Miranda leaned into the plush embrace of the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her. The firelight flickered lazily across the room, casting shifting shadows along the walls. Sirius sat beside her, his arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing against her shoulder in absentminded affection.
She should have felt warm, comfortableand secure.
Instead, her mind kept looping over Veronica's perfectly manicured smirk, the way her words had slithered beneath Miranda's skin, leaving something insidious in their wake.
"Veronica Delcroix," Sirius drawled, tipping his head back against the cushion. "What a bloody nightmare."
Miranda let out a short breath; something between a scoff and a laugh. "Understatement of the century."
Sirius smirked, pleased with her agreement, and stretched his legs out. "Should've used the same Langlock spell on her mouth that James and I used to use on Filch back in school. Would've sparedeveryone a headache."
Miranda huffed in amusement, but the levity felt hollow. She didn't want to talk about Veronica. Didn't want to admit, even to herself, that she was still thinking about her. That she was still hearing her voice in the back of her mind.
Sirius turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes catching hers. "You alright?"
The question made something tighten in her chest.
"Of course," she said automatically.
His gaze lingered for a moment too long. "You sure?"
Miranda forced a smirk, tilting her head in faux amusement. "I think I'd know if I wasn't."
It was a good enough deflection. At least, it seemed to be. Sirius shrugged, letting the moment slip away as easily as it had come.
"Good," he said simply, as if that was the end of it. "Don't let Veronica get in your head, alright?" he clasped her hand. "She's not worth it."
Miranda nodded, her expression smooth. "Of course," she said, because it was what he expected.
But inside, the words rang hollow.
It should have been easy. Shrug it off. Laugh about it later. Move on.
And yet, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that Veronica had seen something she shouldn't have. Had caught a glimpse of something Miranda didn't want to examine too closely.
Not yet.
Siriusput his arms around her, absent and warm. She closed her eyes briefly, letting herself lean into it. Just for a moment.
Then, she exhaled and settled deeper into the couch, resting her head against his shoulder.
It wasn't a lie if she didn't say it out loud.
October passed almost uneventfully. Professor Iverson's classes continued to be a favorite among students, while Snape's and Ortega's lessons remained as unbearable as ever for Harry. The calm of the month was interrupted only by Harry's first Hogsmeade trip, which, despite the extra protection his dad had set up —including Sirius, in animagus form, keeping a discreet eye on him—turned out to be a delightful experience. Harry was grateful that the protective measures didn't detract from his enjoyment.
The much anticipated Quidditch match against Slytherin was meant to be Gryffindor's first of the season in November. However, due to Malfoy's persistent faked injury, the match was rescheduled to be against Hufflepuff instead, much to the annoyance of the Gryffindor team. Not only did they lose the chance to face their longtime rivals, but Hufflepuff, led by the talented Cedric Diggory, promised to be tougher competition than they had expected. That only made the switch all the more frustrating.
The wind bit at James's face as he stood in the stands, watching the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor match was alone due to the Ministry's new rule permitting only parents or legal guardians at Quidditch matches. The crowd, normally a roaring sea of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff pride, was muted by the heavy storm that had set in. The first rumble of thunder shook the stands, and rain poured down, splattering his glasses and soaking through his robes.
The playersbattled against the blustering wind and driving , ever the determined Seeker, darted back and forth across the field, his broom swaying precariously in the gusts.A twinge of worry gripped James as he watched his son's small frame cut through the air, barely visible in the had never been comfortable with Harry flying in conditions like storm was turning treacherous, and it was only a matter of time before disaster struck.
The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor teams were neck and neck, though James could barely see the action. The rain fell in relentless sheets, and James's heart pounded as he squinted through the match was pure chaos; the players were little more than blurred streaks of red and yellow across the pitch.
James cast a spell on his glasses, sharpening his vision through the storm. When the game briefly halted, he and Hermione hurried onto the field, both intending to fix Harry's rain-splattered glasses. Before they could, however, Madame Pomfrey arrived with goggles for all the players and firmly insisted the match continue, despite James's request to postpone it. Resigned, James adjusted Harry's goggles with a quick spell to match his eyesight, offered a few words of encouragement, then pocketed his son's glasses and returned to the stands.
When the match continued, it got slightly better. But soon, something felt off. James gripped the railing, his breath quick and a creeping cold seeped into his bones; unnatural, was more than the temperature plummeted, and a sickening dread clawed at his chest…..Dementors.
James's breath hitched, his eyes son was struggling to hold his broom a split second, Harry's focus faltered, and his broom wobbled beneath 's blood turned to ice as Harry's broom began to plummet.
"Harry!" James screamed, but the wind swallowed his voice. He tore across the field, legs pounding against the wet grass, wand drawn. He pushed his legs harder, his heart a frantic drum in his chest. It felt like an eternity before he reached the field. With a flick of his wand, he slowed Harry's broom as it hurtled toward the ground. Beside him, Dumbledore caught Harry as he fell. James deduced that Dumbledore had acted at the same moment, casting the same spell to slow Harry's descent but shifted his focus to catching Harry when he noticed James was already controlling the broom. As Dumbledore handed Harry's unconscious body to him, James vaguely noticed that a few other professors had run over and sent incorpeal patronuses streaking towards the dementors.
He got on his knees, his shaking hands reaching for his son who was pale and limp. James pressed a trembling hand to Harry's chest and heard a heartbeat. Relief slammed into him, so fierce it nearly knocked him over. He exhaled sharply and tightened his grip tightening around Harry. Dumbledore's fury crackled in the air, his wand flashing as he sent a surge of silver mist hurtling toward the Dementors. James barely registered any of it. His entire world had shrunk to the boy in his arms. As he gathered his bearings to bring Harry to the hospital wing, Ron, Hermione and a few professors had gathered around him to assist.
=to be continued=