Dancing Towards Tomorrow

Part One- Descent

    Moonlight floating over the pale transparent curtains drifted lazily as a summer's night into her room, settling in a soft and silent puddle on the floor. Shadows, cast by the dark wood of window frames, cut distinct patterns on the floor. The willow tree swayed in the breeze and leaves rustled; the wind chimes tinkled lightly as she sat on her bed. A perfect night for crying and feeling depressed, she decided. Quite perfect. A melancholy feeling had settled over her when she opened her eyes. Had anyone asked, a bright smile would've told them that a restful slumber had visited her last night. The tousled sheets and twisted pillow spoke a different story. Her feverish brow was wet with fear and she closed her eyes, nearly ready to cry. She felt so damn lonely in the night. Her parents were down the hall and so were her older sisters Joyce and Anita. A tear fought out of her eye when she remembered why Anita had come back from college that summer. Ordinarily, she spent time at Orion Academy, the prestigious university only offered to advanced magical students. But following the events of her last year, Anita had come home to console her younger sister. The Chang sisters had always been close. Joyce was the oldest, Anita the middle sister and Cho the youngest. She missed Anita's company often. And Joyce was rarely home, after working for the Ministry just about 24/7. A pale shadow crept over the moonlight and leapt onto her bed.

    "Opal," she whispered and the feline purred, slipping past her arms and settling in her lap. A bit of consolation settled in her stomach, but only seconds later, an icy presence of fear replaced it. Summer vacation was nearly over. It was already August twenty-first. Another week or so and her sixth year would begin. Could she survive it? It had almost killed her to live those last few weeks of school. She had felt like she was seeing Cedric everywhere. She kept his momentos in a wooden box. Faded little love notes scribbled in classes, pale rose petals, and photographs of them together. She knew it was keeping her back, keeping the memory alive. But keeping his memory alive meant keeping the open wound. Every night, remembering that he wasn't there brought a fresh shower of tears and regret about the time that was abruptly stolen from them by two words. Too bad it couldn't bring him back. How could she go back to Hogwarts, remembering Cedric like that? And poor Harry Potter, she'd often thought. He was only fifteen, and forced to live with the memory as well. Not to mention he had a crush on her. She knew he often thought he'd killed her boyfriend and was the most awful person in the world. A cruel voice whispered to her that maybe he did it on purpose, so he could have a chance with her. She drew back in disgust. No more thoughts tonight. No more awful thoughts. Just think of the present, the moonlit, beautiful present and not the glaringly horrible future and past. A swig of Dreamless Potion sent her to sleep. How fortunate Joyce was a Potions Mistress. How very fortunate for her. But Cho Chang didn't feel lucky at all.

***

(later that same night)

    Her eyelids were translucent. Light was threading through her pale layers of skin, protruding to her sensitive eyes. She turned over. But she was already too alert to the light. With a groan, she sat up and opened her eyes. The moonlight had shifted to her pillow and woken her up. She swallowed. Too dry a throat. She wanted moisture to coat her dry, rasping voice. Some cool relief to descend into her stomach. After a few hours of tossing and turning, she'd fallen asleep from exhaustion. She licked her lips. Still too dry. No choice, she knew, too thirsty. She summoned the strength in her tired muscles and stood up. Swaying slightly, she found her slippers and walked out of the room. Shadows in the hall obscured her view and she stumbled as she rounded a corner and approached the staircase. Something made her pause and she glanced to her left, where Anita's room was. A peek in the door revealed her sister's still form, veiled in sheets and a thin blanket. She felt a twinge of jealousy, seeing her sister's peaceful slumber. Brushing it away, she walked on down the wooden stairs to the kitchen. She flipped the light switch and blinked, shielding her eyes from the sharp light. She fumbled in the cabinets for a glass. The water flooded into the cup. She drained it to the bottom, relishing every drop of divine fluidity. Gasping, she set it back on the counter and poured more. This time, she was slower, taking the time to coat every corner of her parched mouth with refreshing coolness. Finished, she set the glass back on the counter, then thought better of it. She would probably want more water later in the night. Filling another glass, she flipped the lightswitch off and proceeded up the staircase. Her eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness, were blind. She stumbled, reaching for support. The water made a swishing sound in the glass. She found the banister, but just as she'd found her balance, her right foot landed upon moisture. Slipping, she flailed wildly and lost her grip on the banister. Her body tilted and the left side of her head connected with the wall, hard. A terrifying sense of free-falling took over her senses and the glass slipped out of her hand. She felt her back land on the stairs with a jolt and only a blur of darkness as she tumbled down the stairs. She heard the abrupt shattering of silence when the glass landed on the floor. Landing on her left shoulder, she cried out, the first sound she'd made. Then, a searing pain in her left forearm. Raising the arm with some difficulty, she found a jagged edge extending from just below the elbow. Dawning horror told her it must have been a piece of shattered glass. Trembling fingers traced her arm, wet and warm. She didn't understand. She'd gotten cold water from the faucet. But then this must be... her blood. She raised her right arm slowly, frozen in terror. Ever since she saw Harry Potter, covered in blood in his return with Cedric's dead body, she couldn't stand to see blood. But in a strange, eerie sense of perverse curiosity, her arm extended until she could see it in the faint glow of moonlight from the kitchen window. Something dripped onto her face. My blood, her last thought as she stared at the crimson wetness slowly sliding down her left hand. Then, a dull ache began in the back of her head. It slowly started to grow, then to a blinding crescendo as she abandoned all pretense of calmness and curiosity to the world of the conscious. Blackout.

***

"God, what happened to her?" A frantic, mad voice. "... found pieces of glass on... think she was...- some water... blood... everywhere...-" she drifted in and out of consciousness. It was like she was tuned into a bad radio station that was almost out of range. Static gray unawareness filled the gaps in between snatches of speech and murmurings. She heard that first voice say a complete sentence. Strange. She could've sworn that sounded like Joyce. Or Mother, perhaps. Iris Chang looked very much like her eldest daughter and resembled her in a number of other ways, including voice. And the second voice. Hard to tell. But like Father, a bit. Darkness, unconsciousness pulled at her senses, dragging her back to the comfortably blissful abyss. Should I go, she questioned herself. So relaxing in there. She wanted to go to sleep. But all the same, she'd heard an urgent tone, a teary note in Joyce's or Mother's voice. They'll be mad if you go back to sleep now, a voice said to her. The voice of reason, she'd called it. It came to advise her in the most urgent of times, when sanity deserted her. You've floated so close to the surface of consciousness, it argued. Obediently, she opened her eyes, not without some effort. St. Mungo's?? The absurdly strange thought burst into her mind when she regarded her surroundings. She was in a bed somewhere that looked like St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. A soft pillow rested under her head, cotton sheets under and above her body, still and restful. She felt like she'd gotten a good night's sleep at last, but with a persistant, dull ache in the back of her head. It had not been present when she was half-awake.

    Now, light streamed through the window blinds on the right side of the room, and as consciousness revisited her body, so did pain and discomfort. Her left forearm was cushioned more than her right arm. She wondered why. A cautious caress from her right hand revealed heavy bandaging. She looked around. The chairs were empty. No other people were around. She must have argued with herself for quite a few minutes, for her family, or what had sounded like them, were gone already. A quiet kind of bustle sounded outside the door. She took a deep breath. Her back ached, and so did her head. Putting her right hand to the left side of her head, she found a slight bump. The events of last night came back to her slowly, like drops of water filling a glass. The glass... there was some blood...- I fell down the stairs...- blood... hit my head, I think... also, a wound in my left arm...- the blood!... oh, God, the crimson stain on her innocent white hands. On her pjs. The last thing she remembered feeling was warm stickiness over her hands. What a sight she must have been when someone found her. The blood, mixing with water, coating her fingers and hands. A flash obscured her vision and suddenly, instead of a hospital ward, she was in the Third Task Maze. The appearance of Harry, drenched in blood. Oh, God. Blood. Cedric hadn't shed any blood, had he? Harry must see Cedric's blood on his hands. Avada Kedavra! God. The blood. The ghastly dark staining innocent white. She was in the ward again, patiently lying on her bed. Her eyes were open, blindly staring at the ceiling. More blood. Her hand roved to her left arm automatically. It began to scratch at the bandage, clawing it open. A faint pain produced itself in her left arm. She ignored it. She had to see the blood. Feverish slashing at the bandage. Her fingernails were now torn. In a frenzy, she jerked off the bandage and a long red gash was now where the blood had once been. She stared it suddenly. Abruptly, all action ceased, and she looked at the scar for a long time. I've got a scar now too, Harry. An insane part of her mind whispered cynically. I've got a scar, too.