the lucky one

all the time in the world

Miranda tosses and turns all night, every time she dares close her eyes, horribly vision flash before her. No matter what she does she can't escape them.

Harry held captive by the Dark Lord, writhing in pain. Matt's body, bloody and mutilated. Hermione pleading for mercy as she is tortured by the Cruciatus curse. Ron and Ginny screaming in agony. They cry for her help. Tortured shrieks and whimpers; begging. Miranda can't reach any of them. She can't save them. It's too late. It's her fault. She can't save them. She can't save any of them.

Draco's icy eyes invade her mind, unbidden. The curl of his lip as he told her to stay away, throwing away their friendship like it was nothing. Like she was nothing. Her mother's lifeless form falls over and over again, green flashes of light searing into her brain forever.

No one can save you. You are alone. Everyone is gone.

You are alone.

You are alone.

You are alone.

Miranda awakes with a gasp, her hands trembling. Nausea washes over in thick waves, her head spinning. Hyperventilating, she grips her sheets until her knuckles turn white. His voice echoes in her head over and over again, and she cannot drown it out. The room around her is blurred. She can't think. She can't breathe. She needs—

"Miranda!" Matt barrels into the girls' room, Harry at his heels.

Miranda is crumpled in half, taking quick, shallow breaths. She hears an extremely worried voice, the patter of footsteps. She is mildly aware that there is a figure standing over her bedside. "Oh my god!" Hermione. Miranda rocks back and forth slowly on the bed, screwing her eyes shut. More footsteps, a horrified, high pitched noise. There are hazy outlines of people in front of her.

"Is she ill?"

"What's wrong with her?!" Another voice, deeper, more agitated, if possible. She is vaguely aware of someone touching her face. "Miranda?" Harry.

He's here. He's here. Miranda shudders at the recognition.

You're alone.

"I'm going to get McGonagall!" Hermione scrambles to her feet, hurriedly wrapping her dressing gown around her.

"No!" Mateo shouts. "I know what to do. I've got this." He grabs Miranda's hand and closes his eyes, letting their shared power flow between them. "I'm here Miranda," he whispers aloud, determined to fix this. "I'm here. Listen to me. Don't listen to him."

Damn it Miranda snap out of it. He's in your head. Don't let him control you. Whatever you're seeing, whatever you're hearing— it isn't real. We can fight this. You can fight this.

Miranda grist her teeth, a gut wrenching torment burning through her as she tried to resist. Fight it. Fight it. With a strangled breath, she comes to.

Mateo.

Miranda, thank Merlin.

With a sharp inhale, Miranda is yanked out of her possessed state, unclenching her fists as her heart rate slows to a normal pace.

Harry's features are stricken. He is beside himself, bent at her bedside. Hermione's face is stark white, and Mateo looks immensely defeated— drained. Like he's just run a marathon.  "Miranda?" Harry ventures, a thumb on her cheek.

Her blood is ice cold.

"She's ok," Mateo sighs in obvious relief, relinquishing her hand.

Harry embraces her so tightly that Miranda swears she hears one of her ribs crack. "Don't do that to me, Mandy," he chokes out, pressing his nose into her hair. He clutches his head, wrecked.  "I thought—"