the lucky one

marking territory

Miranda and Hermione meet Mateo, Harry, and Ron in the common room before breakfast the next morning. Hoping for some support for his theory, Harry loses no time in telling Hermione  and Miranda what he had overheard Malfoy saying on the Hogwarts Express.

"But he was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn't he?" interjects Ron quickly, before Hermione can say anything.

"Well," Miranda says uncertainly, "I don't know. . . . It would be like D—Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is . . . but that's a big lie to tell. . . ." She knows they'll take her opinion into account, being that she knows probably better than anyone, so she has to choose words carefully. Miranda desperately doesn't want to believe that Draco could be a Death Eater. There's no way. She can't conceive it. She hates talking about him. It brings up too many memories.

"Exactly," says Mateo, evidently on Harry's side in the matter. But he could not press the point, because so many people are trying to listen in to their conversation, not to mention staring at Harry and whispering behind their hands.

"It's rude to point," Ron snaps at a particularly minuscule first-year boy as they join the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turns scarlet and topples out of the hole in alarm. Ron sniggers. "I love being a sixth year. And we're going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit up here and relax."

"We're going to need that time for studying, Ron!" says Hermione, as they set off down the corridor.

"Yeah, but not today," says Ron. "Today's going to be a real doss, I reckon."

"Hold it!" says Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who is attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. "Fanged Frisbees are banned, hand it over," she told him sternly. The scowling boy hands over the snarling Frisbee, ducks under her arm, and takes off after his friends.

Ron waits for him to vanish, then tugs the Frisbee from Hermione's grip. "Excellent, I've always wanted one of these."

Hermione's reprimand is drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown has apparently found Ron's remark highly amusing. She continues to laugh as she passes them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looks rather pleased with himself, while Hermione looks downright murderous

The ceiling of the Great Hall is serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While they tuck into their porridge, bacon, and eggs, Miranda starts to notice a gaggle of tittering fourth and fifth year girls, lingering closer and closer to where they are eating. Halfway through her bowl of porridge, Miranda realizes their intent. They're chasing after Harry. Her Harry. Miranda is beginning to wonder whether she has a possessiveness issue.

Led by the striking Romilda Vane, the lovestruck fan club fawns over Harry from afar. Batting their eyelashes and twirling their hair. Miranda would quite like to vomit all of the breakfast she's just eaten up. Finally, once they are close enough that Miranda can hear their whispers, she decides she's had enough.

She pushes back from her seat at the table. "Some of us are trying to eat breakfast, you know," says Miranda loudly. Mateo and Ron simultaneously choke on their pumpkin juice, Hermione and Ginny looking pointedly away, hiding smiles. Harry looks nervous, rightfully so. Miranda has a temper on her, and the right hook to match.

Romilda Vane eyes her as though she is a small bug she'd like to step on her with shoe. All of her attention is on Harry. "You don't have to sit with them, if you don't want to," she says conspiratorially. "You can come sit with us, we don't mind."