Who: Miranda Dodderidge and Ralph Merridew
What: Ralph comes back
Where: Gryffindor dorms



She was totally going to kill him.

As in, there was no doubt about it: Miranda Daisy Dodderidge was going to get sent to Azkaban for killing Ralph Jackson Merridew. He'd just--he'd upped and vanished without a word, missed rehearsal and then decided to oh-la-dee-da come back as if nothing had happened. Right. Miranda knew they were fighting, or at least angry at each other because they hadn't exactly talked in days, but he should still give his girlfriend notice of sudden departures from Hogwarts! She'd nearly throttled Dedalus when he couldn't give her any information and was currently stomping up the Gryffindor boys' dormitory in search of Ralph---

---who was just exiting the dorm room and taking a step on the landing. Miranda's hands instantly slammed onto her hips (the natural 'we're about the have a fight' stance) and she cocked an eyebrow at her boyfriend from a few steps below him.

"And where were you?"

True to his nature, Ralph froze instantly at the sound of Miranda's voice, his left hand still tightly wrapped around the door handle. Yes, he definitely did not like the sound of her voice, and even though he hadn't technically looked at her yet, Ralph knew that Miranda had her hands on her hips with her face screwed up tight. Really, did she really want to know? He didn't exactly feel like divulging. Did he ever? In his entire life? Especially now? Not really.

A sigh escaped his lips as he slowly turned to her with a blank look. Trying to not look caught or worried or angry or anything else that could possibly be going through him at this point (really, he was just a rainbow of emotions), Ralph let his arms hang and stared at her for a few seconds. Mmmm yeah no, he didn't want to tell her. And plus, there was that problem that she didn't know what happened before, which had sparked him leaving and now coming back and....yeah.

"What?" Ralph asked simply. This was not going to be pretty, he could tell already.

"Where. Were. You?" she repeated slowly for her idiot of a boyfriend to understand. Honestly, this was going to be a lot harder than it should've been. All he needed to do was say 'oh my grandmum died' and Miranda would cry and hug him and say she was sorry and they could go snog in his room and that would be that. But no, Ralph had to be in some sort of mood and decide that he didn't want to tell her shit. What sense did that make?

Miranda tapped her foot lightly, hands going from her hips to crossing over her chest, just to have them flail about angrily, "You know! You missed rehearsal! If--if you're not going to talk to me like your girlfriend then--then you should at least respect me as your director!"

Which was really just a bullshit reason to start a fight, but Miranda was really sick of Ralph avoiding her, and if they could have one final (big) row to get things back to normal, then fine, she'd shriek herself hoarse if she had to.

Well, it was obvious that he hadn't been in school, yes? So why assume that he would be at rehearsal, and not the actual school? Where he lived. For nearly ten months out of the year. Yes, because that made total sense. Ralph's face tightened a bit and his weight shifted to his heels. Just because she was going to pull some musical weight didn't mean he was still going to say anything.

"If I wasn't in school, then why would I be at rehearsals?" Ralph asked, tilting his head slightly before he too, crossed his arms over his chest. It was something really stupid to say, and he knew this would only get Miranda even more aggravated but--- honestly, he didn't care. He just wanted to go down to get something to eat and then go back to the dorm where no one would bother him (because the other boys hadn't already so he doubted they would start) to just sleep. It had been a good plan; he had been looking forward to it. But noooo. That was too much to ask.

If it wouldn't make her look completely out of her mind, Miranda would've released a roar of aggravation; hell, she was kind of hoping some wandless magic being shot out of her fingers because their constant twitching to strangle Ralph suffocated him all on its own. No, that was mean, she didn't want to strangle him, but he was completely missing the point!

"That's not what I'm saying." Miranda's entire face spoke when she did, and her eyes were wide, her mouth opening far more than necessary to exaggerate her words, and her eyebrows had nearly disappeared into her hair. He was being so bloody calm, so--so if it wasn't a big deal for going home (though she knew that it was) why couldn't he just tell her?! Boys were so ruddy stupid! "What I'm saying is that you should've told me! Regardless of--of us being in a fight! Or--or---what happened, why did you have to go home?"

Miranda hated that she actually cared if things were all right, it made being mad at Ralph that much harder, but she couldn't help but ask, her voice a little softer even though she looked suspicious, "Is everything all right?"

Ralph watched as Miranda became more animated by the second, and he couldn't help but let his eyebrows rise high with hers and lean back even farther on his heels. She did look like she wanted to wring his neck--- not that she actually would, just that by leaning back on his heels he felt a bit better about it. Except not really at all.

And--- and--- and yeah, even if he had had the actual time to go tell Miranda what was happening (which he hadn't; McGongall had just suddenly whisked him away to Dumbledore's office and then right on the next train), didn't mean that she would've-- he couldn't have done that. What would he have said? 'Oh, by the by--- I'm leaving. See you whenever because I'm not really sure when I'll be coming back. It all depends on the stability of my parents.' Yes, because that would have gone over well. One-hundred percent.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ralph suddenly responded crossly, mouth tight. Because--- no, he didn't need to explain himself. If he didn't want to talk about it, then he shouldn't have to. So, yes. Now all he needed was a way to get away from her. Which proved to be much harder, seeing as she had caught him in a confined and limited area. "I don't want to talk about it," he repeated.

"You don't want to---" Miranda started, taking a step up only to step back down, then back up and---oy, okay. This was getting really dumb, now. He didn't want to talk about it. "Well, tough shit, Merridew."

Nope, nope. She had been dealing with his avoidance and his...and his aloofness (a word that Maddox had used over the summer that Miranda had stored just for a moment like this) for far too long and she didn't deserve to be ignored and to be treated like some random bint off the street. Oh, damn it, Miranda! Say that stuff out loud!

"I--I am your girlfriend and I deserve to be told things and...and when it seems serious, you have to tell me what's going on, I refuse to be treated like some tart you've just--just up and shagged and then dropped in the morning!" Okay that was a bit ridiculous, but Miranda felt like she was on quite the roll and couldn't stop, "So! So you will tell me, you'll---you'll take me into your dorm, l-lock the door, and we shall talk and---and you don't have to tell me everything just---just don't walk away, don't lie cause I feel like you're lying and that's---that's not acceptable!"

Huff.

His eyes pulled together tight, and Ralph felt his heart beat pick up a few paces. If he didn't want to talk about it, then he didn't want to talk about it. How hard was that to understand? There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. End of story, done. It didn't matter what she thought or how she felt about it to him; if he didn't want to explain his ongoing war with Walden Macnair with her then... he wouldn't. It was that simple, and he was not budging.

"That's not--- no, that's not---" Ralph started, his hands balling into small fists as his voice began to pick up to match hers. "I don't have to tell you--- everything all the--- time! It's not like--- not like, we're some--- if I don't feel like sharing, then I'm not going to! You don't need to know everything that's going on all the time with everyone else!" He dug his feet deep against the ground, a fully aggravated frown taking over his face. He didn't care; he didn't care how Miranda felt about this, because he hardly knew what to do with it himself. What was he--- how was he supposed to--- the point was that people were allowed to have some secrets in their lives and she didn't need to be butting in on his.

"So--- no! You won't be coming in and I won't have to worry about telling you everything because I'm not talking about it, and you're just going to have to---- deal with it! Got it!"

Miranda was starting to realize that they'd never had this serious of a fight. They'd had loud, sometimes violent fights (her throwing things and punches, was all), but never about serious subjects. Usually it was like....he'd been looking at some other girl, or she'd been sitting too close to some guy. Or he'd forgotten their fifty-third week anniversary. Whatever, nothing serious, and they both managed to, in the madness that was the fight, realize that they were being dumb (even though they were right). But now, oh, Miranda was honestly feeling---hurt, hurt and betrayed by Ralph's seemingly lack of trust of her. That was--that was real relationship stuff that was not to be treaded on or messed up or--or--

Tears burst from her eyes immediately at his loud tone, even though she'd probably been at a higher decibel than he was. She couldn't help it, but she didn't stop the angry gestures and stomped up a few steps so she was on the same level with Ralph and didn't hesitate in poking him square in the chest.

"Do I get it?!" she shrieked, poking him hard once more before spinning around, hands in the air, only to twirl back to face him, "No, Ralph, you should---fucking---enlighten me, because I don't get how I could not have gained enough trust for you to have to hide shit from me! So excuse me," her voice began to go higher with each word, "If I don't GET IT!"

Miranda let out a shrill noise of frustration and stomped down a few stairs, only to come back up to the landing and glare angrily at Ralph, wiping the tears furiously off of her face.

Surprisingly enough, Ralph found it relatively easy to say nothing as Miranda went off. He didn't exactly feel awful (like he would have before) when he noticed that she had started to cry. He didn't pull a sour face when she started to poke him (stab him, really), and he didn't feel the burning urge to start yelling back at her while she was yelling at him. And weirdly enough, he didn't have that boiling feeling at the bottom of his stomach pining to keep him arguing to prove he was right. Instead, he just focused on a tiny hole in the wall just above her head, nearly tuning out what she was saying. Ralph knew he was right. So, as Miranda spun and shrieked and jabbed and stomped, Ralph simply stood, mute, waiting for her to finish. Or come to a relative end.

At some point during her rant and his shut-down mode, it came to him how he could end this; the fight. Miranda wouldn't like it, but it really seemed like the only way to get out of her face and just be left alone. Eating dinner would definitely be out of the question tonight.

It went nearly silent on the landing (save for his loud breathing and Miranda's low growls), and finally after a few moments, Ralph unballed his fists and relaxed his shoulders. Blinking, he lethargically turned his back to Miranda and reached for the door. Without a word, he slipped through the doorway and closed the door with a loud snap, locking it in the process. He didn't look back at her, and didn't even think about how she would react. This was just not the time. Sliding down the back of the door, he let his legs stretch out as far as they could as he propped his head back. Ugh.

The door clicking shut stopped her tears and Miranda stood in stunned silence as she it became quite clear that Ralph was not going to come back out and finish the fight. Or, well, Miranda thought this with a twist of her stomach, that he had. They never just left or walked away, they'd been together for more than a year, known each other for almost seven and had been fighting the entire time and not once had they ever just dropped it or let it fade away or---or---

Miranda didn't know what to do. She bit her tongue because she felt like crying, like more tears were going to sting her eyes, but she was too shocked by the quick turn of events that she simply couldn't. Fuck. Fuck. If she didn't know how they worked, she would've thought she did something wrong in their very precise ways of fighting, but now...well, the rules had seemingly changed. Or he didn't want to deal with it anymore and had broken up with her.

Oh.

Her shoulders slumped as the realization hit her hard in the gut like the bludgers she'd been smacking around (and at Ralph) during practice the previous day. They'd broken up before, but---no, not like this, this was, as she's so cleverly figured out before, serious, and Miranda dropped to the step she'd just been standing on and sat miserably, leaning into the cold stone of the stairwell.