august 6th, 1995

five months later

_______________________________________________

Miranda flops down on her bed in the quaint room she shares with Hermione, a cloud of dust releasing from the dark velvet coverlet. The draperies are of a similar shade, in fact, everything in this dreadful house is dank and depressing.

    Hermione and her have grown accustomed to the faint odor of mold and must, and the way the baseboards creak beneath their feet each time they cross the threshold.

    It had been an exceeding long summer at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and they were all going crazy cooped up in here. Plus— they haven't seen Harry in months, and she's not been allowed to write to him or Draco.

    "So he's really coming?" Miranda props her chin up on her hands, glancing up at Hermione. "I thought Dumbledore wanted to keep him away from all the Order stuff. Wasn't that the whole point of us practically shunning him?"

    Hermione presses her lips together in thought, "Apparently, there was some incident with dementors? At least that's what Tonks told me, before Mrs. Weasley hushed her up."

    "That boy," Miranda rolls over to her back, staring at the peeling wallpaper above her. "It's like he wants to die."

    Hermione raises a pointed eyebrow at her, pulling a jumper over her head.

    "What?" Miranda huffs disagreeably. She knows that look far too well. And she's right to be afraid of it.

    Hermione settles on the mattress beside her, "Miranda, I know there's something going on between you. I'm not daft." She pats Miranda's arm, "You're my two best friends."

    "What about Ron?" Miranda retorts cheekily, poking her tongue out.

    Hermione laughs, swatting her, "No changing the subject! Out with it."

    "Hermione," Miranda lets out a large exhale, "there's really nothing to tell." She twists her hands together self consciously, keeping her voice light, "I thought maybe he liked me, and I suppose we had a— moment, after the Ball, but nothing ever came of it. "

    Hermione eyes her skeptically. Damn her intelligence. Miranda can't sneak anything past her.

    "Honest Hermione, we're just friends."

    "If you say so..."

    Several floors below the chattering girls, Harry gingerly walks through the pitch black passageway. Behind him, the others file in, Lupin and Tonks carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage. While Moody limps inside.

    "In you go," he whispers gruffly, shoving Harry along.

    He wanders through the narrow corridors, when he runs into a woman with short dark hair who mildly resembles a face he's been picturing all summer. Harry feels he must be going mad, for this hasn't been the first time his dreams have entered reality.

    "Oh!" the woman jolts slightly at his sudden appearance. "Goodness!"     "Sorry," Harry mutters, stumbling a bit over a bump in the moth eaten carpet.

    Recognition flashes over the woman's face, "Oh— oh—! They told me you were arriving tonight, we didn't expect you here so soon though—"

    Harry's confusion mounts at this revelation, "Er— have we met?"

    "My, you look just like James, don't you?" she continues, barely hearing Harry. She chuckles lightly to herself, "I can certainly see why my daughter likes you. And those eyes— it's like Lily staring back at me."

    At the mention of his parents' names, Harry snaps to attention, "You knew my mother?"

    The woman nods, "Of course! Your mother was lovely woman. I did so adore her. Though, she was always closer with—"

    There are hurried footsteps and Mrs. Weasley emerges from a door at the far end of the hall. She is beaming in welcome as she hurries toward them.         "Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!" she whispers, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. "You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid. . . ." She turns to the  woman behind him, "You've met Mrs. Nott then? Excellent, she was quite anxious to meet you, dear." Then in a lower tone, she whispers, "The meeting's started Juniper, they need you back in there."

"Juniper—" Harry started, "Wait— are you Miranda's mum?"   

Juniper smiles, "Indeed. Now I apologize, but I must go." She heads down the narrow hall, followed by several other tittering witches and wizards, all making noises of interest and excitement.

Harry makes to follow Lupin, but Mrs. Weasley holds him back.                             "No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron, Hermione, and Miranda are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting's over and then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall," she added in an urgent whisper.

    "Why?"

     "I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting — I'll just show you where you're sleeping." Pressing her finger to her lips, she leads him on tiptoes past a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg and a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall.   

Harry's bewilderment deepens with every step he takes, "Mrs. Weasley, why — ?"

"The children will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash," Mrs. Weasley whispers distractedly. "There" — they have reached the second landing — "you're the door on the right. I'll call you when it's over." And she hurries off downstairs again.

Harry crosses the dingy landing, turning the bedroom doorknob, which is shaped like a serpent's head, and opens the door.                 He catches a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room, then there is a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision is completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair — Hermione has thrown herself onto him in a hug that nearly knocks him flat.        "HARRY! Ron, Miranda, he's here! Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know we didn't write — but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got to tell us — the dementors! When we heard — and that Ministry hearing — it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations —"

    "Let him breathe, Hermione," says Ron with a grin, closing the door behind Harry."Oi! McGonagall!" he bellows.   

"Ron, I swear to Merlin," Miranda stomps into the room, irritated, "if I have to remove one more tiny, harmless garden spider from your room, I will— HARRY!" Miranda, in a similar fashion to Hermione, flings her arms around Harry, burying her face in his shoulder. She is startled to discover that he has grown several inches during their months apart, where her head had once almost reached his nose, now, it barely grazes the top of his strangely broad chest. He is not as wiry as she remembered either.   

"Erm—hi," Harry pats her gingerly on the back, breath quickening.   

Miranda, beaming, lets go of Harry, then promptly turns on her heel and   socks Ron in the arm, "I told you to tell me the minute he arrived, Ronald Weasley!"   

"Ow!" Ron says in reproach. "I tried— ow!" Miranda has hit him again. "Why aren't you cross with Hermione, eh? What about—?" But before he can say another word there is a soft whooshing sound and something white soars from the top of a dark wardrobe to land gently on Harry's shoulder.   

"Hedwig!" The snowy owl clicks her beak.   

"She's been in a right state," Ron eyes the bird warily. "Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this —" He displays the     index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.         "

Oh yeah," Harry scratches his head. "Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know. . . ."

"We wanted to give them to you, mate," said Ron. "The girls were going mental, kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news."

    Miranda peers at Harry's stony expression, wondering what's going on behind those steely green eyes. He seems somehow changed, something lurking beneath his surface that had not been there before. She purses her lips, "Well, we were right about that, weren't we?' She places a soft hand on Harry's shoulder, "We really are sorry, you know, but Dumbledore made us —"

"— swear not to tell me," Harry shakes her off. "Yeah, Hermione's already said." There is a strained silence in which Harry avoided eye contact with them all, even Miranda. Miranda's chest tightens at his indifference, and she exchanges an anxious look with Hermione. Something is off.

"He seemed to think it was best," Hermione says, breathlessly. "Dumbledore, I mean."

"Right," Harry says, rather thickly.

"I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —" Ron begins.   

"Yeah?" says Harry, raising his eyebrows. "Have any of you been attacked by dementors this summer?"

Hermione chews on the inside of her cheek,  "Well, no — but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time —"

Miranda watches Harry's expression blanch in surprise, then tense. "Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?"

"Aren't you . . . aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?" Miranda murmurs quietly, daring to flick her eyes up to meet his. She knows she's worried. Imagining Hogwarts without Harry— she couldn't. It was unimaginable.

"No," Harry lifts his chin defiantly.  Miranda knows he's lying. She can tell. He walks away from them, back turned, as he looks around the room. "So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?" Harry asks, voice light and casual. "Did you — er — bother to ask him at all?"

Miranda, Ron, and Hermione all share a look with one another, trying to gauge Harry's current state. This is what they were afraid of. After ignoring him all summer, it was understandable. His cool and unaffected non-reaction is slightly terrifying. She can practically feel his temper simmering, close to reaching its boiling point.

"We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on,"Ron tells him earnestly. "We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted —"

"He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to," Harry replies shortly. "You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls."

Hermione waits a second before saying, "I thought that too. But he didn't want you to know anything." Hermione isn't lying. Miranda remembers their outcry of protest when Dumbledore informed them they couldn't be in contact with Harry all too well. They've been tied up in knots about it since.   

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Harry's jaw clench, "Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted."

"Don't be thick," says Ron, looking highly disconcerted.

     "Or that I can't take care of myself —"

     "Of course he doesn't think that!" Miranda cries, frowning anxiously at him.   

"So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you lot get to join in everything that's going on here?" says Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. "How come you three are allowed to know everything that's going on — ?"

"We're not!" Ron interrupts hurriedly. "Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young —"

Miranda knows, then, that Harry has reached his boiling point. He's about to explode.                     And then, Harry bursts, "SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT —" His words are bitter and resentful, and it feels like a slap in the face. Miranda is stung with each barb he hurls at the. He must've been bottling this up all summer.                                    "WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!"                 Ron is standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, while Hermione looks on the verge of tears. Miranda's mouth lies in a thin pinched line, and her chest is tightening by the second.    "BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?"

"Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really—" Miranda tries to pacify him.   

"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR —"

    "Well, he did —"

"FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON —"

"We wanted to —"   

"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER —"

"No, honest —"

"Harry, we're really sorry!" Hermione exclaims desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "You're absolutely right, Harry — I'd be furious if it was me!"

Harry glares at a them all with such contempt, that they almost wither. He turns his back for a second time. "What is this place anyway?" he shoots at them.

"Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione informs him swiftly.   

"Is anyone going to tell me what the Order of the Phoenix — ?"

     "It's a secret society," with much haste, Miranda answers. "Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know- Who last time."

"Who's in it?" Harry comes to a halt with his hands in his pockets.

"Quite a few people —"

"— we've met about twenty of them," Ron continues, "but we think there are more. . . ."

Harry scowls harshly at them, "Well?"

    "Er," said Ron. "Well what?"

     "Voldemort!" says Harry furiously, and only Miranda does not wince. "What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?"

"We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings," Hermione says, trembling slightly. "So we don't know the details — but we've got a general idea —" she adds, seeing the look on Harry's face.

"So what have you three been doing, if you're not allowed in meetings?" he demands. "You said you'd been busy."

"We have," Miranda insists, imploring him to understand. She's missed him so much, they all have. If Harry could just see that, then maybe he might start to forgive them. "We've been— AARGH!" There are two loud cracks, and two red haired boys materialize out of thin air in the middle of the room. "Stop doing that!" Miranda groans in irritation, clutching her head.   

"Hello, Harry," George pays no mind to Miranda's command. He beams, "We thought we heard your dulcet tones."

"Have you let it all out yet, Harry?" asks Fred, also beaming. "There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you."

"You two passed your Apparation tests, then?" Harry muses grumpily.   

Miranda rolls her eyes, "A curse on all of us, really."   

"Thank you, McGonagall," Fred winks, holding what looks like a     piece of very long, flesh-colored string.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," Ron mumbles crossly.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," says Fred. "Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears," he adds in response to Harry's raised eyebrows, holding up the string, which Harry now sees is trailing out onto the landing. "We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful," says Ron, staring at the ear. "If Mum sees one of them again . . ."

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," Fred says determinedly.

Miranda agrees, "He's right. Mom and Remus have been even more tight lipped than usual. Even Dung's on edge."   

The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared. "Oh hello, Harry!" Ginny greets him brightly, walking to join Miranda and Hermione where they stand. "I thought I heard your voice." She turns to Fred and George, "It's no go with the ears, she's put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

Fred heaves a deep sigh. "Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."                                

"Snape?" Harry's eyes narrow. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," Miranda nods, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds. She knows Harry will not be thrilled about this news. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," Fred mutters.

"He's on our side now," reminds Hermione reprovingly.

     Ron snorts, "Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us. . . ."

There is a knock on the door, and it swings open. In the doorway, are Miranda's mother, and Mrs. Weasley, scrutinizing them all closely. Quickly, George snatches the ear from Fred's hand and sits on it.                Juniper speaks, "The meeting's over. It's time for dinner, you may all come down."

    "Everyone's dying to see you, Harry," Mrs. Weasley adds kindly, as if sensing the tension. Ginny grimaces at the others and follows her mother out of the room, leaving them alone with Harry again. Miranda watches him apprehensively, fearing that he will start shouting again now that everyone else has gone.

Briefly, Miranda catches his eye, hoping to find some sort of softness. A hint of reconciliation.                                "Look . . ." Harry begins, and Miranda breathes a sigh of relief. All was well again.   

"Forget about it, Potter," Miranda shakes her head, smiling at him.   

"So," Ron rubs his hands together, casting in vain for a lighter topic of conversation, "what are the odds Kreacher will be lurking downstairs like a nutter?"   

Hermione frowns at him, "He's not a nutter, Ron —"                "

Who's Kreacher?" Harry asks lowly.   

"House elf," Miranda replies under her breath, both of them viewing Ron and Hermione's continued bickering with amusement.

"His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque just like his mother," Ron argues irritably. "Is that normal, Hermione?"

"Well — well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault —"

     Ron rolls his eyes, "Hermione still hasn't given up on spew —"

     "It's not 'spew'!" Hermione corrects heatedly. "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, and it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too —"

"Yeah, yeah," Ron waves her off, and Miranda shoots him a reprimanding look. Men were such rubbish at expressing their feelings. "C'mon, I'm starving."

The kitchen  is scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. The majority of the light is sourced from a large fire in the back, and a haze of pipe smoke hangs in the air. Several chairs have been crammed into the room for the meeting and the long wooden table is laden with rolls of parchment, goblets, and empty wine bottles.                Mrs. Weasley clears her throat, and her husband leaps to his feet. "Harry!" Mr. Weasley says, hurrying forward to greet him and shaking his hand vigorously. "Good to see you!"

Over her shoulder, Miranda sees Bill, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table. "Journey all right, Harry?" Bill calls, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?"

     "He tried," Tonks says wryly, striding over to help Bill and immediately sending a candle toppling onto the last piece of parchment. "Oh no — sorry —"                                     Miranda bites back a smile. Tonks is the youngest member of the order, and her and Ginny especially have grown quite close with the clumsy young woman. Miranda admires her greatly. She's sort of— well— Tonks is a badass. A kooky, klutzy, purple and pink haired badass. There's no other way to put it.        Miranda cranes her neck, trying in vain to read the diagrams and messy ink scrawl on the parchment in front of her. Beside her, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are attempting to do the same. She manages to sneak a glimpse of what looks like a building blueprint, before Mrs. Weasley and her mother catch them.

    "This really ought to be cleared after meetings," Mrs. Weasley snaps pointedly, flicking her wand at the mess.   

Juniper swiftly whisks the plan off of the table and stuffs it into Bill's heavily laden arms, clucking her tongue at her daughter, "Nice try."   

"Mo—om!" Miranda makes an irritable noise in the back of her throat, complaining, "You never tell us anything." These past few months she— well they've been feeling so helpless— useless.

The Order's been treating them like children, too delicate for important matters. Miranda understands that her mother is trying to protect her, she does, but it sometimes it feels like there is no trust between them.                            Her mother ignores her, "Molly are you quite sure I can't help you with anything?" Juniper tries to take some of the dishes off of Mrs. Weasley's teetering pile, but is shooed away immediately.

    "Mum doesn't know what the word help means." Fred jokes, earning himself a smack on the head from his mother.

    "What can I do, Molly?" Tonks offers cheerily , bounding for- ward.

    Mrs. Weasley hesitates, "Er — no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today —"

"No, no, I want to help!" Tonks insists brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurries toward the dresser from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.        Soon a series of heavy knives are chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirs a cauldron dangling over the fire.                            Tonks hovers nearby, anxious to assist, and at one point singes the hem of her cloak and nearly topples a pot of scalding grease.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley enlists Fred and George to help her set the table, and they accept the task with far too much enthusiasm.                            "Fred — George — NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs. Weasley shrieks.     Hermione and Miranda glance up from their napkin folding, and, a split second later, dive away from the table. Fred and George have bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air toward them. The stew skids the length of the table and comes to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface, the flagon of butterbeer falls with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere, and the bread knife slips off the board and lands, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Miranda's right hand had been seconds before.                             "FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" screams Mrs. Weasley. "THERE WAS NO NEED — I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS — JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"   

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" Fred hurries forward and wrenching the bread knife out of the table. "Apologies, McGonagall— didn't mean to —"

Harry and Ron are doubled over laughing, Sirius as well. Even Remus stifles a chuckle, clearing his throat to conceal it.                "Boys," Mr. Weasley lifts the stew back into the middle of the table, "your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age —" Mrs. Weasley opens her mouth to yell again.   

"Let's eat," Bill interjects quickly, wanting to prevent any bloodshed.

"It looks wonderful, Molly," Lupin praises, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table.

    The dinner proceeds on without any further incidents, and for a moment Miranda forgets all about their troubles, content to sit back and laugh while Tonks morphs her face for them.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," Mrs. Weasley yawns.   

"Not just yet, Molly," Sirius pushes away his empty plate and turns to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."         The atmosphere in the room changes rapidly at this. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it is now alert, even tense. Juniper, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowers her goblet slowly, looking wary.

"I did!" says Harry indignantly. "I asked Ron, Miranda and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so —"

"And they're quite right," Mrs. Weasley says through pinched lips. "You're too young."   

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asks Sirius. "It involves him. He's got the right to know what's been happening —" Sirius pauses, looking at Juniper, "And for that matter, so does Miranda."                                    Miranda's ears perk up at the mention of her name, her curiosity sparking. What is Sirius talking about? What involves her? She leans in, mirroring Harry's stance.   

Juniper sits bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched upon its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone. "Sirius, it is not your place —"                 The tension in the room keeps on rising.

"Who's to say it's any of ours?" Sirius argues. "I, for one, think they ought to know about matters they hold influence over. I don't blame them for being angry, I know I'd be."

    Remus puts his hand out, warning, "Sirius — "   

"Hang on!" interrupts George loudly.

     "How come Harry gets his questions answered?" Fred smarts angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" George cries.

     "'You're too young, you're not in the Order,'" says Fred, in a high pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. "Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," Sirius says calmly. "That's your parents' decision. Harry—"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" Mrs. Weasley snipes sharply. Her normally kindly face is dangerous.

Juniper set a steely gaze on Sirius, "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" Sirius questions politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight.

"The bit about not telling them more than they need to know," Juniper says, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.                     Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George's heads turn from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley and Juniper as though following a tennis rally. Ginny is kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes are fixed on Sirius.

"I don't intend to tell them more than they need to know, Juniper," says Sirius. "But as they are the ones most concerned, they have more right than most to —"

"Harry is not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" protests Mrs. Weasley. "He's only fifteen and —"

    "— and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," Sirius defends,     "and more than some —"

"No one's denying what he's done!" Juniper says, voice rising. "But he's still — Miranda is still—"

"He's not a child!" said Sirius impatiently. "And Miranda deserves—"   

"He's not an adult either!" The color rises in Mrs. Weasley's cheeks. "He's not James, Sirius!"

"Sometimes it's like you think you've got all your old best friends back!" Juniper's temper has reached its limit, and she pushes back from her chair, "However much you want her back, and however much she may look like her, my daughter is not—"   

"Junie," Lupin looks away from Sirius at last, eyes boring a hole into Juniper now, as he shakes his head imperceptibly. As if willing her not to say anything more. Juniper resumes her seated position, gaze cast downwards. Miranda is left utterly baffled. What other secrets is her mother keeping from her? Who was her mom talking about? Why is it such a tense topic?                                         Lupin folds his hands decidedly in front of him, "I think it better that Harry, at least, gets the facts — not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture — from us, rather than a garbled version from . . . others." His expression is mild, but Miranda feels sure that Lupin knows that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs. Weasley's purge.

"Well," Mrs Weasley exhales deeply, looking around the table for support that did not come, "well . . . I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has got Harry's best interests at heart —"

     "He's not your son," said Sirius quietly.

     "He's as good as," Mrs. Weasley says fiercely. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got me!"

     "Yes," Mrs. Weasley's lip curls scathingly. "The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

Sirius starts to rise from his chair.                     "Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," Lupin reprimands sharply. "Sirius, sit down." Mrs. Weasley's lower lip is trembling. Sirius sinks slowly back into his chair, his face white.            "I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this," Lupin continues. "He's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry responds at once, no hesitation.

"Very well," Mrs. Weasley's voice cracks. "Ginny — Ron — Hermione — Fred — George — I want you out of this kitchen, now."

"You too, Miranda," her mother orders, having regained her voice and her calm after her outburst.                             There is instant uproar.   

Miranda's mouth drops, "Mum, that's not fair, Sirius—"   

"You are still my daughter!"   

"We're of age!" Fred and George bellow together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouts Ron.   

"Mum, I want to!" wails Ginny.   

"NO!" shouts Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. "I absolutely forbid —"   

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," Mr. Weasley acknowledges wearily. "They are of age —"

Mrs Weasley is now scarlet in the face."I —all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron —"

"Harry'll tell me, Miranda and Hermione everything you say anyway!" Ron fires back hotly. "Won't — won't you?" he adds uncertainly.

" 'Course I will," Harry beams, and Miranda's heart warms with pride.

     Juniper's nostrils flare, "Fine."

"Fine!" Mrs Weasley repeats with a screech. "Ginny — BED!"

     Ginny does not go quietly. They can hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs.                            After the night's tumultuous activities, and an equally grim discussion that lacked far too many details  and left Miranda not feeling any better than she had when she'd known nothing but bits and pieces from the Extendable Ears. In fact, she almost feel worse now, like her mother is keeping more secrets from her than she thought possible.

     Mrs. Weasley escorts them upstairs solemnly, "I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking," she said as they reached the first landing. "We've got a busy day tomorrow."                                The next morning, Miranda wakes up early, and without much sleep. Her headaches have been increasingly frequent as of late, plaguing her most especially at night.   

She sprays a tattered curtain with doxy spray, coughing at the smell. Her eyes water, all around her Ron, Hermione, and Harry are spritzing the foul stuff into the air, by direction of Mrs. Weasley. From the next room over, she can still hear the twins and Ginny's victorious chant.                Harry had in fact "gotten off", and would be returning to Hogwarts with them next year. His trial had seemingly been a success, but when he had come back Miranda had noticed a distinct air of discouragement.            "Ouch!" Miranda cries out, stumbling backwards. Kreacher had stepped on her toes. The gnarly elf was always underfoot, creeping and lurking around. "Kreacher!"   

"Kreacher did not see Young Miss," he says, turning around and bowing to Miranda. Still facing the carpet, he adds, perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is." He continues to mumble under his breath, low, "My mistress always hated your family, after the disgrace of that wretched girl. Raked the Nott name through mud, she did, and dragged the disowned though the filth with her... "   

Miranda frowns, "Sorry? Didn't catch that last bit."   

"Kreacher said nothing," The elf straightens up, eyeing them all very malevolently, and apparently convinced that they could not hear him. ". . . and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass..."   

"Don't call her that!" Ron and Miranda burst out, growling.

"...oh if my Mistress knew, oh how she'd cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn't know his name, what is he doing here, Kreacher doesn't know . . ."

"This is Harry, Kreacher," says Hermione tentatively. "Harry Potter."

Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever."Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's that boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it —"   

"Don't we all, Kreacher?" Miranda agrees with a smirk, nudging Harry and receiving a small smile in return. Immediately after, he winces, screwing his eyes shut in pain.

     "What's the matter?" Miranda asks, alarmed.   

"Scar," Harry mumbles. "But it's nothing. . . . It happens all the time now. . . ."

None of the others have noticed a thing; all of them have moved on to wiping the dust coated windows, while gloating over Harry's narrow escape; Fred, George, and Ginny are still singing. Miranda peers at him anxiously,  but before she can say anything, her temples throb. She groans, just what she needs. Must be the overwhelming scent of doxy spray.   

"You think Sirius is all right?" Harry wonders aloud to the three of them. "He seems— odd."

"I didn't notice anything," Ron shrugs.   

Hermione sighs, "Oh, Harry."

"What?"   

"Don't you see?" She explains, "I think Sirius might've been hoping for a different outcome to your trial, Harry."   

"What d'you mean?" Harry snaps hotly.   

"Well," Hermione starts cautiously, "if you weren't allowed to go back to Hogwarts, you'd be staying here, just like him. With him."   

"You're mad," Harry blusters.

Ron nods feverishly in solidarity, "Sirius would never."   

"Suit yourselves. But I sometimes think Ron's mum's right, and Sir- ius gets confused about whether you're you or your father, Harry."   

"So you think he's touched in the head?" says Harry heatedly.

"No, I just think he's been very lonely for a long time," says Hermione simply. She turns to Miranda, "And you have to admit sometimes he looks at you awfully strange. Like you're a ghost." Hermione taps her chin, "Come to think of it, so does Remus. Though not quite as often."

There is a funny feeling in Miranda's gut. Hermione is right. It's something she's tried to shake off, but just can't seem to.                Secrets. There were so many secrets.   

Miranda finds herself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approaches. It will be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards are still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed.                    On the very last day of the holidays, Miranda is folding socks to put in her trunk when the boys enter the bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes.

"Booklists have arrived," Ron says, handing her envelope to her. "About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this. . . ."

Miranda opens her letter,"Only two new ones," she scans the list. "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard."

    Crack.

    Fred and George Apparate into the room. Miranda has grown used to their sudden appearances over the summer, and does not even flinch.            "We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book," says Fred conversationally. "Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."   

"And about time too," George notes.

     "What d'you mean?" Miranda asks, folding the last pair of socks.

"Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back," Fred tells them, "and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year."   

"Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four?" George mentions with a snort.

"One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months," says Harry, counting them off on his fingers. "Yeah, I see what you mean."

"You have quite a track record, Potter," Miranda bites her lip, grinning at him slyly.   

"Hey!" Harry exclaims. "It's not my fault most of them were evil and out to get me."   

"Being the Chosen One is so hard," Miranda shakes her head in mock sympathy, giggling. And Harry swats her with one of her freshly folded sock pairs.   

Miranda gasps, "Harry!" but she is smiling.   

"What's up with you, Ron?" Fred waves a hand in front of his brother's face. Ron does not answer. He is standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts. "What's the matter?" prompts Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment. Fred's mouth fell open too. "Prefect?" His eyes bug out of his head, staring incredulously at the letter.

"Prefect?" George leaps forward, seizes the envelope in Ron's other hand, and turns it upside down. Miranda and Harry see something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm.                             "No way," George says in a hushed voice.

    "There's been a mistake," Fred plucks the letter out of Ron's grasp and holds it up to the light as though checking for a watermark. "No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect. . . ." The twins' heads turn in unison and both of them stare at Harry. Miranda does her best to hide her surprise.                                        "We thought you were a cert!" Fred says in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.

"We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!" George repeats indignantly.

"Winning the Triwizard and everything!" says Fred.                 "I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him."   

"Yeah," Fred muses slowly. "Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right." He strides over to Harry and claps him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look. "Prefect . . . ickle Ronnie the prefect . . ."

"Oh, Mum's going to be revolting," groans George, thrusting the prefect badge back at Ron as though it might contaminate him.                 Ron, who still has not said a word, takes the badge, stares at it for a moment, and then holds it out to Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry takes it. Miranda too, inspects the badge. She had not received one either, as expected.   

The door flies open with a bang, and Hermione comes tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There is an envelope in her hand. "Did you — did you get — ?" She spots the badge in Harry's hand and lets out a shriek. "I knew it!" she brandishes her letter excitedly. "Me too, Harry, me too!"                                        Frantically, and as silently as possible, Miranda tries to signal to her best friend that she is incorrect lest she do more damage. Violently waving her arms to get her attention and gesturing at Ron ferociously. But it is to no avail.

     "No," Harry blurts quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron's hand like it had burned him.                                 "It's Ron, not me."

     "It — what?"

     "Ron's prefect, not me," Harry clears it up tightly.

     "Ron?" Hermione's jaw drops. Miranda buries her face in her hands. Oh no. She can't watch. "But . . . are you sure? I mean —" She turns red as Ron eyes her with a defiant expression on his face.

     "It's my name on the letter," he states.

     "I . . ." Hermione is at a loss. "I . . . well . . . wow! Well done, Ron! That's really —"

"Unexpected," George nods.

Miranda elbows him, hissing under her breath, "George!"   

"No," Hermione tries to regain her bearings, blushing harder than ever, "no, it's not . . . Ron's done loads of . . . he's really . . ."                 Miranda groans, palming her forehead. Most awkward situation of her life. Could anyone take a hint?!   

Mrs. Weasley backs into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes. "Ginny said the booklists had come at last," she starts sorting the robes into two piles. "If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you're packing. Ron, I'll have to get you more pajamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing . . . what color would you like?"

"Get him red and gold to match his badge," George smirks.

"Match his what?" Mrs. Weasley says absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron's pile.

"His badge," Fred emphasizes with the air of getting the worst over quickly. "His lovely shiny new prefect's badge."

Fred's words take a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley's preoccu- pation about pajamas. "His . . . but . . . Ron, you're not. . . ?" Ron holds up his badge, gulping slightly. Mrs. Weasley lets out a shriek just like Hermione's, "I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!"

     "What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?" George huffs indignantly, and Miranda snickers quietly.   

"Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh Ronnie —" Fred and George are both making loud retching noises behind her back but Mrs. Weasley does not notice; arms tight around Ron's neck, she is kissing him all over his face, which has turned a brighter scarlet than his badge.

"Mum don't—Mum, get a grip. . . ." he tries in vain to push her away.   

"Little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks. . . . A prefect . . . Oh, I'm all of a dither!" She gives Ron yet another kiss on the cheek, sniffs loudly, and bustles from the room. Fred and George exchange looks.

     "You don't mind if we don't kiss you, do you, Ron?" Fred says in a falsely anxious voice.

     "We could curtsy, if you like," George offers.

     "Oh, shut up," Ron scowls at them.

     "Or what?" said Fred, an evil grin spreading across his face. "Going to put us in detention?"

"We're going to have to watch our step, Fred," George warns teasingly, pretending to tremble, "with these two on our case. . . ."

"Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over," George shakes his head dejectedly.

"Ours too, I guess," Miranda glances at Harry's tense expression. He has not yet congratulated his friends. Rather, stood there very still like a silent statue. She knows this must be hard, in truth, she'd thought it would be him too.     "Harry?" Miranda catches his eye tentatively, nodding her head at Ron and Hermione, encouraging him to offer some sort of sign he was alive.        He swallows.

"Right. Well done," Harry abruptly says, so heartily it does not sound like his voice at all. "Brilliant. Prefect. Great."

The smile fades off Ron's face, "I never thought it would be me! I thought it would be you!"

"Nah, I've caused too much trouble," Harry echoes Fred.   

"True," Miranda tilts her head, mouth quirking in a soft smile.

Harry sucks in his cheeks to prevent a grin, "How very dare you."   

Miranda exhales in relief. All is well once more. "Can't take the heat, Potter?" she challenges, smirking. "Hermione," she looks over her shoulder, clucking her tongue teasingly "the Boy Who Lived's gone soft."   

"Good thing I took care of Rita Skeeter," Hermione, grateful for the change in conversation, adds. "She'd have a field day."

    Miranda, unable to help herself, "He just can't shake the ghost of his past." Harry pokes his tongue out at her, scowling, and Miranda laughs.   

Ron leans in close to Harry's face, squinting, "You can see his eyes shining right now."   

"That's it!" Harry glares at them darkly, the three of them in tears. "What did you lot do, memorize the damn article?"   

"I read it every night before bed," Ron nods seriously. "Great stuff."   

Still giggling, Miranda links her arm through Hermione's, "C'mon, I think dinner's ready.'   

At dinner, which is filled with celebration over the new prefects, the conversation turns to years of Hogwarts past. "What about you, Sirius?" Miranda questions, thumping Hermione on the back.

Sirius, who was right beside Harry, lets out his usual barklike laugh. "No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with Prongs. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge. Your mother too. Both of your mothers— actually." Sirius drifts off, lost in thought, "We always thought it was for prats, teased Moony senseless me and—" He stops suddenly.

Across the table, Lupin clears his throat, "I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends." He chuckles, "I need scarcely say that I failed dismally."

That night Miranda tosses and turns, she just cannot fall asleep. Her head is pounding. Quietly, she slips out of her bed, careful not to wake Hermione, who is sleeping soundly, and Ginny, who is snoring. She creaks open the door, and patters down the carpeted hall, eyes adjusting to the dark.            "Miranda? Is that you?" A voice whispers from below her.             Looking down, Miranda spots Harry sitting against the wall. "Harry? What are you still doing awake?" She takes a seat on the floor beside him.

    "I could ask you the same question," Harry replies.

    "Another headache," she tells him with a sigh, "I couldn't fall asleep. How about you?"

    "Scar," he answers. They sit in silence for a moment

    "He's really back, isn't he?" Miranda remarks fearfully.

    "He's really back." Harry states with a sort of morose finality

    Miranda's heart beat quickens, chest rising and falling rapidly. Only here in the depths of night can she confess what has cast over her all summer. "I'm so scared all the time," she whispers. "I hate it, Harry. I'm scared to go to sleep, because all I see when I close my eyes is— him. He went after my mom once. I can't lose her. What if—" Her voice breaks, unable to voice it.

    "I know."

    "We'll be okay, right?" Miranda yawns, seeking a reassurance and solace she knows Harry can't give her. She rests her head on Harry's shoulder.

    "We'll be okay." Harry puts his arm around her, sounding as though he needs to believe it himself. "We'll be okay."

    "We should probably go to bed," Miranda murmurs into his shoulder.

    "Probably." Neither moves. Miranda feels her eyes growing heavy, and finally lets herself succumb to sleep. Harry follows suit, listening to her soft breathing against his chest. Momentarily, feeling safe, he closes his eyes.

    "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Ron smirks, folding his arms smugly. Miranda blinks in the morning light, and internally curses when she realizes what had happened. Harry helps her up, blushing. Miranda rubs her neck.

    "I do not recommend sleeping on a wall," she proclaims, deflecting the looks she's getting from both Ron and Hermione.

    Hermione taps Miranda's arm, "Just friends, huh?"

    "Shut up."