Rumors are flying that some of the convicts have been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they are supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack and that they are going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius Black had done. Those who come from Wizarding families have grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemort's; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort's reign of terror are legendary. There are relatives of their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now find themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walk the corridors.

Umbridge has slowly taken over life at Hogwarts. New decrees are posted every day and she's even established a group called the "High Inquisitors" in hopes of catching their secret army. It feels as though she is around each and every corner, lying in wait. Miranda's hand is bloody so often now she barely notices it. Hermione has set up several essence of murtlap bowls in the common room for the Gryffindor students to utilize, they've been quite helpful.

Miranda walks anxiously through the corridors after a D.A. meeting, narrowly avoiding Filch and yellow eyed Mrs. Norris. She hardly notices, however. During the meeting, Cho had practically bee hanging off Harry's arm, asking him a million questions about Stunning spells. They had been reviewing for fuck's sake. Miranda's stomach churns just thinking about it.

In her haste, she slams right into a person, thrown back onto the floor with such force it nearly knocks the wind out of her. "Ow! Shit—!" Miranda curses under her breath, as she pulls herself to sitting. Her robes are soaked through with ink, a bottle that had been in her schoolbag having exploded.

A cold, sneering voice says, "Should've watched where you were—Miranda?" Miranda looks up into Draco's face. She hasn't spoken to him since their fight before Christmas. Hasn't had the time to even think about reconciliation. "Miranda," Draco repeats. Very softly. His tone, his expression, everything about his manner has completely changed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—" he reaches out a hand to help her up, "are you okay, M?"

Miranda does not take his hand, getting herself back up on her feet and brushing her robes off best she could. "Fine," she informs him in a very dignified tone.

"Miranda, c'mon," Draco pleads. "Will you just talk to me? Let's go to the tree. I'm sorry. Can't we talk about this?"

She wants to tell him no. She really does. But seeing his face, well, it reminds her of how much she misses him. How weird it is that she misses him more now that they go to the same school then when they were thousands of miles apart. She remembers all the good times they had together. Before everything got so damn complicated. He's her best friend. And she loves him. He's had bad influences. They can work this out. She can fix this. Miranda inhales, "Alright, Draco."

"Really?" Draco beams.

"Let's go." Together, they head down to their tree, the winter wind nipping at their noses harshly. The grass is covered by a thick blanket a tightly packed snow, Miranda's boots barely making a dent in the frozen top layer.

"I want to apologize," Draco starts quietly, pulling his ridiculously expensive scarf tighter around his neck. He's nervous. Miranda sometimes thinks she might be the only person who has ever seen Draco Malfoy nervous. A fact that she loves and hates all at once.

Miranda folds her arms, unrelenting, "Go ahead."

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" Draco asks, a small smirk playing on his lips. Miranda just stares at him, waiting. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you, okay?" he shoves his hands deep within his pockets. "It's not like I'm proud of it or anything."

"You had a choice," she replies hotly. "I told you not to, and then I even gave you the opportunity to make amends. You didn't have to—"

Draco interrupts her swiftly, "Yes, I did. That's the thing, You just don't get it. There are certain expectations—"

"Expectations?" Miranda raises an eyebrow. "For what? Being a dick?" Draco looks so taken aback at her statement that Miranda's lips twitch.

He shakes his head, but he is smiling, "Look, maybe I took it too far."

"Maybe?!"

"I'll try and do better," Draco sighs. "For you," he adds, "I still don't like Potter, or any of the other Gryffindor gits you hang around."

"They're not—"

"I don't like him."

Miranda groans inwardly. What was this stupid testosterone fueled issue they had with one another? It was so unbelievably stupid. "I know."

"I like you," says Draco. "Only you."

She wraps an arm around him. She is tired of fighting. Everyone is fighting these days. "I like you too, D." She pauses, "When you're you."

With so much to worry about and so much to do — startling amounts of homework that frequently keep the fifth years working until past midnight, secret D.A. meetings, and regular classes with Snape — January seems to be passing alarmingly fast. Before Miranda knows it, February has arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year. Miranda's general mood has only grown dimmer as Harry's impending date with Cho approaches. Not to mention there are stupid little hearts strung up everywhere in the Room of Requirement. Dobby's doing no doubt. Fortunately, Cho and Harry have had very few conversations since she asked him out. Not that Cho hasn't tried. Harry has an annoying habit of lingering wherever Miranda is practicing during D.A. meetings. Thats the only time any of them see each other really. They are all so caught up with homework and studying for O.W.L.S. Miranda and Harry are in and out of Umbridge detention and Occlumency lessons with Snape like clockwork, and Miranda is still trying to solve the whole Mateo mystery.

In fact, at this very moment Miranda is on her way to Snape's office, with much reluctance mind you. Her head is already aching, and she hasn't improved at blocking Snape in any way, shape, or form. Snape knows it too. He's been unimpressed by both her and Harry. At least, that's what Miranda assumes. Harry returns from his own lessons even more downtrodden than she.

Just as she raises her fist to knock on the door, it swings open of its own accord. "You're late, Miss McGonagall."

"There was a lot of traffic on the staircases," Miranda deadpans, in no mood to deal with the greasy wizard.

"Take out your wand."

"Do you ever smile?"

"Just as insolent as..." the rest of Snape's sentence is lost to a mumble.

Miranda's nostrils flare, "Just as insolent as who now?"

"Ready yourself, Miss McGonagall," Snape lifts his own wand, pointedly ignoring her. "Legilimens!"

A sandbox, a cloudy sky. Children laughing. The squeak of a swing. A shovel snatched from her tiny toddler hand, a face full of sand. There is a a wail. A little boy stomps over to the other child and takes the shovel, returning it. His hand in hers, helping her up.

This is her memory. Her memory. And yet she has no recollection of it. It's her memory, but who— where— how—

"No," she whispers, on her knees. Her head is throbbing painfully. Something wet falls on her arm. She pats her face and finds it is streaked with tears. Her heart thumps wildly. "What just—no. It can't be—that's not right."

Snape stands over coldly, snapping, "Get up. Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!"

Miranda is consumed by anger, by the lies, "TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

Snape looks taken aback, "What are you talking about Miss McGo—"

"TELL ME THE TRUTH! YOU'RE ALL KEEPING SECRETS FROM ME, MY MOTHER, YOU, THE WHOLE DAMN ORDER!!"

"I suggest you calm yourself Miss—"

Miranda hoists herself up to her feet, eyes blazing, "I'm done. I don't care what you or Dumbledore says." She gathers up her things, "I'm done." And she shuts the door behind her with a loud bang. As she stalks through the castle. A million thoughts race through Miranda's mind. That memory. What was it about that memory? Something about that playground. It felt so familiar. That's boy's face. Familiar. Yet so far away. She couldn't grasp it. All the pieces were there. She just couldn't make it fit together. It only makes it all the more frustrating. Everything was just out of her reach.

When Miranda returns to Gryffindor towers, the common room is empty. Miranda figures they must be in the library, but decides not to go looking for them. Her head is aching horribly, and all she really wants to do is lie down in the dark of her dorm room, and not think about the memory or the little boy. So that is exactly what she does.

Morning dawns with a cold plop of water on her nose. Miranda's eyes fly open with a jolt, and she discovers, gloomily, that it is raining.

Hermione, already awake, rushes over with a bucket, "There's leaks everywhere. I've been trying to patch them up with magic, but they just keep appearing."

Miranda throws her slightly damp covers off of her, shivering and grumbling, "Stupid ancient castle." Hermione hands her a stack of dry clothes in response, pointing her wand at the ceiling.

Once Miranda has changed, Hermione asks, "How was Occlumency? We didn't see you last night. Harry was worried."

"I've quit," Miranda informs her airily, pulling on some thick, wool socks. Rain continues to pound down outside their window.

Hermione's mouth falls open and she cries, "You've what?!"And Miranda proceeds to tell her the whole story, start to finish. She'd known Hermione especially wouldn't be too pleased with her. She's been big advocate of her and Harry keeping up with the work. She thinks it's important.

"And that was worth stopping altogether?" Hermione frowns, disapproving. "What was so important about this memory?"

"That's just the thing, Hermione," Miranda explains. "I don't know. It's just this strange feeling I got. And—" She stops herself, not sure if she should utter what she had been thinking since last night.

"What?" Hermione prompts.

"He looked like Mateo," Miranda murmurs, almost breathlessly. "The little boy— he looked like Mateo."

Hermione's brow knits together, "Wait— Mateo? The guy who was around Grimmauld Place over holiday?" Miranda nods feverishly. "I thought you'd never met him."

"I did too," says Miranda. She can practically sense a headache coming on. "I don't know," she pinches the bridge of her nose. "I need to talk to Harry. Maybe he experienced something like this."

Hermione grabs her hand, "Let's go to breakfast then. It'll be warmer in the Great Hall, at least." The girls hasten down to breakfast, as they are fairly late. However, when the arrive, only Ron is sitting in their usual spots, poring over a Daily Prophet with what looks like increasing anger.

"Where's Harry?" Miranda asks, popping a piece of toast in her mouth.

Ron tilts his head at her, placing down his newspaper, "What d'you mean, where's Harry? He's just left for Hogsmeade." Miranda blinks at him blankly, her brain still quite muddled with sleep. "Remember, his date with Cho's today."

Miranda chokes on her toast. In all the events of last night, she had completely forgotten what today was. Valentine's Day. Of course. And the one time she really needs to talk to Harry too. Figures.

Hermione takes a sip of her tea, hiding her smile behind the cup's rim as Miranda coughs, "Alright, Miranda?"

Red in the face, and glowering at Hermione, Miranda sputters, "Just fine."

"You can probably still catch him," Ron offers helpfully, clueless. "He really did just leave."

Without responding, Miranda pushes back from the table, hustling out into the ice cold corridor. She scans the crowds of students going to Hogsmeade, searching for the crop of familiar black hair— there, she spots him Quickly, Miranda weaves her way through groups of students, grabbing the sleeve of Harry's soft, blue flannel just in time, "Wait!"

"Miranda?" Harry turns around in surprise. "I have to— I'm about to go—"

Miranda pants, attempting to catch her breath. She should start exercising more often. "I know—wait don't—I have to—tell you—before your date—with Cho—I have to tell you something."

Harry's eyes grow very very wide at this. He gulps, "You do?" His voice, his expression— they are almost hopeful.

"Yes," Miranda nods. "I'm so glad I caught you."

"Me too," says Harry earnestly, grabbing her hands in his. Miranda frowns in confusion at his gesture. "I'm so— I thought— I have something to tell you too. Miranda I—"

"That works perfect," she interrupts happily. "Alright, then you can tell me what you need to tell me then too. I was thinking Three Broomsticks? Hermione, Ron, and I will be there anyway, so you can come whenever your date ends."

"Wait— what?" Harry face falters, and he drops her hands. "What— the Three Broomsticks?"

Miranda cocks her head, bewildered,."Yeah, that's what I wanted to make sure I told you," she says. "So we all could talk about it, y'know. I didn't wanna bother you before your big date..." Miranda forces what she hopes is a convincing smile.

"Right," Harry mutters to himself slowly. "Right— yeah. 'Course."

"What did you think I was going to say?" questions Miranda, confused.

Harry rubs a hand over his jaw, "Oh— er— nothing. Nothing." He starts to turn away from her, almost disappointedly. "So— er— I'll see you at the Three Broomsticks then?"

"See you!" Miranda calls over her shoulder.

Harry feels astronomically stupid. For a moment he'd truly thought that Miranda was going to confess her feelings for him or something. And he'd been excited about it too. Harry heaves a very large sigh, pulling up his hood to protect himself from the light drizzle. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The way he'd acted. God. No wonder she didn't like him. He was the most awkward idiot to ever walk the earth. He should really focus on his date with Cho. Really. He has no clue what they're going to talk about. Valentine's Day. For Chrissakes what had he been thinking?

He had been thinking that maybe Miranda would show a little reaction to it. Instead she'd said it was great. Great. Well, he supposes that what he deserves for trying and failing to make her jealous.

Cho is waiting for him a little to the side of the oak front doors, looking very pretty with her hair tied back in a long ponytail. She was awfully nice. Maybe he'd have fun. Maybe he'd forget about Miranda altogether.

"Hi," says Cho slightly breathlessly.
"Hi," says Harry. They stare at each other for a moment, then Harry says, "Well — er — shall we go, then?"
"Oh — yes . . ."
They join the queue of people being signed out by Filch, occasionally catching each other's eye, but not talking to each other. Harry is relieved when they reach the grounds outside Hogwarts, finding it easier to walk along in silence than just stand there looking awkward.

"So . . . where d'you want to go?" Harry asks as they entered Hogsmeade. The High Street is full of students ambling up and down, peering into the shop windows and messing about together on the pavements.

"Oh . . . I don't mind," says Cho, shrugging. "Um . . . shall we just have a look in the shops or something?"

They wander toward Dervish and Banges. A large poster has been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. They move aside when Harry and Cho approach and Harry finds himself staring once more at the ten pictures of the escaped Death Eaters. The poster ("By Order of the Ministry of Magic") offers a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information relating to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured.

"It's funny, isn't it," says Cho in a low voice, also gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters. "Remember when that Sirius Black escaped, and there were dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now ten Death Eaters are on the loose and there aren't dementors anywhere. . . ."

"Yeah," agrees Harry, tearing his eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange's face to glance up and down the High Street. "Yeah, it is weird. . . ." He is not sorry that there are no dementors nearby, but now he comes to think of it, their absence is highly significant. They have not only let the DeathEaters escape, they are not bothering to look for them. . . . It looks as though they really are outside Ministry control now. The ten escaped Death Eaters are staring out of every shop window he and Cho pass. It starts to rain as they pass Scrivenshaft's; cold, heavy drops of water kept hitting Harry's face and the back of his neck.

"Um . . . d'you want to get a coffee?" says Cho tentatively, as the rain begins to fall more heavily.

"Yeah, all right," says Harry, looking around. "Where — ?"

"Oh, there's a really nice place just up here, haven't you ever been to Madam Puddifoot's?" she says brightly, and she leads him up a side road and into a small tea shop that Harry has never noticed before. It is a cramped, steamy little place where everything seems to have been decorated with frills or bows. Harry is reminded unpleasantly of Umbridge's office. "Look, she's decorated it for Valentine's Day!" squeals Cho, indicating a number of golden cherubs that are hovering over each of the small, circular tables, occasionally throwing pink confetti over the occupants.

They sit down at the last remaining table, which is situated in the steamy window. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, is sitting about a foot and a half away with a pretty blonde girl. They are holding hands. The sight makes Harry feel uncomfortable, particularly when, looking around the tea shop, he sees that it's full of nothing but couples, all of them holding hands. This does not bode well for him in any way.

"What can I get you, m'dears?" Madam Puddifoot, appears, a very stout woman with a shiny black bun, squeezing between their table and Roger Davies's with great difficulty.

"Two coffees, please," says Cho.

In the time it takes for their coffees to arrive, Roger Davies and his girlfriend start kissing over their sugar bowl. Harry wishes they wouldn't; he feels that Davies is setting a standard with which Cho would soon expect him to compete. The only girl he wants to be with right now is not here. And to be perfectly honest. Harry would prefer to be kissing her in a rather different location. He is certain that Miranda will be as heavily reminded of Umbridge's office as he, perhaps even in the rain. He quite likes the idea of kissing Miranda in the rain. Her hair glistening with it, water dripping off her collarbone, and— and he needs to stop thinking about kissing Miranda. To postpone the moment when he has to look at Cho he stares up at the ceiling as though examining the paintwork and receives a handful of confetti in the face from their hovering cherub.

After a few more painful minutes Cho mentions Umbridge; Harry seizes on the subject with relief and they pass a few happy moments abusing her, but the subject has already been so thoroughly canvassed during D.A. meetings it does not last very long. Silence falls again. Harry is very conscious of the slurping noises coming from the table next door and casts wildly around for something else to say.

"Er . . . listen, d'you know how long service in this place usually takes?"

Cho opens her mouth, taken aback, "Erm—"

Harry realizes that his question could easily have been misconstrued, and quickly adds, "Oh— I just— I'm going to the Three Broomsticks later. I'm meeting Miranda McGonagall there. I don't want to keep her waiting long."

Cho raises her eyebrows, "You're meeting Miranda McGonagall? Today?"
"Yeah. Well, she asked me to, so I thought I would," he explains. He seems to be only digging himself into a deeper hole, but Harry cannot place his finger on why. " D'you— d'you want to come with me?" he asks. Is that what she wanted him to say? "I'm sure you could, if you wanted. Ron and Hermione will be there too, I expect. I'm sure Miranda won't mind." She'll probably think it's great, he thought to himself bitterly.
"Oh . . . well . . . that's nice." But Cho does not sound as though she thinks it is nice at all; on the contrary, her tone is cold and all of a sudden she looked rather forbidding. A few more minutes pass in total silence, Harry drinking his coffee so fast that he will soon need a fresh cup. Next door, Roger Davies and his girlfriend seem glued together by the lips. Cho says, "Have you given much thought to what you want to do after Hogwarts?"

"Oh— erm— sort of," Harry answers. This is not a topic he much enjoys discussing. "Everyone thinks I ought to be an Auror. Well, except Miranda." He laughs to himself, "She likes to tease me about the whole professor thing, Thinks I should be a defense teacher." Harry is babbling now, and he doesn't know how to stop it. "Miranda is the one who should be the Auror. She's brilliant. I mean— have you seen her? She's really—" Harry breaks off, catching sight of the look on Cho's face. What had he done wrong? He clears his throat very loudly, "Anyways, I haven't really thought about it much."

"I think you'd make a great Auror," says Cho. She leans in, "After what you went through. What was that night like?"

Harry shifts uncomfortably in his chair, "Oh— we don't have to—"

"Don't you need to talk about it?" Cho presses. "If it was me, I would."

"Well — I have talked about it," Harry says in a whisper, "to Ron and Miranda and Hermione, but —"

"Oh, you'll talk to Miranda McGonagall!" she cries shrilly, her face now shining with tears, and several kissing couples break apart to stare. "But you won't talk to me! Perhaps it would be best if we just . . . just p-paid and you went and met up with Miranda McGonagall like you obviously want to!" Harry stares at her, utterly bewildered.

"Cho?" he says weakly, wishing Roger would seize his girlfriend and start kissing her again to stop her goggling at him and Cho.

"Go on, leave!" she says. "I don't know why you asked me out in the first place if you're going to talk about another girl the whole time!" Harry is so relieved at finally understanding what she is annoyed about that he laughs, which he realizes a split second too late is a mistake. Cho springs to her feet. The whole tearoom is quiet, and everybody is watching them now. "I'll see you around, Harry," she says dramatically. She dashes to the door, wrenches it open, and hurries off into the pouring rain.

"Cho!" Harry calls after her, but the door has already swung shut behind her with a tuneful tinkle. There is total silence within the tea shop. Every eye is upon Harry. He throws a Galleon down onto the table, shakes pink confetti out of his eyes, and follows Cho out of the door.

It is raining hard now, and she is nowhere to be seen. He simply does not understand what had happened. "Women!" he mutters angrily, sloshing down the rain-washed street with his hands in his pockets. He turns right and breaks into a splashy run, and within minutes he is turning into the doorway of the Three Broomsticks. It is deliciously warm, and wonderfully devoid of cherubs and confetti and Harry welcomes the feeling of comfort it brings him. He knows he's much too early, but maybe they'll be here all the same.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaims, she is at the bar, ordering a round of butter beers. Harry sighs in relief. "Goodness, you're soaked through." She guides him over to the table where Miranda is seated. "Look who showed up."

Miranda glances up from the book she'd been flipping through, and spies Harry, dripping wet. "Hey," she beams up at him. Then checks her watch. It's barely been two hours. "What are you doing here? We weren't expecting you for ages."

"Yeah, well..." Harry shrugs.

Miranda notices with much delight that he is drenched, head to toe. Sopping wet. She does her best not to laugh, "Nice look you got going there, Potter."

"Shut up," Harry scowls at her. In retaliation, he sheds his hood and shakes his hair out like a wet dog, spraying everyone in the vicinity with water, but most of all Miranda.

"Harry!" she shrieks, swatting him. He grins at her mischievously, settling into his seat next to Hermione Ugh. Miranda feels those stupid butterflies in her stomach again. He shouldn't be allowed to be so cute. His hair all messy and wet like that.

Hermione frowns into her mug of butter beer, elbowing Harry, "I think some of it got in my drink."

"Where's Ron?" Harry asks, craning his neck as if me might spot the redhead crouching under the table.

Miranda swallows her butter beer, "Quidditch practice." Harry's expression dims at this. Miranda knows how much he hates not playing. "Sorry," she places her hand over his on the table, "I know you miss it." She lets her hand linger there a second too long. She knows this because Hermione lets out a pointed little cough, eyeing her with the classic Hermione Granger look that seemed to say, I know everything about you and what you do. You can't hide.

"So what did you want to talk about?" says Harry, intrigued.

She looks furtively around the room. Thankfully, many people are afraid to be out and about right now, given the whole Death Eater crap going on. Miranda leans in, "Well, I've told Hermione most of it already..." She explains to him, in a low voice, what had happened at her Occlumency lesson. Hey, Snape can't really come after her, can he? She's stopped taking them, so technically she should be allowed to tell Harry things now. She finishes up, "Has anything like that ver happened to you? Has he ever— unlocked a memory. Have you ever seen one that you don't remember having?"

"No," says Harry quietly. "I mean— I feel a lot of shit, but nothing quite like that."

Miranda breathes lightly, smiling a bit, "Perfect. I am crazy then." She laughs weakly to herself, "Glad we got that sorted."

"You're not crazy," Hermione reassures "I'm sure we'll figure it out."

"Sorry I wasn't more helpful," Harry apologizes.

"You listened," Miranda says, sharing a warm smile with him. "That's more than enough."

Later that night, at dinner, Hermione is occupied in the library and Ron is apparently still at Quidditch, Miranda feels a very harsh stare at her back. She swivels around and sees a cvery ross Cho Chang, glowering at her from the Ravenclaw table. Miranda practically withers in her seat, shrinking down. Well, that reminds her. She nudges Harry.

"Oh, I forgot to ask you," says Miranda brightly, glancing over at the Ravenclaw table. She tries to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible, "What happened on your date with Cho? How come you were back so early?"

"Er . . . well, it was . . ." says Harry, pulling a dish of rhubarb crumble toward him and helping himself to seconds, "a complete fiasco, now you mention it." Miranda hates the little thrill she gets when he says that. And he tells her what had happened in Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. ". . . so then," he finishes several minutes later, as the final bit of crumble disappeared, "she jumps up, right, and says 'I'll see you around, Harry,' and runs out of the place!" He puts down his spoon and looks at Miranda. "I mean, what was all that about? What was going on?"

Miranda glances over at the back of Cho's head and sighs. "Oh, Harry," she says sadly. "Well, I'm sorry, but you were a bit tactless."

"Me, tactless?" says Harry, outraged. "One minute we were getting on fine, next minute she yelling at me."

"Well, you see," says Miranda patiently, wiping her mouth with her napkin, "you shouldn't have told her that you wanted to meet me halfway through your date."

"But, but," splutters Harry, "but — you told me to meet you there. How was I supposed to do that without telling her — ?"

"You should have told her differently" says Miranda. Really, how does he not understand this? "You should have said it was really annoying, but I'd made you promise to come along to the Three Broomsticks, and you really didn't want to go, you'd much rather spend the whole day with her, but unfortunately you thought you really ought to meet me and would she please, please come along with you, and hopefully you'd be able to get away more quickly? And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am too," Miranda adds as an afterthought.

"But I don't think you're ugly," protests Harry, bemused.

Miranda laughs in spite of herself, a pleasant tingly sensation spreading through her. "Harry, you're worse than Ron. . . . Well, no, you're not,"she holds back a snort. "Look — you upset Cho when you said you were going to meet me. She thought you were trying to make her jealous."

"Well, I wasn't," Harry huffs.

Miranda rolls her eyes, "I'm sure you can explain it to her. If you— want to go out with her again." She waits for a moment. "Do you?"

He scoffs, "No."

"Oh," she acknowledges, pressing her lips together to keep from bursting into a full blown smile. "That's too bad. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Their conversation is interrupted as Ron plunks down at the bench, sullen and muddy. Harry raises an eyebrow, "How was Quidditch practice?"

"It was a nightmare," says Ron in a surly voice.

"Oh come on," Miranda looks at Ginny, "I'm sure it wasn't that —"

"Yes, it was," says Ginny. "It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it." Ron and Ginny go off for baths after dinner; Harry and Miranda return to the busy Gryffindor common room and their usual pile of homework. Miranda has been struggling with a new star chart for Astronomy for half an hour when Fred and George turn up.

"Ron and Ginny not here?" asks Fred, looking around as he pulls up a chair. Harry shakes his head. "Good. We were watching their practice. They're going to be slaughtered. They're complete rubbish without us."

"Come on, Ginny's not bad," George notes, sitting down. "Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us. . . ."

"She's been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren't looking," Miranda mutters absentmindedly, chewing on the end of her quill.

"Oh," says George, looking mildly impressed. "Well — that'd explain it." The twins exit the common room after that, most likely to go try and test their products on some poor, unsuspecting first years.

Miranda yawns, the firelight waning in the hearth. She feels like she's been reading the same sentence a hundred times over. She glances at Harry, something that's been nagging her since dinner at the forefront of her mind. "Harry?" she prods lowly. He looks up from his textbook. Her forehead wrinkles, "Why— why were you talking about me so much on your date? I mean— you had to know that probably wasn't the best idea."

"I dunno," Harry shrugs. He taps his chin thoughtfully, "I— guess I was just nervous. I needed something to talk about. And— I dunno..."

"Nervous," Miranda nods, sniffing. "Right. Of course. That makes sense." What answer had she been expecting? Of course that was the reason. She had to stop this. It was so unhealthy.

He adds, "I like talking about you, for the record." Harry stares at her, unrelenting, "You're important to me."

Miranda ducks her head, embarrassed. "Well," she says briskly, but teasingly, "now you know what not to do on a date."

"Okay," Harry pokes his tongue out at her, offended, "maybe I could have made some different choices. But I still wouldn't have called you ugly." He messes with his hair, running a hand through it. "I don't think you're ugly. Not at all."

"That's not the—"

He gazes at her, "You're beautiful." Harry's words are soft and sweet, carrying a sort of hushed reverence.

Miranda's cheeks flush pink, and she is suddenly very aware of her extremities. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, flustered, "Certainly don't tell Cho that."

"I still don't understand why she was so bent out of shape," Harry grumbles, crossing his arms. He rumples his hair again. "I didn't even do anything."

"She was jealous, Harry, I told you," Miranda chuckles, peering at him over her notes. He was so adorable when he was clueless. "Silly of her, though. Since we're only— she has no reason to be jealous of me." Miranda holds her breath, "Right?"

Harry suddenly  seems much more alert, blinking very rapidly. "Oh— er..."

Miranda's heart is in her throat."Because you don't—"

"Right—" he stammers, green eyes locked with hers with such intensity that Miranda feel dizzy. "Unless you— but you don't—"

Her pulse rises swiftly, "Right." She bites her lip, "So— silly?"

"Silly..."