the lucky one

winner winner

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.