The next few weeks were tough. Ron's temper grew, his frustration amplified by his turns with the locket and nights without full meals. Hermione was growing increasingly anxious about not finding anything in her books, and the tension between the two was nearly unbearable. They'd started fighting with each other more, and both girls found themselves spending most of their time with Harry while Ron fiddled mournfully with his radio.

As to how they came to sharing the same cot every night was a bit of a mystery to Miranda. Harry had started out in his own bed after that first night, but after a few nights, his nightmares drove him to her, her only sign the fact that she was unable to escape his terror clenched arms.

Kissing seemed to help. When she woke up before him, and found herself locked in his grip, it became second nature to sink closer to him and press her lips to his cheek, then his nose, his other cheek, and a kiss to his lips was generally more than enough for his eyes to flutter open and his breathing to slow. Then she'd wrest a hand up to his face and wipe away any moisture that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. More than anything she wished she could see his face again, up close where she'd be better able to take note of the multitude of shades of green that made up his emerald eyes.

Harry always saw the regret on her face, and made it up to her by kissing back like he was starving for her. She couldn't complain one bit about that.

She wanted to complain though, so very badly, when they started talking about visiting Wools Orphanage. She couldn't though. Sure, the trio knew that she'd been adopted, but she had never once mentioned the name of the dreadful building her life had begun in. Telling them that as the reason she didn't want to visit would give too much away. Hermione was perilously close to figuring things out as it was, and Miranda wasn't sure how many more slips or half-truths it would take before the brilliant muggleborn found out at least some of her many lies. They would certainly be enough for their trust in Miranda to be broken completely.

So she kept her mouth shut, even as they apparated directly to the one place that still haunted her own dreams. Instantly Miranda gripped Harry's hand tighter, teetering a bit in her sensible shoes as the air stirred around them. The dead and the demons of Wools Orphanage assailed her, stealing her breath as they greeted one of the few who had escaped. They were too weak to be seen, not like the ghosts that haunted the halls of Hogwarts, but their connections to Miranda ran deep. She'd been born on these grounds after all.

Miranda shut her eyes tight, and instinctively took a step back with a gasp, her hand slipping from Harry's. The spirits vanished. "Miranda?" Heart hammering in her chest Miranda muttered assurances that she was fine, and encouraged Harry to return his attention to his friends.

"An office building." Hermione sighed.

"We uprooted our camp to come look at a bloody office building?" Ron growled.

Harry took Miranda's hand back into his grip, "I told you I didn't really think he would put anything here."

Miranda took a deep breath. It was gone. The place she'd been born. The place she'd been violated. The place she'd said goodbye to her brother for the last time. Absently she wondered if the bodies the matrons had buried had been found. The girl who had died before she'd become the plaything for those evil boys, and the boy who'd killed himself two weeks before her Papa came to get her, came to mind. She was sure there had been others.

That night, the night Tom had found out her secret, the matrons hadn't gotten a chance to hide the body. She was lucky she hadn't died there. They had been eight years old, just children. Tom had noticed she wasn't in their room. He'd never noticed before. She'd been so careful not to let him notice. For years. For years she'd hidden the bruises, the pain. He'd protected her anyway, because he was her big brother. During the day she'd been safe by his side, but during the night…

Miranda remembered laying on the ground, her brown hair spread around her on the dusty surface. Her sightless eyes had been zipping around in her skull as she whimpered around her own stocking.

Sixteen year old Henry Matlock was above her…inside of her… with a few of the other boys his age standing around them. She was kicking at him as hard as she could, but her hands were tied to rings screwed into the floor, and they didn't allow her to get the leverage to free herself. Henry enjoyed hurting her, he always had. He'd been gone for a few weeks, with a family, but they'd sent him back. He'd come right back to her, leaving the same metal coin in her dinner chair to signal that he wanted her to stumble her way into the attic for their entertainment.

Miranda fought him even though she knew she couldn't get free. Even if she did, they would have hurt Tom, and deep down she would take what they gave to keep Tom safe. Nothing she ever did stopped it. While he did what he wanted, the others kicked her, pinched her, and waited patiently for their turn. They only ever left marks where her clothes covered, Henry made sure of that.

Henry had gone still above her, just like he did every time the first round of the ordeal was almost over, her teeth were chattering, and then…

She'd heard Tom say her name.

There were holes in her memory after that, but the shame and agony were there still. Henry had been yanked off of her, and, be it fueled by rage or magic, Henry had ended up out in the hallway and at the top of the stairs. Then he'd been at the bottom, dead. She remembered shaking violently, curling in on herself as she heard the sickening crack the body had made on the bottom step.

Tom had been back at her side in a second, holding her, and, as he pulled the stocking out of her mouth, she realized women were screaming in the hallway. The matrons. They'd come up the stairs and seen Tom holding her. They had taken one look at him with his bloody sister the screaming had ceased. They had whisked her down past the body and through a crowd of other children. The matrons had gotten her out before the bobbies had time to arrive. It wouldn't have done for the police to have discovered that the dead teenager had been raping a little girl under their noses. That would have looked bad for them.

After the police had cleared Tom, ruling it quickly as an accident, he had been brought back to her, but not before she'd heard her doctor talking to the head matron about just how severe her trauma was.

The head matron had almost been pleased with what the doctor had told her about Miranda's future. They had been unnatural. It hadn't been their fault though. Miranda had confessed to Tom that night that the abuse hadn't just happened once. She had allowed them to hurt her because they had threatened to hurt him. Miranda had lived the next year there in terror, and looking back on it she supposed that had been the first dark mark on Tom's soul. He'd been darker that year, angrier.

It was Ron, in the end, who made note of how quiet Miranda had been during their outing. "Guess you're not having fun anymore."

Miranda frowned at the tone of his voice. It was impossible to tell without seeing his face if he was being friendly or being snide. "I never expected to have fun." She responded, sighing heavily, "I'm just tired I guess."

He went quiet, but she could tell he hadn't moved away. Several moments later he said, "I'm not sure that's really the truth, but I suppose it doesn't matter. For some reason Harry likes you."

She laughed softly, "I wish we'd found something today."

"Me too." Ron whispered, tapping his shoe against the ground before he went into the boy's side of the tent.

In the weeks after they'd visited the orphanage the inexplicable bond between Miranda and Harry grew even stronger. Even still Miranda had seemed to numb Harry's night terrors. Harry's terrors had stayed his own. At least until one night in early Autumn when his terrors became their terrors:

"They tried to steal the sword? From your office?" Voldemort laughed, "Severus, I thought they were more afraid of you than that! I trust they were punished?"

"Quite severely, my Lord." Said a black haired man that Miranda had never seen in one of her visions before.

"Good, that's very good." He said, moving across the room, "Severus, I want you to begin teaching Mr. Malfoy."

"I was under the impression that I was teaching him already, my lord." Severus said.

"You were. Now you aren't. Draco Malfoy is no longer enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he's living here, and you will teach him here. You will teach him the things that you aren't yet allowed to teach." Voldemort said with flair.

The other wizard was the one her heart was with though, the look that had flashed behind his dark eyes told her more than his words did. "Yes, my Lord. We shall begin right away." He started to leave, the anxiety in his eyes seemingly only perceptible to Miranda.

"Wait." Voldemort said, a slow smile growing on his face.

"Yes, my Lord?" She saw the fear in his eyes, and so did Voldemort.

Voldemort was grinning now, and it made Miranda's blood freeze, "Severus, did you really think I would let you get off with nearly allowing children to steal such a valuable object?"

"No, my Lord." Severus said, and his breathing hitched.

Harry woke shaking to Miranda's screams. She was kicking at him, her arms trying to pull herself away from him, but her eyes were closed. "Miranda, Miranda, wake up!" Harry yelled, and he managed to pin her down with his body.

"Harry, what in the bloody hell is going on?" Ron said, pulling on his shirt as he vaulted out of his cot.

Harry was frantic, trying to get her to stop. "She's having a nightmare!" He said, not admitting that it was a nightmare that was a direct result of his connection with Voldemort. "Miranda! Randa!"

She jerked awake, folding her arms around Harry, gasping.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, taking Ron's hand subconsciously.

Harry sat back on his feet, pulling Miranda up against his body. She seemed so fragile for an instant, clinging to him, her head on his shoulder, her clammy forehead against his neck, her quick pants of breath upon his skin, gooseflesh spreading up to the side of his face. "Miranda." Harry said softly, unused to the blind girl being so frail.

"He's evil. He is so evil." She said, pushing herself closer to Harry. "He's evil.." She whispered softly, trying to rein in her rapid breathing.

Harry put a hand on her head, in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "I know." He smiled at Ron and Hermione, "She'll be okay. I just...we just…"

Hermione dropped Ron's hand, and put a hand on either hip. "Harry, again? I thought you were really trying to block him out!"

Harry rolled his eyes at her and she huffed in indignation, "'Mione, don't start this again, please. You need to know what we saw!"

She nodded, but looked unconvinced, "Oh, alright, Go ahead."

"Ginny, and the others, they tried to steal the sword of Gryffindor. You-Know-Who was really angry with Pro...with Snape, for some reason. I mean, what reason would he have to be so angry about an attempted theft of a Gryffindor artifact? It just doesn't make sense." Harry rambled.

Hermione looked thoughtful, "What…what if they swapped the real sword for a fake one?" Miranda pulled away from Harry and put herself in the spot next to him, but still kept their thighs touching.

"Hermione, are you barmy? Why would they swap them?" Ron said, looking at the muggleborn like she had grown two heads.

She lunged for her beaded bag, sinking her arm into it's depths. "If anything happened in Dumbledore's office, Phineas Nigellus would have seen it. He hangs right by the swords case!"

"Phineas Nigellus?" Miranda asked, her interest piqued.

"Yes, he was a…"

"I know, I know he was a Hogwarts Headmaster. He used to take Walburga and I ice skating when he had the time. He died before Walburga's sixth year." She smiled at Hermione. "I'm afraid you don't know what you're getting yourself into. He's got a rather nasty temper and doesn't like petulance. He was actually more surly than my father. Let me talk to him first, or he won't help at all."

"I thought he died in nineteen twenty six?" Hermione said, even though both the boys looked clueless.

Miranda shrugged with a smile, "Legally, he did. He got a little addled in his old age, and basically never left Grimmauld Place once he faked his death the year before I was born. He stayed in the room next to Walburga's brother, Cygnus. He was the grandfather I never got to have. He was sort of a joy, Walburga would ask his portrait for advice all the time after he was really gone."

Ron was looking at her like she was crazy, just as he had looked at Hermione, "You had some sort of messed up childhood."

"Yes, I did." She replied, a sardonic smile on her face.

"Should we...cover him or something?" Harry said.

Miranda shook her head, "No, he liked me well enough to keep mum about seeing us." She looked at Hermione, "Just don't mention you're a muggleborn. And Harry, probably best to keep out of sight, just in case I'm wrong." She smiled at Ron, "Try not to be a git, whatever you do or say, he'll one up you and it won't be pretty."

"Does he hate Weasley's or something?" Ron asked.

Miranda shrugged, interrupted by Hermione pulling an ornate frame from her bag. "Hush you two, here he is."

Hermione and Miranda knelt down in front of the empty canvas. Miranda tapped on the edge of the frame, "Uncle Phineas? Are you there? Uncle Phineas, please, it's Miranda. I have to ask you some questions."

"Girl, I'm here, why're you talking like I'm not?" Said a gruff, but familiar voice.

Miranda smiled, and Harry noticed the relief evident on her face, "Uncle Phineas, forgive me, I'm just a little sight impaired at the moment. How have you been?"

"A little jostled. What in the world is going on, last time we spoke, you were young, and here we are again, fifty years plus later and you are still young. How did you manage that?" The portrait man said.

Miranda winced, "Walburga." Was all she said, and he nodded.

"She always did have a dangerous interest in magic. Although I would guess your father had something to do with it. My granddaughter would never have done anything to you of her own volition." The cold sounding man said.

Miranda froze, it had never really sunk in that her father had forced Walburga to lock her in that room, and the stab of pain at being reminded of that fact hurt. Hermione took over, "Professor Black, might I ask you about the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Ah," he said, looking at Hermione, "yes. Silly girl acted in an unwise manner there-"

"Shut up about my sister!" Ron said roughly.

"Who else is here?" Phineas asked, and Miranda held up a hand.

"Uncle, please, don't worry about it. They're my friends. We just need to know what you know about the sword." Miranda urged, shooting a dark look in Ron's direction.

"Don't give him that look. I swear, you and Burga, cut from the same cloth. Could've made a Black of you." He smiled fondly at the blind girl, and Hermione filed the expression away in all the things she'd learned about Miranda in the last months. "You're asking about the sword? Snape sent the thieving little imps for punishment in the Forbidden Forest with…with..."

"Hagrid?" Hermione prompted after he seemed to struggle for a name.

He nodded, "Yeah, Hagrid. Not sure why they tried to steal the sword though, it's fake."

"I knew it!" Hermione squealed, and Phineas covered his ears with his hands.

"Quiet girl! Miranda, why are your friends so loud?" He said.

Miranda smiled, "I'm sorry, Uncle, Hermione is just…"

He shook his head, "Yes, yes, I know her type. As I was saying, the last time I saw, the real sword was when Dumbledore used it to break open a ring..." He looked to the side of his frame, "Forgive me, Miranda, but there's a commotion in my other frame. I must go. I'll be around if you need me again."

Harry nudged Miranda, "Snape." He whispered to her.

"Oh, Uncle?" Miranda said, catching the Ex-Headmaster before he had completely left his canvas, "You won't tell Snape you saw us, will you? That could complicate things."

The portrait smiled fondly at her, and Hermione took note again, "Don't worry, I'm not fond of a Headmaster who plays by another's rules. I might not have been liked, but I did what I wanted. Just promise that we can have a real talk one day, just you and I." He said, before he disappeared from his canvas.

Harry and Hermione were alight with theories. "The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthen them-" Hermione said like she were reading it out of a textbook. "Harry, that sword's impregnated with basilisk venom!"

"And Dumbledore didn't give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket-"

"-and he must have realized they wouldn't let you have it if he put it in his will-"

"-so he made a copy-"

"-and put a fake in the glass case-"

As amused as Miranda was by their enthused banter, she had noticed a bit of a problem, "Harry, where do you think he would have left the real one?"

Hermione and Harry looked back and forth from the blind witch to each other. Harry started pacing, his footsteps falling heavily on the hard ground, and Miranda could only imagine the perturbed look on Hermione's face. "Harry, we have to think! Where would he have left it?"

"Not at Hogwarts." Harry said definitively, "He would have known we wouldn't be able to get it if he left it there."

"Hogsmead?" Miranda offered, recalling the little town she'd spent much time on weekends in, chaperoning Walburga while she cavorted with Brennan.

"No, too close to the school." Harry shot down.

"Not the Shrieking Shack either. Snape knows how to get in there. Even though Dumbledore trusted him, I'm sure he didn't tell him he even swapped the swords." Hermione prattled off.

"So, it would have been someplace well away from Hogsmead." Harry surmised, "What do you think, Ron? Ron?"

Miranda knew that the red head had returned to his bunk, and braced herself...he was wearing the locket. "Oh, remembered me, have you?" He said.

"What?" Harry said, taken aback.

Ron snorted, "You guys carry on, don't let me spoil your fun."

Harry looked to the girls for help, Hermione shrugging and Miranda oblivious. "What's the problem?"

"Problem? There's no problem. Not according to you anyway." The rain, which Miranda had felt in her bones all day, started falling.

"Well, you've obviously got a problem. Let's hear it!" Harry said, and Miranda caught his arm before he could approach his friend.

She heard Ron stand. "All right, you know what, I'm not as happy as the rest of you seem to be just because there's another damn thing we've got to find. Let's just add it to the list of stuff you don't know."

"I don't know?" Harry echoed, "I don't know?"

Miranda shivered, and sensed as the dread filled Harry.

Ron just plowed right on, "It's not like I'm not having the time of my life here, you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something."

"Ron." Hermione said, her voice heartbreakingly soft.

"Ron." Miranda said, louder, as to compete with the noise of the rain, her tone warning.

"No, Miranda, he's entitled to his opinion." Harry said, his voice harsher than he had intended. "Ron, I thought you knew what you'd signed up for."

"I thought I did too." Ron growled.

So sorry it's been forever! But I am back! Been a much busier summer than I'd anticipated! Hope you enjoyed, and please let me know what you think!

-Jenn