Snow is swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas is approaching fast. Hagrid has already single-handedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees for the Great Hall; gar- lands of holly and tinsel have been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glow from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe have been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls tended to converge underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Harry went past, which caused blockages in the corridors; and was of great aggravation to Grace.

Thankfully, Harry's intimate knowledge of Hogwarts secret passageways offered them alternate, mistletoe free routes to class. This is not to say that they did not kiss, however.

Although Ron is now boisterous and constantly cheery instead of moody and combative, the improved Ron came at a heavy price. Firstly, they had to put up with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, who seems to regard any moment that she is not kissing Ron as a moment wasted; and secondly, Miranda and Harry find themselves the best friends of two people who have no desire to be in the same room with each other, let alone actually speak to the other.

Ron, whose hands and forearms still bear scratches and cuts from Hermione's bird attack, is taking a defensive and resentful tone. "She can't complain," he tells them both one afternoon. "She snogged Krum. So she's found out someone wants to snog me too. Well, it's a free country. I haven't done anything wrong." Miranda had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes that day. Harry had not answered, as usual, but pretended to be absorbed in the book they were supposed to have read before Charms next morning (Quintessence: A Quest). Determined as he is to remain friends with both Ron and Hermione, he is spending a lot of time with his mouth shut tight.

"I never promised Hermione anything," Ron mumbles. "I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, but she never said . . . just as friends . . . I'm a free agent. . ."

Miranda buries her face in Harry' shoulder, and he turns a page of Quintessence. Ron's voice tails away in mutters, barely audible over the loud crackling of the fire, though Miranda thinks she catches the words "Krum" and "can't complain" again.

Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, so Miranda and Harry generally join her in the library, where you could often find Mateo with her as well.

"Hi, love," Harry plants a kiss on Miranda's cheek as he settles himself in the chair beside her. The library is nearly deserted, it's the day before break, and everyone is either on the train home already, or in Hogsmeade celebrating the end of exams. Late afternoon light filters through the window panes, casting an ethereal shimmer on everything it touches. Miranda smiles, resting against Harry's chest while he runs his fingers though her hair.

She sighs contentedly, gazing up at Harry's green eyes, glasses slightly askew. His tie is crooked and his hair falls messily over the telltale lightning scar. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are pushed back, revealing his muscular forearms. Which for some reason Miranda finds undeniably irresistible. Goddamnit why did he have to be so attractive? She wants to grab him by his tie and pull him towards her and—

I beg of you to stop.

Matt!

I assure you I am in as much pain as you are right now.

Miranda's face feels like it's been set on fire, and she's certain it must look as though she's contracted some horrible rash. Was nothing private anymore? Was it too much to ask for a moment to daydream about her extremely hot boyfriend and his Quidditch muscles and his abs and—

I'm going to vomit. I swear to Godric I will vomit all over this library.

Shut up, Matt!

You think this is something I want?  You don't have to be  so graphic—

Please. Like I didn't have to endure all of your Ginny thoughts during exams. 'Ginny's hair smells like flowers' 'Ginny and Dean should break up—'

I did not—

It will be a miracle if I pass History of Magic.

Blaming me for your lack of studying now? It's not my fault you decided to 'wing it'.

Miranda makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat, forgetting that the conversation is entirely in her mind. Harry furrows his brow, tilting his head at her questioningly. "Alright, McGonagall?"

She massages her temples wearily, nodding, "Mmhmm." When she sees Harry's eyes narrow in concern and evident skepticism she adds, "Tired. That's all."

"Have you been sleeping?" asks Harry, and Miranda knows then that he has noticed that she is never without a cup of coffee. He's noticed her dark circles and her bloodshot eyes and when she lays her head on the desk during class. The way she winces and clutches her head sometimes.

"Of course," she lies. "Just exams taking their toll, I suppose." Miranda laughs lightly, playing with the button on his shirt, "Nothing to worry about."

Harry stares at her a moment, then sighs. "You'd tell me if there was though, right?" he glances at her, expression soft and searching. "If there was something to worry about. You'd tell me."

Miranda swallows, forcing a convincing smile, "Right."

"Okay," Harry relaxes slightly. He tilts her chin up, meeting her lips for a brief, gentle kiss. It's sweet, simple. Perfect. "I love you."

Guilt pools in the pit of Miranda's stomach, "I love you too."

Mateo and Hermione are looking at books for the five page essay Snape had assigned over break. They've been spending significantly more time together lately since the whole Ron incident. Ron and Hermione are not currently on speaking terms or any terms, really.

"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," says Hermione to Mateo, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowls the shelves behind them. "I really couldn't care less." She raises her quill and dots an i so ferociously that she punctures a hole in her parchment.

Mateo diligently scribbles notes in his copy of Advanced Potions, "Of course you don't."

Hermione scowls at him, poking her tongue out, "Oh, that was very convincing."

"That's what I was going for," Mateo grins, ducking his head out of the way before she can take her quill and puncture holes in his eyes instead of in her parchment.

"Perhaps you should utilize those skills when you see Ginny and Dean snogging in the common room," Hermione fires back, smirking. "Yesterday you looked as though you were going to set fire to someone."

Mateo points his own quill at her, "Evil."

"That's what I was going for," Hermione giggles very quietly, as not to catch the discerning and scrutinizing eye of Madam Pince. "And incidentally," Hermione comments, after a few moments, "you need to be careful."

"What d'you mean?" Mateo frowns, forehead wrinkling in confusion

"Who are you going with?" says Hermione, by way of explanation.

"Come again?" Mateo glances up from his book, wildly bewildered.

"To Slughorn's party," Hermione presses impatiently, flicking his hand. "Who's your date?" she repeats.

Mateo shrugs, as though he hasn't given it much thought. Because— he hasn't. "I was thinking we could just go together," he explains absentmindedly. 'Seeing as neither of us can take who we'd like to." He shoots her a wry smile.

"Oh—bollocks! Why didn't I think of that?" Hermione groans, banging her head into one of the shelves.

Mateo cocks his head, blinking, "You mean you've already got someone?" There go all his plans of a stress free night with the two of them wallowing about in their own misery. "Who?"

"Well—erm—you'll see tomorrow..." Hermione's answer is nervous, and purposely vague.

"Who am I supposed to go with then?" demands Mateo anxiously.

"I don't know, but you can't go with just anyone Matt," Hermione warns. "I went into the girls' bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there. They're all hoping they're going to get you to take them to Slughorn's party." After it became clear that Harry was in a very committed relationship with Miranda, and was not likely to be single any time soon, and even less likely to cheat on her, many girls turned their affections to Mateo. The tall, mysterious new boy. He is albeit, very handsome. Smart, good at Quidditch. Undeniably fanciable. "Including that Romilda Vane," Hermione continues, "she's trying to decide how to slip you a love potion."

"Really?" Mateo raises his eyebrows, a bit flattered at the prospect.

"Hey!" Hermione snaps her fingers in front of his face, shouting him a reprimanding look. "I'm serious, Matt."

"Okay, okay. Don't send your birds after me, Hermione," Matt teases, and Hermione swats him with a book.

I'd just invite someone to go with you," she advises. "That'll stop all the others thinking they've still got a chance. It's tomorrow night, they're getting desperate."

"There isn't anyone I want to invite," mumbles Mateo, who is still trying not to think about Ginny any more than he can help. For Miranda's sake as well. "That's why I wanted to go with you."

Hermione waves her hands at him, as if to say that that was a lost cause now. "Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Vane looked like she meant business," says Hermione grimly. She hitches up the long roll of parchment on which she was writing her Potions essay, putting it neatly away.

Miranda watches as Hermione and Mateo rejoin them. She is glad they've grown so close. Truly. Their relationship seems to have strengthened ten fold in a matter of a months. Something had obviously clicked.

"Ready to go?" Hermione bends down, extending her hands to Miranda.

"Yup," Miranda rises from her chair, Harry attempting to pull her back down into his lap. He wraps his arms around her waist, refusing to let go.

"Come back, Mandy," he begs, shamelessly batting his eyes.

"Goodbye, Harry." Hermione rolls her eyes, tugging on Miranda's arm.  Miranda ruffles Harry's hair, pressing a kiss to his jaw before following Hermione, both girls blowing kisses to a very disgruntled Harry. Hermione and Miranda head up to the Gryffindor tower, chattering eagerly about what dresses they're going to wear. They hear giggling up ahead and when they turn the corner they find Ron and Lavender eating each other's faces off in the windowsill.

Hermione's face darkens. Miranda puts a consoling hand on her arm.

"Excuse me while I go and vomit," Hermione mutters scathingly, the girls continuing on to their room. All hope Miranda had had for a Ron Hermione reconciliation promptly flies out the window.

They do not improve after enduring a Transfiguration lesson with them both next day. They have just embarked upon the immensely difficult topic of human Transfiguration; working in front of mirrors, they were supposed to be changing the color of their own eyebrows. Hermione had laughed unkindly at Ron's disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar mustache; Ron had retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which had reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. She had raced out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind. Miranda had had a wordless understanding with Harry that she would go after Hermione this time, darting out of the classroom with Hermione's discarded items.

She finally tracks her down in the girls' bathroom on the floor below., the one no one goes in because of Moaning Myrtle. Her eyes are very red and her face is blotchy. Miranda's heart is breaking for her best friend, and immediately crushes her in a tight hug. Together, the two girls sink down to the damp, tiled floor.

"He's a prat," Miranda tells her, stroking Hermione's hair soothingly. "He didn't mean it. He's just being a stupid prick at the moment."

"Thank you for bringing me my stuff," Hermione says in a choked voice, gathering them up. "I'm sorry about all this." She turns away to wipe her eyes, swallowing down a wrenching sob.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Hermione," Miranda squeezes her hand, handing her a tissue and helping her off the floor. She peers at the cracked, dusty mirror, swiveling around at all angles. "Does it look as if I've wet myself?" she asks, trying to lighten the mood. They had been sitting in a puddle, after all.

Hermione lets out a strangled laugh, "Maybe a bit."

"It's alright," Miranda smiles at her, leaning her head on her shoulder. "We're matching. I think we're going to set a new trend." She doesn't know what else to say. She wants to offer some comfort, but cannot find the proper words to do so.

Hermione sniffs, eyes shining, "I agree."

"Shall we go to dinner," Miranda offers her her arm, hoping Hermione will link hers though Miranda's elbow.

Hermione bites her lip, "I'm not very hungry, actually." Miranda knows it's because Ron will be sitting there, with Lavender, of course. She doesn't blame her for not wanting to come. She just misses her. A lot. "I think I ought to— I ought to go— maybe I'll see you later?" She is gone before Miranda can open her mouth to say anything else.

"How is she?" Harry wonders, when Miranda meets him just outside the Great Hall.

Miranda only shakes her head, the two of them heading in for dinner. "How do you think?"

Ron is already there when they arrive, and Miranda longs to give him the silent treatment, but can't quite bring herself to. She can't let their friendships fracture even further. It is why Harry's refused to take sides. And Miranda has too. Mostly...

Hermione does not come to dinner for a while. Waiting at least twenty minutes, before gliding in, chin raised. She does not even glance Ron's way. She takes a seat a long way along the table, alone, playing with her stew. Miranda, Harry, and Matt notice Ron looking at her furtively.

"You could say sorry," suggests Harry bluntly.

"What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?" mutters Ron, rather bitterly.

"What did you have to imitate her for?" Mateo folds his arms, obviously over the immature behavior
"She laughed at my mustache!" Ron protests hotly
"So did I," Miranda tells him flatly. Her mouth is folded into a thin, unforgiving line. "It was the stupidest thing I've ever seen."
But Ron does not seem to have heard; Lavender has just arrived with Parvati. Squeezing herself in between Harry and Ron, Lavender flings her arms around Ron's neck, inundating him with several smacking kisses. Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and Parvati, who has sat down quietly beside Miranda is looking pointedly at her plate. Apparently, she is just as embarrassed and over their friends behavior as they are.

Harry leans over the table, whispering concernedly to Miranda, "We aren't this bad, are we?"

"God, I hope not," Miranda whispers back, wrinkling her nose.

"Don't worry," Parvati murmurs, thankful to have something to do. "You aren't. You're actually very cute and tolerable, if you wanted to know."

Miranda smiles gratefully at the girl, partially forgiving her for laughing during Transfiguration, "Thanks, Parvati."

"Oh, hi, Hermione!" Parvati positively beams. Now Miranda knows for certain that she is feeling guilty for having laughed at Hermione.  Hermione beams back, possibly more brightly. Miranda shares this beam, relieved they're alright again. Harry looks at them as thought they've gone quite mad, however.

"Hi, Parvati!" Waves Hermione, ignoring Ron and Lavender completely. "Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"

"No invite," says Parvati gloomily. "I'd love to go, though, it sounds like it's going to be really good. . . . You're going, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm meeting my date at eight, and we're —" There is a noise like a plunger being withdrawn from a blocked sink and Ron surfaces, choking on his own tongue. Hermione acts as though she has not seen or heard anything. "— we're going up to the party together."

This is the first Miranda has heard of this, Harry too, and they both exchange a look of surprise. Mateo is decidedly unfazed.
"Ooh" Parvati class her hands, intrigued. "Who is it?"

Hermione smiles mysteriously, lifting an airy shoulder, "I suppose you'll just have to wait and see." She turns to Miranda, "Want to go get ready with me."

"Let's go," Miranda nods, bidding her goodbyes to Harry, Parvati, and Mateo. She says goodbye to Ron too, but he must not have heard her over Lavender's saliva.

Once in their dorms, where Ginny is waiting, the girls throw all their dresses and shoes, and jewelry on the bed. Hermione turns on the Muggle music and the three begin mixing and matching and debating over what to wear. Eventually, they decide on a pale pinkish dress for Hermione, a sweetheart neckline that accentuates her slender neck, paired with a bejeweled necklace and matching heels. Miranda has chosen to wear an old dress of her mom's. A strapless, champagne colored dress. Simple, but effective. Miranda has to force herself not to cry when she looks in the mirror. There's picture she has of her mother wearing the dress, some twenty years ago. Juniper would have loved to see her in it. She smooths the skirt of wrinkles, gazing at her reflection. Ginnys stands beside her, glowing in a satiny green wrap dress, a corresponding green velvet ribbon nestled in her curtain of auburn hair.

Miranda pulls her own hair into an updo, sweeping it off her face and gathering it at the nape of her neck. A few stray curls wisp out, but she pays no mind to them, tucking the blonde bits behind her ear.

When the girls make their way downstairs, Harry and Mateo ooh and ah on cue. The perfect gentlemen as usual.=, Mateo watching Ginny and Dean closely out of the corner of his eye. Even Ron tears himself away from Lavender when he sees Hermione, his eyes lingering a second too long for someone who is supposed to be in a committed and loving relationship.

"Erm— holy shit," is all Harry says when he lays eyes on her, his gaze very brazenly flicking up and down her figure. "You look—" he gapes at her, one hand rubbing his jaw. "You're stunning— perfect— you're magic."

Miranda bites her lip, suddenly shy. Her eyes sparkle in the firelight, "Your appreciation is duly noted, Potter."

"Is that so?" he grins, as Miranda takes his arm. The group journeying towards the room where Slughorn is holding his soiree. "Will I be rewarded for it later?" His lips brush her ear, and Miranda shivers, her mind going temporarily blank. She opens her mouth, then closes it. Properly flustered. Harry grins even broader, if possible, "The night's barely begun and I've already got you speechless and blushing. What am I going to do with you?"

"Kiss me," Miranda breathes. It is the only thing she can manage. The only coherent thought that makes its way to the tip of her tongue. All she can think about.

Harry licks his lips, "If you insist."

When they arrive in the entrance, there is an unusually large number of girls lurking there, all of whom seem to be staring at Miranda resentfully. Sh doesn't even care. She knows she has Harry's undivided attention. His eyes haven't left her once.

"Where's your date Hermione?" Mateo elbows her, quite curious.

"He's meeting me there," Hermione fluffs her hair, filling her cheeks with air, then puffing it out. "Where's yours?"

"Right there," he points up ahead at Luna Lovegood. Platinum hair wavy and long, she's sporting a pair of high top converses, one green and one purple, and a multilayered organza dress. When they get closer they can see Luna is also wearing enormous turnip earrings.

"Luna?" Hermione whispers, brow knitting together.

"Yeah," Mateo beckons the girl over.

"Better than Romilda Vane," Hermione acknowledges, as they enter. Miranda gapes in awe, taking in the meticulously decorated room. Lights are strung in the high ceiling, and neatly dresses servers mill about with trays of food. Couples dance and mingle under the floating candlesticks, a giant snow covered Christmas tree standing in the corner.

"Would you like to dance?" Harry bows in a very chivalrous and over the top manner, even kissing the back of Miranda's hand.

Despite herself, her lips twitch at his antics. "Alright Potter," says Miranda, curtsying low. "Show me what you got."

Harry twirls her around his arm, pulling her in close as a slow song starts to play. "How did I get so lucky?" he mulls aloud, running a hand through she hair and easing about with it. "I'm dancing with the prettiest girl in the room."

Miranda blushes a deep pink, "Shut up Harry."

"I love you, Mandy." Harry's eyes meet hers, locking in an intense, emotional gaze. Love is practically flooding from him, his features painted with it. But instead of filling her with same feelings, it only consumes her with a nauseating, prickly sensation. Like she's trapped in a pitch black well, scrabbling at the stone wall, water rising, slowly drowning. She can't get out. All Miranda can think about is the impending doom of their lives. She can't escape it. None of them can. Trapped.

Harry's expression changes in a split second as he recognizes Miranda's rapid breathing and the way her eyes have become glossy. "What's wrong?" Harry leads her over behind a curtain to get some privacy. He raises her chin up, forcing her to make eye contact. "Are you alright?"

Her eyes swim with tears, vision blurring. Harry is a fuzzy, dimly lit outline. "I just—I—I don't want to lose you," Her voice shakes, and Miranda hates the wobble of it all. The tremble of her lip. The slight crack in her sentences, the lump in her throat growing with each one that spill from her lips. "I love you so much and—" She breaks off. Unable to say it. To speak it into existence. He knows the future as well as she does. Knows its uncertainty, its danger. The fact that it will finally catch up with them.

"Hey— hey—whoa," Harry cups Miranda's face with his hands, steadying her. Forever her hero. Her anchor in the storm. She wants to be his hero. He deserves one. "Look at me," he murmurs, "we're going to be fine—"

Miranda shakes her head back and forth, shutting her eyes, "Bad things are happening, Harry." They can't pretend they're not. Not any longer. It's killing her inside. "People are dying. I don't—"

"Listen to me," Harry commands fiercely, thick with emotion. "You are never going to lose me. Do you hear me? Never." It sounds so easy when he puts it like that. It's not easy. It never has been. Not for them. They shouldn't make promises they can't keep.

"But—"

"Never," Harry silences her with a kiss, and Miranda's heart overflows with love for him, with fear for him.

Suddenly, Hermione swoops in from out of nowhere, going them behind the curtain, breathless.

"What's happened to you?" asks Miranda, for Hermione looks distinctly disheveled, rather as though she has just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.

"Oh, I've just escaped — I mean, I've just left Cormac," she explains breathlessly. "Under the mistletoe," she adds offhandedly.

"Cormac?" Miranda's eyes practically bug out of her head. She is incredulous. "As in McSleazy?" Hermione nods, a pained expression on her face.

"That's who you brought?!" Mateo also ducks under the curtain. "Blimey Hermione. Why in the hell would you do that?"

"I thought he's annoy Ron the most." Hermione sighs dispassionately, "However I failed to factor in that he'd annoy me too. I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —"

"You considered Smith?" says Harry, revolted.

"Yes, I did, and I'm starting to wish I'd chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman," she grimaces. "Though, I suspect Smith only wanted to come along so he'd have the chance to get Miranda alone."

Harry scoffs, grip noticeably and protectively tightening around Miranda's torso. "Like I'd even let him get near her."

"Well anyways," Hermione says briskly. "I decided to spare you from that."

"Thoughtful of you," thanks Miranda. Not entirely sure who was the lesser of two evils.

Hermione peeks around the corner, "Let's go this way, we'll be able to see him coming, he's so tall. . . ."

The four of them made their way over to the other side of the room, scooping up goblets of mead on the way.

"Wait—" Miranda pauses, thoughtful. "Why didn't you two just go together?" Miranda frowns. To her it would've been the obvious plan.

"That's what I said!" Mateo huffs, looking pointedly at Hermione.

"Well that's besides the point now— oh bloody hell he's coming this way." Hermione dashes out to find a new hiding place. She moves so fast it was as though she had Disapparated; one moment she was there, the next, she had squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.

"Seen Hermione?" interrogates McLaggen, forcing his way through the throng a minute later.

"No, sorry," says Mateo nonchalantly, Miranda and Harry dutifully shaking their heads.They are about to get some food when a commotion at the front of the room occurs.

Draco Malfoy is being dragged by the ear toward them by Argus Filch.  "Unhand me you dirty cat loving freak." The voice of Draco Malfoy pierces through the air, and all eyes turn to him.

"Professor Slughorn," wheezes Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his bulging eyes, "I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party."

"I wasn't gate crashing!" Draco sneers, struggling against Filch's grip.

"Were you invited then?" Slughorn looks rather bewildered and taken off guard  at having his party be disrupted in such a manner.

Draco reddens, obviously having been caught in a lie. There is a thick silence as everyone in the room stares.

"Nothing to say, eh?" Filch rasps. "Well—then I guess it's—"

"Wait!" Miranda blurts out before she can stop herself. It's instinctual. To defend your best friend— former best friend. She doesn't know what she's thinking. All she knows is that she has to do something. She ignores Harry's wide eyed look. And Mateo's.

"It's my fault Professor," Miranda begins, no way out now. She soldiers on. "Draco and I are partners for a—project, and we were supposed to work on it tonight. It completely slipped my mind." She glances from Filch's face to Slughorn's, praying her story is believable. "He was only looking for me. I'm sorry for the disturbance. I'll just go talk to him out in the hall." Slughorn nods, and Filch releases Draco begrudgingly. Miranda turns to go.

A hand. Harry' hand, holds her back. "Miranda, I don't--" Harry and Mateo block her path.

"I'll be fine Harry." She sidesteps both of them and walks out the door. Her feet have a mind of their own, following Draco out into the deserted corridor. She is alone with him— with him for the first time in months.

As soon as they are in the hall, Draco rounds on her, "I didn't need you to do that,"  he snaps angrily. "I could've handled it myself. You didn't—"

Miranda cuts him off, eyes flashing. "Would you rather have detention?" she challenges, fuming.

Draco is silent.

"That's what I thought,"she crosses her arms tightly over her chest. Her expression is blazing with fury.

"I don't think a blood traitor like you should be so cocky," Draco's lip curls into an unfamiliar sneer. No— not unfamiliar. She's seen it before. Just not pointed in her direction.

"What is the matter with you?" Miranda yells, stomping her heel down.

"Leave me alone," Draco glares. "I've got better things to do." He tries to stalk off. He refuses t look her in the eye.

"Stop it!" Miranda grabs at his arm, and he hisses in retaliation.

"Touch me again and I'll make you regret it." Draco threatens, voice low and dangerous.

"Who are you?" Miranda cries out, anguished. "I don't know you anymore. What have you become? What happened to my best friend, my Draco, the one that swore he would never be like his father? This isn't you Draco. I know who you are, and this isn't it." Her mother's final words echo in her head, replaying on an endless loop.  A cycle doomed to replay itself.

Her jabs sting Draco and he clenches his fists, vein throbbing in his forehead. She's always believed in him, even when he didn't. He misses her so, so much. He longs to tell her about everything. About the dark mark and the mission, and how he's more scared than he's ever been in his entire life. He can't. He can't put her in danger. Not again. Instead he stays utterly silent, staring  fixedly at the wall.

"You won't even look at me!" Miranda shrieks, desperate and upset and pained all at once. "Draco look at me! LOOK AT ME!" she shouts.

Draco finally tears his eyes up to hers, which are shining in the moonlight. Even when she's angry she's beautiful. Her golden hair tumbling out of its bun. It is physically painful to look at her. Draco feels like someone's stabbing him in the gut over and over.

Miranda falls quiet when Draco at last makes eye contact with her, waiting for what he's going to say. Hoping that maybe just maybe— things will go back to the way they were. Her heat is in her throat, she is holding her breath, but doesn't know it until she begins to feel faint.

"Well, maybe you don't know me anymore," Draco states, his tone cold and cruel. His face is calculating, unrecognizable. "Or maybe you never really knew me at all." This last declaration nearly shatters Miranda's heart, plunging into her chest like a stake. "Either way, do me favor and stay awayfrom me. Now go," he orders, "before I decide to use the Cruciatus curse on you." He looks away from her, the momentary light in his expression gone.

Miranda's face falls, the blood draining entirely from her. Her Draco really is gone. A single tear slides down her face.

He's gone.

Just like everyone else.