Bright light streams in through the large bay windows of the infirmary, a triangle of warm sun spilling over Miranda's hand. They are in the Hospital Wing. Miranda is curled up next to Harry at the foot of Hermione's bed. Her ankle had been mended in a trice by Madam Pomfrey, the only remaining memory of the night was a fading bruise at the side of her shoulder. Madam Pomfrey had told her it was a magical wound, from one of the spells she'd been struck with, and would thus take more time to heal. Ron is in the bed beside them, listening intently to Hermione as she reads the Daily Prophet.

"There you are, Harry, I knew they'd drag you into it somehow," says Hermione, looking over the top of the paper at him.

Harry hums absentmindedly, stroking Miranda's hair. His chest is strong and secure behind her, and Miranda relishes the feeling. She gets very few moments of happiness these days.

"He's 'the Boy Who Lived' again now, though, isn't he?" says Ron darkly. "Not such a show-off maniac anymore, eh?" He helps himself to a handful of Chocolate Frogs from the immense pile on his bedside cabinet, throws a few to Harry, and rips off the wrapper of his own with his teeth. There are still deep welts on his forearms where the brain's tentacles had wrapped around him.

"Yes, they're very complimentary about you now, Harry," says Hermione, now scanning down the article. "'A lone voice of truth . . . perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story . . . forced to bear ridicule and slander . . .' Hmmm," says Hermione, frowning, "I notice they don't mention the fact that it was them doing all the ridiculing and slandering, though. . . ."

Miranda laughs, then winces slightly, putting a hand to her ribs. The curse Dolohov had used on her, though less effective than it would have been had he been able to say the incantation aloud, had nevertheless caused, in Madam Pomfrey's words, "quite enough damage to be going on with." Miranda has to take about ten different types of potions a day, and has seen these walls far too much for her liking. It's alright, though. Harry comes to visit every day, and Hermione and Ron have been trapped in here with her. Besides, focusing on her own recovery is much preferable to the alternative.

"So anyway," says Hermione, sitting up a little straighter and clutching her head at the movement, she really had lost a lot of blood, "what's going on in school?"

"Well, Flitwick's got rid of Fred and George's swamp," says Harry. "He did it in about three seconds. But he left a tiny patch under the window and he's roped it off —"

"Why?" says Hermione, looking startled.

"Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic," says Harry, shrugging.

"I think he left it as a monument to Fred and George," says Ron through a mouthful of chocolate. "They sent me all these, you know," he tells Harry, pointing at the small mountain of Frogs beside him. "Must be doing all right out of that joke shop, eh?"

Miranda leans back against Harry, looking up at him, "So has all the trouble stopped now Dumbledore's back?"

"Yes," says Harry, "everything's settled right back down again." His manner is quiet, almost subdued. She knows he met with Dumbledore yesterday, but she's not going to pry. If he wants to tell her, he will. Still, Harry smiles at her, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her shoulder. He understands what she's going through better than anyone; they're both orphans now. But they are not alone.

Finally, the following Sunday, three days before the term ends, Miranda, Hermione, and Ron are rebased from the care of Madam Pomfrey.

The castle seems very quiet, even for a Sunday. Everybody is clearly out in the sunny grounds, enjoying the end of their exams and the prospect of a last few days of term unhampered by studying or homework. Miranda is finding it hard at the moment to decide whether she wants to be with people or not. Whenever she is in company she wants to get away, and whenever she is alone she wants company.

She closes her eyes for a few moments, wishing everything around her could vanish for just a moment. Harry and Hermione have both shown signs of wanting to talk about Juniper, but Harry has been wonderfully intuitive about the whole situation, not smothering her or pressing the issue. Much like her approach, he will let Miranda come to him.

Miranda is not sure whether or not she wants to talk about her mother yet; her wishes varied with her mood. It is settled that her and Mateo will return to Grimmauld Place with Sirius this summer. They have no family left to take them in, and with Sirius's newfound innocence. Dumbledore had miraculously managed to make him their guardian. At least, Miranda assumes this is what happened. How else would Sirius be allowed to be their legal guardian Surely there were many others on the lists before them. Regardless, she is grateful to return to a place with some semblance of home. Unfortunately, despite Sirius's many protests, Harry would be returning to Privet Drive with the Dursley's. Dumbledore had insisted upon it.

Miranda sits on her bed, staring at the picture of her mom. It had been her first day of Ilvermorny. They look so happy, smiling, Juniper beaming a proud smile. Carefully, she puts the picture back in her trunk, closing it tightly.

"Ready to go, Mandy?" Harry enters, wrapping his arms around her waist. Already, Miranda feels a horrible, hollow ache in her heart  at the thought of spending the summer without him.

"I'm going to miss you," says Miranda softly, inhaling the scent of his faded blue t-shirt. Here, in his Muggle clothes. The simple t-shirt and a pair of worn in jeans, it is easy to forget who he is. Right here, in her dorm room, just the two of them alone, he is not Harry Potter, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived.. He is just Harry Potter, teenage boy, her boyfriend.

Harry smiles, brushing her hair out of her face. His hands slide up her jaw, lips meeting hers for a sweet kiss.

"Step away from my sister." Mateo glowers from the doorway, and Harry jumps about foot into the air.

Miranda rolls her eyes as far back into her head as humanly possible, irritated, "Seriously Matt?"

"There should be at least two cauldron's worth of space between the two of you at all times," says Matt, eyes narrowed at Harry. He's about two or so inches taller than the boy and using it to his full intimidation advantage  And I'd watch it if I were you Potter, I haven't given you my permission."

Miranda makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat, shoving her brother. "Shut up," she scoffs. "I don't have to have your permission to do anything. Nor does Harry." The three of them start walking down to meet Ron and Hermione before they board the train..

"Yeah," Harry says defiantly. But Mateo shoots him a look that could kill, and Harry promptly shuts his mouth.

As they descend the stairs, Miranda hears Dumbledore's voice. "Mr and Miss McGonagall, may I have a word?"

Miranda pecks Harry on the cheek, very chastely, in order to keep him alive. "Save us a seat." Harry heads off, leaving Mateo and Miranda standing questioningly with Dumbledore.

"Sir?" asks Miranda cautiously. This must be why Mateo is here, instead of with Sirius. What could the Headmaster possibly want to discuss with them?

Dumbledore peers at them over the half moon rims of his glasses, thoughtful, "How did you know that they needed help? And where they were? That night at the Ministry."

"Excuse me, sir?" Mateo's brow knits together at the abrupt and seemingly random query, sharing a glance with his sister. "I'm not sure I understand."

"I was told you alerted the Order to the situation, Mr. McGonagall," says Dumbledore patiently. This is news to Miranda. Though thinking back, she realizes someone must have told the Order that something had happened. She'd just never stopped to consider who. "How did you know?"

"Yeah," Miranda tilts her head, "how did you know?" No one had known that they were gone except Umbridge, who was currently in St. Mungo's. They hadn't told anyone. And it's not as if the Slytherins they hexed would have told anyone. It was a miracle the Order had turned up at all.

Mateo scratches his head, hesitant. "Well...this is gonna sound weird," he continues, "but I just had this overwhelming feeling that you were in trouble, and then it was like I heard your voice inside my head telling me you needed help." He turns to Miranda, "I got a really clear image in my mind of the place, and I just...knew." He shrugs. "I dunno. I thought it was strange, but I didn't want to take any chances."

Then Miranda realizes something. A memory flooding pack to her with poignant clarity. "I heard your voice too!" she exclaims suddenly. "I was thinking it was all over and then— I heard someone say— "well not say, but I heard a voice. I— I thought I'd imagined it."

"It is just as I suspected." Dumbledore confirms with a slow bow of his head. "Because you are twins, your power is connected. You can communicate by thought." Dumbledore says this all very calmly, as thought he is inviting them to tea and not shattering their entire realities. "I'm sure you have noticed that you hear Voldemort's voice in your head at times, Miss McGonagall?" Miranda nods, gulping.

"That is because while Voldemort did not strike you directly, he still left a mark, meaning that you can hear his thoughts while still keeping a handle on your own. I assume this means he can also implant untrue thoughts inside your brain if he wants to. However, my theory is that if you can share your power with your brother, with proper training, this can be a great asset. You may even have the ability to not only hear Lord Voldemort's thoughts, but other's as well." He turns his watery blue gaze onto Miranda, a stern glint in his usually merry eyes, "I ask that you not tell anyone about this for now, even Mr. Potter." He places particular emphasis on that last bit. And Miranda knows it is directed at her. Dumbfounded, Dumbledore places a letter in their hands, turning to go, "From your mother."

This is crazy. Miranda marvels to herself.

I know right. Mateo's voice echoes in her mind

Holy shit!

Language, little sis.

Shut up.

Technically, I'm not talking.

Mateo grins at Miranda, "This is going to be fun."

Together, they open the letter from their mother, Miranda's hands trembling.It reads:

My darling twins,

If you are reading this, I am dead, and the Tom I knew is truly gone. Don't take my death too hard, I will always be with you, watching and cheering you on. By now you may know that you have a special ability. You were born with it, and I knew immediately I had to split you up to keep you safe. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but it was necessary. When Tom learns of this power, and how he affected it, he will try and use it against you. I have already told Dumbledore this, but if Tom was able to kill me, that means he succeeded in a task that I didn't think possible. Stay safe my babies, fight hard, never give up, and remember, love prevails over all. I love you more than anything.

-Mum (or Mom)

Mateo closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. Miranda sniffs, a single tear trickling down her face.  I love you, Mom.

The weight of the world rests terribly on Miranda's shoulder with her recently obtained knowledge. And yet standing here above the Great Hall, with the additional weight of grief dragging at him, with the loss of her mother so raw and fresh inside, Miranda cannot muster any sense of fear.

The journey home on the Hogwarts Express later that day is mainly uneventful. Though Miranda does spy a rather swollen faced Crabbe, and an equally red Goyle as she accompanies Mateo to their compartment.. Harry says nothing, but his knuckles are noticeably scuffed. Draco is nowhere to be found. But Miranda suspects that if she did, she would see his nose bleeding profusely.

Hermione is reading the Daily Prophet again, and Ginny is doing a quiz in The Quibbler. Miranda spends most of the journey talking Matt down from strangling Harry, while Hermione reads out snippets from the Prophet. It is now full of articles about how to repel dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters, and hysterical letters claiming that the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very morning. . . .

"It hasn't really started yet," sighs Hermione gloomily, folding up the newspaper again. "But it won't be long now. . . ."

"Hey, Harry," says Ron, nodding toward the glass window onto the corridor.

Miranda glances up.  Cho is passing by their compartment, eyes trained purposefully forward.

"How's she been lately?" asks Ron quietly. "Since the two of you—"

"I — er — heard she's going out with someone else now," says Hermione helpfully.

"That's wonderful," Miranda is pleased for Cho. The jealousy she once harbored for her now seems very immature and childish in hindsight. She was just a girl with a crush, same as Miranda.

"Good for her," says Harry cheerfully. "I mean, she's quite good-looking and all that, but—"

"Quite good looking?" Miranda arches an eyebrow, crossing her arms. Harry Potter has entered dangerous territory.

Quickly, Harry continues, "But I'm very much attached to another girl."

Miranda presses her lips together, turning up her chin, "She pretty?"

"Beautiful," Harry grins, nudging her with his foot. And Miranda has already forgiven him.

She can't let him know that though. Her cheeks flood pink. She huffs, biting back a smile, "Watch yourself, Potter."

"Who's she with now anyway?" Ron asks Hermione, but it is Ginny who answers.

"Michael Corner," she says.

"Michael — but —" says Ron, craning around in his seat to stare at her. "But you were going out with him!"

"Not anymore," says Ginny resolutely. "He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead." She scratches her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside down, and begins marking her answers. Ron looks highly delighted.

"Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot," he says, chortling to himself. "Good for you. Just choose someone — better — next time."

"Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he's better?" asks Ginny vaguely.

"WHAT?" shouts Ron, upending his pile of pasties. Crookshanks goes plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered and hooted angrily from overhead.

Miranda giggles. "Well done, Gin," she commends. "Dean's a catch."

"Thanks," Ginny says, smirking,

Harry frowns very deeply, "Dean's a catch?"

"Quite good looking," Miranda retorts, eyeing him.

"Touche."

As the train slows down in the approach to King's Cross, Miranda thinks she has never wanted to leave it less. When it finally puffs to a standstill, however, she prepares to drag her trunk from the train as usual. When the ticket inspector signals to her, Harry, Ron, and Hermione that it is safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, however, she finds a surprise awaiting them on the other side: a group of people standing there to greet them whom shr had not expected at all.

There is Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous traveling cloak. Tonks stands just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the words Weird Sisters. Next to Tonks are Sirius and Lupin, looking gaunt in their shabby clothing but beaming all the same. At the front of the groupare  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who are both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material.

"Ron, Ginny!" calls Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forward and hugging her children tightly. "Oh, and Miranda dear — how are you?"

"Fine," lies Miranda, as she pulls her into a tight embrace, grabbing Harry in it as well.

"Hello, Harry," says Lupin, as Mrs. Weasley lets go of them both and turns to greet Hermione. "Miranda," he nods kindly.

"Hi," says Harry. "I didn't expect . . . what are you all doing here?"

"Well," says Sirius jovially, "we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home."

"I dunno if that's a good idea," says Harry at once.

"Oh, I think it is," growls Moody, who had limped a little closer. "That'll be them, will it, Potter?"

He points with his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye is evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. Miranda leans an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye is pointing and spots three positively appealed Muggles. One looked a bit like a walrus, with a very stubby neck, and the woman beside him was pretty in a sharp sort of way. Angular features and beady eyes. A large boy, also with no visible neck peers from behind them warily. That one must be Dudley, Miranda surmises. She dislikes them all instantly.

"Ah, Harry!" says Mr. Weasley, turning from Hermione's parents, whom he had been greeting enthusiastically, and who were taking it in turns to hug Hermione. "Well — shall we do it, then?"

"Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur," says Sirius.

He, Lupin, Mad-Eye and Mr. Weasley take the lead across the station toward the place where the Dursleys stand. Miranda, follows, flanked by Ron and Hermione.

"Good afternoon," says Mr. Weasley pleasantly to the man, coming to a halt right in front of him. "You might remember me, my name's Arthur Weasley."

Uncle Vernon turns a deeper shade of puce and glares at Mr. Weasley, but chooses not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys are outnumbered two to one. The woman looks both frightened and embarrassed. She keeps glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knows will see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seems to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he is failing extravagantly. "We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry," says Mr. Weasley, still smiling.

"Yeah," growls Sirius. "About how he's treated when he's at your place."

Uncle Vernon's mustache seems to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler hat gives him the entirely mistaken impression that he is dealing with a kindred spirit, he addresses himself to Moody. "I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house —"

"I expect what you're not aware of would fill several books, Dursley," interjects Sirius.

"Anyway, that's not the point," says Tonks, whose pink hair seems to offend Aunt Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closes her eyes rather than look at her. "The point is, if we find out you've been horrible to Harry —"

"— and make no mistake, we'll hear about it," adds Lupin pleasantly.

"Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter's been mistreated in any way, you'll have us to answer to," says Moody.

Uncle Vernon swells ominously. His sense of outrage seems to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs.

"Are you threatening me, sir?" he says, so loudly that passersby actually turn to stare.

"Yes, we are," says Sirius, who seems rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly.

"And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?" barks Uncle Vernon.

"Well . . ." says Sirius, smirking. "Yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley." He turns from Uncle Vernon to Harry. "So, Harry. . . give us a shout if you need us. If we don't hear from you for three days in a row, we'll send someone along. . . ."

Aunt Petunia whimpers piteously, horrified at the thought. "I remember you," says Petunia in a quiet voice of disdain, her lips tightly pinched together at the sight of Sirius. "From the wedding. You were his best man." It cannot have been plainer that she holds Sirius in the highest contempt. "And you," Miranda feels the beady eyes on her, "you look familiar."

"Leave her alone," says Harry, speaking to his aunt and uncle for the first time since this interaction began. Miranda is Moree confused than anything else. She is certain she has never met Petunia.

" 'Bye, then, Potter," says Sirius, grasping Harry's shoulder for a moment with a warm hand.

"Take care, Harry," says Lupin quietly. "Keep in touch."

"Harry, we'll have you away from there as soon as we can," Miranda whispers, hugging him tightly. She cannot find the words to tell him how much he means to her.

"We'll see you soon, mate," says Ron anxiously, shaking Harry's hand.

"Really soon, Harry," says Hermione earnestly. "We promise."

"Promise," Miranda murmurs, and despite the fact that they're in front of half the Order, her brother, the Dursley's, and a platform full of Muggles, she kisses him.

Harry nods, fingertips lingering on her cheek for just a moment. He smiles, raises a hand in farewell, turns around, and lead the way out of the station toward the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.