the lucky one

trapped

Snow is swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas is approaching fast. Hagrid has already single-handedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees for the Great Hall; gar- lands of holly and tinsel have been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glow from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe have been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls tended to converge underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Harry went past, which caused blockages in the corridors; and was of great aggravation to Grace.

Thankfully, Harry's intimate knowledge of Hogwarts secret passageways offered them alternate, mistletoe free routes to class. This is not to say that they did not kiss, however.

Although Ron is now boisterous and constantly cheery instead of moody and combative, the improved Ron came at a heavy price. Firstly, they had to put up with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, who seems to regard any moment that she is not kissing Ron as a moment wasted; and secondly, Miranda and Harry find themselves the best friends of two people who have no desire to be in the same room with each other, let alone actually speak to the other.

Ron, whose hands and forearms still bear scratches and cuts from Hermione's bird attack, is taking a defensive and resentful tone. "She can't complain," he tells them both one afternoon. "She snogged Krum. So she's found out someone wants to snog me too. Well, it's a free country. I haven't done anything wrong." Miranda had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes that day. Harry had not answered, as usual, but pretended to be absorbed in the book they were supposed to have read before Charms next morning (Quintessence: A Quest). Determined as he is to remain friends with both Ron and Hermione, he is spending a lot of time with his mouth shut tight.

"I never promised Hermione anything," Ron mumbles. "I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, but she never said . . . just as friends . . . I'm a free agent. . ."

Miranda buries her face in Harry' shoulder, and he turns a page of Quintessence. Ron's voice tails away in mutters, barely audible over the loud crackling of the fire, though Miranda thinks she catches the words "Krum" and "can't complain" again.

Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, so Miranda and Harry generally join her in the library, where you could often find Mateo with her as well.

"Hi, love," Harry plants a kiss on Miranda's cheek as he settles himself in the chair beside her. The library is nearly deserted, it's the day before break, and everyone is either on the train home already, or in Hogsmeade celebrating the end of exams. Late afternoon light filters through the window panes, casting an ethereal shimmer on everything it touches. Miranda smiles, resting against Harry's chest while he runs his fingers though her hair.

She sighs contentedly, gazing up at Harry's green eyes, glasses slightly askew. His tie is crooked and his hair falls messily over the telltale lightning scar. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are pushed back, revealing his muscular forearms. Which for some reason Miranda finds undeniably irresistible. Goddamnit why did he have to be so attractive? She wants to grab him by his tie and pull him towards her and—

I beg of you to stop.

Matt!

I assure you I am in as much pain as you are right now.

Miranda's face feels like it's been set on fire, and she's certain it must look as though she's contracted some horrible rash. Was nothing private anymore? Was it too much to ask for a moment to daydream about her extremely hot boyfriend and his Quidditch muscles and his abs and—

I'm going to vomit. I swear to Godric I will vomit all over this library.

Shut up, Matt!