october 31st, 1994

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It has been over a month since the start of the year, and Miranda is slowly settling into life at Hogwarts. She has grown close with Hermione, Harry, and even Ron, much to Draco's chagrin. She still doesn't understand why they all hate each other with such passion.

    Harry and Draco are so similar in some ways that it feels silly that they aren't friends.

    Miranda's favorite class quickly became Potions, with Defense Against the Dark Arts coming in a close second. No matter what Harry says, she thinks Professor Snape is a good teacher, although he did pick on Harry an awful lot.

    All anyone could talk about these days was the upcoming selection of Triwizard Champions tonight. Fred and George had tried, and failed in putting their names in the goblet despite being underage. She had heard that Cedric Diggory put his name in yesterday, and she hopes he'll be selected. Cedric is her partner in Advanced Charms, and always very nice.

    Miranda walks through the hall briskly, cold air nipping at her cheeks. The leaves have gone a gorgeous burnt auburn colour, and she's loving that she actually gets to experience seasons in this marvelous castle. She's meeting Draco at their spot, and she's running late. In her haste, she slams straight in to Harry, who's coming out of Trelawney's class.

    "Oi!" Harry exclaims, steadying her by her shoulders. "Slow down, McGonagall," he chuckles, "where are you going?"

    Miranda brushes past him, apologizing quickly, "Sorry Harry, I'm just late to meet Draco and..."

    Harry's face darkens, his jaw clenching. His typical reaction whenever Miranda dares mention his name.  "You're still doing that?"

    "Seeing my best friend?" Miranda sucks in her cheeks. Harry could be so  irritating when it came to this. Thankfully, the only person more stubborn than Harry, is her. "Yes." she replies shortly, voice dripping with sarcasm.

    "I still don't get it. I mean— it's bloody Malfoy," Harry grumbles,  practically spitting the name out of his mouth with distaste.

    "Harry..." she warns, crossing her arms

    He knocks his head back with a grunt, obviously still unhappy, "I know. I know." Harry sighs deeply, "Sorry— whatever, just— go." He walks away. Miranda wishes Draco and her new friends would get along. It would make everything so much easier. Figures that they would be one another's sworn nemeses. She groans inwardly, making her way to the grassy knoll where Draco lounges lazily against a tree.

    "Took you long enough, slowpoke," Draco teases, smug.

    Miranda shakes her head, shoving him, "Whatever D, I'm not the one who showed up to Potions twenty minutes late wearing pyjamas."

    "One time! That happened one time!" he protests emphatically.

    "And I'll never let you forget it." Miranda replies mischievously, laying on her back and letting the fall sun warm her face. Draco lays down beside her, again marveling at her beauty. The way her hair spills out on the green grass, shining like it was woven with gold. Her eyes, diamonds, dance as she talks, cheeks flushed and covered with a constellation of freckles that he would give the world to trace with his fingertips. Her hand rests just inches from his, a slight movement from him and they would be touching. He can almost feel her soft fingertips. What would happen if he moved his hand just a little closer? If he laced his fingers through hers? Warmth and—

    "D, did you hear what I just said?" Miranda elbows him, sitting up.

    "Er— wha—?" Draco stammers, sitting bolt upright in pure embarrassment.

    "I was saying that I think we have a really good chance of winning the tournament. Harry says—" Crap, Miranda thinks to herself, she had said the name.

    Much like Harry, Draco's mood immediately dampened at the mere mention of the other's name. No matter how casual. They really were very similar. If only they could see that themselves.

    Draco scowls sourly, blood rushing to his face, "Don't listen to that little git."

    "Draco...don't," Miranda reprimands with firm exasperation.

    "What?" Draco retorts. His hands curl into tight fists, and Miranda can see a vein throbbing in his forehead. "I'm only telling the truth. Potter's a git, so are Granger and Weasley. They've made my life miserable since I stepped foot here. I can't believe you're friends with them."

    Miranda heaves her chest defeatedly, leaning her head on Draco's shoulder, "Why can't you all just get along?"

    Further up the hill, crouching low and peering out from behind a stone pillar are Ron, Hermione, and Harry. "Ouch! Bloody hell, Hermione, you just elbowed me in the nose!" Ron shifts awkwardly in the small space, hissing in pain.

    "Sorry, there's not a lot of room in our chosen hiding place." Hermione whispers apologetically, glancing furtively around her.

    "Remind me again why we're spying on Miranda?" Ron asks in a hushed voice, looking at Harry.

    "We are not spying, we are observing," Harry informs him defensively. "There's a difference."

    "Maybe in Crazy Batshit Land," Ron raises an eyebrow, exchanging a conspiratorial look with Hermione.

    "Shh Ron, I'm trying to listen," Harry quiets him, shoving to see from the best possible vantage point. "Seriously though, what does she see in him?"

    Ginny yells from the castle impatiently, "Ron! McGonagall's asking for us! Come on!"

    Ron stands, dusting himself off, "Enjoy your 'observing'." He jogs up to meet Ginny.

    Hermione nudges Harry, "We should probably get going too, Harry, dinner's soon."

    Harry is barely listening, fixated on the scene before him, "She's laughing. Why is she laughing? Malfoy's not funny." His lips pinch together in a pout, "I'm funny. And she's smiling too, and she's hugging him." He frowns, unmoving.

    Hermione tugs his arm gently, "Let's go, Harry." She rolls her eyes knowingly, "Don't worry, I don't think she likes him that way."

    He snaps to attention, "Wha— what— why— why would I worry about that?" They start walking back to the school. Harry swallows, unable to help himself,  "But wait—  why— why would you think she likes him? Not that  I— I care or anything..."

    "Of course you don't." Hermione rolls her eyes again, giving him a pointed look. "It's just my opinion, but when we were spying- sorry- observing them, I noticed— things."

    Harry, failing to contain his interest, questions, "Like what?"

    "Like the way they act around each other, they're obviously close, but there's something about the way Draco looks at her," Hermione mulls thoughtfully. She adds, "Plus, when have you ever seen Malfoy smile that much? It just makes me think that he might like her as more than a friend."

    Harry visibly tenses beside her, looking like he may vomit at the suggestion. Hermione continues, "But like I said, from what I can tell, it doesn't seem like she has the same feelings for him."

    "Hey guys," Miranda calls from behind them, running to catch up with them. Oblivious to the conversation she's just interrupted. "What are you talking about?"

    "Nothing!" Harry and Hermione blurt abruptly.

    "Okaayy...never mind," she eyes the pair carefully. They were acting stranger than usual. "Are you guys heading to dinner?"

    "Yes. Ron should be there already. We're all quite excited. I wonder who's going to get picked tonight," Hermione answers, trying to change the subject.

    "It is exciting, isn't it?" Miranda gushes. "I bet Krum gets picked from Durmstrang for sure."

    The girls chat animatedly while walking to the Great Hall, still talking as they sit. Harry stays quiet, lost in thought. Per usual, Ron is already there, busy stuffing himself with pudding. "Weasley, your table manners are atrocious" Miranda jokes, poking him.

    "I'm a growing boy McGonagall, I need sustenance," Ron manages through a mouthful of potatoes, spewing bits of food in every direction.

    Fred and George arrive at the table, "But dear brother are you growing up, or just out?" Fred teases, prodding Ron's gut.

    "We're going to have to send Mum new measurements for your sweater this year." Ginny snickers, never to be left out of her brothers' conversations.

    "Shove off, you lot," Ron whines, lobbing a roll at George's head. The Great Hall quiets as Filch rolls the goblet to the front, the room tingling with anticipation. Dumbledore stands and announces, "It is now time to draw the names of our champions. First, Igor Karkaroff, headmaster of Durmstrang will draw his champion."

    An angular man with a pointy goatee and sharp eyes, hungry like a rat's, walks up to the Goblet, which spits out fire, and in a shower of sparks, a slip of paper is released. Karakaroff catches it and reads the name with obvious glee, "Viktor Krum!" The Durmstrang boys roar, pounding their staffs ferociously on the tables. Krum only nods as he goes into the back room.

    Beauxbatons is up next, a beautifully folded paper flower is released from the Goblet, and Madam reads, "Fleur Delacour!" A composed, slip of a girl with silvery blond hair, delicately curtsies and blows a kiss to the the softly clapping girls of Beauxbatons.

    Lastly, Dumbledore goes up to the Goblet, which produces the final name, "Cedric Diggory!" Miranda, pleased, cheers loudly along with Ron, Hermione and Harry. Cedric flashes an easy smile and strolls up to join the rest of the waiting champions. "Now that concludes our drawing of names. Prefects, please escort your-"

    The Goblet begins spitting fire again, shaking violently. Smoke spews from its mouth, and another paper shoots out of it, still smoldering. Bewildered, Dumbledore slowly takes the burnt paper and unrolls it, "Harry Potter." The silence in the Great Hall is deafening, everyone gaping at the Gryffindor table. "HARRY POTTER!" Dumbledore repeats, bellowing with such force it startles Miranda.

    Hermione shakes Harry, urging him out of his seat, "Go, Harry, go."

Stumbling slightly, Harry gets up and walks to the back room. The Great Hall immediately erupts into scandalized whispers.

    "Not even 17 yet."

    "Cheater."

    Miranda feels bad for Harry, "Hermione, did he put his name in?"

    Hermione chews on her lower lip, harried, "I don't think so, he looked just as confused as we were." She exhales carefully, "Come on, we ought to get to bed. Hopefully, the professors will figure what happened, and Ron's sure to talk to him later." The pair climb the stairs together and get ready to sleep.

    "Poor Harry," Miranda murmurs in the darkness of their dorm, pulling her flowered coverlet to her chin. She can't even imagine—

    "I know," Hermione acknowledges morosely, "he's already been through so much too." She whispers back, "Maybe tomorrow will be better..."

    Miranda and Hermione rise early the next day. "Let's find Ron and Harry," Hermione decides, lacing up her trainers, "we can ask them what happened last night."

    Miranda nods in agreement, pulling on a long sleeve and a pair of jeans. She chooses to wear her flannel as well; it's starting to get colder at Hogwarts.

    They go down to the lake where Harry is plopped down on the mucky bank, throwing rocks into the deep, dark abyss. The rippling surface misty with early morning fog.

    "Where's Ron?" Miranda asks.

    "Don't know, don't care." Harry mumbles sullenly.

    Stung, Miranda steps back, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning."

    "Well, how'd you wake up if you had to compete in a deadly competition you didn't even want to be in in the first place? Oh— and everyone thinks you're lying, including your git of a best friend."

    She reels from him, hurt, "Jesus, sorry. I'll leave you alone."

    "No, wait— I'm sorry," Harry apologizes, reaching a hand out. "It's not you I'm mad at, it's—" Ron enters from the side of the wood.

    "Finally I found you two!" Ron runs his hands through his hair, "McGonagall, what— did you and Hermione decide to play hide and seek?" He stops short when he sees Harry.

    "Speak of the devil," Harry sneers, not making eye contact with him.

    "Wait, are you two fighting?" Speaking the words aloud was the most preposterous thing she'd ever done.

    "I don't know, why don't you ask him?" Ron says venomously.

    "Hermione, can you please tell Ron I'm not speaking to him?" Harry turns haughtily away from his best friend. Hermione looks at Harry with pure disbelief.

    Ron lifts his chin, "McGonagall, can you please tell Harry I'm not speaking to him?"

    Miranda raises her eyebrows, "Okay, we are so not doing this." Hermione and her link arms and promptly march back up to Hogwarts.

    "Hey, wait a minute!" Ron and Harry protest after them, not making eye contact with one another.

    "Figure it out boys!" Hermione calls, exasperated.