the lucky one

bonus chapter: whoa, babies

Miranda smiles as she hangs their first picture on the wall, wiping her paint covered hands on her jeans as she steps back to admire it. The photo of all of them in sixth year, she put it right above the fireplace. Harry finishes painting the opposite wall, and joins her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and putting a chin on her shoulder lovingly, "It's a bit lopsided Mandy." He smirks.

Miranda whacks him on the arm with her paintbrush, splattering cream colored paint all over his shirt, giggling.

He gasps dramatically, "You're going to regret that." He takes his paintbrush and swipes a streak of yellow on her nose daringly.

Miranda shrieks, taking more paint and throwing it on him. Harry does the same, and soon they are chasing each other around the room, wielding their paintbrushes. Somehow, they end up toppling over on one another on the ground, Harry hovering over Miranda with a huge grin on his face. Her bandana has come off her head and her hair has undone, golden locks spilling out across the wood.

He takes his thumb and wipes a bit of yellow off her cheek, lowering himself to kiss her. Harry runs his tongue across her lower lip, and her mouth parts, kissing him deeper, they roll around on the floor, covered in paint.

Harry kisses her neck teasingly, nipping at her sensitive spots in a way that makes Miranda moan softly into his ear. "What do you say we get out of these clothes?" he whispers, sliding his hands up her torso.

"Smooth." She hides a smile, inhaling sharply as he throws off his shirt, raking a hand through his hair. Her eyes travel down his abs, and she brushes her fingertips over his scruff.

"I see you checking me out." Harry's mouth quirks up mischievously, carrying her bridal style to their bedroom.

Yes, Miranda and Harry finally got their happily ever after, but nothing is perfect. They both still carry the weight of the war in their hearts, they still have nightmares, and anxiety. They still fear waking up with the other gone, fear that he's not really dead, fear that they are not safe. They forget sometimes that they are allowed to be happy now. Allowed to live their lives freely, without worrying about the wellbeing of the entire world.

"No!" Miranda jerks awake, drenched in cold sweat. The room spins in shadows and flashes of green light, and she reaches for her wand, tumbling out of bed, scraping her arm on the bedpost.

Pain blooms across her elbow, and she cries out.

"What?! Miranda?" Harry flips on the light, fumbling for his glasses as he comes over to where she is rocking back and forth on the hardwood floor. Harry cradles her to his chest, stroking her hair, "It was just a dream Mandy, I'm here, we're okay, you're okay."

"But Matt, he- and Ginny was- and Ron and Hermione-" The dream had felt so real. It's the same nightmare she's been having for months, everyone dead and gone, her unable to save them.

"Matt is perfectly fine and asleep next door with Ginny, Ron and Hermione are also asleep next door. Come back to bed." Harry notices the cut on her arm, which has started to drip blood on the floor.

"I lost you," Miranda shakes her head, tears flowing rapidly down her cheeks. "It was my fault— I didn't— I lost you. You were—"

"I'm right here," Harry says firmly, grasping her hand. "I'm right here with you, Miranda.

"I'm sorry." Miranda says tearfully, exhaustion setting in.

"Don't apologize love, you've got nothing to be sorry for, let's clean you up." Harry picks her up off the floor, Miranda's eyes dull. Slowly, he undresses her, putting her pyjamas in the sink, and then turning the shower on. He helps her clamber in, and tilts her chin back, letting the hot water wash over her skin.