Author: promisdtreasure
Title: Reminiscing
Rating: PG?
Pairings: Cho/Cedric
Summary: Cho can't forget. (P.S. Cho really isn't so snotty here!)
Feedback: Love it! I need something to keep me going during these long nights...studying for finals, oh the horror!






She is devastated, broken, her heart left mashed to a pulp upon the cobblestone floor. She thinks that she will never move on, never forget the soft downy hairs that curled gently at the back of his neck or the way his eyes focused on her like she was the everything to his nothing.

*

Quidditch practice has just ended, and Cho Chang is exhausted.

She is in sticky, desperate need of a shower, and there he is waiting for her on the sidelines. He reaches for her, but she pulls away, muttering quickly that she is really gross right now, and she’ll see him at dinner okay? He tells her he doesn’t care, that she always smells good to him. Cho responds that it’s just the shampoo from that bath and body shop in Diagon Alley, not her. He shakes his head and tells her to trust him, that he knows how she smells. Cho is irritated, but before she can fire back he tugs her close and ducks his head to sniff lightly at her throat. Up, up, she can feel the tiny puffs of air and irritation gives way to giggling as he noses his way upwards.

You smell fresh…like snow, like…waterfalls. You smell, he whispers softly, like spring.

Cho has to bury her face in his chest to hide her cheeks because Ravenclaws aren’t supposed to blush at silly, romantic little things like that. He chuckles and tucks her head under his chin, stroking and tracing small circles at the small of her back. Her Quidditch gear is probably digging into him, and although he loathes to admit it, she knows he has allergies, too. Dinner is going to start soon, anyway, and they had better get going, but…she doesn’t want to. He’s cradling her against him like a dandelion, and Cho has never felt so small or fragile swaying with him in the breeze, a feeling of unwavering contentment keeping them in place.

Placing her hand next to his Hufflepuff badge, she feels his heartbeat underneath, steady thumping strong and solid under her palm. He doesn’t move, lets his gaze run along the side of her cheeks and over her lips before returning her stare. A bit of question in his eyes, but it doesn’t matter when she leans up, on tiptoes, and touches her lips to his. She swears she feels his heart skip a beat but can’t be sure and keeps her hand there, moving the other up to his shoulder, then around his neck, and brings his head down so she can deepen the kiss.

Every move he makes is gentle and sure. His tongue slides over her bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth briefly before slipping away. She sighs a little; her fingers urge him forward and draw a soft, audible breath from him in return. The field falls away, soft muted colors are swirling and sliding under her eyelids and she can’t stop the fluttering that’s started in her belly and is slowly spreading throughout her body.

He’s strong, catches her as she falls into him, and brings her up against him so she is pressed so close that nothing could possibly exist between them, not even a sliver of light or a wisp of air. His hands are tangled in her hair, lips still so soft even with the increasing urgency, tongue sweeping into her mouth and capturing her sighs.

She needs to breathe, step back a little and clear her head, but he’s holding onto her so tightly, desperately, like she’s going to float away and he needs her. She likes, loves him for it because he has everything and should want for nothing but still does. Still wants and needs and takes and has and Cho thinks she might just give him anything.




*

“Cho? Are you there?”

She dabs anxiously at her tears, rubbing away any evidence of failure or frustration. Her parents were furious with her latest school report.

She tries to be the best for them, but they were so disappointed and told her that all her books and robes cost a lot of money, and didn’t she see how much they’ve sacrificed for her? Quidditch is no good for her either; all that flying around in the air chasing after a golden ball, where would that get her in life? Hadn’t she learned to be more practical?

Cho promised she’d work harder, but please let her have Quidditch.

Fine, but only if she’d get rid of that boyfriend of hers; he’s only wasting her time and filling her head with worthless fluff.

Nonono, she had shaken her head, that wasn’t true at all. She is his and he is hers, and nothing about him is worthless. But no amount of screaming or crying could convince them, so she slammed the door and didn’t talk to them for the rest of winter holiday.

No one could understand her like he could.

“I’m over here.”

A bobbing head of brown hair following her voice weaves between the bookcases, peering in the aisles before coming to a halt.

“Ah, Madame Pince said you were somewhere in the stacks. I’ve been looking for you everywhere and hey, hey, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

Before Cho can even say no, he’s kneeling down to tip up her chin. The nudge is coaxing, and finally she lifts her head.

His eyes are warm like melted milk chocolate, and Cho realizes that it’s not just his eyes; it’s his smile, his voice, his laugh—it’s everything about him, and she can’t compare.

People think she doesn’t know what they say about her, but she hears things. That she seems too cool and composed, and even though she’s attractive, it’s a distant kind of pretty. They say it’s like she’s unreachable, not because she’s too arrogant since she always says hi in the hallways and arrogant is such an ugly word, but because she reminds them of a marble statue, a beautiful work of art to be appreciated with respect and awe but never touched.

So when she walks hand in hand with him, people tell her they are the perfect couple, but she looks into their eyes and sees them thinking it’s such a waste.

He is too good to her, she knows.

He is more than she deserves, she knows.

But Cho is too selfish to let him go.

Could she though, if she really had to? It’s the first question in a long time that Cho doesn’t want to answer, can’t answer, and it scares her.

But why should it? He’s right here in front of her, and she’s not not not going to think about it, doesn’t have to think about it.

A warm hand cups her cheek, Cho can’t stop the tears from falling, and for Christ’s sake, she’s so weak sometimes. What does he even see in her?

“What do you mean what do I see in you? Look at you, you’re smart, athletic, beautiful…I-I think you’re amazing, Cho.”

Too tired to try to be lady-like, she snorts and bats his hand away. Her skin is all blotchy with tear tracks running down her face, and she tells him she knows she’s an absolute mess right now, so he doesn’t have to lie to make her feel better.

He asks her if he’s ever lied to her before, and when she replies no, he smiles and says he never will. To him, she’s always brilliant in the classroom, sharp and focused soaring through the air, and stunning any time of the day.

Cho finally laughs. Stunning? She hardly thinks so with her boring straight hair and common dark eyes. She’s not like Lavender Brown with that full figure and those pouty lips or Ginny Weasley with her fiery red locks and sun-kissed cheeks spattered with freckles.

No! He exclaims. How can she even say that? He loves her eyes, their almond shape and how sometimes they make him feel like he’s drowning. And her hair, too, it’s like silk and so dark and ravenous that—what? What’s so funny?

Ravenous? she stresses.

He’s still confused, so she swats him on the arm and asks if he thinks her hair is going to eat him.

There it is, the blush that Cho adores so much. He grins sheepishly, clarifying that he meant to say her hair was as dark and black as a raven, and Cho can’t help teasing him some more.

Oh let it go already, he grumps, and she says okay, okay, and it’s during moments like this that Cho knows the answer to her question.



*

She is reluctant when he first asks her to go to Hogsmeade with him. After all, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff? The odds of a lasting relationship or even a promising date aren’t exactly in their favor.

She has always pictured herself dating someone like Ian Sommers who is at the top of his Transfigurations class and is already taking Advanced Arithmancy. They would have stimulating, intelligent conversations about their classes and recent lectures on the Goblin Wars. Ian would amuse her with his sharp wit and bright white teeth, impress her with his cultured literary tastes and designer robes, and sweep her off her feet with his OWL marks.

Cho squints her eyes at her current suitor, thinking that maybe he just wants an excuse to ask her for help on the Potions assignment, which does make more sense.

“You want me to go to Hogsmeade with you?”

“Well,” he pauses hesitantly, “that is if you’d like.”

“Why?” she asks, thinking that it’s hardly a matter of whether she’d like to or not and honestly, he should just say that he needs help and save himself the trou—

“Because I like you,” he says simply, sincerely.

And Cho really doesn’t know what to say to that. They don’t teach this at Hogwarts. They should, no need, to be teaching this at Hogwarts, but it’s already too late for her, and what is she supposed to say?

“I…need to finish the Potions essay first.”

“Oh, alright, I understand. Could you tell me though before Friday night if you’re not done because…”

Doesn’t he know it’s only Wednesday? Of course she’ll be done by Saturday! Was that supposed to be an insult? Wait, she gets it now; it’s just so he’ll have time to ask another girl to—

“…then I could come help you with it. Or maybe look it over for you? Perhaps even get you some hot chocolate?”


…


Cho is dumbfounded. And offended. Who does he think he is to be offering her help on a Potions essay? She…she ought to tell him off right now, let him know she’s not a damsel in intellectual distress and oh. Oh. Suddenly, Cho knows what this is.



It’s chivalry.



*

But that was a long time ago, and Cho has lost her knight, her Prince Charming. His white horse has been gutted and killed, and his shining armor lies forgotten somewhere in a graveyard rusting away, abandoned by its proud owner and his goodness that allowed no room for tarnishing.

He always was too noble, and Cho wishes she could just yell at him to run, run, run and leave the self-sacrificing to someone else because without him, she’s falling apart, bits of her fluttering away with the wind, and she can’t get them back no matter how hard she tries.


She’s clutching all she can to her but she can feel everything slipping already like smoke—his scent, their last kiss, and the memories of first love. The aching loss spreads like laughter once did, but lingers for so much longer.


I miss you, Cedric.



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