Note:

This is the longest conversation I've ever written. Dumbledore haters gtfo.

Leave a review! Tell me what you liked, what you want to see, if you have any questions, etc.

Thanks to my amazing superreader (beta) vlaai.

Recap: Iris is a dumbass, nearly gets herself killed by acromantulas, visits the Dreamlands and meets Morrígan. Comes back and nearly gets herself killed again, this time by the basilisk. Kills Riddle-Luna, and passes out as Dumbledore blasts his way into the Chamber of Secrets.

Chapter Six

A Long Overdue Conversation

Dawn broke over the rolling green hills like a blooming lily flower, a pale pink sweeping away the darkness in which prophecy was fulfilled. Beneath the brightening sky the Burrow stood leaning in the morning fog. And in the Burrow lay Iris.

She woke to dread, gripping the blanket on her and throwing it off as if it were attacking her. And it took her a moment to remember anything, to recall why she felt dread at all and why in the world she was in the Burrow. She swung her legs off the couch and buried her head into her hands, trying to calm herself.

This was the living room of the Burrow and she was safe. The Weasleys lived here. But two of them were Petrified... and she had nearly died herself, hadn't she? A sudden fury at Hagrid blew through her fear and she remembered Aragog and the Dreamlands.

Iris followed the train of thoughts, pulling at the strings of memory until the rest came to her, the Chamber of Secrets, the basilisk — Voldemort and Luna, the Killing Curse — clinging to Dumbledore as the cold pulled her down into a deathly embrace. And her thoughts kept running, coming up with all sorts of explanations; maybe she was still there, in his arms, limp and pale, and this was what came after. An eternity at the Burrow.

Of course, that familiar muttering from the kitchen had to be Mrs. Weasley, so she couldn't be dead. It was possible Dumbledore had saved her somehow. There was a chance her belongings had been taken with the Weasleys, including the Elixirs of Life — or maybe it had been Fawkes. Now that she thought about it, in fact, her body did feel rather good.

No pain, no exhaustion, no hunger or thirst — it was as though she was in the prime of her health. She couldn't feel the basilisk venom, her bruised ribs or burned skin, or even the acromantula bite wound. And of course she could see again.

The clothes she had worn into the Chamber were gone. Now she wore a pretty sundress, yellow and reaching to her knees. It was exactly the sort of thing Mrs. Weasley loved putting on her. Her skin did seem fully healed, though... All of her did. Iris took a deep breath, her eyes closed. She was okay.

Yet, as she calmed and her mind stopped whirling, a sort of heartbreak was still present, tugging at her, a non-physical jagged scar tearing through her very core. She held a hand to her chest, the same hand that had withered but was now normal, and wondered what had happened to her that all her other injuries could be healed but not this. This was some sort of grief, like when she thought about her parents but still not quite.

It wasn't emotional, nor was it physical. A thought sprang up that this was a punishment for killing Luna, but she shoved it aside with a shake of her head and another deep breath. It was necessary. Riddle could not be unleashed. If she could go back, she'd do it again. She hadn't even known the girl.

But she struggled to ignore this new feeling, until someone knocked on the front door in the kitchen. Then, out of fear of a Ministry official coming for her, she leapt up and flattened herself against a wall, reaching for a wand — only to remember that she no longer had one.

She caught herself in a mirror from across the room and thought she looked a bit different... Less round in the face somehow... But before she could further observe herself, Mrs. Weasley opened the door.

"Albus!" she said, and Iris held her breath. "Come in, come in."

"Good morning, Molly," said Dumbledore, sounding exhausted. Iris heard him step inside and settle himself in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "How's Iris?"

"Still sleeping. Poor thing keeps having nightmares, so I've been giving her a potion for dreamless sleep every now and then when she stirs," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding disturbed enough about it all that she remained standing. "Albus, what happened to her? The things she mutters in her sleep... Where she heard the incantation for the Killing Curse I have no idea. And you! — you just showed up out of nowhere, asked for Iris's things, then went off once she was healed!"

"There were other matters to take care of while she slept," said Dumbledore. "Though, regretfully, those matters remain unresolved. The Ministry wants a full investigation now. The situation was already grim before, with them assuming two students had been killed — one of them being Iris Potter — but it appears I once again made the mistake of telling Amelia Bones my speculation. She's awfully thorough."

"I don't understand," said Mrs. Weasley.

"It's as I said before I left. Slytherin's monster was a basilisk, and basilisks are mightily feared by wizards, and for good reason. The whole thing has startled the Ministry rather badly." Dumbledore hummed to himself. "And myself, I must admit. I should have known better. Oh, I don't wholly blame myself," he said before she could say anything. "The Heir of Slytherin — that is to say, Tom Riddle — left false clues for me. They led me astray, threw me off. It was difficult to come to the conclusion it was a basilisk when all the Petrified victims from fifty years ago claimed the monster was a many-eyed hairy beast. I imagine Tom used some memory charm on them."

There was a moment of silence.

"I still don't understand," said Mrs. Weasley at length, sounding as confused as Iris was. "What's the problem? It's done, isn't it? Let them investigate."

"That would be the issue," said Dumbledore, actually sounding somewhat apprehensive. "You see, Molly, when I broke into the Chamber of Secrets, Iris was the only one I carried out. Life was swiftly leaving her, and I admit there was something about the Chamber that unnerved me. In my haste, I left Luna Lovegood's body behind."

Mrs. Weasley gasped. "Body? You mean — Luna — she's dead?"

Dumbledore must've nodded or something, for Mrs. Weasley let out a sob. Iris felt her own throat tighten, but she stayed where she was.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, sighing. "I don't know the full story. Iris was in no shape to tell it. But I must wake her soon. The Ministry is demanding answers, and I need time to calculate those answers properly, so as to keep Iris out of Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" said Mrs. Weasley with the horror Iris felt closing in around her. "Why would she be taken to Azkaban? She was a victim!"

"Was she?" said Dumbledore so quietly that Iris barely heard it, or maybe he had been loud enough and the rising sound of blood rushing in her ears was drowning everything out.

Mrs. Weasley's voice was louder still, though: "You can't possibly be suggesting she was the one who did it all — ?"

Iris had to strain her ears to hear Dumbledore's response.

"I am not," he said. "As a matter of fact, I quite firmly believe Iris had nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets being opened. But what I believe is not always enough. The evidence does point to her, Molly. She can speak to serpents. She was found at the locations of the Petrifications on more than one occasion. She lived; Luna did not."

Iris heard Mrs. Weasley finally fall into a chair, the information too much for her legs.

"And of course her record doesn't help..." said Dumbledore tiredly. "All the detentions, the disregard for rules, the cursed students."

"None of that means murder!" protested Mrs. Weasley. "Fred and George have just as bad of a record, if not worse."

"The problem is, Molly, that I believe Iris did murder Luna."

Mrs. Weasley made a noise of disbelief and shock. "But — but you just said you believed she —" She stopped, her voice shaking badly, and Iris fought not to shake herself.

"I said I believed she had nothing to do with the Chamber being opened, or the attacks," said Dumbledore. "And I stand by it. Do calm down, Molly, we will keep her safe. It is just that..." Here he hesitated. "Magic leaves traces, dark magic especially. There were two Killing Curses cast down there, and there doesn't seem to be any other explanation for Luna's death."

"Then that Heir of Slytherin must've done it," said Mrs. Weasley imploringly, as though Dumbledore was a judge and this was already Iris's trial. "Isn't that who was behind it all?"

"If so, they were nowhere to be found. If I had to take a guess, I'd say Luna was possessed, and that Iris managed to grab hold of a wand — half of a wand, I think — and cast the Killing Curse."

Another silence descended down on them, and Iris was having difficulty keeping her breathing from interrupting it. They could not possibly put her in Azkaban for this... They couldn't.

"Just what kind of school are you running, Albus?" snapped Mrs. Weasley suddenly, and Iris nearly made a noise in surprise. "There were never these kinds of problems before, and now all of a sudden you have possessed teachers and students, three-headed dogs and Petrifications — two of my own children!"

"It is as you said: unusual. Iris is tangled in all kinds of destiny. It is her that attracts danger, not the school."

"Destiny?" There was a touch of skepticism in Mrs. Weasley's anger now.

"I know, I've never been a fan myself, but it is the truth. More than one prophecy has been made regarding her. In fact, if I am right, she heard one just last night. Professor Trewlawney's recounting of meeting Iris outside the castle certainly makes me think so. There is a gap in her memory, you see, just as there was with the previous prophecy. Tell no one this, Molly.

"And to make it all even worse," continued Dumbledore, "when I went back to retrieve Luna, her body was nowhere to be found. A bit of some debris made me think she was dragged away. Not out of the Chamber, but further in, into the pool of water inside there. That water ran deep, miles beneath the Chamber. Again, I was unsettled. I told the Ministry this too, which only strengthened their desire for a full investigation. Xenophilius Lovegood was never much respected, but they'd prefer to at least try to retrieve her body for him."

"Oh, poor Xenophilius," whispered Mrs. Weasley. "He lost his wife just over a year ago too."

"And Madam Bones sympathizes," said Dumbledore. "If she investigates, she will find Iris was suspected of opening the Chamber. She will dig up everything we have on the girl. She will question Iris, and all those she is friends or enemies with. Quite a few students are already genuinely terrified of her. And if Amelia finds out Iris cast the Killing Curse... Well, as you know, the use of the Killing Curse against a fellow human being is a lifetime sentence in Azkaban."

A heavy silence fell upon them all for the third time. Iris had already known this before, but the words coming from Dumbledore made it different. It felt as though they had escaped Dumbledore's mouth and had flown straight into Iris's, choking her. Surely they couldn't put her away for life... It was hardly even Luna she had killed, after all, but Riddle. It all came back to Riddle.

Iris heard Mrs. Weasley open her mouth and get ready to say something, but whatever it was never came out.

"If Madam Bones comes to you, Molly —"

"Then I'll tell her all about Iris," said Mrs. Weasley, and Dumbledore must've gestured for her to elaborate, for she continued: "About how she gave me and Arthur a Christmas gift the first time we met, or how — despite our protests — she helped Ron, Percy, and the twins come to Romania with us to visit Charlie. Or how she's helping Ron train up as a Keeper so he can try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team next year. Or how her company has made Ginny happier than I've ever seen her."

Iris had to stop her face from crumpling over the emotion in Mrs. Weasley's voice. She did not expect such a passionate defense of her character. The Weasleys were just so nice and easygoing, that was all... She certainly didn't treat everyone like them. The twins had instantly taken a liking to her, and Ron always laughed at her jokes and she at his. And Ginny was like a combination of the three.

"She fit in so well with us right from the beginning," said Mrs. Weasley. "Everybody took a liking to her. I can tell them that, I'll tell them how she treated a bunch of blood-traitors like they were her own family, and Hermione can speak for her too, and — and —"

"Very good," said Dumbledore. "I don't think there is much left to tell. I brought Iris here, as you know, believing your children had taken her belongings. Fawkes had just had his burning day and could not help her."

"Yes, Fred and George took all of her things... They said her relatives would just burn it all... Unfortunately we didn't think before letting loose her cat, Lily. Within the hour she ended up catching and killing Scabbers — Ron's rat." Mrs. Weasley sighed and Iris's grimace deepened. "I hope he isn't too devastated about it."

"Given what you've just told me of Iris, I imagine she will buy him a new pet, whether he wants her to or not."

"Hopefully not something too extravagant," muttered Mrs. Weasley. "I won't be surprised if Ron brings a lion home. She's a dear, and I do care for her greatly, but there's a reason she and the twins get along so swimmingly, you know."

"I do know," said Dumbledore, and it sounded as though he was smiling a little. "The professors at Hogwarts become wary whenever the three are found whispering to each other."

Mrs. Weasley scoffed good-naturedly. "I think I'll have to let Fred and George drag her into their mischief now. Can't imagine how she'll feel when she wakes up, how miserable she might be. You won't force her to go back to those horrible relatives of hers, will you?"

"There would be no point. When she didn't return to Privet Drive last summer, she renounced Petunia's home as her own. And thus, the protective enchantments I had put in place fell. If you don't mind, Molly, I would prefer to let her stay at Hogwarts from now on. It may not be the safest place for her to be, as these past two years have shown, but there I can keep an eye on her. And I think it is at last time for me to take a greater hand in her education."

"Albus..." said Mrs. Weasley, and there was an odd note of a kind of reverence in her voice. "Do you mean...?"

"Possibly, possibly. Others have wondered, speculated, even expected... But I wanted to let her enjoy her youth, to not shine a spotlight on her any more than necessary. One of my many mistakes with her, it seems. I think, from now on, things must change. Not only for her own sake, but also, dare I say it, for the rest of us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I have tempted fate far too much," said Dumbledore. "Iris is naive and sometimes foolish, but in time those flaws may fade to leave nothing but cunning and might. Such qualities in a wizard are dangerous, and should be carefully handled, observed, and maybe tempered. My — ah — gentler and subtler approaches have failed me. I, too, am a naive fool. It is time to put honesty between us. And I have started this by letting her eavesdrop on our entire conversation," added Dumbledore, a definite smile in his tone now.

Iris startled, and Mrs. Weasley quickly got out of her seat to check around the corner through the doorway, only to find Iris rooted to the spot, blushing.

"Mrs. Weasley — ah —"

But Mrs. Weasley only grabbed her in a tight hug. "Oh, Iris! Thank goodness you're awake!" She pulled Iris away from her by the shoulders and looked her up and down. "Are you okay? Are you feeling well?"

"I'm okay," said Iris, though she wasn't really sure herself if she meant this. "Just a bit shaken, that's all." And she gave a smile, which was indeed shaky. Mrs. Weasley returned it.

"Hello, Iris," said Dumbledore, and Mrs. Weasley moved to the side. "It's good to see you awake and unwounded."

Iris didn't meet his eyes. "Yeah. Thank you. You know, for saving me." This wasn't difficult to say, but her gratitude clashed with her resentment of Dumbledore for the last year.

"I trust you understand what I must ask you?" said Dumbledore.

Iris nodded, and moved from the doorway to sit down at the table. But she couldn't seem to do it. She only fidgeted in her seat, not sure where to start or if she could even begin. Her mind was too clouded with thoughts of Azkaban and the everpresent ache in what felt like her very soul.

"Can't she have breakfast before all this?" said Mrs. Weasley, coming to place her hands on Iris's shoulders. "She just woke up, Albus."

"Would you like to eat first?" asked Dumbledore.

Iris shook her head. She'd probably throw up.

"Let us walk, then," said Dumbledore. "Just the two of us, and if you wish to talk, Iris, you may, but it can be just me, and the rest a pleasant stroll through the hills. The air is fresh and will help clear your mind."

"But —" began Mrs. Weasley.

"There are things Iris might not wish to say in front of you out of fear of judgement, Molly," said Dumbledore. "I don't think it will be the same case for me. I have seen Iris at her worst, and she, I think, knows me at my worst."

Iris looked up at him. Was he at last acknowledging the true extent of the path he had put her on when leaving her with the Dursleys? The year before, after Quirrell's death, he had given only vague excuses when she had angrily questioned him. And after, she had hated him. Now, it felt a little silly to not give him another chance after he had saved her life.

It seemed time for another conversation between her and Dumbledore, and hopefully something a little more honest than the last.

"Okay," she said.

Dumbledore smiled, eyes gentle, and stood. Together they exited the Burrow, leaving a worried Mrs. Weasley behind.

The wind of the morning blew their clothes about, helping paint a pretty picture of the two: Iris in her yellow sundress and Dumbledore in his white robes, the rising sun in the east, and the anticipation of overdue explanations.

Iris prepared herself. She didn't know how this conversation was going to end, but she did know this was the cleverest man she had ever met, and maneuvering through a conversation with him unscathed would take every ounce of cunning she had; which, as evidenced by recent events, apparently wasn't much cunning at all.

Dumbledore let out a small laugh.

"What?" she said, looking up at him.

"I can see the sheer stubbornness and wily preparation on your face already," he said, his eyes crinkling with both amusement and weariness. "I understand your hesitance, Iris. I understand not wanting to tell me a thing, to —"

But Iris stopped him there, shaking her head. She didn't think she had the energy to care. At worst she had been stupid; not evil, but arrogant and a stupid, silly child. Dumbledore would see that. No matter his faults, or his past, he would understand...

And so she told him everything that had happened: from the acromantulas to the Dreamlands to Trelawney and the phoenix to the whole calamity of the Chamber of Secrets. By the time she was done, the Burrow had disappeared from view, her throat was dry, and Dumbledore still hadn't spoken. He seemed intent on walking toward some specific direction if anything.

She became so worried about his reaction that she slowed on top of the hill they were on. Dumbledore continued walking, apparently oblivious, stuck in his own thoughts.

"Well?" she said.

Dumbledore stopped some meters from her and gazed out into the distance.

At length he turned to her. "In the span of twenty-four hours, you navigated through a colony of acromantulas, visited the fabled Dreamlands, and slew Slytherin's monster? And here I had thought you were more reserved and wary to the danger of the world."

Iris looked down and played with her dress. "I thought I was better now, with magic and all. I just fumbled my way through it all. Nearly died. Twice."

"Nearly," said Dumbledore. "It only makes the tale more extraordinary. Then again, you are quite the extraordinary child. I sometimes have to remind myself that you are a child. You've always shown startling intelligence, to me, to the other teachers, to your fellow students. I suppose any child with such known hardships would be. Yet... there were, at times, doubts... I pondered, and I was not the only one, what path lay before you; or rather, the paths, and which you would take."

Iris looked up at him, wondering what he was talking about.

"Some have called you an impertinent brat," said Dumbledore in her silence, and with such lack of care that she nearly smiled.

"Snape?"

"Professor Snape," agreed Dumbledore. "But such hardships often show us who we really are. It strips away all the pretense and falsehoods. You could have very easily left Luna to die, reasonably deemed it too perilous to attempt a rescue — and I would have agreed — but you did not. You wished to save her."

"I didn't want Hogwarts to close," said Iris. "It wasn't just Luna. I didn't even know her. And Riddle had gone out of his way to Petrify my friends. It was personal" — she waved a hand — "or whatever."

"But you did not know until you met him that he had deliberately targeted Ginny Weasley," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Who cares if it was deliberate or not?" said Iris, frowning. "He Petrified my friends, he made my whole year a nuisance, and — and — do I really need some noble reason to stop some maniac from killing a bunch of people?"

"Is that not a noble reason itself, to tackle such a foe alone?" said Dumbledore, sounding still tired but also somewhat pleased, as though she had just freely allowed him a checkmate.

Iris fought back a sigh but couldn't resist rolling her eyes. This was why speaking to Dumbledore was often so infuriating; he could talk circles around her with annoying ease, wrapping her in her own words as though it were second nature.

"Does it matter?" she said finally.

"To you and I, yes, I think so."

"Why?"

"Why indeed — why do you wish to deny what I think is your good nature? There is no shame in virtue, Iris, or in feeling as you wish not to do now. It makes you human."

"I'd rather not feel at all," said Iris, crossing her arms.

Dumbledore sighed. "Iris —"

"I'd rather not talk about feeling either."

Dumbledore's lips tightened under his white mustache and he seemed for a moment unsure of what to say, or how to continue further. She was aware she was making this difficult, unnecessarily so, but she wasn't quite sure what to say either.

"What did you mean back there?" she said suddenly. "You said you tempted fate, and things would have to change. You also said you'd put honesty between us, so start now."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, and though she knew he could end this talk at any moment, being the ludicrously more intelligent and powerful of the two of them, Iris felt an unusual sense of pleasure in taking the reins of the conversation. It felt good. She had shown her anger at Dumbledore before, but he had still controlled the flow of information.

"This will be a very long conversation," said Dumbledore at last. "Let us walk."

Iris uncrossed her arms and followed him as he began making his way down the hill. As Dumbledore gathered his thoughts she stooped down and picked up a leaf, hoping to be able to take control of nature in such a way as she had before.

Dumbledore didn't stop walking or even look back at her as he began speaking.

"When I said I had tempted fate, I meant that, given the information I had about a possible future, it was perhaps foolish and unnecessarily risky to leave you with the Dursleys. I set a dark path in front of you, one I am glad you have not taken, though of little surprise would it have been had you stepped upon it. Of course, I had done what I thought best at the time. It is easy to judge myself in hindsight."

"A possible future," repeated Iris slowly. "You said earlier that another prophecy had been made about me — that I was tangled up in destiny."

"Quite right."

Dumbledore held his palm up then and curled his fingers inward, and suddenly a great wind picked up around them, only for a brief second, and then all became still and calm. But Iris could see that from ten feet beyond her in every direction the grass was billowing as though in a hurricane.

"Is that the magic that Morrígan and I talked about?" she said. "Or just wandless magic?"

"That was just a simple privacy charm," said Dumbledore, "one I should have used twelve years ago in a dusty room in Hog's Head Inn. A criticism, again, that is easily made in hindsight."

"In Aberforth's —" Iris began but quickly stopped herself.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Yes, you do know Aberforth. I knew so, but we will get to that later."

"You knew — ?"

"Of course I knew. Did you think it would not get back to me that Iris Potter was making inquiries into my haunting history?" For the first time there was a look of something unwelcoming in his eyes, but it was swiftly replaced with that tired warmth. "Oh, Iris... When I heard, I think I stopped blinking for a solid minute. You'll never understand what a position you put me in."

"Then make me understand," said Iris. "Start with the Dursleys. Tell me the real reason you left me there. Why couldn't anyone else raise me?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I wished to protect you. I truly did."

"But why?" said Iris desperately. "Why them? Why not with the Weasleys? Or anywhere else? Don't give me that tripe about protection — a Fidelius Charm would have done the trick for anyone."

"All questions I myself asked," he said, "all questions I myself asked..." He stayed silent for a moment. "Do you want your answer now, Iris, or perhaps another time? It's been quite the day for you — two days, given what you went through yesterday in your admirable, if somewhat foolish, venture into the Forbidden Forest."

Iris glared at him. "We have time." And she flopped herself down on the grass, staring up at him with her legs crossed.

"And the full answer will take time," he said, "quite a bit of it."

"Speak, Dumbledore."

"Very well." Dumbledore smiled at her impertinence. "Settle yourself in your chair instead, and I shall speak."

Iris blinked and looked around but found nothing. When she turned back to Dumbledore, however, there were two blue chairs in the shade of a large elm tree that couldn't have possibly been there before. Dumbledore withdrew his hand from his robe, no doubt putting away his wand, and sat down in one of the seats.

Iris took a deep breath, got up, and followed suit, sinking into the cushions and letting herself relax as best she could.

"We must go back many years," Dumbledore began, "to when Voldemort was at the height of his power and nothing seemed to stand in his way."

"Didn't you?"

"Mm, perhaps." Dumbledore looked expectantly at her, as though wanting her to elaborate. When she did not, he said, "But even I, with all my cleverness and manipulations, had difficulties keeping up. You must understand just how ingenious Lord Voldemort was even before he gave himself such a title. Let me explain."

Iris tried not to show impatience, but her thoughts were on her face.

"I think," Dumbledore said, looking serious but not severe, "that this will help you understand better my decisions regarding not only your relatives, but also my general behavior toward you — the caution, and maybe even distrust."

She had some difficulty keeping the contempt from showing on her face. "Go on, then."

"Imagine for a moment, Iris, an orphan — an orphan growing up in a loveless home, with no friends, surrounded by those that deem him unnatural."

"Him?" said Iris, having thought he was talking about her.

"Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore, watching her closely. She didn't let anything slip past her flat expression. "He was a disturbed boy, if we're to be blunt. A bully. I met him as I met you, to share with him the knowledge of magic and Hogwarts."

"Did he also throw a blade at you?"

"Oh no, you're wholly unique on that account. But he did show remarkable independence, unnerving intelligence, and an advanced control of his magic."

"He could also speak to snakes," said Iris quietly.

"And he was a thief," said Dumbledore with a sort of finality to the parallels he was clearly drawing between them. "Even then I was wary... Of course, I did not ever expect him to become the most evil and powerful dark wizard of all time, but the hints I was given of his cruelty suggested to me that I ought to keep an eye on him — for the sake of others more than his."

"Was he similar to me — I mean, he at Hogwarts, me at Hogwarts, is there still — was there —" Iris couldn't get what she was trying to say out, for Dumbledore's comparisons had shook her already shaken core.

"No," said Dumbledore, seeming to know what she meant. "He did not have friends at Hogwarts. Oh, there were students who considered themselves his friends, but I saw little evidence that he saw them as anything more than tools. And thus, your lines of choice seemed to diverge when you entered Hogwarts, Iris.

"Though," said Dumbledore suddenly, stopping her next question, "things were not quite so easy from that point onward. You were different, certainly, but then in your very first year you attempted to take the Philosopher's Stone for yourself."

Iris shrugged, unashamed, and they both stayed silent for some time. She leaned back in her chair, head tilted backward as she watched the leaves above sway in the wind. At least now it made some sort of sense for why Dumbledore had treated her with caution at first.

"Do you remember the night you found the Mirror of Erised, Iris?" Dumbledore said at length. "What I asked you and what you told me?"

She looked down slowly, frowning. "Yes..."

"You lied."

"So what if I did?"

"I asked you what you saw in the Mirror," Dumbledore continued, as though he had not heard her, "and you told me you saw your parents. I almost believed it, I admit. I knew you were not telling the truth, but a part of me wanted at that time to believe it, to believe your greatest desire was to be reunited with your parents."

"A nice, pure desire."

"Indeed. It would have soothed my worries."

Iris looked away from him. "Of course it was a lie. Do you think I wanted my parents to —" She stopped. "I'm not throwing myself a pity-party — I'm not ashamed of anything. But —" She sighed. "I don't know."

"Do you believe they'd be disappointed with you?" Dumbledore asked, sounding genuinely curious and as though he himself did not know the answer.

Iris gave a small laugh. It was a bitter little thing.

"Hmm." Dumbledore nodded. "What did you see in the Mirror, out of curiosity?"

"Probably not what I'd see now."

"And what is it you think you would see now?"

Iris looked straight into Dumbledore's eyes. "Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy both dead. At my feet."

"Do you think you can manage it?"

"No."

"Yet you wish to do it all the same. You, your hands."

"I don't want them to die quickly," said Iris, hardly believing she was openly saying this. "I want them to feel regret, even if it's only from their own failure. Something. I want them to feel something before they die. I want them to understand they'll die. I don't want it to be painful. Pain clouds the mind. I want them to die slowly, but painlessly, so they know, so they understand, so they see it coming." She took a long, shaky breath. "Is that terrible?"

"Your mother once said the same thing," said Dumbledore, looking unbothered.

"What?" said Iris, startled.

"Well, not exactly, of course, but very similar indeed. Yes, it was an Order meeting, and Lily's bloodlust frightened even Sirius, who was used to those sorts of things." He shrugged. "It is fairly normal. Do you think I have never felt utter contempt for anybody before? There have been many I wished a cruel afterlife on, Iris."

"Yeah, but was it your heart's most desperate desire?

"Mm, no, likely not... But do you know for certain it is yours?"

"I've got a pretty good feeling," she said darkly.

"Perhaps now," said Dumbeldore, "but in time it is likely your deepest desire would change. Your rage will fade, and peace will come."

"Yeah, and rainbows and unicorns will fill the lands once more." She waved a dismissive hand. "Did you think I was going to be put in Slytherin like Riddle was?"

"If you were, I wouldn't have thought much of it." Dumbledore interlocked his fingers. "Hogwarts houses aren't always indicative of what a person might become. Look at your godfather. Of course, being around children of Death Eaters may sway one to hold sympathies for such people, but I wasn't particularly worried about anyone easily influencing you."

"That feels like a backhanded compliment." She frowned, then. "You didn't answer my questions. What did all of that have to do with putting me at the Dursleys?"

"Ah, yes, I was sidetracked. We will skip Tom's years at Hogwarts. Know only that he was friendless, yet surrounded by those that thought they were his friends: delusional followers. Here he differs from you. It was a comfort to see most of what you wished to keep from professors was simple mischief."

"So you think."

"Bold to make such jokes at this time," said Dumbledore. "But whatever else you are hiding from me, I am certain it cannot compare to the deeds of Tom Riddle while he was at Hogwarts. As you know, he had already murdered before graduating. And I believe more than once."

So have I, Iris wanted to say, but she knew what he would say in return and so she kept quiet as he continued.

"Decades passed, and the years were relatively peaceful. But then, one by one, the greatest witches and wizards in the world began to die. I was not always looked at as the greatest wizard. Once there were many, and some I called friends." Dumbledore's voice had become quieter, and slightly sorrowful. "Their deaths were horrific. There were whispers in the wizarding community of eldritch things, of horrors too terrible to speak of and described only in forbidden tomes locked away in deep places."

"Is that part of why people are afraid to say his name?" said Iris, unsettled by Dumbledore's whispered tone and the sudden cloud darkening their spot. "People thought he was some evil being never seen before?"

"Part of why, yes," said Dumbledore, eyes seeming still distant, but then he gathered himself. "Lord Voldemort's rise was frightening, Iris, even to me. He possessed great power, and used it in such a cruel and evil way that people believed unimaginable beings not of this Earth must've been behind it — for what else could have killed all these immensely skilled witches and wizards?"

"It scared even you?" said Iris, doubt in her voice. Dumbledore had always seemed the type to be unflappable even in the face of a world-destroying threat.

"I was unnerved," he said. "Rattled. I thought I might be next, and I became more paranoid than I would like to admit. Voldemort knew magic that I had thought only I had known, and also magic that I did not know, and still do not know to this day. This is crucial in my decision in placing you where I did."

Iris leaned forward, sweeping her hair from her face and pulling it behind her ears. "What do you mean?"

"You mentioned earlier the use of a Fidelius Charm," said Dumbledore, his eyes seeing something she did not. "But you see, Iris, a Fidelius Charm had just failed your parents. It has its weaknesses. And there was the matter of who to raise you. Who to trust. Understand the caution: Sirius Black, your father's best friend, betrayed you utterly. If he could not be trusted, who could?"

"The Weasleys?" said Iris, throwing up a finger. "Remus? Old friends of my parents?" she added, holding two more up.

"I trusted the Weasleys less than I had trusted Sirius. How could I not? As I said, Sirius was your father's best friend. If he turned out to be a traitor, then why couldn't one of the Weasleys also? Remus —"

"Was a werewolf," said Iris, "yeah."

"And he had vanished," said Dumbledore. "I suppose I do not blame him. In the course of a single night he had lost two of his three best friends, another good friend — Lily — and the last of his best friends turned out to be a Death Eater. It's enough to break any man."

Iris leaned back in her seat, somewhat satisfied.

"I'm somewhat satisfied," she said flatly.

"All other of your parents' old friends were otherwise dead," continued Dumbledore. "I was far too busy, being Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock, and Supreme Mugwump. Professor McGonagall was busy. Hagrid would be, quite frankly, a foolish choice."

"And there was no one else?"

"No one I trusted," said Dumbledore, nodding. "And so, knowing a magic I was sure Voldemort did not, I placed upon you an ancient charm. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you. There, no one who could be traced back to Voldemort could harm you."

"Not any of his Death Eaters?" said Iris, inspecting her nails. "Or hired assassins?"

"No." Dumbledore's tone welcomed no argument. "Your mother's sacrifice already granted you protection from Voldemort himself. What use would my charm be if it did the same? No. So long as Petunia considered her home your own, and you the same, Voldemort nor any attached to him could hurt you there."

"Didn't protect me from the Dursleys," said Iris, still staring at the back of her hands. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Dumbledore close his eyes and give a solemn nod.

"No, it did not." He sighed. "But I thought it better than death, or worse. The Longbottoms were tortured into insanity less than a week after your parents were killed by Voldemort. You would suffer, I knew you would, but you would still live. I did not know when Voldemort would come back. What if I placed you with someone secretly in league with him? And days later you were killed?"

"But... the last year I lived with them, before Hogwarts, I spent most of my time on the streets."

"Yet you considered Privet Drive home still. It was a near thing, but close enough."

"No, I mean — I mean, yeah, but I wasn't spending most of my time at the house, so the protection wasn't covering me."

"The protection covered more than just the house itself," said Dumbledore. "Otherwise, servants of Lord Voldemort would have been able to reach you at your muggle school, or your uncle at his workplace. Really, so long as you returned home once a day, or perhaps even week, the general area kept you hidden. Death Eaters could hover right above Privet Drive and not be able to touch you."

Iris sighed, something they both seemed to be doing a lot, and she looked up. These hills were pretty, she thought, prettier than this conversation deserved.

"Why couldn't you have threatened the Dursleys or something?" she said as a sparrow flitted in front of her. "Or given them something?"

"I feared pressure from my side might withdraw their consent to take you in," said Dumbledore. "Or that coerced consent would not be enough. So I only placed Mrs. Figg there to keep an eye on you."

"Mrs. Figg?" scoffed Iris, hardly caring that the old lady was apparently a spy. "Well, that worked well."

"No, clearly not, but what do you think Arabella Figg told me of you, Iris? What is the impression you think you have given her? Do you think she spoke of a timid little girl who flinched whenever someone touched her?" Dumbledore stared at her with raised eyebrows but Iris looked away.

"No..."

"No indeed," said Dumbledore. "She spoke of a girl seeming more a young woman, witty and fierce and mature beyond her age."

"And now?" she said, pushing past that. "Your protection is gone?"

"You do not consider the place your home anymore, so yes, the protection has fallen. There is, however, a chance I could cast it on you again."

"I'd rather take my chance with a sudden resurrection of Voldemort," said Iris.

"I would not," said Dumbledore, "but I will not force you to go back to your relatives. Instead, I think you are old enough to stay at Hogwarts over the summer. In your earlier years there would only be house-elves to take care of you."

"Then why didn't one of them raise me?" Iris glanced at him with pointed irritation. "It'd be at Hogwarts, and wouldn't the elves be bound to your will?"

Dumbledore stood up, smoothed out his robes, and looked at her with an apology in his eyes. Iris looked away again.

"Perhaps it would have been better, in hindsight at least," he said with a shrug, "but I did not wish for you to grow up socially stunted."

Iris raised her eyebrows. "Avoided that, didn't we?"

"You've always seemed socially apt to me," said Dumbledore. "And you do not speak like a house-elf. You've plenty of friends, do you not? A family which invites you to spend holidays with them?"

"Well, yeah, but..." She tried to meet his gaze but turned away again. Why couldn't she just look at him?

Dumbledore frowned. "Is all well with the Weasleys? Molly seemed fine with you in her home."

"Everything's fine."

"Iris?"

Iris stood up and blew out a frustrated breath, then put her hands on her hips and turned to him. "Did you know that Lovegood lived right down the river from the Weasley? I killed a little girl that Ginny maybe played with. And it's not even the first person I've killed. I stabbed Quirrell to death." She looked down. "And he wasn't even the first person I've stabbed."

Dumbledore put his hand on her shoulder. "You had no choice —"

"I had plenty of choices," she said immediately. "I just —" She stopped, shaking her head, her hair falling into her face. "And now I'm supposed to just spend the summer with the Weasleys, playing games and singing songs, like none of that happened? Again?"

"Of course it all happened, but none of it makes you a bad person," said Dumbledore, squeezing her shoulder. "You did an incredible thing, Iris, and there is no reason for anyone to look down on you; and if there was, I am sure all the Weasleys would not. The children admire you, do they not?"

Somehow those were all the wrong words.

"This isn't some heroic tale!" she said, throwing his hand off her with her arm and being able to suddenly look at him with angry eyes. "It's not something they're supposed to admire me for. It was luck, Dumbledore. Luck saved me. Luck and help. It wasn't great or — or fantastical. It was scary. I was scared. I thought I was going to die on that cold floor, alone, like I always thought I —"

Her voice choked then, and her eyes began to burn. She shut them tight, clenched her jaw, and turned her whole body away from him.

"You are not alone," said Dumbledore, his voice sounding tight with some kind of pain. "You have friends, Iris, you do. The Weasley family is —"

"They don't know me," said Iris, turning back around and throwing a look of derision at him. "They don't know anything. They don't know what my life was like before Hogwarts, or anything I've done, or how I really feel. I'm just a fun girl to them, a — what does Snape say? Insolent. An insolent prankster to the twins, an unjudging confidant to Ron, another girl around to Ginny —"

"Something like another daughter to Mrs. Weasley?" said Dumbledore, almost pleadingly.

"No." Iris's voice came out both hoarse and yet strong. "I'm just a child to her, another she could take care of —"

"Is that so wrong?" said Dumbledore calmly. "You are a child, however clever and brave."

Iris grabbed fistfuls of her hair in exasperation. "I don't care! You think anyone else cares? You think muggers and creeps in the streets cared that I was a child? You think Quirrell or Voldemort or the Dursleys cared?" As she spoke, her voice shook more and more with her bitter anger. "How can you stand there and call me clever — and brave — and say I've been through so much, shouldering an adult's burden, and still not get it?"

She moved, walked away and then to the side and back again so that she paced in front of him.

"Everybody thinks because I'm twelve that I don't know anything, that I have some kind of — some kind of unprocessed trauma or whatever, like I'm too stupid to understand what's happened to me, or naive, and maybe I am — but — but — agh! I don't know! I can't explain it," she said softly, stopping, and hugging herself with her back to him.

"Try," said Dumbledore, just as soft.

"I can't," she said. "It's just... I can't connect." She looked back in his direction but not at him. "The Weasleys are great, but I'm not a part of their family. I'm just not. You can just tell. I don't know how to even be a part of a family. I'm just polite, and use the manners Petunia always tried to put in me.

"And Mrs. Weasley sees it, too. I can see it in her eyes. She seems just as confused as I am sometimes, when I just don't get something. And then after, there's the pity. And God, I hate it. I appreciate her, I do, but I just can't stand it — the awkwardness, the embarrassment. I like Ron because he's completely tactless, and I can just sort of be whatever around him, you know? He complains about being poor, but he's never had it hard. He doesn't get it. Wizards being poor is nothing. Ron's always had food, a roof, safety, clothes, however out of fashion."

"Certainly true," said Dumbledore, sounding almost absentminded as he no doubt processed everything else she had said. "We wizards have all our basic human needs met."

"And Ginny's great," said Iris, throwing out an arm of admittance to him, "but I want to kill myself when she starts talking about boys or other things. How do you go from death and murder to — to that?" She took a breath and held up her palms as if she didn't know what to do with them. "All I could think of last summer was, I just killed someone, and here I am having my hair braided. And I can't relate to the adults either, because I'm not one. I don't know anything about that. I find kids my age dumb and annoying, but adults find me dumb and annoying."

"Oh, I don't think they find you dumb, Iris," said Dumbledore.

"Oh, just annoying," she said, kicking the grass. "Great."

"Professor Snape might, but I can assure you the staff appreciates you, even if they are at times exasperated with you."

Iris gave a shake of her head. "How do you do it? How do you sit in your office, doing paperwork, all that, knowing — just all of it. All the deaths, those you've killed, or those you couldn't save, or your whole thing with Grindelwald. How do you sit there after a hundred years, all calm and patient, like the world isn't still shit?"

"I was wondering when Gellert would come up," said Dumbledore as though she had told him the weather was nice. "You've done quite a bit of investigative work on me, haven't you?"

"What was I supposed to do?" she said, throwing her hands up. "I didn't know your intentions. I was just at Godric's Hollow, visiting my parents' graves when Bathilda Bagshot came up to me."

Dumbledore nodded. "And naturally, you two talked."

"Then she told me you used to live there," said Iris, crossing her arms and shrugging. "I asked questions. She answered. I went to Aberforth after. He told me some things then kicked me out."

"What did he tell you?" Dumbledore seemed to realize he had asked the wrong question, and said instead, "Of what topic did you two speak?"

Iris looked right into his eyes, knowing he wouldn't dare to glimpse past them.

"He told me enough," she said. "Enough that you might regret it if you ever looked into my mind."

For the first time, it was Dumbledore who looked away, unable to hold the gaze. His expression was even rough. The surge of triumph washed away the unfurling ball of guilt. It was almost intoxicating, the way it felt when the conversation shifted in her favor and it was he who had to step back in defense, the Great Albus Dumbledore, mightiest wizard in the world.

The pleasure must've shown in her face, for Dumbledore looked at her again, and this time it wasn't kindness in his eyes, but something grimmer. She didn't even know what he would regret learning in her mind, for Aberforth had told her nothing but to only pretend to know something; but it was enough to produce a flash of hostility in Dumbledore's eyes, for the first time directed at her.

Then it vanished and that kind tolerance was back again. And he looked at her, really looked at her, and she knew — she just knew that he thought she was broken like Tom Riddle was; maybe not quite so irreparably, maybe not in such a twisted way as he, but damaged.

Iris laughed so coldly and callously that it caught Dumbledore by some small surprise and threw him off his stupid facade of calm patience and into something like pity and compassion. He nodded, both to her and himself, acknowledging everything left unspoken and confirming to himself something she probably wouldn't like.

"Are we done then?" she said, feeling hollow inside, empty except for the unceasing sharp ache of whatever the Killing Curse had done to her. She couldn't even muster up any true hatred for the man. Not anymore. His reasons were solid, even with hindsight. And she couldn't pretend she didn't agree: she was broken.

"There is more," said Dumbledore, seeming weary again, "but I think we can leave it for another day."

"No," said Iris, sharpening her gaze toward him. "What else are you hiding from me?"

Dumbledore's beard moved slightly, as if the muscles beneath twitched with hesitation. Then he opened his mouth and recited clearly:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal, but they will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

There was silence in the shade of the tree they stood under. Dumbledore seemed lost in his own thoughts, and Iris's mind was whirling with what seemed to her a prophecy. And about her. Born as the seventh month dies; July, the month of her birth. Iris swallowed hard.

The last piece of the puzzle was finally in her hands, and she felt nothing but grim satisfaction and a difficulty to think. She wanted to sit down, to pace, to take a broom and fly, but instead she just stood there.

"This prophecy," said Dumbledore, "is why Lord Voldemort targeted your family. Why he killed them. Why he tried to kill you. He only heard the first half, but it was enough."

"Shouldn't you have told me this?" she said quietly.

"For what reason? To train you? Iris, if I train you now for a decade, until you are over thirty years old, Lord Voldemort would still crush you."

"Then why am I not dead?" she said, feeling anger burn again inside her. "It would be better than nothing, better than sitting around, goofing off, waiting for him to come back — you said it yourself, he's dangerous, killed a bunch of wizards like you, and you — you've done nothing —"

"I can assure you, if you are to kill Lord Voldemort, it will not be by a skilled duel or anything of that matter," said Dumbledore, and he sounded stern and absolute now, with none of the hesitation tinging his words from before, as if this was the one thing he was certain of. "You have survived nothing but shades of Voldemort, and even those nearly killed you both times."

"Exactly!" said Iris. "I haven't fought Voldemort — I've fought shades, and other things. If I had been a little better, I could have done better — could have had a better chance against Quirrell, or the acromantulas, the basilisk —"

"And I was to expect you to find yourself in these troubles so early, so young?"

"Didn't you?" she said. "You said I was twisted up in all sorts of destiny — and it seemed like you were just fine with me going after the Stone too."

This took him off guard a bit, and he closed his eyes and nodded.

"Somewhat," he admitted, "It was originally bait for only Voldemort, but then I saw you were curious and maybe even hopeful for a confrontation... I knew he could not harm you, and I thought it best to make sure something good could also come out of his inevitable escape. And so, after Christmas holidays, I had the defenses set as they did, designed to leave you as the last girl standing, so to speak. I wished to have Lord Voldemort believe you had solved all the challenges yourself, you see, should he not be vanquished for good... to give him a lasting impression, one of caution."

Iris ran her palms over her face, in disbelief he admitted this so easily.

"But I did solve it all by myself," she said, her voice muffled by her hands. "And they weren't even that hard."

"Yes, well, I wasn't quite expecting for you to go after the Stone alone. I wished for you to be alone only at the end, when your mother's magic and Voldemort's clashed once more, protecting you and hopefully ending him once again, if not permanently."

"And you did all this here? At Hogwarts? A school?" said Iris, dragging her fingers down her cheeks in exasperation.

"I had my reasons," he said. "As I just told you. It was irresponsible, I fully admit it. But I knew Voldemort must only be still living through sheer force of will, and I knew he could not harm you. If I could batter that willpower down by orchestrating yet another defeat by the hands of Iris Potter... I thought it worth the risk."

Iris gave a laugh of anger and incredulity. "And if you were wrong?"

"I was not," said Dumbledore firmly. "I knew precisely what magic had been invoked when Lily gave her life to protect you; it is a rare magic, but not unheard of. What made you so special was that no one had ever heard of the magic protecting against a Killing Curse in particular. In any case, I was certain that Voldemort would not have been able to kill you. And I knew Voldemort must have been desperate to possess Quirrell and drink unicorn blood, and that another defeat would therefore surely strike his morale to new lows."

"So you did know Voldemort was possessing Quirrell," said Iris, feeling that furious fire inside her rise.

Dumbledore sighed. "Not at first, no. Iris..."

She scoffed at her name and the way he said it.

"Quirrell had every reason not to hurt anyone in Hogwarts," he continued. "And even if he had wished to, the school has truly incredible magic blended into it. Fate-bending magic. I trusted the magic of Hogwarts to protect the students, as it did this year with the Petrifications; and as it did fifty years ago."

"And Luna?" said Iris, finding herself nearly breathless. "What about her? What good did your bloody magic do for her?"

"Luna..." said Dumbledore, and his voice held some small sorrow. "It was beyond the magic of Hogwarts. The diary was subtle and the Chamber was outside the reach of the enchantments, as I'm sure Salazar Slytherin intended."

And suddenly Iris didn't want to hear any more. Her throat felt as though it was closing, but not fully — and she wanted it to, so maybe the howl of rage building up inside her wouldn't be released into this beautiful day, marring it with the ugliness she felt within. She slowly sat back down in her chair.

"Iris?"

Dumbledore's voice seemed muted to her mind, and the care in it was like ash, warm but dead to her. Her whole perspective of him was shifting once again. He was deceitful, he was calculating, he was a paragon of prudence and pretense, a mixture of moral ambiguity and practicality. And the worst thing about it all was that she knew she would have made all the same decisions.

"Iris?" said Dumbledore again. "A sherbet lemon, perhaps?"

The torment inside her was replaced by a bizarre mixture of a need to laugh and to simultaneously pummel Dumbledore's stupid face in.

"A sherbet lemon?" she repeated. "No, Dumbledore, I don't want a damn —"

"Ah, but they will help," he said, sounding as though he was attempting to inject some cheer back into the conversation. "Not many know this, but I lace my sweets with a bit of a Calming Drought. It helps soothe the nerves when students come and see me."

Iris gave a lifeless laugh. "You drug your own students?" she said tonelessly.

"Not for any nefarious purpose, of course. They are mild and last for only ten minutes. I dare say it's no more interfering than simple pain relievers."

She shook her head and looked down, too tired to even say anything more to it. A small snake slithered through the green grass and around her white sneakers. She sighed. And then, from a distance she heard a song from the sky, sad yet uplifting. In the blue sky there was a line of red, drifting their way.

"Ah, Fawkes," said Dumbledore.

She wasn't sure if he had summoned the phoenix to help lift her mood, since she declined his offer of a lemon drop. But it did bring up a thought.

"How'd you know where the Chamber was?" she asked. "Did you know where that was this whole time too?"

"No," said Dumbledore, almost absentmindedly as he watched the phoenix and she the snake. "But there were traces of magic left by a breach in Hogwarts' protective enchantments."

"Avalon," said Iris, just as idly. "Another phoenix."

"The one Hagrid has told me about, I imagine," he said.

"Been getting informed on everything around me, huh."

"You are a child worth being informed about."

Iris reached down and picked up the serpent, letting it wrap itself around her wrist.

"Can you believe this bastard?" she said to it, then her eyes widened as she realized it hadn't been in Parseltongue as she had wanted. She looked to Dumbledore, who looked on reprovingly, then back at the snake. "Did I just speak English?"

The snake flicked its tongue and remained silent. Iris glanced back at Dumbledore, hoping he hadn't taken too much offense, but he seemed more interested in the snake.

"Try again," he said, eyes flicking to her and back again. "Focus as you did previous times."

Iris did so, and said to the serpent spiraling up her arm, "Can you understand me?"

But she knew it was English again. Her anger abated, replaced by confusion, and she looked to Dumbledore in question. But he only looked at her forehead, where her scar was. She reached up to feel it, and discovered it was where her scar had been.

"Sir?" she said, her brow furrowed as she felt the smooth skin where a jagged lightning scar had rested only a day before.

"Your scar is gone," said Dumbledore, standing up from his seat. "I had noticed its fading earlier, but did not wish to hope — not yet — not until now."

Iris looked up at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

Dumbledore simply stared at her, his face unreadable.

"What do you mean?"

"Pardon me," he said at last. "I have been rather flummoxed these last few hours and this new revelation is particularly extraordinary, and wonderful." He smiled then, and though it didn't fill his eyes, she could tell he was relieved of something. "Would you like to come to my office at Hogwarts? I think there we may speak more comfortably about this subject."

Iris would've preferred to strangle him, if she was honest with herself. Everything he said made sense to her, but there was still a low rage inside her, simmering and just waiting for him to say the wrong thing so she could explode.

"Whatever," she said, closing her eyes for a moment.

"Come then," he said, "grab onto my wrist as you once did."

She opened her eyes and stared him down, soul-weary and not at all willing to cooperate.

Fawkes swooped down, singing his song, and it gave her just enough strength to lean forward and reach out her hand. Dumbledore stepped to meet her halfway, and the flame of Fawkes consumed her, the fire a balm to her hollowness, and she left the serpent and all of it behind.

The snake flicked its tongue out, tasting the air where she had disappeared, and then slithered away.

Iris didn't really want to be in Hogwarts again, not so soon, but she sat down in front of Dumbledore's desk after they had Flamed into his office, and listened again to his explanations and guesses. He showed her memories in his Pensieve: of himself and a younger Riddle, where she got to see just how similar of an interaction it was compared to her and Dumbledore's; and then Dumbledore told her of his theory regarding anchors for a soul.

Horcruxes.

As soon as they were explained, she felt a rising horror inside her. Dumbledore didn't need to tell her. She understood perfectly. It was why she had been able to see the snake on the copper tap in Myrtle's bathroom when no one else could. She didn't have Slytherin's blood running through her veins; she just had a piece of soul from someone who did.

"But..." said Iris after Dumbledore had finished explaining more, and a long moment of silence. "But you said Horcruxes need to be destroyed beyond magical repair. That didn't happen to me. Fawkes healed me, with magic. Shouldn't it still be in me?"

"And that's what I find most fascinating," said Dumbledore. "I think, when you cast the Killing Curse and your soul fractured, the magic of the basilisk venom seeped in. Not the venom itself, but the very destructive magic itself. And there, the piece of Lord Voldemort's soul was destroyed."

"But — why didn't it destroy my soul, then?" she said shakily. "Or did it? Is that why I feel so — so broken? It's like a part of me deep inside is — is —"

"Fractured?" said Dumbledore, looking over her with sadness. "What you feel could be attributed to the venom, perhaps. But remember what I said, Iris. To create a Horcrux one must commit an act of evil. Killing fractures the soul. While it may be possible the venom did it, I believe it more likely that the fracturing of your soul is what allowed the venom in, not the other way around."

"An act of evil," repeated Iris. She put her head against the headrest of her chair and closed her eyes, pretending those words didn't sting. Fawkes trilled nearby, as he had done many times during this particular discussion. But she would have preferred Avalon, a phoenix which had lost her old companion and wept still for her. There was familiarity in that kind of pain.

"Yes," sighed Dumbledore. "There is justification in your act, certainly, but enough to avoid tearing your soul? I do not think so. But I may be wrong. We will never know. Perhaps the venom has also damaged your soul. If it has not, then there may be two explanations: the first is that Voldemort's soul did not belong, and so the venom's magic only targeted it."

"And the second?"

"The second," he said, "is that your soul was too great for the venom."

Iris stared at him for a moment with an expression of skepticism. "But Voldemort's was weak?"

"That was not Voldemort's whole soul in you," said Dumbledore. "It was merely a part of it. And yes, Iris, even measuring against his soul put together, I believe yours to be stronger, less corruptible by dark magic. Though I cannot prove it, I firmly believe in the power of good souls over those of evil."

Strangely, this seemed like the sort of thing she wanted and needed to hear. Dumbledore sounded so genuine that she couldn't help but believe him, that her soul was mightier than the Dark Lord's.

"So you knew all this time I had a piece of Voldemort's soul lodged into my own?"

"As a matter of fact, I learned it just today," said Dumbledore. "I had wondered, but it was only after your tale of the diary that I began to realize my weak guesses were right after all."

Iris stared at him for a while, wondering if he was telling the truth.

"Anything else you want to tell me, then?" she said.

"Ah," he said, holding up a finger as he stood and walked to a cabinet to the side. "Tell you and give you, actually."

And he pulled out a strange shimmering silvery-grey material she hadn't ever seen before. It was fluid-like, as if it were water woven into the smoothest silk or something of the sort. He brought it back to the desk and placed it in the center.

"This," said Dumbledore, his words heavy, "this is a Cloak of Invisibility. It belonged to your father. He gave it to me just before he died, not that it would have done him any good against Lord Voldemort. I kept it here all these years —"

But Iris had closed her eyes after the second sentence, shaking her head and not stopping until Dumbledore paused midway through a sentence.

"Is this going to be a yearly thing, these talks?" she said. "I risk my neck for a bit of information that could have been useful but is ultimately too late in being shared? If this was my father's cloak, why didn't you give it to me before? What gave you the right to hold onto this, Dumbledore?"

"To be blunt," said Dumbledore, "I wasn't sure if I could trust you with it."

She opened her eyes and glared at him.

"You did want to take the Philosopher's Stone for yourself, Iris."

"But I didn't," said Iris, a little heatedly. "When it came down to it, I nearly died for it — I would have died, had it not been for Nicholas Flamel coming at the last moment." She narrowed her eyes. "Did Flamel even come, or did you make that up too?"

"He did. You have a right to be upset, but as we discussed, you reminded me so much of Tom Riddle that I thought, and I believe not without fault, that you could turn out perhaps not the same, but similar indeed. Why, to give you the Invisibility Cloak... I wanted to be sure, Iris, to be absolutely sure... I could have perused your mind, of course, but I thought that would be rather invasive..."

Iris wasn't even sure what he was talking about, but her irritation was not abated; it only increased in intensity. "Do you even — do you realize how useful this would have been to me? I could have used it against Quirrell, could have avoided the spiders, and Riddle — I could have saved Luna!"

"Yes, you could have," said Dumbledore quietly.

She stared at him with furious tears in her eyes and he met her stare with his watery own, without flinching, his guilt-ridden heart laid bare before her. He had made a fatal mistake, and they both knew it, and there was nothing but a terrible acceptance in it.

Iris couldn't say she didn't trust him with her life. She couldn't say she didn't understand and maybe even agree with his decisions. But there remained a bitterness that she could not explain. She couldn't look at him anymore.

"I am sorry, Iris," said Dumbledore, and no more.

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