Miranda and Mateo head up to the headmaster's tower for their meeting with Snape and Dumbledore. The sun is just beginning to set, washing Hogwarts in a soft, golden light.

Miranda would've quite liked to stop and stare for a moment, taking in the orange and pink wash above the tops of the mountains, the last rays of sun glittering in the Black Lake. Maybe for that moment, she can forget about the war and their lessons and her abilities. Forget that her mother is gone. But she doesn't. And she can't.

"Acid pops," says Mateo to the stone gargoyle, as it slowly turns i's head, revealing a steep, swiveling stone staircase.

This is the third of such meetings they've had with Snape and Dumbledore, none of which have been enjoyable. Miranda feels like it is an endless struggle. Mind reading powers are more complicated than you would think. Not to mention, Snape hates her. The feeling is mutual. There is obviously still some lingering resentment from Occlumency.

"Good evening," Dumbledore greets politely, as they enter. "Please take a seat, Severus will explain our lesson today."

Snape begins to explain, in his normal clipped tone, "In our previous meetings we have been discussing the possibilities your power has to offer, and experimenting with your ability to communicate with each other over farther and farther distances. We have found that your power is strongest when you are close, and even more powerful if you are touching. Today we will be focusing on one of the most important facets of your training, one that will surely help you on your mission—"

Miranda interrupts, eyes narrowing,  "And what exactly is that mission?" One of things she despises more than anything abut these meeting is their cryptic nature. She's been lied to enough in her lifetime.

Snape furrows his brow,  lip curling, "Miss McGonagall it is rude—"

Before he can finish, Dumbledore interjects, "No, no it's alright Severus, they're curious." He turns to Miranda and Mateo, his blue eyes piercing, "Unfortunately I can't reveal any information to you as of the present, and I ask that you not press the matter any further or attempt to read my mind or Severus's, unless it is the right time." He places emphasis on this last phrase, a mysterious sort of smile gracing his wrinkle face. Miranda does not like this answer one bit.

"As I was saying," Snape continues, sneering at Miranda, "today we will be focusing on implantation, probing, and concealing. You will attempt to implant a command or untrue thought into the mind, and we will again practice finding a specific thought in someone's brain without them realizing what you are doing. If we have time, subsequently concealing a specific thought in your brain without them realizing what you are doing."

Professor Dumbledore motions for them to begin, "Miranda you shall start, think very clearly of a command and implant it in your brother's mind."

Do a pirouette.

Do a pirouette.

Do a pirouette.

Nothing happens. Miranda heaves a great sigh. Of course she's rubbish at it. It hurts her head to do it too, requiring great effort. It's like Legilimency without the incantation.

"What are you feeling Mateo?" Dumbledore asks, pensive.

"I feel like I should get up and do a pirouette," Mateo mutters, throwing Miranda a dirty look.

"Very good Miranda," Dumbledore praises.

"Except he didn't actually perform the command. We want him to actually do what you are suggesting in his mind," Snape snaps, unimpressed.

"It is progress Severus," Dumbledore replies, patient and tranquil as ever. "Progress is good," he amends. "It's alright, Miranda. You would have accomplished it if you and Mateo had been working together."

"But they're not always going to be together—" Snape retorts.

Dumbledore comes to their defense, "Severus they are still learning."

Next, Miranda and Mateo take turns probing and blocking, while Snape instructs them. "Remember to focus, details are everything, and don't forget to be subtle!"

Hours later, Mateo and Miranda finally finish with their lesson. Exhausted, they head back through the empty halls of Hogwarts to the Gryffindor tower. They had improved their skills in probing and blocking, but Snape was still not satisfied with their implantation. He was never satisfied.

Miranda's brain hurts and her limbs feel as though she's just run several miles uphill. Controlling someone's mind, and having someone control yours takes a toll on the body. Not that Snape seems to care.

Then, Miranda has a slightly sneaky, but brilliant idea. Quietly, carefully, she searches through Mateo's mind for thoughts of Ginny, hoping he is too tired out from the lesson to notice.

Ginny, Ginny, Ginny...ah found it!

Ginny's so pretty...

"I KNEW IT!" crows Miranda triumphantly, her sudden excitement awaking several disgruntled portraits in the dark, deserted corridors.

"What?" Mateo frowns, confused.

"You like Ginny!" exclaims Miranda, beaming at her brother widely. Her intuition had been right yet again. She knew she hadn't been imagining those glances he stole when he thought no one was watching. Take that!

Mateo pales, then turns bright red. He stammers, "I do not—wait—"   he peers at her suspiciously, "how did you...?

"I think those lessons are paying off," Miranda hums, quite pleased with herself. She flashes him a smug smile.

"You probed me!" he says in outrage, the portraits hushing him now.

"You like Ginny!" responds Miranda, in a sign song tone.

Mateo gulps, blustering, "I— I don't—you—I—"

"Don't bother lying," she rolls her eyes. "I had a feeling even before I read your mind. I'm not blind Matt. I've seen the way you look at her." Miranda is strongly reminded of a conversation she's had with Hermione once, before her and Harry had begun dating. Of course, then she was in Mateo's position. When he doesn't say anything, Miranda pinches his cheeks, cooing, "You have a crush." She presses a hand to her heart in mock adoration, "Isn't that cute?"

"I hate you," Mateo grumbles.

Miranda and Mateo clamber through the portrait hole and into the common room, Mateo murmurs a quick goodnight to Miranda, still sulking about her discovery, and heads up to his dorm. Miranda is about to follow when she sees a familiar figure seated in front of the fire.

"Harry?" says Miranda, surprised. She walks over to him, "What are you still doing awake?"

He merely smiles at her, grabbing her hand and pulling her down onto the sofa with him. "I was waiting for you," says Harry, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. He drops a kiss on the top of her head.

Her heart melts, just a little bit. "You didn't have to do that, Harry, " she tells him, feeling guilty. "It's the first Quidditch game tomorrow. You need your rest." She yawns, curling up like a cat next to him, tucking her feet beneath her knees. He's warm from the flickering fire in the hearth, and she yawns from second time.

"I know I didn't have to Mandy, I wanted to," Harry touches a gentle thumb to her cheek. "I miss you. You have so many meetings now." 

Miranda sighs, threading her fingers through Harry's, "I miss you too."

Harry gazes down at her, staring into her dazzling blue and green irsies. He could lose himself in those eyes forever. And he would, happily. Harry could pass several leisurely hours—days, taking in the beauty of the girl before him. Studying the planes of her face, carefully cataloguing them away in his memory. The bow her lips twisted into just before he kissed her. The spray of freckles across her nose, and the soft swell of her throat. The fading scar above her cheekbone, and the way her eyelashes catch snowflakes.

He'd gaze at her for a lifetime and never grow tired of it, if he could.

"Hey Miranda?" he whispers, tentative.

His glasses are crooked, and Miranda reaches up to fix them. "Mmhmm?" she murmurs sleepily, drifting in and out of sleep.

Harry's voice is tender, words soft and simple, and yet—perfect. "I—I just wanted to say— erm," he swallows nervously. " I love you," Harry breathes at last.

Miranda lifts her head, suddenly alert. Her heart is caught in her throat, Harry's declaration spreading through her. She is practically glowing. "I love you too, Harry." Then, she realizes with a sudden jolt, that she's loved Harry for a long time, just never found the courage to speak it into existence. Once you love someone— well, it was that much harder to lose them.

"Yeah?" Harry can't contain his grin.

"Yeah," Miranda nods, felling almost shy. She bites her lower lip.

"Brilliant," He says, tilting her chin up to kiss her. Miranda closes her eyes as their mouths slide together, sparks coursing though her veins.

She loves Harry Potter.

And Harry Potter loves her.

He wraps an arm around her,  and she takes the opportunity to nestle deeper into his chest, letting her weary eyes fall shut.

Harry strokes Miranda's hair contentedly, listening to her heart beat against his, wishing they could stay like this forever. He inhales her comforting vanilla scent, the one he's grown so accustomed to having pressed close to him. Then he too, closes his eyes. After all, he does have a game tomorrow.

"If I turn around do you think it will go away?" Miranda hears Mateo's voice as she wakes up, the blindingly bright sun streaming in through the windows of the common room. She blinks grgogily, wondering what her brother is doing in her room and finds Mateo and Ron standing over her. With a start, and a bolt of fear, she realizes that she is not in her room at all. She's in the common room, with Harry's arm thrown lazily over her waist, her head tucked into the crook of his neck.

"Shit," Miranda mutters under her breath, taking in the downright murderous look Mateo is currently sporting.

"Oi" Ron yells at Harry, nudging him with his foot. "Sorry to interrupt your little sleepover—thanks for the invite by the way—but we've got a game to win."

Mateo chucks Harry's jersey and the face paint at him, "You've got ten minutes until you've got to be on the pitch. I'm not even going to talk about this." He gestures disgustedly to Miranda and Harry's still intertwined bodies.

Ron and Mateo leave the room as Harry throws off his Gryffindor sweatshirt and starts to put the red and yellow paint on his face.

Miranda's cheeks flare as she surveys Harry's lean, shirtless figure in front of her. Her eyes travel down his biceps, and his torso and rest on his surprisingly noticeable abs. Quidditch, apparently, has been doing wonders for him. She presses her lips together, something fiery blooming inside her.

Harry grins broadly when he notices her staring.  "See something you like Mandy?" he raises a mischievous eyebrow. Miranda grows hot all over, ducking her head.

Meanwhile, Harry is still struggling to paint his face without a mirror.

"Here, let me do your makeup," Miranda teases, taking the paint from his hands. She's not entirely sure why the team feels the need to paint their face, but she supposes house spirit is important.

"It is not makeup, it is war paint", Harry huffs indignantly, but allows Miranda to wrest the paint from his grasp all the same.She gestures for him to sit on the nearest armchair, putting a bit of paint on her fingers. Miranda climbs onto Harry's lap, straddling him, placing one hand on his bare chest to steady herself and painting with the other. Carefully, biting her lip in deep concentration, she draws two thick lines under each eye.

Harry smirks at her, eyes flicking up and down shamelessly.

"What?" says Miranda.

"Nothing," he lifts an innocent shoulder. But his expression is far from innocent. "I just rather like the position you're in right now," he says lowly, tracing the length of her inner thigh. He drags his teeth across his bottom lip.

Miranda inhales sharply, all of the blood rushing to her head. His touch is magnetic. Intoxicating. Her head spins. "You better behave, Potter" she scolds, sucking in a deep breath. She is determined not to let him fluster her. "I'm in control of the paint," she reminds him. "I could draw a lovely little butterfly right by your eye if I wanted."

"You wouldn't dare." Harry starts tickling her mercilessly. Miranda shrieks with laughter, as the two roll around the couch. Suddenly, Harry flips her over, his face hovering above hers as he lowers himself to kiss her. His frame fills her vision, and not letting him know she's flustered is a thing of the past. He dips his head, kissing her more intensely than he ever has. These kisses are like a drug, and Miranda cannot help herself, dragging him nearer to her.

"Merlin's balls!" Ron cries out, as he re-enters the common room. "I leave the two of you alone for five bloody seconds!" He shakes his head, averting his gaze. "Harry you're lucky I came to get you and not Mateo." Miranda agrees with that statement. "Put a shirt on, for fuck's sake." She does not, however, agree with that one.

Harry puts his jersey on sheepishly, tousling his hair and joining Ron.  Miranda's faec is flushed, and she stares very fixedly at the painting of the two witches having tea on the wall to the right of her.

Before Harry leaves, he grabs his jumper. His quidditch one, with the maroon and gold stitching and his last name on the back. With a smile, he loses it to Miranda, "Wear my jumper to the game, will you?"

Miranda slips Harry's jumper over her head, it's way too big on her , of course, but Miranda loves the way it smells of him. She also really loves wearing his name, and she'll be proud to sit in the stands with it. Though, Hermione's undoubtedly going to give her shit the minute she sees it.

She spins around jokingly, "How do I look?"

"Perfect," Harry beams, pecking her on the lips.

Ron makes  a very loud gagging noise, "It's a good thing I came in here when I did. I don't think Mateo is ready to be an uncle."

"Shut up Weasley."

As they journey down to the pitch, Miranda watches Ron grow less and less confident. She shares a look with Harry, wondering if he is also noticing this. He nods his head, clapping Ron on the back, "Go on without us, Mandy, I think I left something in the common room."

Miranda gets the message immediately exiting to give Harry the space to do whatever he has to do to raise Ron's spirits. She hastens down to the field, hoping Hermione has already save them a seat. Those stands fill up fast, especially for the first game.

Right as she spies Hermione, a burly, red and gold figure obscures her eye line. Cormac McLaggen. Miranda has to refrain from pulling a face at the self satisfied expression on the seventh year's face.

"Hello," he says, sweeping a hand through his hair.

"Cormac," Miranda acknowledges cordially, attempting to brush past.

He  blocks her path, "Would you like to come and watch the match with me? I've got great seats."

"I'm fine," she replies curtly, jabbing a thumb at the stands. "Hermione's saved some for us so—"

"Well, bring her along then," Cormac flashes her a sleazy wink. "The more the merrier."

Miranda blinks very rapidly at this comment. Is he serious? From the smug smirk on his face it look as though he thinks her and Hermione would be delighted to spend the game at his side. Of course, he thinks every girl wants him. "I really should—"

"C'mon," Cormac wheedles, practically licking his lips. Miranda is wildly uncomfortable and has the overwhelming urge to knee him in the balls. "You got to take your chance now, while my offer's still available. Soon I'll be up there playing Keeper, and you won't be able to sit next to me."

"Perish the thought," Miranda manages through clenched teeth. "Isn't Ron Weasley the Gryffindor Keeper?" She is separately looking for a way out of this conversation.

Cormac bends down to whisper in her ear, his hot breath smells of the sausages he had for breakfast. Miranda chokes down a bit of bile. "I have it on very good authority that he won't be lasting long. Those tryouts were rigged." He flexes his arms, "Don't be too sad, I'm a much prettier sigh to look at."

Miranda has had just about enough of this. She crosses her arms, "Are you honestly attempting to hit on me right now with Potter emblazoned across my back?"

"I don't see him—"

"Don't see who now?" A voice says from behind them. Miranda breathes a giant sigh of relief. Harry has come to save her.

"Hi," she says gratefully, turning to him and Ron with wide eyes and ver aggressively mouthing 'help me'.

"Hey," Harry grins at her for a brief moment, before glowering at McLaggen, "You should probably run along now. The match is about to start and the spectators sit over there." Harry points sweetly to the stands. "The best Keeper for the job and I have a game to win."

Although Harry had won the battle with Cormac, Gryffindor had lost the Quidditch match, much to the disappointment of Harry, Mateo, Ginny, and especially Ron, who'd had a particularly bad game. He had let in almost every goal that came his way, and it didn't even matter when Harry finally caught the Snitch. By the end of the game, it became hard for Miranda and Hermione to watch.When the game finally comes to a miserable end, they hustle down to the field to greet their friends. Miranda winces as she sees Ron's face. Harry and Mateo are  busy trying to offer him some reassurance.

"It was one bad game mate," Harry consoles. "It' the nerves that get you. It's really  no big deal."

"You had some nice saves," adds Mateo. "It was just poor luck. We'll get them next time." Ron grunts noncommittally, looking sullen.

Ginny rolls her eyes, "Stop being a prat, Ron."

Miranda and Hermione rush over to give Ginny a hug, gushing, "You played brilliantly Ginny!"

"Thanks," Ginny replies. Then she notes, shooting Mateo a smile, "I couldn't have done it without Mateo though. He was the one who stopped all those Bludgers from knocking me out." She pats his arm absentmindedly.

Mateo looks as though he's had a small aneurysm. "Oh—I don't think I really—you could've handled it yourself—erm...thanks," Mateo stammers as Miranda tries her hardest not to laugh.

Smooth.

Shove off.

"Ahem," Harry clears his throat, pouting. "What about me?"

"You played very well too, Harry." Miranda rolls her eyes, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

They start the trek back up to the castle, Ron sporting a very sour expression. Mateo pats him on the back. "Cheer up Ron," he encourages. "We'll go to the Three Broomsticks tonight, have some Butterbeer. You can flirt with Madam Rosmerta."

Ron brightens slightly at this idea, but then Miranda remembers, "Mateo we can't. We have the Slughorn thing tonight."

Ron scowls, obviously still stung at having not been invited. "Oh right," he scoffs bitterly, "your exclusive little dinner party. So that's all five of you who can't come then. Excellent."

"Ron we can skip it. We'll—" Hermione puts a hand on his arm, but Ron brushes her off.

He sneers, "No, no, don't do me any favors. I'll just sit in the common room by myself. Maybe I'll write a new verse of Weasley is our King, or maybe Filch wants to hang out." Ron stalks off angrily.

"Ron—wait!" Hermione starts to run after him, but Harry stops her.

"Just let him cool off Hermione. We have to get ready." Harry advises, staring gully at Ron's retreating back.

Hermione remains worried but obliges,  her, Miranda and Ginny heading to their rooms while Harry and Mateo head to theirs. Miranda picks out a gorgeous pink lace shift for Hermione, while Hermione lets Ginny borrow her white floral dress. After much debate, and rifling through Miranda's closet, Hermione and Ginny decide on a burgundy dress with puffy sleeves and a white dotted print. They don't get many occasion to dress up, so any opportunity is appreciated. In fact, Miranda is quite looking forward to Harry's reaction when he sees her. Miranda finishes curling Ginny's hair, quickly pulling half of it back and securing it with a pearl clip that may or may not belong to Parvati Patil. Meanwhile, Hermione is making quick work of Miranda's thick blond waves, braiding faster than Miranda thought humanly possible. "Can I borrow your nude flats?" Hermione asks Ginny, stepping back from Miranda's completed hair with evident satisfaction.

"Of course," nods Ginny, slipping on her own pink kitten heels, and admiring herself in the mirror.Miranda puts on her boots, and joins Ginny at the mirror. Muggle music is blaring from Hermione's radio, and Ginny grabs Miranda's hand the two jumping and dancing around the room while Hermione finishes up. It is easy to forget that Ginny is a year below them, this year especially. Since they hung out all summer, and now most of this year. Miranda often finds herself wishing that Ginny shared a dorm with them.

"We look hot," Ginny declares, in her usual confident manner. Hermione swipes on her mascara, and the girls link arms, walking down the stairs together, talking and giggling animatedly.

Mateo and Harry are already waiting in the common room.

"Bloody finally," Harry huffs impatiently, "d'you have any idea how long we've been wai—" Harry stops short when he sees the girls. Both he and Mateo rendered speechless. "And apparently, it was well worth the wait," Harry breathes, taking Miranda's hand and twirling her around.

"You are beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"I know," she whispers back daringly, reaching up to fix his hair, which is poking out at all angles. Looking even more windswept than normal.

"And Hermione, gorgeous as always," Harry smiles kindly at her.

"You look very handsome too," says Hermione, straightening his tie.

Mateo finally regains control over his speech capabilities, "Ginny, you look really—" But Ginny doesn't hear him, because at that moment, Dean Thomas comes over and pulls her aside. Mateo frowns at Dean's back, while Hermione and Miranda share a knowing glance.

"Are we all ready to go?" Hermione asks, punctual as ever.

Everyone nods except Ginny who is still conversing heatedly with Dean. "Go on without me," she calls. "I'll be there soon.".

Harry takes Miranda's arm and Mateo takes Hermione's as they escort them to Slughorn's chambers. Miranda and Hermione take full advantage, and ruthlessly mock the two boys, "Such gentleman." Harry and Mateo bow with great gusto, very obviously enjoying the spotlight. They were both such hams. The little act continues all the way to the Slughorn's office, as they gallantly open the door for them.  Most students have already arrived, which irks Hermione, who always prides herself on being early, to no end.

Slughorn welcomes them all in with much excitement. Miranda suspects he's had a few drinks already. "Hello, hello. Please take your seats now." He notices their group, "Ah Harry m'boy, there you are, and Miss Granger. Ooh and my favorite twins." He beckons them over to a lavishly decorated table, laden with every food imaginable. Candlesticks glow, and gold goblets sit at very place. At the very center of the table lies a crystalline hourglass, green sand trickling down the sides. As they sit down, Miranda recognizes a fair few faces, Blaise Zabini, Marcus Belby, and to her disgust, Cormac McLaggen. Slughorn encourages them all to dig in, and Ginny slips in the room few minutes later, quietly taking an empty seat next to a Hufflepuff boy.

"Look at her eyes." Hermione mumbles under her breath, while Slughorn is deep in conversation with a trapped Harry.

"I saw," Miranda sneaks a covert glance at Ginny, concerned.

"What?" Mateo murmurs, confused and anxious to be included.

"Her eyes," gestures Hermione, explaining. "They're all red."

Mateo has not yet grasped it. How brow furrows, "Come again?"

"Merlin, Mateo, from crying," Miranda says exasperatedly.

Mateo side eyes Ginny, "Why was she crying?"

"She was probably fighting with Dean again," Hermione sighs.

Mateo perks up at this, straightening in his seat. He is doing everything in his power not to seem too eager. "Again?"

"They've been having a go at it lately," Miranda hums sympathetically.

Her brother's entire face lights up. He is very poor at concealing his glee. "Oh!" He says unconvincingly, "That's—that's too bad."

"Nice try," Hermione snorts, raising her eyebrows.

"You told her?!" Mateo exclaims, looking at Miranda accusatorially.

"I didn't tell her Matt, she's observant." Miranda replies matter of factly.

"Honestly it couldn't be more obvious," laughs Hermione.

Mateo groans, beet red, "Does everyone know?"

Hermione and Miranda snigger, highly amused, "God no, Ron and Harry are just as oblivious as you are."

"But you guys knew?" Mateo asks, suspicious.

"We've known for ages," Hermione tells him airily, taking a sip out of her goblet. "You look like a kid on Christmas morning when she walks into a room." Mateo buries his face in his napkin. "It's not a big deal," Hermione lifts a shoulder. "I'd much rather you guys were together than her and Dean. I think she likes you too."

"Really?" Mateo says hopefully, cheered.

"Definitely," Miranda confirms, pursing her lips. "I can tell you from one of the most horrifying conversations of my life that she thinks you're—"  she retches, "—cute." She shudders at the thought.

Mateo, very pleased with himself, tosses his dark curls. An air of arrogance about him as he says, "Well, I'm not going to argue with that."