A/N: Tragic Cho, very angsty, because I felt like it at the time (arbitrary? Me?). Please review... pretty please?

Disclaimer: Nah, Cho or anything else you recognise ain't mine. But Alana is. Borrow her and you won't know what hit you.

Cho took one heavy step towards the Quidditch robes, and another. A quavering hand reached out for them, but they eluded her. Cho was dizzy.

The sleeve of her robe dropped and answered the question 'why'. Twelve thin cuts, varying in depth, uncleaned, unbandaged. She had washed her penknife; even dazed and heartbroken many times over, Cho was no fool.

Cho gave up the struggle to reach the Quidditch robes on the chest and collapsed onto her bed. "I don't want to go to Quidditch today," she told herself.

"Excuse me!" Cho cursed as she recognised the startled voice. Alana Stone was a kind girl, a good confidante and an astounding Chaser, but she was a little too inquisitive for Cho's personal tastes, particularly at this moment in time. Cho raised her head. On the other hand, she was the perfect person to tell the others that she felt sick.

"I don't feel well," she explained as Alana came nearer. Unobtrusively, she tugged her sleeve down a little further.

"You're not hot," Alana mused, touching Cho's forehead. "Not feverish. But very tired," she added, watching Cho's face. "Too tired to practise?"

"Yes," Cho said, a little too fast. "Just very tired… I feel like a string of… that odd stringy pasta Muggles eat."

"Spaghetti," Alana corrected, as Cho had known she would. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes," Cho answered.

"Have you got a headache?"

"A horrible one. And I feel a little nauseous," Cho informed her.

"Possibly a migraine," Alana murmured. "I have something for one of those. I presume you don't wish to go and see Madam Pomfrey?" Sharp, concerned pale blue eyes watched Cho's face. White, almost pointed ears nearly quivered, waiting for her response. Cho had often teased Alana that she must have an ancestor of the fairy folk; Alana had replied, straight-faced, that Cho obviously had imperial blood. These occasions now occurred to Cho's muddled mind as varicoloured spirals. "No," Cho whispered. "Not for a little headache. But- Hogwarts, A History –will your Muggle remedy work?"

"It's not scientific," Alana said. "It's herbal. And magical. I had to seek special permission to bring it. Here."

She put a shiny red and purple liquid into some water, waited, and handed the goblet to Cho. "Drink it," she said softly. "Go to sleep."

She started to leave, bottle in hand, but turned at the door. Her face was unashamedly worried.

"Cho," Alana said, "If anything was wrong, would you tell me?"

"Yes," Cho yawned, and fell asleep.

Outside, Alana held the bottle up to the light. 'Migraines, Superficial Healing, Fevers', the label read. Alana could not stop Cho self-harming, but she could heal those wounds that she saw.