a/n: this fic was written for hogwarts (challenges and assignments), assignment 6, transfiguration task: write about someone going through a change (minor or major, physically or mentally is completely up to you)


They may have called it the Black Lake, but from her vantage point on her broomstick soaring high above the Quidditch pitch, Cho swore it looked turquoise.

It glimmered as the sun's rays hit the water, a rich deep blue, nearly teal, that was so alluring Cho nearly tumbled off her broom when a Bludger whizzed past her ear, so close it lifted her dark hair and sent her heart racing.

"Come on, Cho!" Roger Davies called from a few feet away, hands cupped over his mouth so that his voice would carry further.

Cho nodded fervently, mentally chiding herself for being so distracted. She was playing Quidditch, she reminded herself, and if Slytherin scored a win this match they'd be out of the running for the cup.

Face set with new determination, Cho sped forward, eyes darting around in search of the Snitch. She spotted a fleck of gold off near the edge of the pitch, a glint so faint she nearly missed it. Whirling through the air, she kept her eyes trained on the spot as she poured on the speed.

For a brief, fleeting moment, she was weightless. Weightless and utterly alone, with only the crisp spring breeze to keep her company

It was exhilarating.

There were no parents to judge her or boys to pressure her or Marietta Edgecombe to curl her lip in that look of distaste she always gave Cho now. There was nothing but vast and endless sky, a pinpoint of glittering gold on the horizon-

And Roger Davies' voice jolting her back to variety.

She ducked just in time to see a flash of red above her as the Quaffle was passed from Chaser to Chaser, right over her head.

Careful.

She mustn't be distracted, she reminded herself for the umptieth time.

Her determination, cool and calculating, borne of heartbreak and sorrow, seemed to be multiplied here. Here out on the Quidditch pitch, the wind whipping her hair, she felt her inner turmoil like a fierce storm.

She had to remind herself a dozen times that she was here because she wanted to be. That Quidditch was one of her favorite things to do. But it was difficult to find enjoyment in it.

For she could not just forget everything she'd been through.

That was the last clear thought in her head before a Bludger collided into her skull with a terrible crack.

She only realized how careless she'd been when she'd already tumbled off her broom, and suddenly she was falling.


This time she was not falling through darkness and shadows and memories better left untouched.

No.

Cho was falling through wind and sky and air, arms flailing and out of control, out-of-focus faces swimming so close yet so far away.

She was not sure which was more terrifying.

She continued to fall, dropping like a stone. The feeling of purity, of flying without a care in the world just moments ago was already a distant memory.

The last things she saw were the tail of Roger Davies' Quidditch robes, a lustrous bronze fabric fluttering in the wind, and the turquoise of the lake, almost too bright to bear.

Then the world plunged into darkness.


Cho was not sure she wanted to wake up.

Her head was throbbing and her eyes were still closed, lashes fluttering.

Contemplating.

What was it that she would find when she opened them?

She could not think of a single thing that would make it worthwhile.

She succumbed to the pain and let the darkness take over once more.


There was a girl on a broomstick far, far away. Barely a blot on the horizon, but unignorable all the same. There was something akin to a smile on her face, something akin to brightness in her eyes.

Cho recognized her, but only faintly.

It was like looking at an old photograph. A faded album, pages yellowed.

She began the journey down memory lane


The first thing Cho saw was the bright turquoise sky. Head tilted to the side, even in deep slumber she seemed to have found the light.

Her eyes were open now, fully, arm slightly outstretched, having been reached out towards that forgotten girl.

She had smiled at her and nodded. Her face, youthful and radiant, had been welcoming. Encouraging.

And that was how Cho had woken up.


She paid no heed to the flowers by her bedside. She did not even read the tag. When Madame Pomfrey asked if she'd like help carrying the arrangement up to the Ravenclaw dorms, Cho had shaken her head.

"You can keep them here," she'd said.

Perhaps she'd had a secret admirer. Perhaps they'd been from someone who fancied her.

Cho realized, as she walked away from the Hospital Wing without once looking back, that it did not matter.

For it was not Roger Davies nor Michael Corner nor Harry Potter nor even Cedric Diggory who had pulled Cho out of that bleak darkness.

It had been none other than herself.


She was flying again and in no danger of falling.

She was confident and sure, determined but not ruthless.

She let herself feel, feel the wind in her hair and the warmth in her heart.

Cho was soaring once more, letting the sunshine and the sky carry her up and away.

There was nothing more satisfying than feeling her hand close around the Snitch.

Cho was flying and she was finally free.