OR DIE TRYING: THE STORY OF CHO CHANG
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 Hogwarts that Harry isn't aware of.
Rated: PG-13
Spoilers: Everything
xxx
49. The Fifth Year Begins
A heavy rain started falling over London on the last day of August, and gradually got worse and worse. By the morning of 1 September traffic was tied up worse than usual, and some of those struggling to get to King's Cross to catch a train at eleven o'clock were tempted to throw caution to the winds, forget about Muggles and secrecy, and Apparate or ride brooms or do anything else that would get them through the mess.
Cho was, as usual, in a taxi with her father; her trunk and a caged Quan Yin were in the boot. Her father tried to speak to her once or twice; she ignored him, and he let it go at that. He knew why she was upset.
Cho rushed onto Platform Nine and three quarters without so much as a look back. She loaded everything into an empty compartment and shrunk into her seat, as if not wanting to be seen.
As she looked through the window at the platform, she saw Harry Potter struggling with his own luggage and those whom Cho recognized as his closest friends: Hermione Granger (who, like Cho's friend Penelope Clearwater, had been frozen by the basilisk) and Ron Weasley (intended victim a few months earlier of the Sirius Black attack). Here and now, struggling through the crowd and the damp with their luggage, they seemed like just three more students. There was nothing particularly awesome about being Harry Potter now, or even being his friend.
Some others from Cho's year took seats in her compartment: Linda Fairweather, Libby Foggly and Raina al-Qaba. It wouldn't stay this way, of course; once the train was rolling, once lunches had been eaten and things had otherwise settled down, students would move from compartment to compartment all up and down the train: seeking out friends, comparing notes on the summer, speculating about the new school year which would begin that night.
Cho made polite conversation, talked about the World Cup with others who were there, wondered again (as they all had when they received their letters) why they would need formal robes this year, and talked about everything except what was most on her mind. Finally, in the third hour of the trip, Cho excused herself and stepped into the corridor. The storm outside the windows was too much like the storm within her.
xxx
It had all started two days earlier, as Cho and her mother were closing the shoppe. "Mother, you never answered my question."
Lotus Chang must have realized that Cho was upset. Any time Cho said "mother" instead of "mummy", something was wrong. "Which question?"
"Would you tell me if I was beautiful?"
"This is not the time or place for you to worry about such things." Lotus turned and walked up the stairs to their apartment.
This just made Cho angrier. "Then tell me the right time and place, so I can make an appointment!"
"You have no right to talk to me that way!"
"What am I supposed to do when you won't talk to me at all?!"
"Not about this!"
"Why not? Why should it bother you that I might be beautiful?"
"You have no idea what you're saying . . ."
"Are you trying to stop something from happening? If you are, then it's too late!"
Until now, Lotus had been bustling around the kitchen, trying to prepare dinner, and avoiding eye contact with Cho. Now, however, she froze in her tracks and turned to Cho with a severe gaze. "Too late for what?"
"A friend from school. I met him at the World Cup. He said it; he said I was beautiful." Cho was stretching the truth a bit; she didn't ever meet Roger at the World Cup, but was just reporting back what Mackie had said.
"The smart thing for you to do would be to forget he ever said it."
"But why?! What's wrong with being told . . ."
Her mother cut Cho off. "Because you can never be beautiful here!" Lotus grabbed Cho's wrist, pulled her into the parlour, and slammed the door. "You want to know about beautiful? You really want an answer?"
"You refuse to say anything!"
"Because I know the answer will hurt you. Do you really want me to go on?" Cho was surprised by this response but nodded. "Then believe me when I tell you: if anyone here says you're beautiful, they don't believe it."
"How can you know that?"
"Because I'm not fifteen years old. I've already lived the life you're starting to live now. I know that, when a boy that age tells you that you're beautiful, he's going to follow that with a question. And he won't be asking for help with his schoolwork! So he tells you you're beautiful, not because he believes it, but to get you to give in to him."
"But how do you know he doesn't believe it?"
"THIS is how I know!" Lotus picked up a copy of Witches Weekly and threw it at Cho's feet. "And THIS is how I know!" She threw another magazine, and another. She threw seven magazines at Cho's feet. All the cover models were complaining about being tossed around.
And all of them were white.
"Don't you understand yet, little Horse? They are beautiful here; you are foreign. Even though you were born here and never knew any other home, you're foreign. You can be exotic, maybe mysterious, but you will never be beautiful in their eyes; just different. They may use you to satisfy some curiosity, or to break some rules, or to upset someone's parents, but in the end they'll walk away and leave you on your own."
"This is-you are-so very WRONG!" Cho shook her head, even while the truth of her mother's hard words sank in. "There are-I have friends who-they're not like that."
"They will be. I wish they weren't, but they will be."
"You don't know! What about . . ."
"Yes? You were going to name someone?"
"HA LI PO TE!"
Lotus stopped at that name out of reflex. Actually, there was no reason not to think of him as just another boy his age, but, rather than concede any point to Cho, Lotus turned and walked out of the parlour.
"I'm right, aren't I You know I'm right!!"
Lotus didn't acknowledge Cho at all as she went back into the kitchen. Furious, Cho ran to her bedroom and slammed the door. She didn't come out again the rest of that day, only a few times the next day, and didn't speak a single word.
xxx
After two days, Cho stood trembling in the train's corridor, the battle still unresolved. Everything her mother said was mean and narrow-minded and an insult to the students Cho had lived with and studied with for years- and yet there was more than a little truth in what she said. Could she really trust anything that any boy said about her?
"Hullo, Miss Kitty-cat!"
Down the corridor stood Cedric Diggory, already in his school robes. He smiled as he walked toward Cho, who couldn't help but smile also. "What was the point of that pantomime at the World Cup?"
Cho chuckled as she remembered. "I'd been trailing along behind my parents for two hours at that point, while my father made business calls. I was fed up with it, I had to do something, and I thought you'd appreciate it."
"Well, I did, but my dad didn't. After you left he, well, never mind. What did you think of the match?"
"It was thrilling, of course, and very humbling. I still have a lot of work to do before I can be that good a Seeker."
"We both do."
A silence in which the two Seekers looked at each other and felt awkward. Cho started to say something, just as lightning struck outside the train, the flash blinding them both for a second and the thunderclap deafening the entire train.
Before Cho could say anything else, a compartment door swung open. "Cedric! Come in here! You've got to tell us about your summer!"
There was a group of Hufflepuff girls inside the compartment. The one who spoke was Hannah Abbot, a Fourth-Year. Blonde hair, rosy pink cheeks, blue eyes.
Beautiful.
Cho muttered, "It's all right, don't mind me," as she turned and walked quickly up the corridor. Hannah probably hadn't meant anything by it, but the fact that she could pull Cedric out of the corridor as if Cho wasn't even there-
Well, Cho thought, there's still Quidditch. This reminded her of a much happier thought, and she started down the corridor, looking into compartments. She soon found who she was looking for: members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. She could talk with them about Quidditch, about the Cup, about Ireland and Bulgaria, and not have to worry about her mother's words.
Quidditch, after all, had its own beauty.
xxx
Quidditch lightened the rest of the trip for Cho, in spite of the rain pelting down harder and harder, and the lightning strikes and thunderclaps becoming more and more frequent. She hardly noticed, even as she and the teammates got soaked making a dash for the carriages that would take them to the castle. They kept up their talk right up to the Sorting of this year's students, and even resumed the talk during dinner: talk of the Cup, and Aidan Lynch (who, while not exactly an incurable at St. Mungo's, was certanly lost to the game for the next three months at least), and whether Gryffindor would be vulnerable now that Oliver Wood was graduated.
Yes, she's my mother, and yes, she's older, Cho thought, but she just doesn't understand. She tries to push me away from Quidditch, and she doesn't see that it's my life-line. Seekers don't have to worry about bring beautiful; all they have to do is catch the Snitch. And now, here it is my Fifth Year, and I take my first O.W.L.s in the spring, and I'll never be able to survive until then without practice once a week, and facing off against the other Houses, competing for-
"The Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
I didn't hear that. I didn't hear what I just heard Dumbledore say . . .
"I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely," the headmaster went on.
Cho, however, was sure that she would sink through the floor, down into the Chamber of Secrets, there to rot with what was left of the basilisk.
xxx
to be continued in part 50, wherein Cho has a very uncomfortable talk with Roger, and thinks about Harry Potter, and thinks about thinking about Harry Potter
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 Hogwarts that Harry isn't aware of.
Rated: PG-13
Spoilers: Everything
xxx
49. The Fifth Year Begins
A heavy rain started falling over London on the last day of August, and gradually got worse and worse. By the morning of 1 September traffic was tied up worse than usual, and some of those struggling to get to King's Cross to catch a train at eleven o'clock were tempted to throw caution to the winds, forget about Muggles and secrecy, and Apparate or ride brooms or do anything else that would get them through the mess.
Cho was, as usual, in a taxi with her father; her trunk and a caged Quan Yin were in the boot. Her father tried to speak to her once or twice; she ignored him, and he let it go at that. He knew why she was upset.
Cho rushed onto Platform Nine and three quarters without so much as a look back. She loaded everything into an empty compartment and shrunk into her seat, as if not wanting to be seen.
As she looked through the window at the platform, she saw Harry Potter struggling with his own luggage and those whom Cho recognized as his closest friends: Hermione Granger (who, like Cho's friend Penelope Clearwater, had been frozen by the basilisk) and Ron Weasley (intended victim a few months earlier of the Sirius Black attack). Here and now, struggling through the crowd and the damp with their luggage, they seemed like just three more students. There was nothing particularly awesome about being Harry Potter now, or even being his friend.
Some others from Cho's year took seats in her compartment: Linda Fairweather, Libby Foggly and Raina al-Qaba. It wouldn't stay this way, of course; once the train was rolling, once lunches had been eaten and things had otherwise settled down, students would move from compartment to compartment all up and down the train: seeking out friends, comparing notes on the summer, speculating about the new school year which would begin that night.
Cho made polite conversation, talked about the World Cup with others who were there, wondered again (as they all had when they received their letters) why they would need formal robes this year, and talked about everything except what was most on her mind. Finally, in the third hour of the trip, Cho excused herself and stepped into the corridor. The storm outside the windows was too much like the storm within her.
xxx
It had all started two days earlier, as Cho and her mother were closing the shoppe. "Mother, you never answered my question."
Lotus Chang must have realized that Cho was upset. Any time Cho said "mother" instead of "mummy", something was wrong. "Which question?"
"Would you tell me if I was beautiful?"
"This is not the time or place for you to worry about such things." Lotus turned and walked up the stairs to their apartment.
This just made Cho angrier. "Then tell me the right time and place, so I can make an appointment!"
"You have no right to talk to me that way!"
"What am I supposed to do when you won't talk to me at all?!"
"Not about this!"
"Why not? Why should it bother you that I might be beautiful?"
"You have no idea what you're saying . . ."
"Are you trying to stop something from happening? If you are, then it's too late!"
Until now, Lotus had been bustling around the kitchen, trying to prepare dinner, and avoiding eye contact with Cho. Now, however, she froze in her tracks and turned to Cho with a severe gaze. "Too late for what?"
"A friend from school. I met him at the World Cup. He said it; he said I was beautiful." Cho was stretching the truth a bit; she didn't ever meet Roger at the World Cup, but was just reporting back what Mackie had said.
"The smart thing for you to do would be to forget he ever said it."
"But why?! What's wrong with being told . . ."
Her mother cut Cho off. "Because you can never be beautiful here!" Lotus grabbed Cho's wrist, pulled her into the parlour, and slammed the door. "You want to know about beautiful? You really want an answer?"
"You refuse to say anything!"
"Because I know the answer will hurt you. Do you really want me to go on?" Cho was surprised by this response but nodded. "Then believe me when I tell you: if anyone here says you're beautiful, they don't believe it."
"How can you know that?"
"Because I'm not fifteen years old. I've already lived the life you're starting to live now. I know that, when a boy that age tells you that you're beautiful, he's going to follow that with a question. And he won't be asking for help with his schoolwork! So he tells you you're beautiful, not because he believes it, but to get you to give in to him."
"But how do you know he doesn't believe it?"
"THIS is how I know!" Lotus picked up a copy of Witches Weekly and threw it at Cho's feet. "And THIS is how I know!" She threw another magazine, and another. She threw seven magazines at Cho's feet. All the cover models were complaining about being tossed around.
And all of them were white.
"Don't you understand yet, little Horse? They are beautiful here; you are foreign. Even though you were born here and never knew any other home, you're foreign. You can be exotic, maybe mysterious, but you will never be beautiful in their eyes; just different. They may use you to satisfy some curiosity, or to break some rules, or to upset someone's parents, but in the end they'll walk away and leave you on your own."
"This is-you are-so very WRONG!" Cho shook her head, even while the truth of her mother's hard words sank in. "There are-I have friends who-they're not like that."
"They will be. I wish they weren't, but they will be."
"You don't know! What about . . ."
"Yes? You were going to name someone?"
"HA LI PO TE!"
Lotus stopped at that name out of reflex. Actually, there was no reason not to think of him as just another boy his age, but, rather than concede any point to Cho, Lotus turned and walked out of the parlour.
"I'm right, aren't I You know I'm right!!"
Lotus didn't acknowledge Cho at all as she went back into the kitchen. Furious, Cho ran to her bedroom and slammed the door. She didn't come out again the rest of that day, only a few times the next day, and didn't speak a single word.
xxx
After two days, Cho stood trembling in the train's corridor, the battle still unresolved. Everything her mother said was mean and narrow-minded and an insult to the students Cho had lived with and studied with for years- and yet there was more than a little truth in what she said. Could she really trust anything that any boy said about her?
"Hullo, Miss Kitty-cat!"
Down the corridor stood Cedric Diggory, already in his school robes. He smiled as he walked toward Cho, who couldn't help but smile also. "What was the point of that pantomime at the World Cup?"
Cho chuckled as she remembered. "I'd been trailing along behind my parents for two hours at that point, while my father made business calls. I was fed up with it, I had to do something, and I thought you'd appreciate it."
"Well, I did, but my dad didn't. After you left he, well, never mind. What did you think of the match?"
"It was thrilling, of course, and very humbling. I still have a lot of work to do before I can be that good a Seeker."
"We both do."
A silence in which the two Seekers looked at each other and felt awkward. Cho started to say something, just as lightning struck outside the train, the flash blinding them both for a second and the thunderclap deafening the entire train.
Before Cho could say anything else, a compartment door swung open. "Cedric! Come in here! You've got to tell us about your summer!"
There was a group of Hufflepuff girls inside the compartment. The one who spoke was Hannah Abbot, a Fourth-Year. Blonde hair, rosy pink cheeks, blue eyes.
Beautiful.
Cho muttered, "It's all right, don't mind me," as she turned and walked quickly up the corridor. Hannah probably hadn't meant anything by it, but the fact that she could pull Cedric out of the corridor as if Cho wasn't even there-
Well, Cho thought, there's still Quidditch. This reminded her of a much happier thought, and she started down the corridor, looking into compartments. She soon found who she was looking for: members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. She could talk with them about Quidditch, about the Cup, about Ireland and Bulgaria, and not have to worry about her mother's words.
Quidditch, after all, had its own beauty.
xxx
Quidditch lightened the rest of the trip for Cho, in spite of the rain pelting down harder and harder, and the lightning strikes and thunderclaps becoming more and more frequent. She hardly noticed, even as she and the teammates got soaked making a dash for the carriages that would take them to the castle. They kept up their talk right up to the Sorting of this year's students, and even resumed the talk during dinner: talk of the Cup, and Aidan Lynch (who, while not exactly an incurable at St. Mungo's, was certanly lost to the game for the next three months at least), and whether Gryffindor would be vulnerable now that Oliver Wood was graduated.
Yes, she's my mother, and yes, she's older, Cho thought, but she just doesn't understand. She tries to push me away from Quidditch, and she doesn't see that it's my life-line. Seekers don't have to worry about bring beautiful; all they have to do is catch the Snitch. And now, here it is my Fifth Year, and I take my first O.W.L.s in the spring, and I'll never be able to survive until then without practice once a week, and facing off against the other Houses, competing for-
"The Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
I didn't hear that. I didn't hear what I just heard Dumbledore say . . .
"I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely," the headmaster went on.
Cho, however, was sure that she would sink through the floor, down into the Chamber of Secrets, there to rot with what was left of the basilisk.
xxx
to be continued in part 50, wherein Cho has a very uncomfortable talk with Roger, and thinks about Harry Potter, and thinks about thinking about Harry Potter
