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Cho Chang sat on the edge of the Ravenclaw Tower's eastern balcony, the cold of the stone bench soaking into her thighs even through the thick fabric of her uniform skirt. Above her, the sky broiled with clouds, swollen with snow that hadn't yet fallen. There was a stillness in the air, heavy and anticipatory, like the pause between thunderclaps.
She hated this kind of weather.
Cedric did too, she remembered.
She pressed her lips together, frowning at that thought. The fact that it came to her unbidden annoyed her more than it should.
Behind her, the laughter of younger students echoed faintly down the corridor leading to the common room. But up here, on this high perch that overlooked the Quidditch pitch and the frosted treetops of the Forbidden Forest, it was quiet. Clean.
Alone.
She needed that.
Because she couldn't stop thinking about him.
Harry Potter.
She scowled at the sky.
The Changs were one of the oldest magical lineages of the Chinese wizarding world—the House of Zhanglong, whose bloodline traced its roots back to the Imperial Diviners of the Han Dynasty. Her great-grandmother, Zhang Meixiu, had once served as Arch-Seer to the Nine-Lantern Court, and their family crest—an ink-brushed hydra coiled around a jade pillar—was still honored in many of the most reclusive eastern enclaves.
Her family had relocated to Britain nearly three generations ago, as part of a clandestine diplomatic initiative during the late 1800s—a rare magical accord brokered between the British Ministry and the Eastern Ministries of Magic, designed to open cultural and academic ties. The Zhanglong bloodline had been a bridge between empires ever since.
Cho's father was the current Envoy-Ambassador to the International Confederation, and her upbringing had been steeped in etiquette, history, and reputation. She was fluent in Mandarin, and Queen's English. Her robes were always crisp, her diction immaculate. She knew the thousand subtle meanings behind a folded fan, and the eight ways to bow at court.
From her first step at Hogwarts, she had known how to make an entrance. Everything — studies, Quidditch, social life — everything was a performance, and Cho was an excellent performer. Teachers praised her handwriting before her essays. Other girls mimicked her hairstyles. Boys either loved her or feared they weren't worthy.
Perfection — that was the word that defined her entire existence.
Even her boyfriend fit perfectly into the mold. Cedric Diggory. A benchmark in Hufflepuff — the boy who had it all. Tall, handsome, graceful in the air, noble in class. He always said the right things, smiled the right way, carried himself like a storybook prince with tousled hair. King Puff.
Her King Puff.
Cho had liked the symmetry of them— the seeker of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. The exotic queen and the golden boy. The envy of others had been part of the appeal. Everyone admired Cedric. Everyone admired her.
It was a match made in the seven heavens.
Until now…
"Hey."
The voice made her flinch.
She turned, and there he was.
Cedric Diggory.
Still in his uniform robes, though the collar was open and his tie was undone. His hair was windblown from training, a broom slung over his shoulder. Previously, she'd have wondered how he managed to look this handsome despite running ragged.
Now, she felt… nothing.
"Didn't know you were up here."
Cho didn't miss the strain in his voice.
"Needed some air."
He leaned his broom against the wall and sat beside her. Not too close, but close enough that she could smell the faint sharpness of pine from his shampoo.
She used to love that smell.
"Listen, about what happened earlier…." He scratched his head. "I know I acted impulsively…"
Cho suppressed a snort. Calling it impulsive was a major understatement.
Earlier this morning at breakfast, Potter had wiped the floor with Cedric, Roger Davies, and Zacharias Smith in the Great Hall. Three-on-one. A spell duel that had left all three older boys bruised and humiliated in front of the entire school.
"Bloody disgraceful," Cedric muttered.
Cho agreed. She couldn't stop replaying it. The clash of spells. The stillness in Harry Potter's posture. The casual way he had sidestepped three senior wizards as if they were half-trained firsties. The way he hadn't gloated. The way he hadn't even looked impressed with himself. That calm indifference— that—stuck in her more than the duel itself.
Cho wasn't in love with Cedric. She just liked what he represented. He was someone you stood beside and knew people would look at you differently. Better. He made her feel wanted, desired, chosen.
But now? Cedric's presence had started to dim.
While Potter burned like a quiet fire.
Cedric went on, oblivious. "It was a prank. He must've planned it. The letters to the Ministry—he probably laughed the whole time he forged our names. Got the DMLE to send us warnings like we were criminals. And then he—"
"Beat you."
Cedric flinched.
"I mean," she added, softer now, "I'm not saying it was fair. Just… he did."
"He humiliated me, Cho."
And there it was. That word.
Cho's hands curled on her lap. She was so tired of hearing it. Unfair. Humiliating. Injustice. That wasn't how a King spoke.
She remembered the first time she saw Harry Potter—a silent third year, awkwardly hiding behind the frame of his glasses like he wanted to be invisible. He had hovered at the edge of the pitch like someone who didn't belong. Back then, she'd found his shyness cute, in a boyish sort of way. Nothing serious.
But this wasn't that boy anymore.
This one walked like a curse. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous. There was something in his gaze now, as though he could see straight through people and decide if they were worth his time.
And he had looked at Cedric like he wasn't.
"You know," Cedric continued, "he's got everyone fooled. All the professors—McGonagall, Flitwick—think he's brilliant. Even Bones is defending him now. After the rumors of the World Cup…"
He trailed off.
Cho raised an eyebrow. "He saved lives. Everyone knows that. Unless you think the French Minister healed himself and gave Potter the credit for fun and games?"
Cedric turned to her, stunned. "Are you taking his side now?"
Cho didn't answer immediately. She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. When she finally spoke, her voice was even.
"I'm just saying… you don't look good when you complain about him all the time."
Cedric reeled back like she'd slapped him. "So I should just roll over and let him walk all over me?"
"No. But maybe you should stop looking like that's exactly what he did."
Silence fell between them again.
Cho's gaze drifted back out toward the trees. She could feel Cedric tense up beside her.
It wasn't comforting.
And Potter...
Potter wasn't here, but he lingered in her mind. The curve of his smirk. The way he hadn't even drawn fully when Zacharias tried to flank him. The grace of his unshowy, surgical movement. It was like watching a master assassin entertaining a newbie.
A man regarding a cockroach.
Something in that had twisted in her chest.
Cedric stood abruptly. "Fine. If you're so impressed by him, go talk to him."
She looked up at him, blinking. "What?"
"You heard me."
Cho frowned. "I never said that."
"You didn't have to!"
She stood too now, facing him. "You're not being fair."
"Oh, that's rich, coming from you."
They stared at each other. The wind howled past the tower.
"...sorry," he said, exhaling. "I'm just… a little pissed off with everything."
Despite herself, Cho composed herself. "You've been angry. Bitter. Always talking about Harry Potter. Always complaining."
"Because he's ruining everything," Cedric snapped. "I just…." he broke off. "I feel like I'm losing everything."
She looked at him again.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure she wanted him to hold onto it.
The whispers hadn't stopped.
Every corridor, every corner of the castle was buzzing about the duel. The letters. The prank. The takedown. Even the professors were tense. But what disturbed Cho most was how unbothered he looked afterward.
No smugness. No triumph. Nothing at all.
And that irritated her. Deeply.
Because for all her composure and poise, Cho Chang was not immune to ego.
And Harry Potter? He didn't see her.
Not once since that duel had he looked at her like he used to in third year, when he'd stammer just to say hello. Now she caught him in the corridors—walking all tall, confident, speaking in low tones with Bones, with Granger, even with that Abbott girl—and he passed her like she was part of the stonework.
She hated that.
She hated how much she noticed it.
That night, Cho returned to the common room late. Her dormmate Marietta was already asleep. She changed slowly, her fingers trembling as she did before forcing herself into an uncomfortable sleep.
She dreamt of a throne. And on it, as if born to it, was a boy with green eyes and a mouth like a knife. And when she woke, her heart was hammering.
She felt no shame.
Only need.
And the sense that something had shifted, forever.
The next few days became a quiet obsession.
Cho started observing Harry Potter.
He was powerful. Dangerously so. But what made it worse—what really dug under her skin—was that he didn't use that power to show off. He simply carried it like it was his due.
She wanted to ignore it. Wanted to go back to Cedric's easy smiles, his harmless flirtations, his carefully planned dates.
Honestly, Cedric was trying harder. He smiled more. Bought her an extra Honeydukes bar before class. He told jokes he had already told twice. But it felt brittle. Like he was trying to glue together something that hadn't cracked, but shattered.
Cho still smiled. Still played the part.
But she found her eyes drifting.
She watched Potter in the Great Hall—the way he sat with that quiet confidence. She watched him in the hallways, casually casting non-verbal spells without care or concern. Quidditch practice. In Defense class. She watched how his wand never moved more than necessary. How people leaned into his presence, even when they didn't mean to.
And most importantly, the staggering amount of time he spent in the Hogwarts library.
She assumed that being isolated from the other students had made him spend more time with Hermione Granger, who could be found in the library every waking moment when she was out of class. There were rumors that Granger had somehow squirreled a private dorm room for herself, because of special conditions, and that Potter spent half his nights at her dorm.
It left a bad taste in Cho's mouth. Someone like Harry Potter deserved far more, something more exotic than some bushy-haired bookworm.
Speaking of Granger, Cho had heard all sorts of rumors about the girl being bitten by a werewolf, but she had seen the girl since the start of term, and there had been absolutely no markings on her face, like werewolves generally did.
But that didn't mean there weren't any changes at all.
Gone was the bushy hair, which had been tamed straight and was flowing down her shoulders. The buck teeth were gone, replaced by slightly pointed teeth. A sensual grace about her that oozed sex appeal hung around her. It didn't help that the way she stared at Potter reminded Cho of a hungry wolf looking at a particularly juicy gazelle, and she wasn't being metaphorical here. She looked prettier than before, and yet, a strange darkness marred her features, like a feral predator that was choosing to stay domesticated but could just as easily crush your neck at a whim.
Oh, and somehow, she retained her nagging bookworm persona on top of that.
And she was hogging Harry Potter's time and attention.
How was that fair?
One evening, she took pursuit. She told herself she was heading to the library, but when she saw him break from the crowd and turn toward the lesser-used corridor near the east wing, she hesitated.
Then she changed direction.
She kept her distance. She didn't want to talk to him, just… see if he noticed. If he'd acknowledge her. If he'd dare.
He didn't.
He paused once to glance out a window. His profile in the twilight was sharper than she remembered. Holding her breath, Cho stood there, waiting.
And then Potter walked away, never turning.
Cho stared at the place he had stood, cheeks burning.
Was he doing it on purpose? Did he know he was ignoring her?
Or had he genuinely forgotten she existed?
She hated both options.
The next day, she tried something different.
She wore her hair differently. Sat facing the Gryffindor table. Laughed a bit louder than necessary at Padma's jokes.
She didn't look at him, but she made sure he could see her. Hear her.
Nothing.
Not even a flicker.
It was maddening.
When Cedric laughed too hard beside her and nudged her playfully, she smiled back—but her eyes had already drifted to the other end of the hall.
To him.
Still indifferent. Still composed. Still utterly untouched by anything she did.
What would make him notice her again?
That night, she dreamed of him again. Felt his breath on every inch of her skin. She raised her hand to touch him — only for him to vanish away in a swarm of pixie dust.
She woke up breathless, angry and wet.
Cho told herself she wasn't jealous.
She just didn't like being ignored.
It was rude. Especially after all the boys who had chased her. Cedric had written her poetry. Davies had sent her flowers. Michael Corner had asked thrice only to be rejected every single time.
And Harry Potter? He barely breathed in her direction.
It was infuriating.
And intriguing.
She wasn't falling for him. No — life wasn't some stupid fairy tale. She didn't have a crush on Harry Potter. She just… was curious. Yes. Curious. And all of this was purely recon to develop a strategy to uncover whatever secrets Potter was hiding.
Also, if she —Cho Chang — couldn't make him notice her—really notice her—what would that say about her?
So she waited.
Watched.
Calculated.
She found moments to pass him in corridors. To brush by him in the library. To say something loud and clever when she knew he was within earshot.
And sometimes, his eyes would flick toward her.
Brief. Fleeting.
But it was enough.
And when they did, she would hold his gaze. Just a second longer than polite.
He never smiled.
Somehow, that just made it worse.
Because Cho Chang was used to boys smiling back.
It was a quiet evening in the library when she saw him again. The tables were mostly occupied by sixth-years prepping for mock exams, and the usual Ravenclaws buried in silent grimoires. But near the back, past the columned stacks of Arithmantic Theory and Charmwork, she spotted the flicker of black robes and a familiar messy head of hair.
Harry.
Not Potter. Harry.
And Hermione Granger.
They were seated close—far too close for mere study partners. Books were open between them: thick, leather-bound tomes with crinkled parchment and notes scribbled in multiple hands. Hermione's quill moved with sharp precision. Harry was flipping through pages with one hand, the other resting low beneath the table.
"May I sit here?" she said, approaching the table.
Hermione looked up first.
"Chang," she said neutrally.
"Granger," Cho replied, making it as little acerbic as possible.
Harry gave a polite glance up and offered a short nod. "Hey. And yeah, sure."
Cho pulled a Transfiguration text from her bag, made a show of flipping through it. Occasionally, she glanced up—always at him.
But he didn't look her way again. Not even once.
Instead, his hand under the table began to move. Subtly.
Cho blinked.
Granger shifted slightly in her seat, her breath catching—barely audible, but unmistakable. She adjusted her posture, tried to do away with the blush slowly rising up her cheeks, but she made no attempt to acknowledge the hand that was obviously there.
"So, what brings you to the library?' He asked, surprising Cho again. Not with his attempt at small talk, but the audacity to do that while having his hand inside….
Cho didn't get to finish that thought, for Harry asked again.
"Well?"
"I — uh — I was thinking of doing some Transfiguration…."
Her eyes went to the way his hand muscles flexed constantly, clearly moving with quiet intent under the table.
Granger's lips parted ever so slightly.
Cho's mouth went dry.
Are they—?
"...homework," she lamely finished. "Transfiguration homework."
She couldn't be seeing this. Not here. Not in the library. Not like this.
And yet neither of them acknowledged her. Granger's quill kept moving, albeit incredibly slower. Her hand gripped the edge of the table. Her breath occasionally caught in her throat. Harry never looked up from his book.
Cho couldn't tear her gaze away.
She wasn't sure what she was more bothered by — that they were doing it, the location, or that they were doing it as if she wasn't even there.
"Ah," Harry went on, pretending to be oblivious. "Hermione here is working on curse vector matrices. I'm.. stuck in a private project."
And when Hermione finally let out a small, controlled exhale and Harry's page turned with absolute calm, Cho felt something cold and brittle settle inside her.
They didn't care that she was watching.
Forget being competition, she wasn't even noticed.
Unacceptable.
"What personal project?" She asked, annoyed.
"Oh, just something for my Ancient Runes class."
Fine. She could play along. Curious, Cho grabbed the book he was perusing and turned it towards her. "Non-linear runes and Causal Folding," she read off from the cover, glancing at him in surprise. "Causation is NEWT-level material. I didn't know you were taking Ancient Runes, Potter."
"He wasn't," said Granger, who had just gained some composure.
Merlin, that was fast. Either someone was teaching her Occlumency, or she had been getting it really hard for quite some time now to get used to it.
"He just started this year, and turned out to be some sort of savant," said Granger. "Professor Babbling seems to can't get enough of him."
"Hermione. Even Trelawney showered me with attention before this."
"Yes, to proclaim your death."
"Now, now, don't be jealous. You know I love you too."
Granger's cheeks flooded with a tinge of red at that remark, and Cho felt something bitter coil in her gut. She herself had Ancient Runes as an elective, and knew perfectly well just how complex non-linear runes were.
"Professor Babbling asked us to write a paper on a rune of our choice. I chose Perthro. Most of its applications either reside in the realms of divination, or probability manipulation, and neither of them are my forte. Causality on the other hand, feels pretty interesting, but most of this material is NEWT-level or above, so I guess I am having a difficult time with it. Still, not quite at the stage where I'll be banging my head on the desk for choosing something this complex, but let's see."
Cho snorted lightly. "Maybe I can help?"
He looked up, surprised. "You know Causal folding?"
"No, but I have some foundation in Pertho rune sequences," Cho admitted. "My family carries the bloodline of the Zhanglong clan, the Imperial seers of the Han dynasty. Divination has always been a major interest in my family line, and Causal principles have a lot in common in advanced divination."
Hermione snorted. "What has runes got to do with reading tea leaves?"
Cho suppressed the urge to retort. "Chinese divination. Not the kind Trelawney preaches."
He looked like he was conflicted between taking her up on the offer, and wondering if she had some ulterior agenda. Granger pretended to be indifferent, but Cho could notice the slight strain in her posture.
It made her smile.
She turned to the page he was reading.
"Perthro-Algiz Interference Grid?" she echoed, leaning slightly across the table, brow raised.
He grinned without looking up. "Page 162. Vane's Second Principle. I cross-referenced it with Talvyn's monograph on closed-system rituals. It fits."
"So, what exactly are you working on?"
He exchanged a glance with Granger, a silent flicker of shared amusement, and then underlined a paragraph with the tip of his finger.
"Check this," he said, voice smooth with certainty. "The law states that Perthro encoded alongside Algiz in any predictive system results in inviolable outcomes—either through artificial constraint or total systemic collapse. By that logic, any ritual that is paired with this setup should have inevitable outcomes, because they are essentially enforcing Fate upon the ritual, right?"
"…Right," said Cho, nodding slowly, even as something in the pit of her stomach twisted. Why on Earth would Harry Potter, of all people, need to work with something this obscure? This advanced? She prided herself on her education, her pedigree—on being the cleverest witch in a room filled with clever witches.
And yet, as she sat across from him, listening to the confidence in his voice, the precision in his understanding, she felt… outclassed.
"Well, by that logic," he continued, "it doesn't matter what sort of mechanism the ritual is set to follow. So long as I use this combination and provide the necessary logic in a runic scheme that the ritual is compatible with, it should produce the outcome I want."
Cho's mouth opened, then shut again.
"…Yes," she said, blinking. "But if you already know the systemics of a ritual, it would be much easier to simply make the necessary addendums…"
"But what if you didn't?" he asked, eyes gleaming. "What if you only had a cursory understanding of the ritual, but wanted to, shall we say, force your way to enact an outcome of your choice?"
There was a long pause.
Cho stared at him, her breath catching halfway up her throat.
"You… you…" she stammered.
Words gathered behind her teeth but refused to form. The audacity of it. The madness. She couldn't believe what he was suggesting.
This wasn't theory. This wasn't a fun intellectual exercise. He wasn't showing off.
He meant it.
"You want to exert Fate upon the Goblet of Fire to ensure you're chosen as Champion?" she half-hissed, half-gasped.
"Yes."
Cho sat back, stunned.
"You… want to exert Fate upon the Goblet?" she repeated, voice a whisper. "That's… that's not just illegal. That's ancient-banned-theory illegal."
Harry was still leafing through the book as if they were discussing the weather. His fingertip brushed over the margin of a diagram labeled Perthro-Algiz Convergence Grid, his eyes only half-focused on her.
Cho couldn't stop staring.
The implications were unraveling faster than she could catch them. This wasn't about entering the Tournament anymore. This was about rewriting it. Rigging a sacred international ritual to make himself Champion.
And he wasn't even trying to hide it.
"You could be expelled," she said numbly. "No—worse. Imprisoned. If someone found out…"
"What of it?" He asked, not even looking at her. "I didn't hear Dumbledore say anything about how the selection would work, save that the Goblet would do it."
"But — but — you're — this is equivalent to confounding the Goblet."
"Well, if the Goblet is so easily confused, then it must not be a good judge."
He closed the book with a soft thud, leaned back, and met her eyes with a look that wasn't smug, or arrogant, or even daring.
Then she realized that he simply didn't care. Or maybe he already knew she wouldn't tell.
That thought chilled her more than the implications of his plan.
She sat back, unsure if she was horrified or mesmerized. Part of her mind whispered - Tell someone. Tell Dumbledore. Tell the organisers. The Press. Tell Cedric.
But another part of her—colder, older, the one raised in silks and silent diplomacy—studied Harry Potter. She hadn't seen him bluff ever. And he didn't seem to bluff now either.
A more frightening question popped up in her head. What if it works?
That's when it hit her — the difference between guys like Cedric Diggory and men like Harry Potter.
"What… what are you really after, Potter?"
He smiled faintly, his gaze drifting toward the flickering sconce above them.
"I don't like being told I can't do something."
Cho swallowed.
She wasn't sure if she should be afraid. But she was definitely impressed. Terribly, stupidly impressed.
She left the alcove with shaky steps, the runic diagram still burned behind her eyes. And for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel like the cleverest person in the room.
She felt like she'd just shaken hands with a storm.
Later, as she wandered through the empty halls of the castle, Cho felt the weight of what she'd witnessed curling into her thoughts like fog.
She had always known what Cedric was—safe, admired, golden. He smiled in all the right ways. He was generous without being excessive, kind without being dull. A boy carved by expectation, polished to shine. The kind you brought home to your parents. The kind who always held the door.
But Cedric didn't change the weather when he walked into a room.
Harry did.
And now, more than ever, she could feel the difference between them.
Cedric wanted to win. Harry wanted to rewrite the rules of the game.
Cedric sought approval. Harry sought inevitability.
Cedric was a name spoken with admiration. Harry's name was spoken with caution—and rising awe.
And it unnerved her how much that mattered.
How much it thrilled her.
Because Cedric inspired comfort. But Harry Potter inspired fear.
And she was beginning to understand which one excited her more.