Cho in the Great Hall

This is one of my favorite images and short story scenes I've produced. Let me know if you like it. Does this Cho work for you? She's not got much of a fan image imprinted, nor one from the movies, so the face features were up for interpretation. 

To the new wave of supporters this week, welcome and thank you. I tie together little scenes from the Two Minds universe with character artwork, so make sure you head back through the HP Artwork tag to find the scenes.

And to the old heads - thank you for sticking with me. Here's a little more fun with Potter and the sidekicks. 

___


“Morning, lads.” Seamus yawned as he dropped down beside Ron, clapping him on the shoulder and accidentally pressing him into his bowl of cereal.

“Mmmph!” 

“Alright?” Dean muttered blearily, one hand dug into his forehead to block the light of the floating candles above, while the other scribbled large handwriting onto some parchment. He was probably hungover from last night, Seamus surmised.

“Padding the paper for Minnie?” Seamus grinned.

“Fifteen inches on the Vanishing spell?” Dean groaned. “Thing vanishes, it goes somewhere, the end.”

“Vanished objects go into non-being, so they really become everything.” Ron recited.

Even Neville looked at Ron oddly.

“What? I listen to Hermione, sometimes,” defended Ron, wiping his face clean of milk.

“Where’s Harry?” Seamus grabbed some toast.

“At his fan mail table.” Dean waved the question away with out looking.

Seamus frowned. Sure enough, there he was. Every month, Harry received a whole stack of fan mail from his postal relay — hundreds and hundreds of letters, full of photos, jinxes, hexes and sweets. Seamus knew it wasn’t anywhere near as fun as it sounded — he’d once lost his hair for two weeks after opening a letter with a Hair Loss curse from some mother angry that Harry hadn’t written her daughter back. 

When Harry was young, Professor Flitwick used to sit with him once a month to clean the mail before opening. Now, Harry was trusted to do it himself. And every now and again, he’d be seen at a small conjured table at the back of the Hall, sipping on his pumpkin juice while writing back some crazy fan.

“On Quidditch day?” Seamus frowned.

Ron flinched beside him. 

“Don’t remind him.” Neville chastised.

“Come on mate, you’ve got Harry as seeker, you can’t lose.” Seamus told him.

“Not helping.” Ron grimaced.

Neville made a strange gurgling sound.

“Not you too.” Dean looked up from his homework.

“Not that,” Neville hissed, red-faced. “Cho Chang is doing that thing again.”

“What thing? Oh—” Seamus whistled quietly. Of course. It was match day, which meant Cho was up to her usual tricks, trying to make sure the opposition went easy on her. The beautiful girl had on her Quidditch training top which had surely been hit with a Shrinking Charm or two, leaving acres of gleaming bare skin at her midriff. Combined with a short, tight skirt that should surely have been illegal, she looked devastating as she walked through the Great Hall, smiling innocently.

“Don’t come here, don’t come here.” Ron chanted under his breath.

“Hiya, Ron. Good luck for the game today. I know you’ll do great. I remember how nervous I was in my first few games but I was a lot younger, of course.” Cho flashed her smile at him.

“I…yeah, thanks, you too…” Ron trailed off since she’d left already, his spoon clanging into his bowl. They all watched — it felt like every boy in the Great Hall was watching — as she made her way towards Harry.

“Harry, don’t fall for it, brother.” Seamus prayed.

“He won’t.” Ron clenched his fist.

“I would.” Neville gulped, staring at Cho’s swaying behind and her long legs.

“Harry’s made of stronger stuff.” Dean promised. Cho yawned theatrically, arms stretching to get the Boy-Who-Lived’s attention, making her shirt rise up even more. It could have been their imagination but later, all the boys would swear they saw just the barest hit of undercheek as her skirt fluttered too, as more owls winged their way into the hall. “I think.” Dean finished uncertainly.


###


Someone yawned above him. Harry looked up from where he was penning a thank you note for a pair of black knitted winter gloves, embroidered with a yellow lightning bolt. Courtesy of his number one fan, Doris, one hundred years old and still writing him every month. 

Cho stood above him, smiling with a glowing fresh face, a few black locks stuck to her face. She’d just come out of the shower and she looked…Harry ran his eyes down her form. Incredible.

“Morning.” Cho shifted from one leg to the other, knowing she had his attention. “Nice gloves, Potter.” She teased.

“Tight skirt, Chang.” Harry returned amiably.

“Oh, this old thing?” She turned a little, looking down as if surprised.

“Nervous about the game?” He asked.

Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, first thing in the morning. They could both feel the excitement in the air, the buzz of the students. It was going to be a tight game, this time.

“No, why would I — what have you done to your pumpkin juice?” Cho frowned, looking at the jug on his desk. 

“Not me.” Harry smirked. “Sprout. She’s shoved some leaves in everyone’s juice, says they’ll help with focus and indigestion or something.” 

“She’s ruined our pumpkin juice.” Cho said flatly.

“I know.” Harry agreed. “Is nothing sacred?” 

“I’m…ooh!” Cho stomped her foot. “I’m actually mad. Pumpkin juice is the one good thing they have here, since the house elves refuse to stock any actual good food.” 

“Chinese food, you mean.” Harry prompted, leaning back in his chair. 

“I mean, any food east of Newcastle. We’re an island of Neanderthals.” Cho bemoaned.

“Here, have all this.” Harry pushed her his plate of French toast — soft brioche fried in too much butter, coated with fresh blackberries and strawberries, with a little mascarpone on top. “Dobby does it for me personally.” 

“Is this a trick?” She looked at him suspiciously.

“No trick.” He laughed.

She snatched the plate away, looking at it hungrily. 

“Let’s just hope you’re light enough for the match.” Harry said smoothly.

“Don’t you take this away from me, Potter.” Cho said, holding the plate protectively.

“No, it’s good, you need sustenance for the match.” Harry smiled sincerely.

“You’re not getting in my head, Potter.” 

“And you’re not getting in mine, Chang.” He smirked.

“Are you sure?” She turned away, heading back to her house table. But she paused for a moment, and then, for his eyes only, just for a second, she hoisted her tight skirt up a little, revealing her jaw-dropping glowing ass, the curve of her perky cheeks. She wore no panties. 

She wasn’t wearing panties, Harry thought again dumbly. The skirt was smoothed down again. He could almost pretend he'd dreamed it. 

Cho’s teasing smile looked over her shoulder at him. 

Harry watched her sashay away. He shook his head, finished his fan mail and then made his way to the Gryffindor table, where his mates awaited.

“We had a bet, bro.” Dean announced as he sat down. “Did she get in your head? Nev says no, I say yes.”

“Not at all.” Harry smirked.

Neville groaned and handed Dean a galleon.

“You’re such a bad liar.” Ron muttered.

“How can you tell?” Harry demanded.

Seamus snorted. “’Cos you look like you do when you came back from the final task of the Tournament.”

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and turned back to look at the Ravenclaw table, where Cho was devouring his French toast smugly.

“Fuck.” He muttered. Now he was horny and hungry. “How can I get in her head?”

“Ask her if she liked growing up in Japan. She hates that.” Seamus suggested.

“Bit racist. And she knows I know she’s Chinese. Next?”

“Just like go over to the table and flop your dick out.” Dean tried.

Harry snorted. “Next?” 

“Tell her you want to go on a date with Marietta, not her.” Ron advised. 

“She’ll never believe it. I can’t believe I am saying this but…Neville?” Harry winced in anticipation.

Neville paused for a long moment. “Okay, promise not to laugh.” 

They all chorused a promise.

Neville hesitated. “Just before Hooch blows the whistle, tell her that you and Cedric used to bang.” 

Harry choked. Seamus fell off the table laughing. Ron sprayed pumpkin juice all over Dean. 

The pudgy Gryffindor looked round at his friends and crossed his arms, scowling. “You always do this. Tell me that wouldn’t work!”