I be one crazy girl. With so much stuff to do over the summer, I go and start another fic. yikes. But anyways, I sort of wanted to write something fun and with Cho in it, so here’s the product of my imagination.
I started writing this before OotP came out, and so I think I’ll stick with that universe. I don’t think it matters either way. But it’s just that I don’t like how Cho turns out in OotP.
Another thing. I know absolutely nothing about French cooking [or any cooking at all, for that matter]. I’ll be watching plenty of the Food Network, you can be sure of that~
Disclaimer: I don’t own HP characters. They’re not mine. It breaks my heart.
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Cho Chang’s eyes were nearly brimming with tears as she left the four-star restaurant behind her. She quickly dashed her fingers over her eyes to get rid of the liquid as she continued her way angrily down the street.
“Cho-wait! Cho!” Dennis Creevey called from behind, running after her. She ignored him and continued her way briskly. He caught up with her though, and tried to take her arm, though she kept shaking him off angrily.
“Cho-please, listen to me, Cho, love, I don’t-” Dennis stuttered, trying to explain himself. The petite girl whirled on him, her tears finally overflowing, and began shouting in a high, sobbing voice.
“Stop it, Dennis! Stop it! It’s because I’m- I’m- I’m old isn’t it! I’m not good enough for you anymore, aren’t I? I’m not vigorous enough, aren’t I?!” She screamed, attracting hordes of embarrassed people’s attentions. Dennis’ face flushed red, and he spluttered out,
“Good God- Cho, you’re only four years older than me, that’s hardly enough to make a difference!!”
“Well that’s the only reason I can see!”
“Listen to me, Cho! It’s not that! You know you’re-”
“Admit it! I’m just not good enough in bed for you anymore, is it? That’s why you’ve gone with that- that- that !@#$% little #$%^& hussy! Well I’m not taking it anymore! I refuse to be brought down by your insipid little girlfriend and your diminutive, pathetic little manhood. I bid you farewell, Dennis Creevey.” So said, Cho drew a shakey and long breath, tossed her black hair and stalked off without another word, leaving behind a shockingly amused public and a horribly embarrassed ex.
But as soon as Cho reached the bus bench around the corner, her legs grew boneless and she collapsed onto the filthy wooden benches, and without another thought, began bawling helplessly, face tilted upwards. She didn’t care about attracting attention; they could all come and laugh at her twenty-seven year old, now-single self, and she wouldn’t give a damn.
A few years ago, she would have looked at herself and been terribly ashamed, but everything was different now. Now, she wasn’t a student with a fuzzy but yet-unimportant future; now she was a single doctor in her twenties, and now now, she was bereft of an apartment, a washing machine, and a daily massage given by her worthless, younger-than-she ex. She had counted on getting married soon, having kids and big, overweight dogs, and living in a giant old house by the sea, and apparently, that wasn’t going to happen soon.
Cho’s bawling had been reduced to sobs after a few minutes, and passersby seemed more than relieved. Within another few minutes, the sobs had reduced to mournful staring at the water hydrant and occasional sniffs. A hand clenched tightly at a handkerchief that she used to pat away her face when her crying had ceased. She drew a deep breath and hoisted herself unsteadily to her feet and began walking. In times like these, there was but one thing to do.
Eat.
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