the lucky one

underwater savior complex

february 24th, 1995

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It had been a particularly icy Christmas break, in more ways than one. Hermione and Ron were still not speaking to each other, and Miranda and Harry had retained a level of awkwardness since the Ball that they had not yet dispelled. Even Draco had been acting weird since that night.

    Miranda lays her cheek on her cool desk, not noticing the rest of the class file out. Lately, she's been getting headaches quite frequently. Professor McGonagall touches her shoulder gently, "Are you feeling alright dear?"

    "I'm fine,  Auntie," Miranda reassures her, "just another headache."

    Her aunt peers at her, lips pursed, "Perhaps, I should owl your mother..."

    "No!" Miranda cuts her off. "Don't do that, please. She'll just worry. Or worse— pull me out of school."

    Her aunt's face still looks concerned. "Really, I'm fine. I'll go see Madam Pomfrey later today, swear," Miranda promises earnestly.

    "Well...okay," skeptically her aunt turns to go. "Oh, that reminds me Miranda— will you and Miss Granger come by my office in about an hour?"

    "Of course, may I ask why?" she inquires curiously.

    "Just come," Professor McGonagall returns to her normal brusque manner.

    Miranda, grateful to be released, hurries down to her and Draco's spot. She told him she would meet him there, but it had to be quick because she was meeting Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the library before Harry's second task the next day.

    "Hey, D!" Miranda waves to get Draco's attention. As she nears, she notices Draco more down than usual. "What's wrong?"

    "Nothing," Draco tenses, shifting away from her.

    "I can tell something's up, D." Miranda puts a hand on his back, "And I'm not leaving until you tell me."

    "Don't you have to meet Potter?" he snipes scathingly.

    Miranda sucks in her cheeks, irritated at his childish behavior, "That's not fair, Draco."

    Draco presses his mouth into a thin, flat line, "Whatever."

    "Why are you being this way?"

    "Do you even care? I'm sure you'd rather be with Potter anyway. Just go," he sneers.

    Miranda recoils, hurt, "Fine." She picks up her bag and huffs away.

    Now Draco feels bad, she's still his best friend, and it's not her fault that over Christmas his dad punched him for being a weak, little pansy. "Miranda, wait! I didn't—" he calls out to her retreating figure, but she doesn't turn around. "Fuck," he growls, kicking the base of tree angrily.

    Miranda stalks up to the library, still bristling from her fight with Draco.

    "Whoa McGonagall, who died?" Ron jokes when he sees her expression.

    "Not in the mood, Ronald."

    Hermione smiles at this, "What happened, Miranda?"

    Miranda clenches her jaw, still smarting at the memory. Her supposed best friend was being such an asshole these days. "Draco and I had a fight, and— you know what? Never mind, let's just help Harry."

    "You and Malfoy fought?" Harry lights up, and then coughs, "That's—that's too bad." He is unable to hide his obvious glee.

    Hermione promptly hits him over the head with a book.