Chapter 3
Cho looked around, taking everything in. One year had passed since that fateful night when she first started writing in her notebook and she could hardly believe that in a few hours she would leave Hogwarts forever to enter into the real world and take her place among the rest of the adult wizarding world. She had broken up with Michael Corner shortly after the school year had begun and stayed single for the rest of the year, although she certainly had numerous offers from more than one worthy candidate and more than she could count from unworthy bachelors.
The teachers had all stressed the importance of having an education when applying for employment anywhere; from the Ministry of Magic to a store in Diagon Alley, an education or degree of some sort would be crucial. She had struggled with the rest of her classmates to maintain good marks in their classes, and nervously waited to take the dreaded N.E.W.T.S., and then hoped afterwards that she had passed. The worst and the best of the year had passed, and the entire time, she continued to write.
There was now no doubt in her mind that she loved him. Every day as she thought about what could be or could have been, she kept sinking deeper and deeper into the trap that would almost be impossible to escape from, the trap of loving someone who didn’t return her affections, or so she believed. It was much different from what her friends described love as, which without a single doubt made it real, since their concepts of the topic were that you were in love once you had started doodling your name, replacing your surname with his and adding Mrs. at the beginning instead of Ms., on scrap pieces of parchment.
Harry had faced something even more deadly and life affecting than he had even been challenged with before only last year, but this time he said not a word to reveal this fact; instead, it was felt in the way he was present in a room, the words he said or didn’t say. He looked and acted older, so much older than she felt, even though she was a year his senior, and it seemed as though he had entered into a world in which she could no longer follow. Maybe it was just a temporary reaction to whatever he had experienced the year before, and maybe it was permanent, but it made her heart ache more for him all the same. Instead of breaking out angrily, he had become eerily calm and more reserved, speaking no more than a few sentences at a time, if he spoke at all. If she walked past him in the hallway, he almost seemed to shoot daggers at her from his eyes, although she could have simply imagined it. No matter how he reacted towards her, he was generally distant towards everyone, even Ron and Hermione.
She held the notebook close to her as she walked down the long hallway, pausing every now and then when a particularly poignant memory came rushing back to her, covered up by the sands of time. She stopped in front of the library, thinking of all the times that she had gone there to write her letters when some of her dorm mates had begun to suspect her nightly activities when Marietta, light sleeper as she had become, woke up one night when Cho had lighted a single candle, but a bright one that filled the room with light. When she had inquired as to what her friend was doing up so late, she had quickly lied about finishing off an essay and decided that from then on that she would write elsewhere, having many privileges granted to her now that she was Head Girl. This was one of her main motives for exploring the castle that day, for she wanted to write one last time while she was still inside this school that was so dear to her. More than once the notebook had near escapes from being drowned in a downpour of bitter tears shed during the most trying times when she had seemed close to giving up hope of everything, including life itself, but something held her back. She could never quite put her finger on what it was that kept her living and holding on through the dark days, but it was there, and it anchored her down, keeping her safe.
Opening the large doors, she was greeted only by the almost stifling atmosphere of absolute silence and thin clouds of dust, swirling on the small breezes created by her sudden entrance before drifting down to settle on some of the books that were read the least. She walked to her favorite table in this perfect location to take refuge, as was known very well by a certain Hermione Granger, and sat down, wiping the top clean until the beautiful polished mahogany gleamed up at her as warm rays of sunlight fell across it, shining in through the windows.
She set the notebook down on it before flipping open the cover as she had done so many times in the past two years, writing in intervals of days and sometimes weeks, but still recording everything that she felt was worth writing down. Page after page was filled completely, front-to-back with writing, and she stopped turning the sheets so quickly whenever something caught her eye and she felt a desire to read it. When she had finally turned to the last page, still blank, she got her quill and a bottle of ink out of her bag to write one final letter.
Dear Harry,
I’ve written those two words over and over again, and yet they still hold the same sentimental meaning for me. Most people write it out of habit, but for me, it actually symbolizes something. I’ve spent a good part of my sixth and seventh years writing letters to you in this notebook, risking being discovered by the other girls in my dorm. You’ve almost been like my imaginary friend in a way, or a picture that can’t talk… I’m making absolutely no sense again…
He-who-must-not-be-named has returned. There is no doubt of that. And somehow, I know that you’ll have to face him sooner or later. Maybe we all knew that from the day we first learned the name Harry Potter, when you had defeated him the first time; we all knew deep down inside that this victory would be short-lived, although we would rather deny it. I have faith in you. You will succeed, whether or not you live to tell the tale. I see it in your eyes. As the famous quote goes, “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.” I think that you and you alone can decide which one describes yourself. Although I would rather you live through your last encounter with You-know-who, I know that it is possible that you will not, and yet I believe that I could live on knowing that someone like you genuinely liked me once. You will not fail us. You will not fail me. If you die, you will die with honor and dignity, standing tall and proud, just as your parents would have wanted you to. You will die like a man. And if you survive, you’ll be able to say that you faced the Dark Lord and fought well. Or, being as modest as you are, you’ll let someone else tell your tale of courageousness and try to refrain from taking all the praise and recognition, saying simply that you had help along the way and that it was just luck. I just wish that I could say this to you, face-to-face…
I wish you luck in whatever career that you choose to pursue, and may life be more kind to you than it has been for the past sixteen years. Perhaps fate will take pity on me and our paths will cross later on in life, under different circumstances where I’ll be able to walk straight up to you, defiant of what anyone thinks, strong-minded and confident, and talk to you as I’ve often longed to. It’s too bad that the most pleasant dreams don’t always come true, similar to the curse of not being able to say anything in a verbal argument and then coming up with a perfect response to a particularly scathing insult three hours later. I won’t say good-bye; I actually refuse to. Even though you’ll never know anything about the contents of this notebook, I refuse to write good-bye in my last letter. Instead, I shall write until we meet again, to be on the positive side, like looking at the glass as half full instead of half empty. And now, I can finally write with certainty:
Love,
Cho
She ended her letters there, deciding to leave the back of the page blank, although she wasn’t quite sure why she had decided this; however, she had been so unsure about so many things lately that she paid no attention to it. As she closed the notebook, she felt an unexplainable sense of sadness, as though an important chapter of her life had been closed.
And it was.
Not lost forever exactly, but ended so that a new part in her life that would be much sweeter could be written.
She stood up, tears starting to gather in her eyes as they had done so many times before, but now, she didn’t try to contain them. She let a tear slowly course down her cheek, leaving a thin trail behind. And yet, it made her feel better. Crying uncontrollably and hysterically wasn’t quite the best for easing pain; subtle, slow tears were much more effective. However, knowing that those treacherous drops of water gained speed sooner than she would have liked them to, she let only two more tears fall before wiping them away and standing up.
She should have cast a charm on the notebook, to ensure that, if it would ever be found, its contents would be concealed from prying eyes, but she half-wanted him to find it. And then again, she didn’t. There was positively no one that she had been so brutally honest and trusting with as she had when she’d assumed the manner of writing to Harry. So naturally, the thought of him reading over the emotion-heavy words she herself had penned at all ungodly hours of the night and morning frightened her. She absently placed a hand on the side of her bag, reassured with the thought that the notebook was safe and secure there.
Sniffling a little, she casually checked her watch and saw that it was 9:00. 9:00… the graduation ceremony was in an hour and she hadn’t even started preparing, packing, everything that she needed to do before leaving! Hurrying, she grabbed her belongings and loosely stuck the notebook in her bag. Blowing a wisp of hair out of her face, she shouldered her bag and rushed out of the library, mentally scolding herself for her thoughtlessness. As she walked at a dangerously fast pace, she literally ran straight into Harry and in her hurry to get away never noticed that she had dropped something that she could not afford to leave lying around and found.
I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,
I'll tell you that.
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it
where's the sense in that?
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I know I left too much mess and
destruction to come back again
And I caused but nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "it's over"
then I'm sure that that makes sense
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
All that was then
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on....
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
-Dido, “White Flag”
Harry Potter walked at a brisk pace, although by no means happily. His face was drawn in a serious expression that was almost painful to behold and laughter coming from him was so rare that his friends treasured every sign of optimism that he showed, brief though they were.
Hermione and Ron had first suggested relaxing beside the lake that morning.
“Why don’t we all go out and get some fresh air?” Hermione suggested, smiling at him and jerking her head towards him as a hint to Ron.
Catching on, Ron agreed, “Y-yeah, that would be nice…”
“Have you packed?” Harry asked tonelessly.
“Yes, I packed last night,” Hermione nodded.
“Me too,” Ron added.
“I haven’t finished,” Harry said flatly, turning back to stare into the fire.
“Well, would you like some help?” Hermione inquired kindly.
“No, you go ahead. I’ll catch up.” Harry sighed, starting for the dormitory.
“Oh.” said Hermione, looking slightly crestfallen. “Well, don’t take too long… it’s beautiful outside today…”
And with that, she motioned for Ron to follow her and leave their friend in peace. He nodded and walked out of the portrait hole with her, both looking sad instead of worried, the kind of sadness that could be seen visibly and felt strongly.
Upstairs, true to his words, Harry had started packing, and he took as much time as he could. He knew that his friends had meant well, but right now, he needed time to brood by himself without the distractions of people constantly buzzing around him and trying to hold his hand as if he were a little boy. Well, they couldn’t help unless they could somehow undo the prophecy that had been thus far fulfilled and save him from his fate of having to either be murdered or commit murder. He had told no one about the full contents of the prophecy, being warned by Professor Dumbledore that the risks were too great for him to tell anyone, which was perfectly fine with him. People talked too much for their own good already, and he wasn’t about to add kindling to the flame.
He spent a good half hour (most of which was dedicated to finding his books; all of them had seemed to spread themselves around the room, hidden in corners and concealed behind desks) putting everything in his trunk before finally starting to head out to meet Hermione and Ron after checking to see that he had his wand.
And so, here he was now, walking and thinking ominous thoughts at the same time. However, they were interrupted when someone came rushing out of the library as he passed it, bumping into him. Cho Chang looked up at him, still being shorter than he, and gave a look of pure astonishment before flushing deep scarlet and brushing past him, murmuring an apology and dropping something in her haste.
Arching an eyebrow, he looked inquisitively at what she had dropped; it seemed to be a notebook of some sort. He turned to tell her that she had left something behind, but it was of no use; she had already disappeared. Resolving to give it to her later when he had a chance, although he had no idea as to when that may be, he shrank it to fit in his pocket before returning to his previous course. As he stepped outside, the sunshine and cheerful atmosphere got the better of him, and he managed to lighten his mood slightly and all thoughts about the notebook escaped his mind completely as he joined Hermione and Ron, who didn’t about getting wet due to the extreme heat, in a splashing war down by the lake.
A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update; I've been horrendously busy. Constructive criticism and compliments are always welcome.