----------CHO CHANG----------
No one could resist bright blue eyes.
Theo grinned inwardly and tilted his head to the side as he watched her speak. He stayed silent for a whole after, just watching before his a grin broke out over his lips.
“Busy little bee,” he said. “My summer was splendid,” his eyes never left hers. “Where are you heading then?”
Cedric had bright blue eyes, too.
She held on a moment longer until she finally broke the shared gaze. “Locker rooms,” she replied after a wistful second. “For tryouts.”
Cho licked her lips. “You look different,” she blurted out, the obvious curiosity bursting in her answer.
Blue eyes are a common genetic trait.
His brows raised when she broke eye contact but he shrugged it off and sent her a smirk.
“That’s right, you’re into Quidditch and whatnot.” He nodded in understanding before she pointed out his change.
He frowned slightly. “I do?” He questioned. “I’m still the same old Theo.”
Not every pair of azure eyes are as bright, though.
“I’m offended you don’t bother to remember my interests,” she remarked, half joking. The other half was whatever.
She studied him a bit closer, in all his excruciating detail, and nodded slightly. Now that his demeanor had somewhat softened the initial reaction of her to the somehow altered Theo (altered, but all the same), she wasn’t quite as heart-skippy around him. “Your hair maybe,” Cho remarked with a definite nod. “It suits you. I’m not saying your old look wasn’t nice—it was!—I just think your hair looks very nice like that as well.”
She offered a smile that did well to mask her bout of stupidity and stumbling.
Cho Chang was one such person that knew of the legend; she was a girl of wild imagination and often unreachable thoughts, but her heart was in its right place and the determination was evident. She knew what her wish was going to be, and she knew how she would spend it.
The morning Katherine A. Bell was discharged from the Hospital Wing, the aforementioned Gryffindor was to soon find ten origami cranes, ranging in size and color and pattern, at the foot of her scarlet and gold bed.
Cho Chang had 990 left to craft, but she didn’t mind the task. If Harry could survive the Dark Lord—twice, if Cedric could rescue her from the depths of the Black Lake, if little Gracie could manage to remember to kiss her Mommy and Daddy each night before bed…
The Ravenclaw girl could construct 1,000 paper cranes.
No problem.
“That goes without saying, Chang,” Draco replied, referring to flying. He stared at her a moment and in reference to her comment about Potter, he added, “I said as much to Pansy awhile back.”
He stopped talking abruptly, ducked his head, and turned to go, but not before he whispered,”good luck.” When she looked up, he was gone.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that men of the House of Slytherin are in possession of more than one way to mystify even the most knowledge-blessed of women.
And it is indeed true; when Cho looked up once more, she saw and heard nothing but a vast corridor where a single occupant sought solace in a broomstick. She knew he had a knack of turning up and leaving at the most inopportune of times, but what had he meant exactly by his soft-spoken “good luck?” Good luck with tryouts, or perhaps good luck with un-puzzling what she really felt for the renowned Chosen One. Or perhaps his words of encouragement held an entirely different meaning.
Either way, she had come to learn that Slytherin men were—for the most part—an intriguing, good sort of mystery.
(Source: cho-lien-chang)
No one could resist bright blue eyes.
Theo grinned inwardly and tilted his head to the side as he watched her speak. He stayed silent for a whole after, just watching before his a grin broke out over his lips.
“Busy little bee,” he said. “My summer was splendid,” his eyes never left hers. “Where are you heading then?”
Cedric had bright blue eyes, too.
She held on a moment longer until she finally broke the shared gaze. “Locker rooms,” she replied after a wistful second. “For tryouts.”
Cho licked her lips. “You look different,” she blurted out, the obvious curiosity bursting in her answer.
(Source: cho-lien-chang)
Theo grinned. “Hello, Chang. Pick your jaw up off the floor won’t you? You’ll catch some sort of insect with it gaping open like that.”
She hadn’t realized she had been staring. Quickly, she averted her gaze and wiped the corner of her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt. “Mmm,” she said, words lost in a mumble.
Summer had been gracious to Nott.
He could always count on catching Chang for some prime ego boosting.
“How are you?” he grinned, crossing his arms across his chest. “Enjoying school so far?”
Oh, come on. It’s not like you haven’t been susceptible to bright blue eyes.
Cho drummed her fingers against the side of her thigh as she eyed Nott. What was it exactly that was different about him? “Prepping for Quidditch, back to school duties, the usual fun stuff, of course. Of course I’m enjoying it.”
She cleared her throat and gave him a small nod of her head. “And uh, how was your summer?”
Theo grinned. “Hello, Chang. Pick your jaw up off the floor won’t you? You’ll catch some sort of insect with it gaping open like that.”
She hadn’t realized she had been staring. Quickly, she averted her gaze and wiped the corner of her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt. “Mmm,” she said, words lost in a mumble.
Summer had been gracious to Nott.
(Source: cho-lien-chang)
“Think nothing of it,” he replied, twirling his wand in his fingers before holstering it. “Blood is unbecoming.”
He stared at her, keeping shrewd watch.
“I suppose witches all around can rejoice at your announcement,” he chuckled darkly. “You might just be the very first one I’ve met who didn’t hold a torch for The Chosen One.”
Leaning more heavily on the rail, he listened to her discuss love. He knew it existed and did not question it. But he did have one question.
“Must it be completely gone in order for you to love another? If you say, no, why you’d be relegating yourself to a life of being alone with your poorly trimmed broom.”
Oh, but I do hold a torch for him. And the guilt of it is eating me from the inside out.
And she felt ashamed she couldn’t even answer Malfoy’s question. But she gave it a go anyway. Out with the truth. Well, go on—spit it out.
“I have a confession,” she stated timidly, but then confidently altogether. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with liking Harry.” She gripped her broom a bit tighter. “And flying is better than love anyway.”
(Source: cho-lien-chang)
“Granger?” he startled. “So…” Draco cleared his throat and stopped himself before embarrassing himself any further. “Well, it’s surprising that it hasn’t happened already, really. Don’t you think? But considering she’s more textbook than female, maybe even The Chosen One needs more than her well-admired brains when it comes to bedding a witch.”
He shrugged with feigned indifference. His eyebrow crooked at the sloppiness of her trimming and when she’d uttered her hiss of pain, his fingers had already encircled his wand and he’d encanted a well-placed Episkey.
“Seems you’re not quite as unaffected as you make yourself out to be, Chang,” he smirked. “Who’s to say you might not still have your chance with Scarhead?” Of course he didn’t have ulterior motives. Of course he didn’t, Draco assured himself. “Well, if you do decide on pursuit,” he offered as helpfully as a Slytherin could. “You might want to convince the Gryffindor git that you’re no longer holding a torch for dear ol’ Diggory. It has been years after all.”
Cho mumbled an embarrassed thank you, one that was barely audible until even the water of the Lake had stopped lapping against the rocks by the shore. She cradled her mended hand and stared (with slight hint of incredulousness) at the male addition of the Slytherin Prefects. “I’m—” the color rose to her cheeks, as if on cue, “I’m not interested in Harry…that’s a chapter I’m over with. Voila. Done.” Hastily, she averted her gaze.
“And…even if I was interested — which I’m not — it’s not like I can completely dispose myself of feelings for Cedric.” She looked away with a slight upturn of her slender nose. Her neck lengthened at her bout of attitude, and her pink lips frowned with disapproval. “It has been years, of course, but I loved Cedric.”
She spoke of love so easily and freely that one would have assumed she was an expert on the hush-hush topic of amor herself. “You don’t just let a year of happy memories disappear with a snap of your fingers or a wave of a wand.”
In fact, Cho seemed insulted that Malfoy would assume she would give up any lingering feelings for her dear Hufflepuff in exchange for a Gryffindor who no longer sought to be hers.
(Source: cho-lien-chang)
He looked up with her with a small smile, “yea, of course.”
Nevilles cheeks burned the brightest of reds, if she couldn’t even tell what it was he must have done something terribly wrong. The class had been learning about complicated spells, once of which was liquid luck. They had held a contest for someone to win it, but as usual Neville lost. But anyone who knew him, knew he could use some luck, so he wanted to have a go at the spell. “I was trying to make luck liquid luck and the odds were not in my favor,” he sighed. “What did I do wrong?”
She grinned, more in a joking way than any other. “Well, that’s your first problem; Felix Felicis is a potion, not a spell.”
Cho propped her elbows on the tabletop and held her chin in her hands, her fingers framing her white face fragilely. “I think your problem, Mister Longbottom,” (she always used the formal address; Cho refused to sound condescending) “is that you’ve been taking it off the flame when bronze rather than gold. See, they’re too completely different shades.”
The tutor held up two swatches of color palettes, showing the differing hues. “Do you mind showing me your step-by-step procedure in your attempt to brew Liquid Luck?” She added a reassuring smile that he should not at all be pitying himself. “That is, if you don’t mind?”
He looked over to see none other then the lovely Cho Chang. She had always been so kind, he was almost surprised she wasn’t a Hufflepuff, but her supreme starvation for knowledge was probably what placed her in Ravenclaw.
He let out a sigh, “I just-” he looked at the horrible mess of a potion that Snape had just failed him for. “I’m never going to get the hang out this,” he set his head down on his fist.
“I’m horrible at potions, honestly.”
She grinned. “Well, that’s what I’m here for, right?”
Surveying the mediocre potion (Cho refused to believe that any student of hers could do anything atrociously), she grimaced slightly, though her encouraging smile remained. She looked at the list of ingredients he had claimed to use and remarked, “That [your potion] doesn’t look too bad. But erm…what potion was it you were trying to make?” Cho stifled a chuckle; she hadn’t asked to embarrass him about the quality of his potion. Instead, she’d asked because she wanted to know if he had used the right materials in the first place.
Professor Snape had given him a hard time and class again and he was feeling a bit down. Not to mention he had been given a weeks worth of detention and Snape took away ten points from Gryffindor and it was all his fault. No one ever blamed Neville to his face, but he was sure they were all thinking it.
He’d approached her one day and asked rather timidly if she would be available to tutor him for Potions. She had said yes, of course, and so here they were, in the quiet of the dungeons on a warm weekday afternoon.
Cho noticed that Neville looked rather distressed and quietly shut the class copy of the textbook; she slipped a finger between the pages to serve as a bookmark. “Something the matter, Neville?”
Her gaze was kind, patient, and not at all harried.
She felt victorious in an odd way—that perhaps she hadn’t been bested by Ginny Weasley after all—until the thought of Pansy Parkinson with Harry made the green-eyed monster come back for another visit. Parkinson, Granger, Weasley: all of them were pretty girls. Did Harry only like women with beautiful faces? Was that to imply something to her? Only then did Cho sigh again.
“Aren’t you upset? Haven’t you been something with Parkinson?”
“Upset that my best friend has finally come to her senses?” he chuckled, leaning a bent arm on the stairway bannister. “Of course not, Chang.” Only there was something dark in his amused gaze that hinted at his worry for Parkinson.
“Perhaps you’re happy that Scarhead is single again. I do believe you missed baptizing at least one of his jerseys with the torrent of your tears.”
“Forget it,” Cho said almost a bit too suddenly, “he’ll probably run off to dear Hermione Granger.” The Ravenclaw never denied still having feelings for the Gryffindor boy.
She wondered if she’d actually cried as much as Malfoy was implying. Cho shook her head and trimmed the ends of the twigs of her broom, though the handheld clippers slipped and ended up making a skewed cut. On top of that, the blade had grazed the tips of her fingers, and she winced as skin gave way so that crimson blood could seep through. “Ouch,” she hissed, more out of surprise than pain, and she dropped her broom and tools entirely.
(Source: cho-lien-chang)
