, after being exposed to what they have to teach, I realize that it's not anywhere near enough; not enough for this war, and not against You Know Who."
She paused a second, and her parents gave each other the slightest of glances. Cho hadn't mentioned anything to anyone, but surely they saw this coming.
"Yes. Anyway," Cho went on, "I know we've talked about my asking at Tutshill if they had an opening for a Seeker, but, well, it all seems rather trivial now. Don't get me wrong; I'd still like to give Quidditch a try, but only after all this other business is finished. I need to learn the things I couldn't learn while I was at Hogwarts. I need to preserve the potions that you know, so that someone else may know them in case."
Cho had been sitting on the sofa. She slipped off onto the floor, kneeling before her parents. "Mummy, daddy, I need you to teach me Chinese magic. I know there's probably more than a lifetime's worth to learn, but I won't feel like such a wasteful little fool unless I at least start now and try to catch up.
"Mother, father, I beg you; please teach me what I still need to know."
She waited a minute, then two minutes, while her parents sat still and silent. Had she done something wrong? Weren't they happy about her decision?
Lotus finally spoke. "Please go up to your room for a minute. We'll send for you."
"Wait! Did I say something wrong?"
"We can talk about that later. Now, please go to your room."
They weren't telling her anything, which to Cho could only mean one thing. She got up off her knees, then ran up the stairs and into her bedroom.
What was wrong with her? What was wrong with them? Couldn't they tell her plainly and right out what she was doing wrong? Did they have to leave her hanging like a fish on a hook? And what did it mean if they were telling her 'no'? What if she wanted to help her parents and found that she could not when the time came?
Just then, she heard her father's voice through the door: "Please come back downstairs, Cho."
It seemed pointless, but Cho went back down to the parlour. It wasn't until after she had sat down on the sofa opposite her parents that she notices the large box on Lotus' lap.
Cho's father spoke first; "You should understand by now, dear child, that we're not much good at this sort of thing. But we're very, very glad that you asked us."
"There's far more to learn than there is time to learn it, of course," Lotus interrupted, "which means we'll have to test how quick-witted you Ravenclaws really are."
"Yes, and, erm, in the meanwhile, we're sure you've earned the right to wear this." Xiemin was referring to the box that Lotus held, although she seemed to forget it was there. She remembered and handed it to Cho.
"You'll be using this for practice and lessons and so on," she told Cho.
Cho didn't know what to expect, but when she looked inside the box she was stunned. Her parents had put her wand inside the box, where it now lay next to a bamboo flute—something Cho had no idea how to play. Also in the box was a bright orange silk tunic and pants. There was Ravenclaw-blue piping on the cloth, and animals were embroidered on the two breasts of the tunic: a brilliant white swan, and a white horse with a flaming mane and tail.
Cho just stared at it for a minute before speaking. "I, I never saw anything like this at Hogwarts."
"And you wouldn't," Lotus said, almost critically. "Those are the robes of a Chang."
Cho continued looking at these robes as her father stood up. "Don't stay up too late, dear. You have a long day tomorrow."
Cho didn't say anything; she just smiled, looking at these new robes. She felt that she could face anything now.
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To be continued in part 2, wherein Cho begins her studies despite the world around her…