Dumbledore is gone. Umbridge is reigning bitch. The notices have gone up all over the school overnight, but they do not explain how every single person within the castle seems to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister of Magic, and his Junior Assistant to escape. No matter where Miranda goes within the castle in the following days, the sole topic of conversation is Dumbledore's flight, and though some of the details may have gone awry in the retelling (Harry and her had overheard one second-year girl assuring another that Fudge was now lying in St. Mungo's with a pumpkin for a head), it is surprising how accurate the rest of their information is. Everybody seems aware, for instance, that Harry and Marietta are the only students to have witnessed the scene in Dumbledore's office, and as Marietta is now in the hospital wing, Harry is besieged with daily requests to give a firsthand account wherever he went.

    The Inquisitorial Squad roams the halls, all puffed up and power mad, handing out detentions and docking points right and left. Miranda had very nearly rammed Pansy Parkinson's face into her fist the other day when she took ten points from both her and Hermione for "disrespectful rhetoric". Ron had to physically restrain her, carrying her away from the sneering Slytherin over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. With the added stress of O.W.L.S. Miranda hasn't had a moment's peace. And she thinks she might hex Ernie Macmillan if he doesn't stop asking her how many hours a day she's studying.

    To put it simply, life is downright miserable. Her sentiment is shared by many. One late night, Miranda's eyes strained in the candlelight and tired from poring over massive study guides, Harry bursts into the common room, expression blazing.

    "I'm done," he declares, very loudly. He is agitated, pacing back and forth angrily. Whatever he's muttering Miranda can't make out.

    Miranda glances up frothier work, her and Hermione sharing an equal look of concern. "Harry, what's the matter?" asks Miranda. "Did something happen during Occlumency?"

    "I won't be going to Occlumency anymore," he replies, very offhandedly. He is still pacing, forehead deeply furrowed.

    "You've quit too?" says Hermione, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Harry it's really important that you—"

    Harry shakes his head, words clipped, "Didn't quit. Kicked me out."

    "Snape threw you out?" presses Miranda, astonished. She didn't think he was allowed to do that. "Bastard." Harry is still pacing, and his franticness is making her anxious. She scoot over on the sofa, "Come on, sit down. Tell us what happened." Harry sighs, plopping down beside her. Miranda can feel that his entire body is tense, and his jaw is clenched so tightly it looks a though he may pop one of his veins out. She gently strokes the span of his arms, easing the tension out of his shoulders.

    "I think you're better off without them, aren't you?" notes Ron. "I mean— they made you ill most times."

    "Don't get me wrong," Harry says, slightly calming at Miranda's touch. "I'm thrilled to be shot of them—"

    Hermione looks rather disapproving, "Harry you really ought to continue them. Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin, they all says how important—"

    "He's kicked me out, Hermione," he retorts hotly. "There's nothing I can do about that. I won't grovel. I hated those lessons. And I hate him."

    "Hey," Miranda pacifies, reaching her hand up running her fingers through his hair soothingly. "Relax. Don't jump down on our throats."

    "I know," he shuts his eyes tiredly. "Sorry— I know. It's just— I saw something. The reason he kicked me out. I saw—"

    "What?"

    "I don't know," Harry says. "I don't know. Something I— I can't explain. I think I sort of get how you felt now, Miranda. It wasn't my memory— not in the sense you think though. It really wasn't mine. It was Snape's. But what I saw— I don't know..." He trails off. "I want an explanation."

    Miranda leans her head on his shoulder, nestling comfortably into his side. She knows the feeling all too well. "Don't we all."

    "There's really no way you can go back, Harry?" Hermione asks, one last time. She can never help herself. It's one of the things Miranda loves about her.

    "If you'd seen him— heard him, you wouldn't be asking that," Harry replies grimly. "I didn't think it was possible for him to despise me more than he already does. I just wish—" He pauses, frowning up at Miranda, "Why'd you stop?"

    "Stop what?" Miranda tilts her head, confused.

    "Hands," he directs. "Hair." Harry looks at her with big, puppy dog eyes, batting his eyelashes shamelessly, "Please."

    Miranda laughs out loud, smiling, "Oh my god, Potter. You are—"

    "The best boyfriend ever," Harry finishes for her, grinning. "I know." And with that, he lays his head in her lap, taking her hands and threading them through his mess of black hair.

    Ron gags loudly. "What were you saying, Harry? Before that monstrosity," he gestures at the pair of them.

    Harry flips him off, "I was saying I wished I could talk to Sirius, but Umbridge has all the fires blocked. So it's useless."

    "Yeah," Miranda echoes. "If I could talk to Mateo maybe I could figure my shit out too."

    "You think Mateo knows something?" Hermione questions, looking thoughtful.

    Miranda nods, "He has to. There has to be a reason for his behavior, the secrecy between him and my mother. He wants to tell me whatever it is. I know it."  And of course, there was that nagging feeling she had that Mateo was someone important. He had to be. That little's boy's face from the memory appeared in her dreams nearly every night, haunting her. Trying to tell her something. Miranda sighs, "Doesn't matter anyway. Like Harry said, Umbridge is policing fires."

    I'm sure we can find a way around that," George says from behind them, stretching and smiling. Him and Fred have apparently been listening in on the conversation. "It's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays?"

    "What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?" continues Fred. "No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's studying too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do." He gives Hermione a sanctimonious little nod. She looks rather taken aback by this thoughtfulness. "But it's business as usual from tomorrow," Fred continues briskly. "And if we're going to be causing a bit of uproar, why not do it so that Harry can have his chat with Sirius?"

    "Yes, but still," says Hermione with an air of explaining something very simple to somebody very obtuse, "even if you do cause a diversion, how are either of them supposed to talk to anyone?"

    "Umbridge's office," Miranda pipes up, struck with the idea. Umbridge herself had told her that the only fire that was not being watched was her own.

    "Are — you — insane?" says Hermione in a hushed voice. Ron has lowered his leaflet on jobs in the cultivated fungus trade and is watching the conversation warily.

    "I don't think so," Miranda shrugs, already warming to the plan.
     "And how are you two going to get in there in the first place?" demands Hermione.
     Harry is apparently ready for this question. "Sirius's knife."
     "Excuse me?"
     "Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock," explains Harry. "So even if she's bewitched the door so Alohomora won't work, which I bet she has —"

    "What do you think about this?" Hermione turns on Ron, and Miranda is reminded irresistibly of Mrs. Weasley appealing to her husband during Harry's first dinner in Grimmauld Place.

    "I dunno," Ron blinks very quickly, looking alarmed at being asked to give an opinion. "If they want to do it, it's up to them, isn't it?"

    "Spoken like a true friend and Weasley," says Fred, clapping Ron hard on the back. "Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact if everybody's in the corridors — Harry, we'll set it off in the east wing some- where, draw her right away from her own office — I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?"

    "Easy," says George.
     "What sort of diversion is it?" asks Ron.
     "You'll see, little bro," says Fred mysteriously, as he and George got up again.

    "At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock tomorrow."

    Hermione's lips are pinched together very disapprovingly, "I don't like this. You know at Umbridge could do to you both if she catches you? Dumbledore's not around anymore. We don't have any sort of—"

    "Hermione," Harry implores. "D'you really think I'd do anything to put Miranda in danger? Ever? This is worth the risk."

    "It is," Miranda adds, extending a hadn't and squeezing Hermione's with it. "I know you're worried about us, but we'll be fine." Then she turns to Harry, narrowing her eyes, "Also. I don't need protecting."

    Harry smiles at her brightly. "I know," he taps her nose, "doesn't stop me from doing it."   

    The following day, Miranda and Harry reach the corridor where Umbridge's office is situated and find it deserted. Dashing behind a large suit of armor whose helmet creaks around to watch them, Harry pulls open his bag, seizes Sirius's knife, and throws the Invisibility Cloak over them both. They then creep carefully back out from behind the suit of armor and along the corridor until they arrive at Umbridge's door.

Harry inserts the blade of the magical knife into the crack around it and moves it gently up and down, then withdraws it. There is a tiny click, and the door swings open. They duck inside the office, close the door quickly behind them, and look around.

    It is empty; nothing is moving except the horrible kittens on the plates continuing to frolic on the wall above the confiscated broomsticks.

They pull off the cloak, striding over to the fireplace. Miranda finds the glittering floor powder within seconds.

    "You go first," Harry instructs quietly. "Ready?" Miranda gulps, nodding. Finally, finally, she may learn some answers. "Okay," Harry kisses her chastely, "I'll be keeping watch, right in here if you need me. I'll signal if she's coming." Somehow, he knows that Miranda needs to do this with some privacy, and she appreciates him for that fact.

    She crouches down in front of the empty grate, her hands shaking. She has never done this before, though she think she knows how it must work. Sticking her head into the fireplace, she takes a large pinch of powder and drops it onto the logs stacked neatly beneath him. They explode at once into emerald-green flames.

    "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" Miranda says loudly and clearly.

    It is one of the most curious sensations she has ever experienced; she had traveled by Floo powder before, of course, but then it had been her entire body that had spun around and around in the flames through the network of Wizarding fireplaces that stretched over the country: This time, her knees remain firm upon the cold floor of Umbridge's office, and only her head hurtles through the emerald fire. . . .

And then, abruptly as it has begun, the spinning stops. Feeling rather sick, she opens her eyes to find that she is looking up out of the kitchen fireplace at the long, wooden table, where a man sits poring over a piece of parchment.

    "Mateo?"
     The man jumps, it is Lupin. "Miranda" he says, looking thoroughly shocked. "What are you — what's happened, is everything all right? Should I fetch your mum—"
     "No," says Miranda hurriedly. "No, don't do that. Everything's fine, I just wondered — I mean, is Mateo there? I sort of— need to talk to him..."
     Remus's face pales suddenly, and he eyes her carefully. "I'll call him," Lupin says slowly, getting to his feet. "I think he's upstairs..." Now Miranda is left with nothing to look at but the chair and table legs. Her knees are already objecting painfully to their prolonged contact with Umbridge's hard stone floor. Lupin returns with Mateo at his heels moments later, Miranda sees him murmur something in the boy's ear, all the while keeping one eye on her. The feeling that she's had since Christmas intensifies ten fold.

    Mateo settles on the floor of the kitchen, cross legged, peering wt her for a moment before speaking, "So— why— Remus said you need to talk to me?"

    "Uh—" Miranda chew son the inner corner of her cheek. "This is going to sound odd, but during one of my Occlumency lessons—"

    "With Severus?" Mateo interrupts. "I thought you quit."

    Miranda does not stop to consider how he knows all of this information. "I— I did," she says, "because of what I saw in one my memories. It was a memory that I didn't remember. I was young, barely four or five maybe. And I think—" She takes a deep breath. "I think you were in it. And I don't why you were in it, or how— but I just—"

    There is a long moment of silence.

    "You know," Mateo states rather simply, after a minute. "Don't you?"

    Miranda presses her lips together. She thinks she does. She hopes she does. Really, she's known since that day in Snpae's office. Deep down, she's always known. She needs  the confirmation, though. She needs it. "I—" she hesitates.

    "You know," he repeats softly.

    "Mateo—" Miranda drags her gaze up to match his, breathless. "Are you my brother?"

    "Twin actually," Mateo corrects, smiling widely.

    Miranda's mouth falls open. "Twins," she breathes, her head is spinning. "Who's older?"

    Mateo chuckles, "That's your first question?"

    "It's the most important one," she insists stubbornly, reeling from her discovery. Of course. It all made sense now.

    "I am," Mateo answers proudly.  "By thirteen minutes. Technically speaking that makes you my younger sister."

    Miranda exhales in pure disbelief, "So when you says you weren't that much older than me you weren't kidding. I suppose that's why you disliked Harry so much"

    He scowls at the mere mention of the name, "Well how would you feel if you see your little sister—Miranda scowls at that—for the first time in years and there's some git running his hands all over her in the hallways?" He grimaces at the thought, "Just friends my arse. I should have smacked him upside the head for the way he looked at you."

    "Oh my god, it was you," Miranda's eyes grow wide, slowly piecing bits of information together. "You're the one who told Snape that Harry was my boyfriend."

    "He isn't?" Mateo looks cheered at this.

    "No," Miranda says. Then adds,  smirking, "Well— not then anyways."

    He glares again, "Oh, fantastic."

    She snorts, "How long have you known? About me, I mean."

    "Since I was eleven.," Mateo tells her, almost guiltily. "Though we played together when we were little, before we could remember anything."

    "Why did mom keep this from me for so long?"

    Mateo scratches his head, "She should probably tell you herself" He swivels his head around, calling, "Mum! You can come out now. I was right. She knows."

    Juniper appears from the door that leads to the parlor, and Miranda is so grateful to see her mother that she doesn't even care that she's been eavesdropping the whole time.

    "I'm so sorry," Juniper apologizes immediately, pained. "I hated keeping it from you. Keeping you from each other. It was the worst decision I ever had to make as a mother. Giving up one of my children like that." She takes a shaky breath, "I hope you know that. Both of you." Her eyes are teary. "I thought it was better, safer if you didn't know." She kneels down to look at her daughter, "When we came back to London, I was going to tell you. But then—"

    "Voldemort came back," Miranda comes to a sudden realization. "You got worried again."

    "Yes," Juniper whispers, sniffing. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I just wanted to keep you safe. Both of you."

    But Miranda only says, "I missed you, Mom."

    "I missed you too," says Juniper, a tear trickling down her cheek. She squeezes her son's hand tightly.

    "I have a twin brother," Miranda marvels to herself aloud.

    "And I have a twin sister," Mateo beams, trying to lighten the mood.  "Who has a git of a boyfriend."

    Juniper gasps excitedly, "Sweetie did you and Harry finally figure things out?" Now how on earth had her mother known that? Miranda has never told her about her secret crush sh'd harbored for Harry. Not once.

    "Mom— how—?"

    "Oh please," her mother laughed, "you talked about that boy constantly. Always going on and on about how cute he was. Are you dating now?"

    Miranda's cheeks are bright red, "I—"

    "Yes," Mateo answers for her, making his disdain clear.

    "Tattletale!" she cries out in betrayal.

    "Sirius," her mother beckons into the household. "Remus! Come here, you have to hear the news."

    "I told you she knew, Pads," Remus say jovially, as they enter the kitchen, sitting down at the table.

    Sirius grins, "Never doubted it."

    "Oh yes— that, of course," Juniper nods happily. "But the other news is that Harry and Miranda are finally together!"

    Miranda buries her face in her hands, horrified and appalled, "Mom!"

    "About time, isn't it?" says Sirius with a laugh. Miranda has never been more embarrassed in her life.

    Quickly she changes the subject, "It's a good thing you're here, actually Sirius. Harry's with me. He needs to talk to you. We are under certain time constraints so..." Briefly, she pokes her head out of the fire , "Harry, your turn."

    Harry abandons his post at the door, kneeling down beside her, "Find out anything interesting?"

    "Mateo's my brother," she replies airily, and when Harry gapes at her she waves him off. "No time for that, George only guaranteed twenty minutes, and it's been at least ten." With this, they both plunge themselves headfirst into the fire.

    "What is it?" says Sirius urgently, sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes and dropping to the ground in front of the fire, so that he and Harry are on a level; Lupin kneels down too, looking very concerned. Juniper an Mateo have both vacated the room. "Are you all right? Do you need help?"

    "No," says Harry, "it's nothing like that. . . . I just wanted to talk . . . about my dad. . . ."

    Miranda takes this as her cue to leave, she whispers, "I'll go keep watch now. I'll let you know if our time's up—"

    "Where do you think you're going?" asks Harry, bemused.

    "To keep watch?" Miranda's eyebrows knit together. "Don't you want a bit of privacy?"

    "Not from you," Harry says, gazing at her tenderly.

    They both hear a distinct "Watch it, Potter!" From another room, and Miranda groans internally.

    Harry dives immediately into the story of Snape's memory, with him and Miranda knowing they haven't much time. When he has finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin says quietly, "I wouldn't judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fifteen —"

    "I'm fifteen!" protests Harry heatedly.

    "Look, Harry," says Sirius placatingly, "James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can't you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be — he was popular, he was good at Quidditch, good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts and James — whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry — always hated the Dark Arts."

    "Yeah, but he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because — well, just because you said you were bored," he finishes with a slightly apologetic note in his voice. Miranda, of course, hasn't seen the memory herself. But she is inclined to believe the word of Remus and Sirius, especially since she dislikes Snape a great deal.

    "I'm not proud of it," says Sirius quickly.

    Lupin looks sideways at Sirius and then goes, "Look, Harry, what you've got to understand is that your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did — everyone thought they were the height of cool — if they sometimes got a bit carried away —"

    "If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean," says Sirius. Lupin smiles.
     "He kept messing up his hair," says Harry in a pained voice. Sirius and Lupin laugh. Miranda bites her lip to keep from laughing herself.

    "I'd forgotten he used to do that," says Sirius affectionately.

    "You do that too, y'know," Miranda murmurs, nudging Harry. She cannot count the amount of times he's tousled his hair in her presence.

    Harry scowls, and Remus and Sirius snicker. "I do not!" he argues emphatically, taking great offense.

    "Yeah, you do," she arches an eyebrow, smirking. "All the time."

    "And," says Harry doggedly, determined to say everything that is on his mind now he is here, "he kept looking over at the girls by the lake, hoping they were watching him!"

    "Oh, well, he always made a fool of himself whenever Lily was around," Sirius shrugs. "He couldn't stop himself showing off whenever he got near her."

    "How come she married him?" Harry asks miserably. "She hated him!"

    "Nah, she didn't," says Sirius.
     "She started going out with him in seventh year," Lupin informs them. "Once James had deflated his head a bit, and stopped hexing people just for the fun of it."

    Sirius frowns at Harry, who was still looking unconvinced. "Look," he says, "your father was the best friend I ever had, and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it."

    "Yeah, okay," agrees Harry heavily. "I just never thought I'd feel sorry for Snape."

    "Now you mention it," says Lupin, a faint crease between his eyebrows, "how did Snape react when he found you'd seen all this?"

    "He told me he'd never teach me Occlumency again," says Harry indifferently, "like that's a big disappoint —"

    "He WHAT?" shouts Sirius, causing Harry to jump and inhale a mouthful of ashes.

    "Are you serious, Harry?" says Lupin quickly. "He's stopped giving you lessons?"

    "Yeah," says Harry, both him and Miranda surprised at what she considers a great overreaction. "But it's okay, I don't care, it's a bit of a relief to tell you the —"
     "Harry, there is nothing so important as you learning Occlumency!" says Lupin sternly. "Do you understand me? Nothing!"

    "Okay, okay," says Harry, thoroughly discomposed, not to mention annoyed. "I'll . . . I'll try and say something to him. . . . But it won't be . . ." He falls silent. Miranda can hear distant footsteps, and her adrenaline spikes.
     "Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?" she asks, mouth dry.
     "No," says Sirius, glancing behind him. "It must be somebody your end . . ."
     Her heart skips several beats. "We'd better go!" She says hastily, as they pull their heads backward out of Grimmauld Place's fire.

    "Come on," Harry grabs her hand firmly in his own, throwing the cloak over them in a rush. Together, they sprint out of Umbridge's office and down the corridor, not stopping until they are sufficiently close to Gryffindor tower, out of breath, but both beaming.

    O.W.L.S. came and went over the span of the next two weeks. Hermione, of course, thinks she's failed them all. While Ron may actually have failed them all. Miranda— well Miranda is still riding the high of her discovery. How she did on O.W.L.S. was the least of her worries. Besides, she feels confident about like eighty percent of the exams she took. And really— isn't that enough?

    She has much more important things to be concerned with. Like Harry Potter's mouth.

    Currently, she has her back to a partially hidden stone wall in the courtyard. Harry's lips are on her throat, trailing over her collarbone. Her chest rises and fall rapidly, biting her lip, "Harry..."

    "Hi, there" he murmurs, close to her ear.

    She presses her for head to his, "Hi. I—" Her sentence is lost has Harry's mouth meets her sweet and firm, his hand smooths up her jaw, secure at the back of her neck. Miranda pulls back, touching a thumb to her lips, "Harry I promised Hermione I'd meet her in the library."

    "Or," Harry grins mischievously, tracing the line of her waist with his fingertips, "you could stay here with me."    

    Miranda inhales sharply, trying to resist, "Harry—" she whimpers, "you are distracting me."

    "Good," Harry says, hoisting her off the ground in one swift motion. Miranda's pulse quickens, her thighs hooking around his hips. "You need a bit of distracting sometimes." He kisses her lengthily, neither one of them coming up for breath.

    "Miranda?" A horrified voice says, breaking her from her reverie. Miranda's eyes fly open, her hair is mussed and her lips are red, and her legs are entwined around Harry's torso.

    Miranda gasps when she see who it is, senses flooding with terror. Her jaw drops. "Draco—" she manages weakly. "It's not— I can explain."

    But it is too late. He has seen it. Seen her. Draco is already tearing around the corner, expression stricken.

    Fuck.