Quidditch tryouts are today, and Miranda had to pull Harry out of bed that morning, he had had another meeting with Dumbledore last night. It felt like he had been having more and more of those as the school year wanes on, and Miranda longs to ask him how it went, but knows she isn't supposed to.

It's not as if he owes her anything. She's keeping just as many secrets as he is, she suspects. She hates it.

Miranda takes a sip of her pumpkin juice, flipping through her planner with growing dread. Contrary to Ron's beliefs, sixth year was chock full of tie consuming assignments. The professors had no qualms about giving them loads of homework each night. Especially, Miranda's great aunt, who'd set them a six page essay the day before. Not to mention Hermione and Her had promised to go watch Quidditch tryouts.

She glances up at Harry across the table, "How long do you think it ought to take today, Harry?" Quickly she says, "Hermione and I are just so excited."

Harry nods, biting back a smile, "I'm sure."

"I really am," insists Miranda fervently.

"Y'know, I think you've missed your calling as an actress," he teases, arching a mischievous eyebrow. He's looking at her with that absolutely reckless, shit eating grin again that makes Miranda want to punch him and kiss him all at once.

"Oh, lay off her," says Hermione, and Miranda is grateful for the defense. For a second, that is. Until Hermione adds, "She really is excited. She loves when you're in your Quidditch uniform."

"Hermione Jean Granger!" Miranda's mouth falls open in betrayal. Ron snorts loudly.

Harry is delighted at this new piece of information. He cocks his head, smirking, "Like a man in uniform, Mandy?"

"Perhaps," says Miranda, lifting a coy shoulder. She is determined not to blush.

"You think I look hot in my uniform," he declares happily, beaming.

"Do you think I look hot in my uniform?" asks Ginny cheekily, plopping down on the other side of Miranda.

Miranda giggles, slinging an arm around the redhead's shoulder, "Always."

"Suck it, Potter," Ginny crows, poking her tongue out at Harry.

"Honestly, though, Harry," says Hermione, waving her fork at him. "How long? Because I've got several hours of Arithmancy homework to do."

"Trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied." Miranda sees something akin to nervousness cross Harry's face. It's sweet. She reaches across the table and slips he r hadn't into his. She knows he'll do wonderfully. "I dunno why the team's this popular all of a sudden."

"Oh, come on, Harry," says Hermione, suddenly impatient. "It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable."

Ron gags on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spares him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.

"Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you 'the Chosen One' — well, come on, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?"

Harry seems as though he is finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looks cold and rainy. Miranda's lips are pursed tightly together. Obviously, she's noticed this as well. Hermione is not alone in her observations. Cho was a walk in the park compared to what she is dealing with currently. She sees all the side glance and longing lustful looks Harry receives as they walk down the hallways. She's heard the whispers in the girls' dorm and the lavatories. She can't blame them really. She knows better than anyone how truly amazing he is. He's handsome, noble, witty, sweet, and awkward. Plus, he's really good at kissing. Miranda'll testify to that one.

"And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway. . . ."

"You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look," says Ron, shaking back his sleeves.

"And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer either," Hermione finishes, ignoring Ron.

"No, it does not," Miranda says in agreement, her lips curving up at Harry ever so slightly.

"I'm tall," says Ron inconsequentially. Mateo pats him on the shoulder consolingly, and Miranda struggles not to laugh.

"Face it, Potter," Miranda tells him, "you're a prize."

Harry traces a gentle thumb over the back of her hand, gaze warm, "Yet somehow I'm the lucky winner." Now Miranda is really blushing. Why'd he have to be so damn sweet all the time?

When they leave the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, they pass Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Miranda is taken wildly off guard when Ron drew level with them, and Parvati suddenly nudges Lavender, who looks around and gives Ron a wide smile. Ron blinks at her, then returns the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became something more like a strut. Yet again, Miranda heavily resists the temptation to laugh, casting a worried look at Hermione. It is just as she feared. Hermione is cold and distant all the way down to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle, and when they depart to find a place in the stands, she does so without wishing Ron good luck.

As Harry had expected, the trials take most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor House seems to have turned up, from first years who are nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh years who tower over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter includes a large, wiry-haired boy Miranda recognizes immediately from when he attempted to hit on her and Hermione sequentially in the Great Hall. Ugh. She turns to Hermione, exchanging a looks of disdain as Harry sends Cormac McLaggen over to wait their way. Cormac is a dull boy, who seems to think he is God's gift to the world, smarmy as hell, always asking younger girls out. Apparently Harry is saving the Keeper trials for last.

Miranda and Hermione watch, shivering in the stands as the tryouts commence. Cheering as Ginny flies flawlessly, scoring goal after goal. Mateo is doing well too, his Beater skills are quite good. Privately, Miranda wonders when Snape had time to teach him Quidditch.

When it is finally Ron's turn, Miranda realizes Harry needn't have worried. He blocks all five of the goals thrown at him. Though his competition, Cormac McLaggen, is also performing well. Hermione watches Ron worriedly, pursing her lips as Lavender Brown claps and cheers shamelessly. Ron stops a particularly tricky goal and Miranda spots Harry grin in spite of himself. Suddenly, McLaggen veers completely off course, letting two of Katie Bell's goals go in.

Hermione smiles sneakily, as Miranda applauds Ron, speculating about how McLaggen could've missed those scores. Then she sees Hermione quietly sliding her wand back in her bag.

"Hermione Granger, you did not!" Miranda gasps.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." Hermione neatly folds her hands in her lap, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

"You're a prefect, you know," Miranda reminds her, snickering.

"You should've heard him before tryouts!" Hermione cries out in protest, face reddening. "Ron deserves this."

"Y0u don't hear me complaining," Miranda bumps her friend with her shoulder as Harry blows his whistle, signaling the end of try outs, gathering the players in a circle. Miranda and Hermione walk down to the pitch, trying to make out what's happening. Harry, Ron, Mateo, and Ginny approach them, sweaty and covered with dirt.

"Well?" Hermione says impatiently.

"I'm in!" Ron exclaims, punching his fist in the air, "I gave old McLaggen a run for his money."

Hermione hugs him, and then the two step back from each other awkwardly. Miranda shakes her head at her two friends, wishing they would just hurry up and get together.

"We should celebrate!" Ron says, in a much better mood than he had been this morning.  "Six butter beers at the Three Broomsticks? Everyone nods except Ginny.

"Better make it five," Ginny informs them, rather mysteriously. "I've got plans." Miranda is under the impression that "plans" is code for a date with Dean, and Ginny just doesn't want to speak it in front of Ron, lest she ruin his good spirits.  "I'm on the team too by the way,"  she calls in parting, long red hair swinging behind her. "And Mateo, he was brilliant."

Mateo blushes profusely, ducking his head, "I—I guess. I was alright..."

Miranda looks between the two of them suspiciously, but before she can give it any more thought, Harry wraps his arms around her waist, hugging her from behind.

"Hi," he murmurs into her ear, planting his chin on her shoulder. He smells of dirt and grass and broom polish.

Miranda smiles, leaning back to look up at him,  "Hi." He has a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and it takes everything in her not to reach up and whisk it away. Harry bends to kiss her, but Miranda stops him, "You are all sweaty. I'm not kissing you until you shower." She wags her finger a mockingly stern manner.

"Only if you come with me," Harry replies swiftly, his voice low and mischievous. His hands trail down her waist, feathering across her ribs and the wall of her back.

Goosebumps run up her arms, "Shut up."

In response, Harry closes his mouth over hers, then says, "I will kiss my gorgeous girlfriend whenever I damn please." And with that he saunters away with Ron and Mateo to clean up before they head to Hogsmeade. Miranda bites her lip, very brazenly watching him walk away. She doesn't even care about the look Herione is shooting her.

Once the boys have changed, the group sets out for Hogsmeade. When they arrive at the Three Broomsticks, the pub is already packed with students and teachers alike. Miranda inhales deeply, loving the smell of treacle tarts and sugar that emanates from Honeydukes next door.

They take a seat at the nearest open table while Ron orders the drinks from Madam Rosmerta. He has long nursed a soft spot for the curvy bar woman, and will take any opportunity to try his charms on her.

Miranda nestles comfortably into Harry's side, not minding in the slightest when he places a secure hand on her thigh beneath the table. Though she does desperately try to ignore the millions of butterflies sent flapping about in her abdomen when he occasionally and absentmindedly moves his thumb.

"Could you maybe stop being perfect for like two seconds?" asks Miranda, as Harry tucks a piece of her hair that had gone astray from her braid back behind her ear. "If you were awful maybe all those girls would stop fancying you," she grumbles, glancing at the groupies that have followed them fro tryouts to the Three Broomsticks, sitting just a few tables away.

"No can do, love,"  says Harry, grinning. "Haven't I told you how cute you are when you're jealous?"

Out of the corner of her eye she spots a flash of Ginny's red hair. She looks closer and finds Ginny and Dean Thomas, lip locked, sitting in front of the fire. Guess her intuition had been right on the money.

"I guess that's what she meant when she said she had plans," says Miranda, waggling her eyebrows at Hermione suggestively. Across from her, Mateo stares very hard at the opposite wall.

"She really has done well for herself hasn't she?" Hermione remarks with a smile. "Dean's very good looking."

"Definitely," Miranda agrees as Harry scowls.

"Hey!"

Miranda kisses him on the cheek, giggling, "Not as pretty as you, Potter. Don't worry."

"Hmmph." Harry says, as Ron returns to the table. As soon as he sees the scene before him, his face turns a greenish color and he looks as though he may vomit.

"What," he chokes out, "is that?"

Miranda and Hermione conceal their smiles behind their mugs of butterbeer, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"C'mon Weasley," chides Miranda, a daring gleam in her expression,. "Your sister's hot. You didn't honestly think she was never going to date." She frowns, "Did you?"

"Yes!" Ron exclaims forcefully, glaring at Dean Thomas. "Git."

"Besides," says Miranda exasperatedly, rolling her eyes, "you've known about this for ages."

Ron ignores her, groaning as he slumps down in his seat, covering his eyes, "Do they have to snog right in front of me?"

"Not everything is about you Ron," laughs Hermione.

"I suddenly have so much more respect for you, mate," Ron claps Mateo on the back firmly. This act seems to jolt Mateo to his senses. "How you stand it with these two snogging all over the place is beyond me."

"Thank you!" Mateo says emphatically, looking pointedly at Miranda and Harry. "See, now you understand how I feel!"

"We do not snog all over the place," protests Miranda hotly, scowling at both Ron and her brother.

"Just most places," says Harry, lips twitching. "Classrooms, broom closets, corridors, the—"

Miranda elbows him sharply in the ribs, hissing, "You are not helping."

Ron is still lamenting over the Dean and Ginny situation. "Now I know why you hated Harry so much in the beginning. You have to hate the guy who dates your little sister. It's the principle of the thing."

"For the hundredth time, I am not his little sister!" Miranda yells indignantly, frowning at her far too entertained twin brother. The little prick.

Just then, Slughorn comes over, interrupting what had been probably shaping up to be a fistfight between siblings. "Hello, hello," he greets them  all jovially. "Happy to see some of my best students out and about."

"Good evening sir," Harry says politely. "How can we help you?"

"Well Harry m'boy I was thinking of organizing a little get together, a dinner most likely. Only a select few will be invited of course, but I'd like you to attend, as well as Miss Granger, and Miss and Mr. McGonagall." He hands each of them a rolled up scroll of parchment, tied with a velvet ribbon. He pauses, "Oh—and tell your friend Ginevra Weasley to come along too. I saw her perform the most brilliant Bat Bogey Hex the other day."

"We'll be there Professor," Hermione replies, sitting up straight.

Slughorn notices Ron for the first time, who looks up at him hoping for an invitation. "Oh— hello there, Robert," Slughorn says absentmindedly, turning to go.

"It's Ron—oh never mind," mumbles Ron dejectedly to Slughorn's retreating back.