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Buying Cho — part 1
OK, so I was bored a couple of days ago, felt like doing some creative writing (not serious creative writing, just fun, purposeless creative writing) and actually found myself writing some… this is embarrassing… fanfiction.

I’ve never written any FF before, so just to help myself start with my post, I’ll do what seems to be the trend.

Title: Buying Cho
Rating: PG
Warnings: I got a bit nutso while writing this, and it, uh, shows. Not as much at the beginning, but it’ll start being… Yeah.
Summary: Idea originated from a paragraph in the Deathly Hallows Uberwank.
Prompt: ‘There’s a hole in the world like a great black pit and it’s filled with people who are filled with shit.’ (Sweeny Todd)
Length: 4000 words alias 17,000 characters
Genre: Messed up strangeness

Unfortunately, at that length, I won’t be able to post this in one LJ post (tried like ten times, thus wasting an inappropriate amount of my total lifespan, and was not successful) so, well, I’ll cut it in half. Peevishly.

—Buying Cho—
(Because contrary to popular belief, I’m not really that stupid)



It all started when I was ten years old.

Yeah, you heard me. I fell in love at the age of ten.

The boy was named Harry Potter, and the boy was rich and famous.

I used to drop things whenever he came around, then get embarrassed and leave the room. I would also send him valentines, in which I mostly talked about his body and eyes, restraining myself from mentioning the pile of fans and money he owned for the sake of subtlety. I also took pictures of his twelve-year-old self whilst he slept.

Something else I did once was pretending to be close to death, just so he could rescue me from a man called Tom. I like having men fight over me (especially when one of the two has a sword, is sweaty, blood-covered and fights a huge snake).

I’ve also closely studied what Harry likes in women, and had to change my personality thrice to fit properly with him.

When I entered fourth grade, I decided to get myself some boyfriends – no, not to make him jealous, silly, but to have some fun and not be one of those pathetic girls who just wait for their husband to come home and don’t do anything in the meantime – and stand up to myself. I also injected a dose of flying talent into me, so I could be on the Quidditch team with him (there are some showers in the changing rooms). It’s Fred and George who made the potion for me, the lovely boys. Anyway, I then had to spread the rumour, through Hermione, that I had always stolen my brothers’ brooms and rode them through the yard. Since I was five years old. Yeah, ‘cause that makes sense!

Something else I did is that I started actually talking around Harry. I thought that since he didn’t seem like the superficial type, I wouldn’t need to use my body to attract him.

Then came my fifth grade at Hogwarts. I still wasn’t going out with Harry, but I knew that I was getting closer to him. Sometimes, people think I’m a stupid bimbo, but that’s just the way I act. Get them to think you’re innocent, and you’ll be able to manipulate more than you ever thought possible, that’s my motto!

Anyway, I spent a lot of time with him at the Burrow before school started, making silly jokes (notably, changing Fleur’s name to ‘Phlegm’, which actually got tears in his eyes, the idiot) and getting angry at my mother to have him think I’m rebellious and stuff.

Harry also got named Quidditch captain that year. He gave me the position of Chaser. But then, of course, after a very curious incident in the bathroom, he wasn’t able to play in the final, and I knew, just then, that at this vulnerable moment in his life, all I needed to do was to win the Quidditch final and we would finally be together.

We spent most of the rest of that school year kissing and having shallow discussions. Seriously, I would never have even tried with the boy if it hadn’t been for the fame that would accompany him in my arms.

I then started spreading rumours about Harry, too. Things like, say, he has a huge, black motorbike, or even that he has a dragon tattoo on his chest.

I was really the most envied girl in the school.

Then came the Problem. It was a girl, who was friends with another girl called Marietta. Marietta had, last year, spilled the beans about Dumbledore’s Army, and Hermione had then magically materialized pimples all over her face, spelling SNITCH. Yeah, you heard me. Just because a girl, whose parents work at the ministry and was under a lot of pressure finally cracked, Hermione ruined her face for the rest of her life.

So anyway, the first girl, the Problem, the Cho Chang, really disliked me because I was friends with Hermione. So, as I figured her and Ron would start going out and get married soon, I spread a rumour about Ron having a Pigmypuff tattooed on his chest, and made sure Cho knew about it, in an attempt to have her like me.

You may be wondering why I want Cho to like me so badly. Well, it’s rather simple: I am collecting Cho-souls.

It’s a game I invented when I was seven. Played it with my brothers and parents, at first. What you need to do is set yourself an objective. My first one was Molly, because I really strongly dislike her. She’s such a useless woman.

Anyway, I was seven at the time, and Molly was my target. So I needed to collect a Molly-soul.

What you need to do to collect a soul is to have the person like you, then trap them. For example, with Molly, I had started really cleaning around the house a lot – not ever having done that well herself, and always having wanted a house-elf, I figured she would really admire me for that, and, surprise!, I was right – and shamelessly kissing up. (Really, making her like me wasn’t hard, though, as she already did, but I just wanted to make one hundred per cent sure the whole thing would work.)

Then, for the trap. One day, she was baking cookies, and I offered her some help. Here’s how it went:

‘Oh, it smells delicious, Mum,’ I had said, merrily skipping in the room.

Notice how I used to call her ‘Mum’. What childishness.

‘Thank you, dear,’ Molly said, smiling at me while opening the oven and sliding in the first batch of cookies.

‘Do you want help?’ I asked.

‘Oh, it’s all right, Ginny, but thanks anyway.’

I frowned grumpily (and rather cutely). On purpose.

‘No, Mum, I really want to help you!’

‘All right, then,’ Molly said with a furtive smile, looking slightly confused.

So I started helping Molly placing dough on the next cookie sheet, waiting for the cooking cookies to conclude their cooking. I knew that I was about to make my move, and trap my first soul. A Molly-soul.

The timer rang, and Molly turned back. My heart was racing. I took the shovel I had hid under the kitchen table the day before. As Molly opened the burning oven, I hit her head with the shovel. She fell to the floor, unconscious. Then, I withdrew a flask from my pocket and ran the potion quickly through her lipstick-covered lips.

Now, this is a rather complex phenomenon, to be honest. I had to read a lot to figure out how to do it – the whole Soul game, I mean. Yeah. At seven years of age.

Basically, there are two ingredients in the flask. The first one is some grease from your own skin, and the second, some of your tears. The way it works is that the fact that the person – in this case, Molly – has touched your tears while they love you will make them feel horrible. Even if they’re unconscious, and don’t actually know that they’ve just drunk some of your tears. It’s just all in the way the mind is related to the body, and thus, the stomach as well. You know, that rubbish.

OK, and the grease from your skin is there because it will make a link between you and the person. And a very strong link, indeed. Why? Because in your skin’s natural oils, there is one element, not present on those muggle periodic tables, for only wizards know of it, like with Bezoars and such. It is called ‘xemophibline’. The xemophibline creates a strong link between its original wearer, which is to say, me, and the next person it touches. So, say I touch your face with my finger, some of my xemophibline will stay there, knowing who its previous owner was and who is its present owner, and will always know when its previous owner is around. This is not a very commonly known fact in the wizarding world, just because it’s so useless in day-to-day life. However, I knew that there had to be a way to make sure that the person who drinks my potion would be able to recognise me as the person who gave them a horrible feeling – since remember, they drank some of my tears –, even though subconsciously. Are you still with me? OK. So the person drinks the potion, and now every time he or she sees me, they will have a certain fright, even though not knowing why. (The why is that they don’t want me to make them feel bad again. You see, my xemophibline will tell them that I’m the one who did a certain thing, at a certain time, as it knows exactly when I touched them; and they know, subconsciously, that at that certain time, they felt horrible. It’s just the way your mind works.)

So once I get the person to like me, and drink the potion, they’ll feel fear, aka respect, towards me.

I have already collected a lot of souls. First came Molly, which was quite a violent incident, but was also the last time I had to physically hurt anyone. After Molly, you see, came Fred – he had beat me at Snakes and Ladders – and I simply had to give him the potion while he slept. Then came George, and Dad, the latter combined with Molly giving me ultimate power in the Burrow, and then Percy, who I knew would succeed immensely in life, which might give me some power in the ministry.

I only work on one soul at the time. I need to succeed on one person to rise to the next level. ‘Cause remember: this is all a game. Sure, it’s also a rise to power, but power’s for idiots who want to be assassinated young. I just wanted respect, and thus be able to have a modest amount of control on people who have a lot of it.

Because if I have 5% of control over a person who has 10% of control over Britain – say, Percy when he gets a lot older – then I’ve got 0.5% control over the whole of the country’s activities. Multiply that by the amount of successful souls I own (Note that Fred and George are, in fact, successful, as they make lots of money and I can easily ask them to buy me something and they will. And also note that they were the ones who made me the Quidditch Talent potion. They are, in fact, quite useful.) and the number’s still pathetically small, like, 3% maybe. But since I don’t care about most of the things that happen in this country, 3% is perfectly fine.

So now, I am in 5th grade, dating the most famous boy in the UK, the Boy Who Lived (that’s such bullshit) just because I like fame, and now a lot of people will listen to me. Of course, they won’t want to kill me in my bed, as people usually do to powerful people. ‘Cause I’m not powerful… per say.

Anyway, I’ve got a major problem, now. Well, Problem, actually. With the appropriate P.

Cho was next on my list of souls, just because I want hers.

The only problem is that Cho Chang hates me, so making myself cry and cry and cry to get the proper amount of tears will be utterly pointless.

All right, so I’ll just try to continue on the path I was before I needed to explain the whole Soul game. I just said that I spread that rumour about Ron’s tattooed Pigmypuff in an attempt to have Cho like me.

Of course, that didn’t work, as Cho doesn’t hate Ron, even if he dares be (more than) friends with Hermione Granger. She dislikes him, of course, but still thinks I shouldn’t have spread that rumour. Something about being mean to my family. Or something.

One day, though, I was lucky enough to meet Cho in the girls’ bathroom before class.

And she was alone. So very alone.

I walked up to her. I saw that she had just been crying, and was now trying to make herself look acceptable. Perfect. An easy target.

‘Hi, Cho,’ I said.

Cho started and looked up at me.

‘Oh. It’s you.’

I smiled.

‘Listen, Cho…’ I leaned on the counter, slightly pulling on the bottom of my shirt and pushing my overstuffed bosom towards her wet face. ‘About Harry… I know how it must feel.’

Cho looked at me, frowning slightly.

‘I don’t want him back, if that’s what you mean.’

She applied some more mascara on her eyelashes, then added:

‘I’m not jealous.’

I laughed meekly.

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ I said. ‘All I’m saying is, he’s mine now. Don’t try and pull any stunts. Because you know what?’ I took a step towards Cho. My full body was pushing against hers. ‘He’s mine. And he talks about you all the time.’

After giving me a disgusted look, Cho took a step away from me, towards the wall. I pushed her against it. My arms, now on her shoulders, were applying some moderate pressure.

‘You know, he just went out with you to have you play badly at Quidditch when he would ditch you.’

Without a word, Cho rolled her eyes, took her makeup kit and pushed me gently aside to leave the bathroom. I stared at her as she walked, then kicked the wall. Everything had gone wrong.







And remember the epic conclusion, here.

Disclaimer: No, I’m not counting on making any money off this story, stupid. And of course all characters belong to J.K. Rowling. And if you sue me I’ll probably not ever, ever stop laughing.