Today is a happy day, and Miranda is determined to keep it that way. Nothing would ruin today. Today is happy. She has the ability to be happy, they all do. Today, she won't think about the rising rate of Death Eater attacks. How Hannah Abbot burst into tears the other day as she was pulled out of Herbology. How the Patil sisters had been removed from school by their parents. The classes she had where half the students were missing, having not returned after holiday. The Muggleborns persecuted left and right by pureblood Slytherins. The fact that they haven't heard from Sirius or Lupin in months. That Harry is subdued, drawn when he returns from his lessons with Dumbledore. She will not think about any of that today.

Because today is Ron's seventeenth birthday. And god damn it, she is going to be happy. They all are.

"Plan still set for tonight?" asks Miranda, heading down the halls with Mateo and Ginny. Afternoon sun streams though the bay windows, it is a rare, clear day, though Miranda suspects it won't last long.

"Mhm," Mateo nods. He adds cautiously, "And Hermione's still—?"

"As far as I know," she smiles. After much coaxing, on all of their parts, Hermione had agreed to attend tonight. The plan was to surprise Ron and take him out to Hogsmeade, where Fred and George and probably Lee would be waiting. This has been in the works for ages.

Ginny pauses, "Have we landed anywhere on the Lavender issue?"

"Well, I think they have a dinner date beforehand," Mateo ponders, thinking. "Theoretically we're not required to invite her, and I can't imagine Hermione will go if she does..." Their conversation fades into the background as Miranda catches sight of Harry across the corridor. He is in engaged in what looks like a heated conversation with a Slytherin she recognizes as Montague.  But she can't make out what either of them are saying. Miranda frowns, just as she witnesses Harry take a menacing step towards Montague, a hand on his wand.

"I know, but we can't just—"

"Sorry— excuse me a moment," she mutters a hasty goodbye to Mateo and Ginny,  walking as briskly and as calmly as possible to where Harry stands, having pushed the Slytherin brute up against a wall.

"—well, what do you think it means?" Montague is taunting.

Miranda steps up to them, pasting a bright smile on her face. Through clenched teeth she says, "What's going on?"

Montague sneers, "I was just telling your boyfriend here that he can cozy up to Slughorn all he likes. The Dark Lord will reign, and you, his blood traitor best friend, and that insipid Mudblood—"

"Shut your mouth," Miranda hisses, bristling with fury. Harry's eyes are black. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

"—so I wouldn't hang my hopes on your precious potion's master. He will kill you just like he killed you parents. Your coward father and your Mudblood mother—" Harry  snarls, drawing his wand in a flash and shoving the point of it to Montague's throat.

There is a gasp. It is not an empty corridor by any means. Several student onlookers stare and gape. Some Slytherins snigger cruelly, no doubt waiting fro Harry to snap and receive detention; lose house points. They are baiting him.

Miranda grabs Harry's arm, guiding him back from Montague firmly. He staggers back with her, nostrils flared. His entire body is tense with anger. "Look at me," Miranda implores, pulling his wand down. She gazes up at him steadfastly,  "Look at me. Look at me." Harry finally drags his eyes to meet hers. He is breathing heavily, jaw tight. Miranda keeps her voice low, stare never wavering. "Hey— go to the bathroom. Hit something if you have to," she advises. "But do not let them see you lose it," says Miranda quietly. Her face softens, and she puts her hands on his chest, whispering,  "Today is happy."

There is a long moment of silence. She sees Harry's fists uncurl,  his Adam's apple bobbing, he purses his lips, voice soft, "Thank you." He turns, making his way down the opposite corridor.

Miranda inhales, swiveling around to where Montague still lingers smugly. Her smile is wide. Too wide.  Bright and menacing. She sucks in her her cheeks, keeping her composure, and her smile, "I don't know what happened to you as a child to make you act like a sociopath, but if you ever come near him again..." She threatens, voice dropping to a cold whisper, "I'll hex off your balls and feed them to you." On this last bit, Miranda gets right up in his face, drawing herself up to her full height. She is not afraid of him. And he would not ruin today. "Trust me," her lips curls, "I've done worse."

She spins on her heel, leaving a cowed Montague and surprised Slytherins in her wake.  Miranda finds Harry just outside in the courtyard,  seated on a becn, cradling his hand to his chest.

"Hey," Miranda ventures, settling down next to him.

"Hey."

"Find something to punch?" asks Miranda, raising her eyebrow at him.

Harry jabs his thumb carelessly behind him, grunting, "Tree." He grimaces, sheepishly showing her his bruised and scraped raw skin, "In retrospect, maybe not the best idea."

"Maybe," Miranda acknowledges with a slight smile. She takes his hand on hers, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. "Helping?"

"Little bit," Harry angles his head towards her, his lips meeting hers for several sunlit seconds. His touch is warm, filled with promise, longing, trust. "This helps more," he murmurs against her mouth, tracing a path across her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I heard what you said, y'know."

"Oh—" Miranda blushes, embarrassed. "Scared of me now, Potter?"

"Always," Harry grins, then grows more serious. "No— I— I thought you were beautiful," he admits, hushed and reverent. "Strong. That's the most wonderful thing anyone's ever done for me."

A shy, joyous sort of smile spreads slowly over Miranda's face, her cheeks pink with pleasure. She bites her lip, "I'm not strong." She certainly doesn't feel strong. Quite the opposite, really. Harry's the hero. Not her.

"You are for me," Harry states plainly, gazing at her. Miranda's eyes prick with tears, and he lifts her chin, reminding her, "Today is happy."

"Today is happy," she repeats.

Miranda pulls on a cropped maroon cardigan and a tartan wrap skirt, completing the look with a pair of doc martens and an oversized corduroy jacket she nicked from her brother. Quickly, she pulls her hair back with a claw clip and adjusts the pieces that wisp out in the front. After a swipe of mascara and a coat of lipgloss, she rushes out of her room to meet the others.

Ron should be arriving back from his date with Lavender any second now. Miranda prays that Hermione and Ron will move past the overly cordial relationship they've been maintaining with one another any time they absolutely had to speak. Though, she supposes it's better than the straight out , hostile silence they'd been enduring previously.

"I'm not the last one here!" Miranda cheers, slapping Hermione a high five. "In your face,  Matt!" The three of them are already in the common room, but Ginny is not. Matt begrudgingly passes five sickles to Hermione, who is wearing a chunky white cable knit sweater with a tiered skater skirt and tall brown suede boots that almost go over her knee. Her hair is loose and natural.

Mateo and Harry have put no effort whatsoever into their appearance, both wearing jeans. Harry is wearing a jumper over a white collared shirt, and Mateo is also wearing a jumper but with another jacket over top of that.

"Did you even brush your hair Harry?" Hermione frets, fussing with it. Miranda laughs, she knows as well as Harry the not a thing can tame his crop of black hair. It's alright. She quite likes it that way.

Finally, Ginny arrives, looking very pretty in a babydoll dress layered over a short sleeve white mock neck baby tee, a jean jacket, sheer tights, and a pair of converse. Her red hair in two dutch braids.

Mateo gives her a kiss on the cheek, "You look beautiful, Gin.

"I know," Ginny lifts a shoulder, striking a pose. "I think I could be a Muggle model," she giggles, nudging Hermione and Miranda.

Harry claps his hands, waving them all along, "C'mon we've got to hide. Ron's gonna be back soon."

Quietly, they all turn off the lights and creep behind the various furniture pieces. Harry crouches closely next to Miranda, the two of them sneaking kisses in the dark while they lie in wait. They all hear the door open, and prepare themselves.

"Mmm—yeah, oh—okay Lavender!" Ron's muffled words are barely  discernible. "I've had a really—nice ti—mmph—goodnight Lavender!" Ron's voice sounds forced, almost as if he's not enjoying the amount of snogging Lavender seems to be doing. They listen as Lavender's footsteps recede up the staircase.

"Blimey I thought she'd never leave," Ron remarks wearily, looking around the dimly lit common room. "Where is everyone? Why is it so dark—?"

The five of them spring into action, Mateo and Harry grabbing Ron as Ginny leaps up and ties the blindfold on him.

"Aaargh! What—?!" Ron jerks wildly against the hold, trying to tear off the cover on his eyes.

"Sorry Ron," Miranda whispers guiltily, casting a quick Sleeping Charm that makes Ron fall limp in the boys' arms.

"Alright people let's move," Ginny says brusquely, shoving them out of the common room. "The Puking Pastilles I left out for Filch will only keep him occupied so long." Yes, technically they were braking the rules. Technically they were sneaking out, unsupervised. But who had time for technicalities?

Mateo and Harry prop Ron up, the three girls following as they make their way quickly and covertly though the castle, slipping through the good old witch's statue passageway. It is even darker in the passage than in the castle, and Mateo and harry fumble around in the dark, struggling under Ron's weight. His foot nearly hits Miranda in the face at least twice.

Finally, they arrive at the Three Broomsticks, Fred, Lee, and George waiting inside with balloons and streamers and what looks like cake; Miranda can't tell through the steamed windows. Carefully, Hermione unties Ron's blindfold, and leads him to a chair. Everybody else hides while she utters the counter spell for the Sleeping Charm, then Hermione too takes cover. Slowly, Ron begins to wake up, as soon as he opens his eyes the entire party shouts, "SURPRISE!" jumping out of every nook and cranny.

"BLOODY HELL!" Ron yells in shock, overwhelmed by the amount of people there.

Ron's friends grin, and Fred flings a handful of confetti at his brother, while George blows a party horn. Harry pounds him on the back, "Happy Birthday, Ron"

"You guys did this?!" Ron says in disbelief, looking around at the table.

"Been planning it for weeks, Weasley," Miranda gives him a hug. "You think we'd forget your seventeenth?"

Ginny ruffles her brother's hair, and then mentions, "Sorry— you and Lavender weren't together when we had the idea— and then you had the dinner so—" Ginny does not sound very sorry at all. "—I guess we could go back for her if you really—"

"No!" Ron cuts her off hurriedly. A bit too hurriedly in Miranda's opinion, and Hermione definitely notices. He clears his throat loudly, "I mean—no that's alright. She's probably—erm— asleep anyways..." Miranda and Ginny exchange a pointed look.

"So you all did this? Together?" Ron questions, looking only at Hermione. "And you?" He directs his query towards Hermione. "You helped?"

Hermione sniffs primly, "I suppose, a bit." Before she can do anything, Ron crushes her in a hug.

"Thank you," he mumbles, and Hermione goes fire engine red.

Miranda bites back a smile. "I'm going to get us some drinks," says Miranda loudly, taking Harry's hand.

"We'll help," Ginny pipes up, both girls slipping away, and neither being very subtle about it. Who cares. To hell with subtlety.

Fred, George, and Lee are already at the bar, sweet talking Madam Rosmerta into giving them hard liquor. AKA Firewhiskey.

"C'mon love," Fred wheedles, leaning over the counter. "Just a smidge. We're all of age."

Madam Rosmerta clucks her tongue, wiping a bar glass down as she attends to her other customers, "You're supposed to be in school." She indicates Harry, "And he is not of age."

"Harry is very mature. He's an old soul," Lee insists, eyes twinkling. "All those near death experiences age him." Miranda snorts.

George adds his own two cents, "We're all responsible." Now it's the barmaid's turn to snort.

However, when the twins spy Mateo, they stop what they're doing and march over to where their little group of four is standing. Mateo gulps nervously.

"So you're the bloke that's been seeing our sister," Fred stares Mateo down menacingly.

"What happened to the other one?" George mutters under his breath, as Lee continues to reason with Madam Rosmerta. Ginny rolls her eyes, while Miranda orders a round of butter beers. Successfully, she might add.

"That was Dean," Fred replies swiftly. "Remember, always hanging around the Irish bloke."

"Ginny dated Seamus?!" George exclaims, confused

"No she dated Dean," Fred explains exasperatedly. "Seamus is his best friend. Now she's dating McGonagall's brother." Fred gestures at Mateo, who is still standing there looking from brother to brother in apprehension.

"Which one don't we like?" frowns George.

"We don't like either of them, but Ron says this one's slightly better."

"Ah—"

Ginny has had just about enough of their nonsense. "Please do not refer to my boyfriend as 'this one'," she snaps, "frankly I don't see how my dating life is any of your bloody business—" Fred and George begin to protest, but Ginny doesn't let them get a single word out. "Furthermore," she says hotly, I'm going to kill Ron for telling you lot anything!" Ginny crosses her arms, expression fiery, "Now if you'd like to meet my boyfriend Mateo, who I love very much, that's perfectly fine."

Mateo sticks out his hand, sheepish, "Hello, erm—I'm Mateo." He introduces himself, "It's nice to finally meet you properly." He attempts to break the ice, "Erm—I heard you guys were Beaters? I'm a Beater too."

Fred and George wait a beat, before shaking Mateo's hand jovially, "A Beater? Well why didn't you just say so mate? Welcome to the family!" Ginny groans inwardly as the three boys begin conversing about the position.

Lee returns to the table in triumph, balancing several shots of Firewhiskey in his arms. Hermione looks disapproving, but says nothing, having too much fun to truly care.

Ginny hands her a glass, clinking her own with Miranda's, "Bottom's up."

"Wait—" Hermione stops them in their tracks, holding up a hand.

"Oh relax, Hermione," Ginny nudges her. "We don't even have classes tomorrow. We'll be fine."

Hermione shakes her head, and Miranda prepares herself for a lecture. Instead, she says,  a sneaking smile twitting on her lips, "I was only going to ask if you could grab me one."

Harry and Ron's mouths fall open, and Ginny grins, "Alright, Granger."

Mateo whistles as the three girls each down their shot, the liquid burning Miranda's throat as she swallows it, flooding her with a crackly sort of sensation. "It's like girls gone wild up in here."

"I have not gone wild," Hermione huffs, flushed. "I just think we ought to have a bit of fun."

"Hear, hear," Miranda concurs, kissing Hermione on the cheek. They all take another shot. Ron follows suit. It is his birthday after all.

Mateo raises his eyebrows, sharing a look with Harry, "This is not going to end well."

"We're gonna have to watch out," Harry says in agreement, eyeing Miranda with much amusement as her and Hermione giggle with one another.

"Oh lighten up, Potter," Miranda wraps her arms around his neck, swaying slightly. "You've got some catch up to play." She holds a shot glass out to him, challenging.

Harry smirks, tapping her on the hose, "You are a very bad influence, McGonagall."

"I'm ever so sorry for corrupting you," Miranda's lips curve upwards, and she plays absentmindedly with the collar of his shirt

He just kisses her, "I don't mind."

It was a very very happy night. They sing happy birthday and dance and drink. Everything has a sort of rosy, alcohol induced hue to it, and Ron is roaring with laughter what seems like very ten seconds. Also— Harry kisses her. A lot.

Miranda skips over to the bar for last call, eyes bright and twinkling. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, waiting for the butter beers. A young wizard, about 2o or so, from the looks of it, sidles up beside her.

"What are you drinking?" he asks, looking at her closely.

"Too much," she replies politely with a laugh. Her inhibitions are low.

"That's the best kind," the wizard tells her, winking. He leans in, propping his elbows on the counter, "Hey listen, you ever been on one of those Muggle motorbikes?"

"Nah..." As if out of nowhere, Harry appears, slinging an arm over her shoulders. "Move along, then."

Miranda suppresses a giggle, leaning her head on Harry. She teases, "You're such a good guard dog,"

"Ruff," Harry barks drily, kissing her lengthily. His mouth tastes of Firewhiskey, the firm press of his lips hot and sticky and wonderful. And it is , funnily enough, the last thing she remembers of the night

Miranda clutches her head as she rises, she slides Harry's arm off her waist gingerly, and is careful not to disrupt  a sleeping Hermione on her other side. She attempts to stand but the ground twists beneath her, falling back onto the bed completely dizzy. Miranda surveys the room around her, head still pounding.

The events of the previous night slowly piece together in her mind. She done a few shots—maybe more than a few judging by the state of her swirling stomach. From what Miranda can remember, they all stumbled back to the boys' room drunk out of their minds, and she assumes they all passed out shortly after, given the way they're all piled atop one another across the room.

The rest of her friends are starting to regain consciousness as well, all moaning as they adjust to the bright sunlight. Hermione gags and practically trips over her feet to get to the bathroom.

Harry rolls over and gives Miranda a kiss on the cheek, "Morning."

"Is your voice normally this loud?" Miranda complains, covering her ears in agony. Each sound is like a sword to her skull.

Harry chuckles, handing her a glass of water, "Here." He instructs, "Drink this, you'll feel better."

"I doubt that," she mumbles sourly. The pounding in her head is like drums at this point. She frowns, suspicious, "Wait—why are you so chipper? You drank just as much as I did."

"I'm also like a foot taller than you, Mandy," he notes with an arch of his eyebrow, tucking a piece of Miranda's hair behind her ear. "And Mateo and Iabsolutely did not drink as much as the rest of you lot." He rests his chin on her shoulder, "Someone had to carry your arses home."

Miranda vaguely recalls Harry putting her down on the bed, and perhaps a memory of Ron singing. "Did Ron sing 'My Heart Will Go On' or is that my imagination?"

Mateo smirks from across the room, "Oh no, he definitely sang it. No one had more to drink than he did. He was bellowing that song all the way back to the castle."

Miranda presses her fingertips to her temples, the dull ache in her head starting to subside. Then she looks down at her clothes, seeing Harry's World Cup t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Her clothes from the night before are neatly folded on Harry's dresser. She pats her face, searching for any streaks of black around her eyes, or makeup residue. There are none.

"Harry," she cocks her head, voice hoarse. "Did you—take my makeup off for me before you put me in bed?"

"Yeah," he shrugs nonchalantly, threading his fingers through her hair. "I know how you hate it when you fall asleep with your makeup on and it smears everywhere so I—"

Miranda closes her mouth over his, "You're the best boyfriend ever."

"Well, I already knew that," Harry hums, smug and self assured.

"Wait a second," Miranda realizes, something dawning on her. She has regained most of her faculties by this point. "That means—Harry James Potter did you undress me?" she demands.

"Not like I haven't seen it all before..." Harry murmurs devilishly into her ear, voice low and dirty. Pink floods Miranda's cheeks.

Hermione returns from the bathroom looking rather pale, "I do believe I've just vomited the entire contents of my stomach out."

"Shhhh," Ginny grumbles, burrowing herself under a blanket. "Your voice sounds like a million bess buzzing in my head."

"I'm hungry," Ron announces matter of factly, red hair sticking up like a ginger hay stack.

"Ugh," Hermione gags again, bile rising in her throat. "How can you even think about food right now?"

Ron grabs a heart shaped package from under Mateo's bed, gleeful. "Look chocolate!" Hermione claps a hand over her mouth and hightails it back to the bathroom. Miranda can hear her retches echoing from it and grimaces.

"Oi Matt can I have this?" Ron asks loudly.

Ginny winces, burying herself into Mateo's side.  "Ow my bloody head! Shut up, Ron!"

"Sure," says Mateo, remembering to keep his voice quiet He rubs gentle circles on Ginny's back. "What is it?"

Ron is already shoving the sweets into his mouth. "Mmmm these are delicious," he expresses through a full mouth. "Where'd you get these mate, a secret admirer?"

Ginny pokes her head up at these words, "What secret admirer?" She looks at Matt suspiciously, glaring and suddenly very alert.

"I have no idea what he's on about Gin." Mateo says, trying to calm her. A sleep deprived, hung over, jealous Ginny is something no one wants to encounter.

"Good. I'm too tired to kill a bitch today." She nestles herself back into Mateo, content once more. Miranda watches Ron devour the chocolate with increasing disgust, her insides churning.

"Uh oh," she holds a hand to her stomach. "Hermione are you still in the bathroom?!" She pounds on the door frantically, but all she can hear is Hermione's continued retching. Miranda sighs, taking another sip of water and inhaling deeply. Thankfully, the urge to throw up passes. She makes her way back to Harry's bed. "Since you're hungry," she pauses next to Ron, "want to come down and bring back some breakfast for these lot?" Ron has not moved, but is leaning on his bedpost, staring out of the rain-washed window with a strangely unfocused look on his face. "Ron?" she waves a hand back and forth in front of him. "Ron? Breakfast."
"I'm not hungry."
Miranda stares blankly at him. "I thought you just said— ?"
"Well, all right, I'll come down with you," sighs Ron, "but I don't want to eat."
Miranda scrutinizes him suspiciously, "You've just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons, haven't you?"
"It's not that," Ron sighs again. "You . . . you wouldn't understand."

"Fair enough," says Miranda albeit puzzled. "Are you feeling well, Ron?

"Alright down there, mate?" asks Harry, from his perch on the bed. He forgets to whisper and Ginny shoots him a murderous look.

"Harry!" says Ron suddenly.

"What?" Harry's eyebrows shoot up, as do everyone else's, alarmed.

"Harry, I can't stand it!"

"You can't stand what?" asks Harry, now starting to feel definitely worried. Ron is rather pale and looks as though he is about to be sick.

"I can't stop thinking about her!" says Ron hoarsely.

Miranda gapes at him. She had not expected this and knows she doesn't want to hear it. Hermione's face droops and Miranda pinches her features. Was he that much of an idiot? Friends they might be, but if push came to shove she knows who'd she choose.

"Why does that stop you having breakfast?" Harry asks finally, trying to inject a note of common sense into the proceedings.

"I don't think she knows I exist," says Ron with a desperate gesture.

"She definitely knows you exist," says Harry, bewildered. "She keeps snogging you, doesn't she?"

Ron blinked. "Who are you talking about?"

"Who are you talking about?" says Miranda, with an increasing sense that all reason had dropped out of the conversation.

"Romilda Vane," says Ron softly, and his whole face seems to illuminate as he says it, as though hit by a ray of purest sunlight.

"Who's Romilda Vane?" Miranda asks, even more confused than before.

"You know," Mateo answers, "the pret— Ginny glowers at him with the intensity of a laser—the girl from Hufflepuff, dark hair, who I do not find attractive at all, because I have a very hot girlfriend who I love very much." He emphasizes, looking pointedly Ginny, who looks satisfied with that response.

They stare at each other for almost a whole minute, before Harry says, "This is a joke, right? You're joking."

"I think . . . I think I love her," says Ron in a strangled voice.

"Okay," says Matt, walking up to Ron to get a better look at the glazed eyes and the pallid complexion, "okay. . . Say that again with a straight face."

"I love her," repeats Ron breathlessly. "Have you seen her hair, it's all black and shiny and silky . . . and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her —"

"This is insane!" says Harry. "What's got into — ?"

And then Matt spots the box lying open on Ron's bed, and the truth hits him with the force of a stampeding troll. "Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?"

"Why?"

"They're the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas, and they're all spiked with love potion!"

Only one word of this seemed to have registered with Ron.

"Romilda?" he repeats. "Did you say Romilda? Mateo — do you know her? Can you introduce me?" Miranda peers at Ron, whose face now looks tremendously hopeful, and fights a strong desire to laugh.

"So how do we fix him?" Mateo gestures towards Ron who is now dancing  and leaping around the room. "He's obviously not in a sound state of mind.

"We'll have to take him to Slughorn." Harry decides. "C'mon Mateo, it'll be better if two of us monitor him."

Mateo nods, steering Ron towards the door, "Alright buddy, up you come."

"Where are we going?"

"To see Romilda Vane," Harry can't resist. "Would you like that?"

Ron nods his head up and down vigorously as they pull him out of the room, "Am I dressed okay?"

Hermione and Miranda join Ginny, and pull the covers around them. The three girls snuggling into one another. Ginny sighs, "I wish I wasn't so hungover so I could enjoy Ron under a love potion more."

Hermione and Miranda giggle, and then Hermione lets out a tiny gasp, throwing off the blankets and running for, you guessed it, the bathroom. Miranda and Ginny follow her, Miranda holding her hair up while Ginny offers her water to rinse her mouth.

"I'm never drinking again." Hermione moans, slumping against the floor. She presses her cheek down on the cool tiles, miserable. Miranda would be snickering had she not been in the same condition.

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom opens and a mousy third year girl pops her head in. "Oh—there you are!" she stammers nervously, looking at Hermione's position on the floor. "Erm—I'm sorry to bother you but Professor McGonagall sent me to come fetch the three of you."

"Auntie?" Miranda stands up just a hair too fast as she grips the towel rack for balance. "What does she want?"

"Er I- I don't really know all the details," the girl squeaks, "just that there's been an incident involving one of your friends. Professor wants you all to go up to the Hospital Wing right away."

The girls' outcries overlap, eyes widening in concern. Miranda's heart races, her ind immediately jumping to the worst. Scenarios involving Harry's bloody, mutilated body flash before her and her chest tightens. Could you blame her? It's not as if it hasn't happened before. And just this morning— he'd been so sweet, teasing her and taking care of her. What if—

"How bad is it? Is someone hurt?" Hermione and Ginny pull themselves upright as well, brows furrowed.

"Like I said, I—I don't really know—" she peeps, looking very flustered now.

"Who?" Miranda presses urgently. "Do you know who it is?" Please don't say Harry. Please don't say Harry.

"He has red hair—I don't know his name." And with that, the girl scurries out of the bathroom.

Frantically, the three of them get dressed, not bothering to go up to their own dorms for clothes. Instead, they haphazardly throw on sweatpants and jumpers of the boys, tying their matted, dirty hair up as best they could. Not tie could be wasted. They don't even put on shoes as they speed to the Hospital Wing, panting  slightly when they arrive.

McGonagall ushers them in quietly, "It's alright girls, Mr. Weasley will be absolutely fine, Miss Weasley we've already contacted your parents."

The three girls gasp when they see Ron lying unconscious on a cot, Mateo and Harry already at his bedside. Hermione has gone white, her face very clenched and frightened looking.

Miranda flew into Harry's arms at once, guilt sweeping though her like a tidal wave when she thought of the spark of relief she'd felt when the girl had confirmed it wasn't Harry.

Ginny draws up a chair beside Mateo and looks at Ron's pale face. "How exactly did it happen, Matt?"
Together, Mateo and Harry retell the story that Miranda can feel they have already already recounted at least a dozen times.

". . . and then I got the bezoar down his throat and his breathing eased up a bit, Slughorn ran for help, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey turned up, and they brought Ron up here. They reckon he'll be all right. Madam Pomfrey says he'll have to stay here a week or so . . . keep taking essence of rue . . ." finishes Harry.

"Blimey, it was lucky you thought of a bezoar," says Ginny in a low voice.

"Lucky there was one in the room," says Harry, who keeps turning cold at the thought of what would have happened if he had not been able to lay hands on the little stone.  Hermione gives an almost inaudible sniff. She has been exceptionally quiet all day, taking no part in the discussion about how Ron had been poisoned, but merely sat staunchly at Ron's side, clutching his hand.

Suddenly, the doors to the infirmary fly open, and a very upset Lavender Brown storms into the room.

"Where's my Won Won?" she shrieks shrilly, and Madam Pomfrey shushes her. Her beady eyes find Hermione, "What is she doing here?"

Hermione retorts with fire, speaking for the first time in what seems like hours, "What am I doing here? I'm his—friend, thank you very much."

Lavender Brown stomps her foot, cheeks pink with anger and exertion. Mateo is eyeing each girl warily, as if wondering if one of the will have to jump between the two soon. "His friend?!" She snorts derisively, "Don't make me laugh. You two haven't spoken in weeks." Hermione recoils at this. "I suppose you want him back now that he's all interesting," she accuses furiously.

"Interesting?!" Hermione says incredulously. "You think nearly dying is interesting?!" Ron stirs in his sleep. The attention in the room completely shifts, Miranda holding her breath along with everyone else. Harry is at the edge of his seat, worried.

Ron croaks, "Hermione." Then sinks back into sleep.

At this, Lavender tears out of the room in tears, and Miranda swears she sees Professor Dumbledore slip her great aunt a galleon. Hermione composes herself, unable to contain the smile creeping up her face. She folds her hands very primly in her lap, clearing her throat, "Looks like he's starting to wake. That's good. Madam Pomfrey will be pleased."

Miranda raises an eyebrow at her, smiling, "I'm sure she will."

Ron is slipping in and out of consciousness, his voice ragged and barely audible. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to say something. "My— my jumper?"

"What?" Hermione asks gently, staring down at him with a kind look in her eyes. "It's alright, Ron. You don't have to—"

Ron shakes his head, pointing at her, "You're wearing—my—" he struggles for a moment. "My jumper?"

"Oh!" Hermione exclaims with a start, understanding. A bit anxious, she flushes, "Sorry. Yes, I— I am." She explains, "We were so anxious to get here that we didn't want to waste time going up to our dorm to get clothes. I—sorry. I'll—"

"No—no—" Ron mumbles tiredly, but sincerely, "It looks—good on you." His eyes fall shut once more, still holding Hermione's hand.