What prompted Iris Potter to leave?
Maybe it was…
Ruin.
In the desolate landscape, a single lonely woman sat on the curb, smoking a fag.
She couldn't have been that old. Worn, red hair reached down to about her shoulders. However, she'd shaved one side of her head in a style reminiscent of punk from before the War. Her ears, nose, were all adorned with a multitude of small gold rings and diamond studs, giving credibility to her choice of fashion.
As far as the eye could see - which wasn't that far, by the way, not with all the fog - there was carnage. The smell of ozone, not a bad smell to those who liked it, mingled with the smell of charred asphalt. Most roads had blown-out automobiles shoved uncaringly to the side, if any. The place had been used as a battlefield, not once, but many times over.
The base of the brick-built mansion the young woman was sitting in front of, had a large hole blown out on the fourth floor. It was the type of damage that was most likely caused by Muggle explosives, probably an RPG fired off by government forces. But the plenty of little holes that surrounded it? That was more likely to be the result of magical conflict. Large enough to harm a person, but nowhere near the same explosive power as with the big hole.
The asphalt was cracked and barely usable. Weeds grew from the cracks, but get too big and they'll be burned by the dark magic in the air. They remained all at ankle-height. The cracks weren't formed by the weeds themselves, that was ridiculous. Part of it came probably from the few earthquakes they'd had since the outbreak of the war. But mostly, the cracks were the result of heavy vehicles ignoring the weight limitations.
Tanks, mostly.
Even now Iris didn't really know what was so important in the neighborhood of Surrey to warrant the attention of the national guard, but then again, she didn't know a lot of things.
She admitted that.
When her fag turned into 80% ash, she threw the butt away but didn't bother to stomp on it. Why did she care? A fire spreads, but literally nobody will be injured. Nobody is here to be injured. By the way, according to Iris' personal experiences, the cigarettes causing wildfire thing is a complete lie. She's done it over a million times and it has only managed to catch fire once.
Well, then again, she's not doing this in Australia or California. She's doing this in what used to be London. Now just a maze of concrete hedges and rusted steel obstacles. Iris turns around, but it's just a young scavenger digging through a trash bin. They make eye contact. When Iris doesn't make any threatening moves, the teen continues to rummage through the long-since fouled contents of the waste with his bare arms.
"Hey," Iris calls. Her voice hasn't been used in a while, but it still retains a measure of its softness, its sweetness. Sounds like honey rolling over grit. "You got a fag?"
"How much?" The kid asks shortly. So the brat does actually have one.
Iris frowns, checks her pockets. The pockets she's sown into her cloak is just as jumbled a mess as the neighborhood she's standing in; she didn't realize how many damn pockets she'd end up needing. The pockets are actually bags of holding she stole from a store early on in the War. The bags, lightened, and expanded, holds a lot of important things. She pulls out a couple of knuts. Copper is more important than gold or silver in this new world. Copper can do a buncha things.
"Those real?" The kid asks, approaching warily. "Nevermind. They're magic, aren't they?"
"Yeah," Iris replies. It's common sense now that goblin currency can't be faked.
"I'll give ya a couple," the kid says, pulling out two cigarettes. One per knut.
"Cheers," Iris says, takes one, lights one. "You have the other one."
"Ya sure?"
"Yeah," Iris says with a crooked grin on her lips. She raises her index finger. The tip of her finger glows, and she presses it against the cigarette and it begins to burn. The kid is suddenly wary, all the while Iris blows out an impressive stream of smoke from her nostrils like the clouds created by airplanes back when they still used to fly over here.
Iris notices the kid's discomfort. She searches her pockets again and comes out triumphantly with a box of matches. The kid's sense of danger slowly fades away and he gratefully takes the box of matches. He lights his cigarette, blows out the match, and reverently places it back in the matchbox before handing it back to Iris. Any sort of tinder is valuable these days.
The two sit there huffing contently for a few minutes. This is one of Iris' favorite spots. It's near the bank of the Thames, actually. From here she can see the tip of Big Ben. To her right, if she squints real hard, she can see the Tower of London - crown jewels not included. Right beside her, on the left, is the Imperial War Museum.
The exhibits haven't been stolen. Funnily enough, it's the one place that remains mostly untouched throughout this post-apocalyptic hellhole. It is a haven. A sanctuary. Most of the exhibits are fakes, or real and ruined. That, or so out of time that it would be useless even in this world. Mostly though, it might be Iris. Iris has taken to guarding the museum like it's her own home.
Maybe it resonates with her, the fact that everything gets more violent and inhuman as time goes on.
"Thanks for the match," the kid says, as his cigarette burns out. He sticks out a hand. "I'm Adam."
Iris stares at the kid's hand pointedly. The kid remembers he was just digging through sewage and wipes his palms on his faded jeans awkwardly. Iris chuckles. It's a surprisingly deep, dry sound. Iris stands up and begins to head into the museum. "I'm Iris."
The kid's eyes widen in recognition. That's the Devil. The Butcher. That's the woman who defends the War Museum as if it's something of value to her as if anyone actually has anything of value to them these days.
The kid and Iris part ways. When Iris disappears into the Museum, the kid gets ambushed. Two thugs. Anyone can see the kid has nothing of value. Maybe they're not after anything the kid has. Maybe they're just hungry.
The kid dies.
Becomes another splash of paint on the massive, washed-out canvas that is London.
If Iris could have one guess, she'd had a wild fucking night filled with bootleg booze and drugs that resulted in her seeing rainbows and shitting hurricanes for the past hour and somehow, she'd finally ended up here. On a cold, stone floor.
Her first thought, as she opened her eyes and received a blurry transmission of her fingers scrabbling at the floor, was just how clean it was. Free of dust. Her fingers didn't leave any trail on the smooth stone, except for the soon-evaporating trail of moisture from her fingertips.
She shook her head to clear it; bad move. Her head erupted in a cacophony of throbbing pains. As if someone was doing was drum solo and her head was the bass drum. A repressed groan escaped her lips slightly as she forced herself onto her hands and knees. She raised her eyes, blinking, trying to recognize the shapes and colors.
One of them was a brightly color flash.
Iris immediately rolled to the side and onto her feet. Her entire body was screaming in agony, but things might soon become worse if she didn't move. That was obviously the case because as soon as she moved, more and more spellfire came her way. Iris flicked her wrist, and her Holly wand snapped into her palm. She was never more grateful for it as she raised a shield that managed to block the incoming spells like waves crashing against a bulwark.
As her eyes reoriented themselves, Iris finally began to recognize where she was. She was in the Death Room. Department of Mysteries, British Ministry of Magic. She allowed herself a quick glance to the spot where she'd woken up. She'd been spat out from the Veil of Death.
No wonder these dehumanized, brown-cloaked figures were panicking at her retaliation.
If she were an Unspeakable, personally she'd be more relieved at the newcomer's display of magic; she could have been something truly unknown. Hell, if she were a goblin wearing a cloak and using goblin-brand magic, that would serve as more reason for concern in the heat of battle. Iris, in a moment of surprising clarity, decided she shouldn't explode the heads of all the Unspeakables after him because that would lead to arrest.
How the hell had she managed to get to that connection so quickly?
It required a lot of brainpower, at least in Iris' opinion, for her brain to go from floor, to DoM; to government; to laws; to illegal murder. Especially when she'd been killing without a second thought for the past fifteen years.
If they were even real, a nagging voice said.
Now that would be something that took up too much of her brainpower to think about. Maybe she'd ponder it, but not when she was under attack. Iris had a pretty decent memory. She thought she could escape this place with the knowledge of what the place had looked like back when she was still in school. Then again, the Unspeakables probably had to do extensive remodeling after that little affair.
One of the Unspeakables seemed shocked - as far as a brown dementor could express emotion - when Iris dragged him? Her? Into the way of incoming spellfire; they screamed as they were struck by a dozen different spells cast by their friends. Thankfully, one of them was the stunning spell, so they went down limply.
Iris continued to run through the building, not bothering with opening doors as she just sent blasting hexes at them. The Unspeakables weren't very fast. They probably didn't get much exercise down here, especially considering how dark it was. Was it really worth sacrificing workplace safety rules just to make the whole place look a little more ominous and spooky?
Wait, that was literally whole of Hogwarts.
Iris smirked as she waited for the elevator; she sent an overpowered bombarda at the doorway. The masonry fell in a deafening crash and piled up nicely in between them and her. It would be possible to dig themselves out, but it was certainly going to take longer than however long Iris would have to wait for a damn elevator.
Ding!
Iris loaded herself onto the elevator and smiled at the outraged, frustrated voices from the other side of the barrier. The elevator began to rumble up and she watched as one authoritative voice quietened the others. A moment of silence, and a deafening boom. Iris stumbled and grunted as high-speed debris struck her leg. Her dragonhide armor held up well, but it was going to leave a nasty bruise.
Iris was surprised at the balls of the Unspeakable who did that. The elegant doors of the elevator were occasionally bent and mangled in places where debris struck it a little too hard. Speaking of which, Iris' leg hurt like fuck. She needed some rest, Goddamnit. It wasn't as if she was much peaky after somehow being transported out of the Veil.
She exited the elevator at the Atrium. A few people stared at her. True, her outfit might be a little ill-suited for the occasion. A dusty cloak, a rebellious hairstyle, and trousers on a woman; what kind of God's abomination was that? What kind of self-respecting woman would ever wear trousers?
...was probably what that lady in the red robe was thinking. Iris blew a raspberry at her. She sniffed and turned away. Prick.
"Stop her!"
Everyone was surprised at the fact that an Unspeakable was actually talking to them. Only a few dozen of them existed, after all, and they were rarely seen in uniform outside their designated floor. Then their gazes turned to who he was pointing at. Iris herself. She growled and pulled out her second wand, flicking it into her right hand.
"Get out of the way!"
There was something in Iris' voice, and her appearance, that made people want to forget her presence and go on about their business. As a result, despite the Unspeakable's attempts at socializing, Iris was able to weave through the public with minimal interference. A few tried to send a tripping hex or the sort here and there, but Iris would always banish it back to the caster and watch in amusement as they stumbled and sprawled on the floor.
"Freeze!"
Iris turned her head again towards goal, the exit, to find it blockaded by two figures dressed in the unmistakable red of the Auror force. Iris froze. Not because she cared about anything they had to say. But because what she was seeing…
Her heart rate, which might have been at its resting rate so far, climbed rapidly. Her pupils dilated, drinking in the impossible details. The steady hands holding twin wands shook slightly. The two Aurors, one male and another female, approached warily.
"Good," the man's rich, bass tones were clear even though they were murmured. "Lower your wands, please. We don't want to hurt you."
"We can help you, whatever your problem is," the woman added.
Usually, Iris would have clapped back with a dry comment. What the hell did she mean, that the Aurors could help them? The Aurors were nothing like the police; the police, if inclined to, could instead send you to rehabilitation, for example; the Aurors just captured you and made you sit there until you inevitably went to Azkaban. But that wasn't what was on her mind.
"Tonks?" Iris whispered, as if fearful speaking the name would shatter the pink-haired Auror into a million pieces and blow her away like dust in the wind.
"What?" The Auror blinked. "Do I know you?"
Iris' heart was beating so madly that she could hear her pulse reverberating in her skull, amplified like a car in a tunnel. She raised her wand shakily. "No. You're not real. You're not here…!"
"Hey, I don't know how you know me, but I'm definitely real," Tonks tried to reassure her, her eyes darting to her mentor Kingsley who wore a grave expression.
"Don't wear her face in front of me!" Iris screamed.
Tonks made a strangled noise as she and Kingsley dived in opposite directions to evade Iris' massively overpowered blasting curse. The crowd finally got the hint that maybe the Unspeakable's presence signaled something bad was going on because they screamed and began to flock to either the elevators or the floo connections. Tonks and Kingsley recovered in an expert roll, quite similar to the same one Iris performed downstairs, and shot several stunning hexes at her.
Iris dodged all of them. She created a shield with her Holly wand, immediately behind her, as she spun around and used her other wand to banish the approaching Unspeakable back in the direction he came from; his hood slipped off to reveal an expression of surprise and wonder as he sailed across the entire atrium.
Iris charged forward towards Tonks, killing intent fresh in her mind. Kingsley shouted something, snapping off well-executed immobilizing spells, but Iris blocked or dodged them all. Tonks was backing away, one step at a time, her fear plain on her face. Even through the terror, however, Tonks continued to fight back.
Iris sheathed her dual wands and tackled Tonks to the ground. Tonks grunted as she hit the floor, and she tried to cast a spell, but whatever she was planning to do was cut short as Iris socked her in the face. Tonks seemed stunned for a moment, her eyes glazed and her muscles relaxed, before she pushed through and tried to punch Iris back. Iris dodged by tilting her neck to one side and trapped Tonks' arm in the crook of her neck.
"You have a lot of nerve sullying my memories like this," Iris hissed.
Tonks swallowed and her hair paled in fear. Iris blinked. That was… that was undeniably a metamorphmagus trait. It couldn't be faked. Was there a glamour somewhere? Possibly wearing a charmed trinket? Was Kingsley real as well? Did they survive the war? Or maybe-
Tonks successfully punched Iris in the face this time.
Iris was caught so off-guard she didn't even try to dodge, stumbling back. Her mind was going through some thoughts that would not necessarily healthy for her during a fight, but seemed inevitable. Tonks… was real. Kingsley was real. As much as she could try to deny it, the facts remained facts. She'd come out of the Veil. Place… completely different; as far as she could remember, the Ministry was blown to kingdom come.
Where the hell was she?
When the hell was she?
Iris was struck by a stunning spell, but the cloak wasn't just for show; it was made of carbon nanotube fiber woven through dragonhide and adorned (on the inside) with plenty of protective runes, making it probably the most durable cloak that had ever existed. The spell simply bounced off and hit some unlucky sod who was trying to get to the floo, making him drop to the ground.
"No," Iris whispered, shooting up to her feet. "You're… you're both real."
"Thanks," Tonks said sarcastically, her voice muffled due to her nose being clogged with blood.
"You're both real." Iris' eyes brimmed with tears, to their surprise. "...sorry about the nose."
"Right," Tonks said, clearly not expecting that.
Iris felt like she was going to faint. She was glad both Tonks and Kingsley were real, both were wonderful people and she was glad they were alive, somehow, but there was too much information to process. She had to get the hell out of here. She drew the spare wand, making the two Aurors flinch, but Iris paid them no heed. She instead headed for the broken-glass-and-masonry of the exit, limping slightly. She could hear the rush of footsteps, adrenaline thick in the air; Auror reinforcements were coming. If it took them a full minute to arrive even though they were in the same bloody building, no wonder they'd lost the War.
Iris held up the Elder Wand and promptly vanished all the rubble. She slipped her way through, limped out of the wards, and apparated away. She couldn't think of where to go, so she just picked the one place that she could feel familiar with after all these years.
The next Order meeting was strange, to say the least.
Albus sensed it was off as soon as Nymphadora entered the building. When she inevitably smacked her shin on the cursed umbrella stand, there were only a few quiet mutters of obscenities, and she went over to close off Mrs. Black's horrendous portrait without arguing back at her. Kingsley was much more composed, but his mask was a little too carefully constructed. Something was… unusual, even if it wasn't necessarily good or bad news.
Dumbledore could already guess what the topic was, of course. He'd heard from one of his many friends that somebody had supposedly fallen out of the Veil this morning. A rare occurrence, maybe happening once every eighty years. Goodness knew this one was slightly overdue - having been one hundred and thirty years in the making - but that wasn't the strange bit. The strange bit was that the stranger was somehow able to fight their way through the Unspeakables, the Aurors, and had now disappeared.
After calming down the inevitable fight between Severus and Sirius - he had half a mind to let the two men deck it out at this point - he turned to the two Aurors. "I think you two have something you want to say," he prompted.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Tonks, which ended up attracting more attention to her than before. Probably not her desired result, because she muttered something under her breath and shuffled her feet. Kingsley stared at his partner for a moment before speaking in his deep, warm tones.
"From what we know, someone escaped from the Unspeakables early this morning," Kingsley said. "While the Unspeakables are characteristically tight-lipped about it, we can figure that he fell out of the Veil, and resisted the Unspeakables' attempts to-"
"It was a girl," Tonks interrupted.
Kingsley looked at her. "Excuse me?" He asked, confused.
"You said, 'he'," Tonks replied. "The stranger was female. I confirmed it when we were fighting."
"Ah," Kingsley hummed. Albus watched him with rapt attention, as was the rest of the Order; interesting news these days too often came in the package of Voldemort and misery. "Well, this woman, she successfully escaped the Unspeakables and into the atrium. The Unspeakables seemed to be quite flustered because one of them yelled at us to intercept her."
"An Unspeakable, able to talk to other human beings?" Sirius murmured sarcastically to himself.
"Jane Doe froze when we told her to. We attempted to negotiate with her. However, as we learned, she froze not because she was following our command, but because she recognized Tonks," Kingsley said, gesturing with one hand before clasping them behind his back again. This surprised the Order, and Albus asked them to let Kingsley continue. "Thank you," Kingsley said, nodding in Albus' direction. "She, however, claimed that we were fake, likely implying we were imposters in polyjuice or glamours, and proceeded to attack us."
"And she managed to escape the two of you?" Molly said incredulously.
"I suspect if she truly wished she could have just as easily killed both of us," Kingsley said in a grave voice, resulting in outbursts of surprise and shock from the members. Albus pondered this. Tonks, while new, had graduated the Auror academy top of her class, and Kingsley was a reliable, seasoned and skilled veteran of the force. For Kingsley to describe her as being able to 'easily' kill the both of them meant this stranger was formidable indeed.
"What stopped her from doing so?" Albus asked, cutting off the various small debates occurring around the table.
"She witnessed Tonks' hair change white," Kingsley said, and Tonks blushed. White was when she was scared; Albus didn't blame her. "That seemed to confirm to her that Tonks' metamorphmagus abilities were real, and therefore Tonks was real. She also commented, by extension, that I was real."
"So she knew the two of you somehow," Albus mused.
It was then that Severus spoke up. "What was her style of combat?"
Kingsley frowned slightly. "She fought with dual wands."
Predictably, Severus snorted. "Only show-offs use two wands."
"True in most cases, but she was an expert at it," Kingsley said. "I didn't witness much of it, but I saw her put up a shield with one while attacking with the other."
"She could also use no wands," Tonks said sarcastically.
Albus' eyebrows rose. "Wandless magic?"
"Oh, no. She just punched me in the face," Tonks laughed bitterly, gesturing at her nose. It did seem to show signs of a recent mending, now that he looked closely. "She apologized, though, so no harm done."
"Apologized?"
Albus was perplexed. The stranger obviously knew the two of them, and the fact that she'd put off killing them meant that Tonks, Kingsley and the stranger - wherever she was from - were on friendly terms. The Veil was said to be a dimension to other worlds. Parallel worlds? Was this woman perhaps part of the Auror force?
"Yeah," Tonks said quietly.
Kingsley didn't seem to be inclined to say anything else either, so Albus didn't push him. He let the chatter dominate the room for a few minutes as he thought. Perhaps this was related to their War. There was prophecy already, after all, what was wrong with adding a few other mystic elements? If the figure was friendly with Tonks and Kingsley, he was confident the newcomer wouldn't be on Voldemort's side. But he needed to be certain. If they were in any way in an antagonistic relationship with Harry…
Dumbledore was his Headmaster, after all. It was his job to protect Harry.
Hey there, welcome to my newest story.
This was heavily inspired by Circular Reasoning by Swimdraconian. I really enjoyed the mood of that story, even if the plot was a bit shaky in my opinion. The traumatized Harry was expertly written, and I wanted to be able to write like that, so this is the result. I know, since Circular Reasoning has set the bat quite high, this kind of story might be a bit beyond the expertise of someone at my level of writing. But that's alright, any and all writing serves as practice.
For the same reason I think it'll take me longer to update this story than Through the Veil. Don't expect regular updates.
I hope you all enjoy reading.
Darien
