the lucky one

great

They return to Hogwarts the following day via the Knight Bus. Miranda has never ridden it before and it is quite a jarring experience. Literally. Miranda has spent most of the ride, avoiding looking in Harry's direction. Something Hermione has not missed. Well, that and agonizing over who the mysterious her could be, and who Mateo was. He hadn't been there to see them off this morning. He left when Snape departed, which Miranda finds quite peculiar. There is no way in hell that greasy bat procreated. Right? And there has been no mention of a woman in his life. Who could tolerate him? Besides, Mateo looks nothing like Snape. He looks— well, Miranda doesn't know who he looks like, but it's someone familiar. Not Snape.  Who doesn't seem like the type to adopt. He's no Mother Theresa.

    They are rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. Miranda catches a glimpse of the Hog's Head down its side street, the severed boar's head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the bus. At last they roll to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts.  The seven of them struggle up the slippery drive toward the castle, dragging their trunks. Hermione is already talking about studying for O.W.L.S. Miranda spends most of the next week dreading Thursday evening, when she will have to pay a visit to Professor Snape. Harry had come back from his own lesson on Monday, extraordinarily downtrodden and slightly angered, which did nothing to raise her own spirits. Plus, she has no idea when the next D.A. meeting is. Harry still hasn't scheduled one, despite the numerous people who stopped them in the halls to ask.

    "I'll let you know when the next one is," Harry says over and over again, like a broken record.

    On Thursday afternoon, after a rather dismal lunch, as her and Harry are heading to the library to fetch Ron and Hermione before their afternoon lessons, they are accosted by Zacharias Smith.

    "Can we do it Monday?"

    Harry sighs, "I can't do Mondays, I've got to go to — er — Remedial Potions. . . ."

    "You take Remedial Potions?" asks Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered them both in the entrance hall"Good Lord, you must be terrible, Snape doesn't usually give extra lessons, does he?" As Smith strides away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Miranda glares after him.

    "Shall I jinx him?" she says, raising her wand and taking aim between Smith's shoulder blades. Harry grabs her wrist, stopping her before she can even flick her wand. "Harry!" she whines, poking her tongue out at him. "I can still get him from here. My Reductor curse is nearly perfect."

    He stifles a snicker, shaking his head, "I know that. Trust me. No one should ever cross you." His hand is still wrapped around her wrist, and his fingers are soft on her skin. "But if Umbridge catches you she'll throw you straight in detention. I won't let her touch you again."

    "I don't need protecting," Miranda says haughtily, lifting her gaze up to match his.

    "I know that too," Harry tells her. "But I won't have you doing something stupid to defend me, and facing the consequences."

    Miranda rolls her eyes, "Harry, I've told you a thousand times that it's not your fault—"

    "Nobody touches you," Harry cuts her off firmly, his green eyes dark and intense. Miranda feels hot and tingly all over, butterflies in her stomach flapping like mad. He can't just say things like that. His voice rough, and protective, and yet so sweet. So casually. Out of the blue. It's a Thursday for fuck's sake.

    "Harry—"

    "Hi, Harry," interrupts a voice behind them. Miranda turns around and sees none other than Cho Chang. Her stomach drops, mood dragged immediately  down like a stone thrown over a bridge. You've got to be kidding me.