Mia Potter was the other Potter. Looking almost identical to her mother, she was a force to be reckoned with. But there was only one person who could reckon with her, and his name was Draco Malfoy.
In which the youngest Potter twin finds herself fa...
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They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.
"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that, pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.
It was a while before any of them said anything.
"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally.
"If any dog needs exercise, that one does," Mia said as she and Ron chuckled and high-fived each other lazily. Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again.
"You don't use your eyes, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"
"The floor?" Harry suggested.
"I wasn't looking at its fucking feet," Mia snapped, looking annoyed, "I was too busy with its heads."
"Or maybe you didn't notice," Ron added as Mia nodded wildly, "there were three!"
"It was standing on a trap door," she said bossily, "which means it wasn't there by accident. It's guarding something."
"Guarding something?" Ron asked as Mia and Harry looked at each other confused.
"That's right," she said, standing up and glaring at them. "Now, if you two don't mind, I'm going to bed before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed. . . . or worse, expelled!"
Ron stared after her, his mouth open.
"She needs to sort out her priorities!" he said as Harry nodded.
"No, we don't mind," Mia said snarkily. "You'd think we fucking dragged her along, wouldn't you?"
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"Quidditch is easy enough to understand," said Oliver Wood as he and Mia had left the castle the next afternoon and set off towards the Quidditch pitch in the dusk.
Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the pitch so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the pitch were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Mia of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high. She let out a small smile when she saw her owl Prongs swooping across the Quidditch pitch.
"Each time has seven players," Wood went on as the two of them dropped the large wooden crate they were carrying, "three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper and a Seeker. That's you. There are three kinds of balls." He opened the crate and picked up the big, red ball. "This one's called the Quaffle. Now, the chasers handle the Quaffle and try to put it through one of those three hoops," he pointed to the hoops in the Quidditch pitch in the distance. "The keeper, that's me, defends the hoops," he threw the ball to Mia who caught it with ease. "With me so far?"
