She did not think of him.

Cho was thinking of her parents. Back when she was young enough to depend on them for some of the most basic necessities but old enough to do some wobbling, which on its own, was a form of walking. Back when life was simple and easy, and not as gray as it appeared to be now; when the biggest of her troubles was not having a sibling to play with, and when the closest thing to a heart-break that she experienced was the loss of her favourite toy.

She was happy, then—which is not to say she was not happy after that, but her life back then had seldom been tainted by sadness.

When the incantation slipped out of her mouth, silver sprouted from the tip of her wand and what had moments before been a shapeless mass, formed itself into a large, winged animal. Harry Potter himself had left the Longbottom boy to congratulate her, but she was busy pondering the bitter irony, the cosmic joke of it all.

She had not thought of him, and yet there it floated in front of her. A silver swan.

Didn’t Swans mate for life?