Albus Dumbledore
Violence. Sheer, unadulterated violence on a scale that could scarcely be believed. Especially the person responsible was a fourteen-year-old girl. Iris Potter had been dealing out brutal vengeance against the Horntail and had been winning. It had been a display of power, magic and skill that none of the other Champions; or dare he say it, any witch or wizard to date; could ever hope to achieve even if they trained the entirety of their long lives to reach such heights. It was a sight that would be remembered for decades; if not centuries; to come. The sheer horror and brutality of the fight that had a fourteen-year-old girl beating a Hungarian Horntail within an inch of its life would be glossed over for the fact that it had been done to begin with.
Albus wasn't a violent man. At least, he liked the think that; in his heart; he was a man of peace. He abhorred destruction and death, feeling that the world's energy could be put to better use than destroying homes and killing innocents. His father and sister, along with all those he had had to fight through and everyone who had suffered at Gellert's and Tom's hands. So many deaths weighed on him, and Albus did not doubt for a single moment many more would join that weight before his end. Chief among them would be young Iris, if he was correct about the young lady. To put an end to yet another Dark Lord, young Iris would have to die. Albus could only hope beyond hope that it was a mutual destruction.
That being said, Iris was the type of person to fight against her destiny with all her heart, to forge her own path and live her life to the fullest. That only made his plan even harder. Albus considered Iris his granddaughter, and the fact that she had to die for Voldemort to be truly destroyed broke his heart. Even if young Iris wasn't particularly fond of him. Which for the life of him he could not understand.
The only good thing Albus could see out of Iris's new power was that just from that display, he was more than certain she could go head to head with Voldemort…while only using a fraction of her true strength. Something that most Witches and Wizards thought themselves above was physical combat. The act of getting up close and personal with your opponent and beating the person into submission. Iris, on the other hand, preferred this method when it came to dealing with her adversaries.
During her battle with the Voldemort possessed Quirrell, the eleven year old had performed a perfect split and punched the man directly in the groin, a move that shocked the more experienced wizard long enough for the girl to send a right cross rocketing into his face, breaking both his nose and his jaw before the man began to disintegrate. Had Voldemort not been possessing Quirrell, the second blow would have only knocked the man unconscious. However, thanks to the Protections Lily had placed upon her daughter, mixed with the spectre within the man's body, Quirrell had died.
Being an eleven-year-old who had just killed a man, Iris had vomited up her dinner before Albus had a chance to pull her away from the sight.
It was because of her reaction that Albus knew she was not a Dark Lady in the making. But Iris had continued forward, meeting all the obstacles in her path head on, beating them into dust as she went. The blood and venom of the Basilisk on the Sword of Gryffindor was a testament to that.
When examining Ms. Weasley's memories, he had watched through bleary eyes as Iris had pushed her magic into the Sword, causing the weapon to spark with magic lightning of emerald green; which had been a sure sign of Iris' magic until now. He had watched as she had moved with more speed and skill than anyone her age should have, becoming a blur of silver-emerald metal and black robes as she became a spinning blade of pain, the Sword of Gryffindor slicing through the Basilisk's hide with ease. A solid punch to its jaw had a fang break off, only for the twelve-year-old to snatch it out of the air and shove it through what remained the massive serpent's left eye. After the beast had gotten a rather lucky shot in and one of its fangs was embedded in her shoulder, Iris had shoved the Sword of Gryffindor up through the roof of the snake's mouth, killing it almost instantly before she had yanked the blade out and shoved it through Tom Riddle's diary, the blade sinking up to the hilt in the stone under the book.
Iris had fallen onto her rear with a pained grin on her face, laughing slightly as she yanked out the fang from her shoulder and Fawkes had healed her. Once the pain was gone, her face has split in to a triumphant grin and the girl had thrown her head back and howled in laughter. Albus would have been concerned had Iris not moved and picked up Ginny as gently as she could, the red-haired girl still too weak to move very much as she had leaned into the emerald-eyed girl's chest as she fell asleep. Albus hadn't been able to help the small smile that had touched his face as he felt the beginnings of a small crush spark to life within the youngest Weasley's mind.
Looking into Mr. Weasley's mind, Iris had carried the red-haired child back to the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets, where Ronald Weasley had been waiting for her after clearing out a majority of the rubble from Gilderoy's failed memory charm. Fawkes had carried the four individuals up the long tunnel before alighting on Iris' shoulder as she carried the Weasley girl to the Hospital Wing. After handing the girl to Madam Pomfrey, Iris, despite her obvious exhaustion had moved to Hermione Granger's side and promptly passed out in a chair next to her Petrified friend.
Her gentleness had reminded Albus of a lioness looking after her cubs. One second, a vicious beast of rage and protective fury, the next, the most kind-hearted being around.
Her ability to clear her godfather's name had been a feat of strength all its own. He had been rather surprised when Peter Pettigrew; gagged and chained with a black eye and bloody nose; had been dragged into the Great Hall during supper, the near-skeletal form of Sirius Black walking shakily behind Iris, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger. The girl had tossed Pettigrew at Cornelius' feet with a fury filled gaze that had the Minister of Magic shrinking back from the thirteen-year-old. Black had been exonerated of Pettigrew's murder right then and there as a trio of Auror's came to carry Peter away to Azkaban; where he would be questioned on the circumstances of his survival with the use of Veritaserum; while Sirius had been taken to St. Mungo's to be treated for twelve years of Dementor Exposure.
Now the girl stood victorious over a Hungarian Horntail, the most dangerous of the dragon races. And Dumbledore couldn't help but wonder if Iris was just as dangerous as Voldemort. It normally took a team of fully-trained wizards to subdue a dragon of the species, and yet Iris had done it on her own with no help whatsoever, as every person in the stands had been too busy watching the girl throw a dragon around like a ragdoll. Part of Albus prayed that Iris' new power could mean an end to the blood wars. With the power the girl now wielded, Albus wondered if she would be able to meet the self-styled Lord Voldemort on equal ground on the field of battle. If she did, which would win? The brilliant Flame of the Girl-Who-Lived, or the dark magics of the 'Heir of Slytherin'?
And yet, curiosity pushed through the fear and hope. Never in all his long years had Albus heard even the tiniest of whispers of such magic. The closest thing he could compare it to was the magic of a scarlet-haired Hufflepuff, but even that paled in comparison. The old man wondered what this magic meant for the world as a whole. The sheer level of Iris' power meant it would be very difficult to hide in the Muggle world. A chill went up the old man's spine as he imagined the paperwork that would come with the potential damages that would undoubtedly follow. But that didn't stem the curiosity. Could others learn this magic? Could it bring about the world he had dreamed of since his defeat of his old friend? Only time would tell what would happen.
Erza Scarlet
The Hufflepuff girl's light brown eyes narrowed at the raven-haired girl walking tiredly toward the arena entrance. Before today, all she had ever heard of the girl was that while she was a powerful witch, she was also reckless and hard-headed, running head-long into dangerous situations without stopping to think. Granted, that course of action had served the girl well, what with saving the Weasley girl from certain death within the Chamber of Secrets.
Iris Potter had done what Erza had been too busy to do and had taken the young Wendy Marvel under her wing, protecting the girl from the countless bullies that spread through the school, often sending those responsible to the Hospital Wing. The girl was intelligent and warm-hearted, along with fiercely protective of her friends.
Her accomplishments aside, Erza hadn't thought much of the girl. After all, for all her magical strength, Erza's skill and unique form of magic would have beaten the Girl-Who-Lived in battle at any time. Now however…she wasn't so sure. Thanks to 'The Knight', Erza had a great many powerful weapons and armor stored up, but she doubted she would've been capable of defeating a dragon at fourteen years old. Ms. Potter on the other hand had done just that with enough raw strength and magical power to not only defeat the reptile, but managed to beat the creature within an inch of its life with relative ease, despite young Iris having been wounded early on in the Task.
A hungry ache entered Erza's chest. A familiar hunger for a challenge, something she had been denied for several years. This girl could do just that. Challenge her in a battle to be remembered.
Iris Potter
Iris was aching all over as she collapsed onto the cot within the Champions tent. The hole in her gut was pulsing, the adrenaline of the battle with the Horntail leaving her body, causing her muscles to scream as she laid out on the cot.
Her green eyes fluttered shut as she groaned, grinding her teeth together as her bones and muscles ached. While her body was exhausted, her mind was running a thousand miles an hour, wondering where the power she had drawn upon had come from. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had never been able to consume fire before, nor had she ever been strong enough to lift and throw a dragon that weighed at the very least ten tons of muscle, bone, scales and bad attitude. It just didn't make any sense. Yes, Iris had always been absurdly strong, evident from when she had broken a twelve-foot-tall mountain troll's neck with a single punch or when she had shattered the Basilisks fangs with a well-aimed blow. But to throw a beast of such size with the ease she had was physically impossible for woman of her stature. That wasn't even considering the Fire-type magic she had called upon. As far as she knew, her magic took the form of emerald lightning, not golden flames. It was supposed to be physically impossible for a witch's magic to change so drastically in such a short period of time. And then there was that name that had popped into her head just before she had gotten engulfed in dragon fire.
Zeref…why does that name sound so familiar…? Damn it! None of this makes any sense! Her mind screamed as she glared at the maroon and scarlet ceiling of the tent.
Her musings were interrupted when noise blasted into her ears.
"GOOD LORD, POTTER! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU!?" came the scream of a vaguely familiar voice. Iris bolted up and slapped her hands over her ears as the sound pounded into her eardrums.
Of all the injuries she had taken on the field; getting stabbed with a dragon spike, being launched thirty feet into the air, being set on fire; her ears being stabbed was most definitely not one of them. And despite how loud and painful it was on her ears, Iris was more than aware of the fact that Madam Pomfrey was speaking in her soft, concerned tones, a sound the raven-haired Gryffindor had grown accustomed to over the last three years of continuously being sent to the Hospital Wing. It sounded as though the Matron of the medical ward had cast a Sonorous Charm on her voice and decided to scream into Iris's ears.
As she inhaled with a hiss of pain, air rushed through her nose and immediately she knew something else was wrong. She could smell the burnt cloth that was hung around her waist, the coppery scent of the blood that was oozing from the hole in her gut, and the scent of…lamb stew? She also caught the scent of sweat and blood that wasn't her own, the smell of burnt cloth that was further away.
Her nose was stronger as well…bloody brilliant.
Great. Now I'm more of a freak than I already was…
"POTTER, WHERE ARE YOU INJURED?" asked the Matron as she rushed to the Gryffindor's side.
Iris gritted her teeth as she hissed, "Tail spike to the stomach, minor burns on shoulders and around stab wound. Please be a bit quieter, ma'am."
The woman blinked in surprise at her list of injuries, but looked rather confused at her request for her to be quiet. Considering that the girl was covered with soot and blood, but was holding her head as though she had just been stabbed in the ears, the older woman simply nodded as she bent over to examine the wound on her stomach.
After all, the girl had been to the Hospital Wing enough times to earn a plaque on the bed she was always put in, and had a moderate amount of knowledge about injuries from their conversations when the raven-haired witch was confined to her bed.
Madam Pomfrey took a wet rag and carefully dabbed the wound on Iris's stomach, the teen growling in pain as the torn flesh was aggravated more than it already was.
"I'm going to try and clean this up a bit, Ms. Potter," Pomfrey said as she drew her wand. "Try to stay as still as possible."
Iris sighed in relief as the woman's voice filtered through her hands. The woman had thankfully lowered her voice to a whisper to keep from aggravating her ears anymore than they already were. Iris watched as the woman worked, or tried to anyways. Both their brows furrowed when Madam Pomfrey attempted to clean off the blood and use a spell to seal the wound. The two exchanged a glance, green meeting gray before the older woman refocused on her magic. Iris's skin felt odd as Pomfrey put more power into her magic, almost as though she was being hit with an ice-cold breeze in one spot around her skin.
The Matron tried harder, and after a few moments, was rewarded by the blood vanishing and the wound beginning to seal as there was a light pop, as though there were a skin-tight bubble of magic around Iris's body, keeping foreign magic from touching her.
That would explain how I resisted the Stunning Spells at the World Cup. Iris thought with a tilted head.
However, Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to jump back in what seemed like shock and terror as she stared at Iris with fear in her eyes. The raven-haired witch frowned as she beheld the matron.
"Uuuh…Madam Pomfrey?" she poked out, moving her hands away from her ears. "Are you alright?"
The older woman jolted and shook her head as though to clear the cobwebs from her mind.
"IT-ITS NOTHING MS. POTTER." Iris's hands slapped back over her ears as the Matron's voice roared through her eardrums, her razor-sharp teeth bared in a snarl of pain.
"Mind turning the noise down just a bit?" she growled out as she kept her hands over her stupidly sensitive ears.
Madam Pomfrey's brow furrowed and she leaned forward. "Ms. Potter, what are you feeling right now?" her voice was the lowest of whispers, so quiet that someone covering their ears should not have been able to hear her, but Iris did.
"It's like someone took all of my senses and turned the dial up to a hundred when its only supposed to go to ten. I can hear…I think it's everyone's heartbeats. I can smell Fleur's burnt dress, the lamb on your breath, the blood dripping from Krum's upper arm." Her teeth groaned as she clenched her jaw. "I just want it to stop!"
Unbidden, the golden flames roared to life, swirling around the teenager like a protective cloak as she pressed her hands against her ears in a vain attempt to shut out the noise that was pounding on her eardrums from a thousand different sources. Pomfrey jumped back quickly to avoid being burned by the gold flames that are pouring out of the teenager.
Immediately, the teen cursed as she focused on calming down, trying as hard as she could to pull the flames back into herself. It took a minute or so, but the flames finally receded. When she looked up however, Madam Pomfrey was gone, though Iris could vaguely hear the sound of rapidly receding footsteps coming from…outside the tent. A wave of sound from the crowd outside had the teen slapping her hands back over her ears, debating whether or not to cast a Silencing Charm on the stadium to keep from having her eardrums blown out.
"Excusez-moi, Mademe Potter?" came a musical voice that had Iris snapping her head around. Fleur Delacour was squatting right in front of her, her dark-blue eyes locked onto Iris's emerald. "Est-ce que tu vas bien? Vous semblez malade...?"
Iris blinked before responding, memories of learning French from the local library back in Surrey coming to her. "Je vais mieux, Madame Delacour. J'aimerais juste pouvoir faire quelque chose pour mon audition."
The French witch's eyes lit up at Iris's use of French before she chewed on her lip for a moment. "Si vous le souhaitez... je pense pouvoir vous aider avec ça..."
Iris only thought about it for a moment before another roar of sound sunk through her hands, causing her to wince ever so slightly before she nodded. "Oui s'il te plaît Fleur. J'apprécierais grandement cela."
The silver-haired witch nodded softly and raised her want. Fleur maneuvered it around to the bands that pierced the arch of her ears, something Iris had gotten that summer. The quarte Veela muttered, "Faites le monde silencieux, laissez chanter la magie."
For a moment, there was a high-pitched whine, as though someone were adjusting the volume on a speaker before suddenly, the dull roar from the crowd in the stands fell away, leaving only the sound of her own heartbeat and that of those within the tent and just around the tent. Iris couldn't stop the moan of relief as her enhanced hearing was suddenly much more manageable, her hands falling away from her ears as she flopped back on the cot.
"Oh, that is soooo much better…" she groaned in relief. She sat back up and smiled softly at the young woman before her. "Merci, Fleur."
Fleur gave a bright smile as she moved and sat down next to Iris, the younger woman scooting over a bit to make room on the cot. "My pleasure, Iris. You speak French very well." Fleur's voice had only a slight accent to it when she spoke English, making it very easier to understand her. "It is good to know not everyone here is incapable of speaking a foreign tongue."
Iris shrugged, wincing slightly as her wound stretched open a bit. "I had a lot of time on my hands when I was little. Spent many days at the local library learning different languages as a hobby."
"What languages do you know?" the French girl asked, her head tilted slightly in curiosity.
Iris thought for a moment before responding. "French at first, then Spanish, Japanese, Russian, Scots Gaelic, Chinese, Irish and Latin. I started learning Bulgarian last summer but didn't get too far in before the School year started."
The blond nodded before falling silent for a time. Iris herself fell silent as she contemplated Madam Pomfrey's departure. She didn't like to admit it, but the older woman running from her hurt. They weren't exactly friends, but Iris had felt like they were getting there. They had spent many hours talking during the times the young woman had gotten stuck in the Hospital Wing after doing something stupid. They had spoken on a variety of subjects, from Pomfrey's procedure when healing to what her plans were for her times off. If she was being honest, Madam Pomfrey was a bit like an aunt to Iris, much more than that horrible woman her mother had been unfortunately related to.
The thought of Lily made Iris's heart sink into her stomach. Contrary to what everyone assumed, Iris did actually possess clear memories of her mother. Her ivory skin, her emerald eyes, fiery red hair and brilliant smile. The way her mother had berated James when he had accidently broken a vase Lily's mother had given them. Those brilliant green eyes that were so much like her own shining with joy when Iris had done her first bit of accidental magic, causing the infant to turn their coffee table to pure crystal. The fear in Lily's eyes when she heard the spell-fire echoing from the ground floor of their house as James held of Voldemort long enough for Lily to run with Iris. The resignation on her face as the cold of Dark Magic began to grow closer, causing Iris to cry in fear as her mother told the infant she loved her one last time. That was the last clear memory Iris had of Lily. After that, it was nothing but darkness, with a flash of sickly green light and the sensation of being struck in the head with a crowbar. That was something that haunted her dreams quite often, causing the girl to wake up in a cold sweat at least two or three times a week at the ass-crack of dawn.
"How did you do that?" came Fleur's voice, cutting through the slightly depressing thoughts that had been running wild in Iris's head.
Iris looked into the curious eyes of the foreign witch. "Do what?"
"The flames. I saw you use them on the Magi-Screens. How do you use them?"
Iris blinked and frowned for a moment before she answered. "How do you make men drool like a bunch of idiots?"
Fleur blinked at the question. "It is my Allure. A gift I inherited from my Grandmother."
Iris shook her head. "No…I mean, how do you use your Allure?" Iris asked. Fleur frowned at the question, confusion filling her eyes as Iris sighed, trying to think up the words. "I mean, what about your magic allows you to use the Allure? What creates it, what allows you to use it to make men make bigger fools of themselves than they usually do?" she smirked slightly at the thought of Malfoy's idiocy.
Fleur frown as she began to think it over, Iris's emerald-gold eyes locked on her soft, aristocratic features. After a few moments, she responded with, "I simply…do? It is instinct, a part of me. I can suppress it or let it out full force at a thought. But it is always there, just beneath the skin."
Iris nodded in understanding. "Well, these flames…" she raised her right hand and with a thought, golden flames sprung to life, dancing between her fingers as warm and bright as the evening sun. "It's the same way…I think. Today is the first time I've done anything like this, but somehow I know exactly how to use them." She let the Flames die down before moving her hand to her chest, just above her heart. "When I call them forth…my heart warms up and it feels like a piece of me that's been missing my whole life just falls into place."
Fleur watched Iris's face for a moment before speaking. "I've never seen anyone who wasn't Veela or at least part Veela use fire like that. Perhaps one of your parents had Veela blood?"
Iris shook her head immediately. "Mom was Muggleborn. She didn't have a single drop of magical blood in her family until her. Dad was a dr—" Iris stopped herself at what she had been about to say and frowned.
Dad was a dragon? That's not right…he was a Pureblood. He was most certainly not a big-ass lizard that was capable of unleashing a maelstrom of fire at a whim. She shook her head. What the hell is wrong with me!? First, I survive dragon fire at close range, then I beat the ever-loving crap out of a Hungarian Horntail with my bare hands, and now I'm thinking James was a dragon?
But is it James Potter you see as your father? Or Igneel? That rumbling voice from before; the one that told her to consume Dragon Fire; spoke up causing her to frown at the name 'Igneel'. Like 'Zeref', the name seemed familiar, despite knowing that she had never heard it before.
"James was a Pureblood. From what I saw in the family tree, there were no Veelas in the Potter family. And before today, my magic manifested as green lightning, not gold flames." She finished quickly, ignoring Fleur's questioning look at her rushed response.
Whatever Fleur might've said was cut off as the sound of multiple people approaching reached Iris's ears and several people burst into the tent, led by Albus Dumbledore. Iris could barely keep the small scowl off her face. Most powerful wizard alive and he was content to sit by and let children do his job. Not to mention he had left her to rot with the Dursley's for twelve years without so much as a peep from her 'Magical Guardian', and had allowed her godfather to rot in Azkaban for twelve years on circumstantial evidence tossed together by a man so obsessed with fighting Dark Sorcerers to the point he accused innocent people. Sufficed to say, Iris was very rarely happy with the old man.
"IRIS, MY GIRL! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" the old man's voice boomed, causing the teen to grit her teeth. Fleur's magic suppressed the worst of the sound, but it didn't stop Dumbledore's voice from sounding like he was screaming in her ear. A few adjustments to the spell were in order. It was made worse as more people started talking as well, all of them apparently content to speak louder and louder to be heard over one another.
"SHE LOOKS FINE, ALBUS. I'M MORE CONCERNED WITH WHAT HAPPENED OUT THERE. THE FACT THAT SHE WAS ABLE TO THROW AROUND A FULL-GROWN DRAGON WITH HER BARE HANDS! OH HO, I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A WONDEROUS THING!" Ludo Bagman's voice wasn't as loud as Dumbledore's, but it was much more annoying on the ears. Though that might've been left over aggravation with the man from his rather distracting commentary during her Task.
"INDEED," came the booming voice of Madam Maxine. Due to her size, the woman was much louder than either who spoke before her, the noise grinding on her ears as Iris tried to augment Fleur's spell nonverbally to suppress the sounds that were sure to follow. "WE ALL SAW WHAT SHE DID OUT THERE, ALBUS. I DOUBT ANYONE IN THIS ROOM HAS SEEN OR HEARD OF THAT KIND OF POWER BEFORE. HER MASTERY OF FIRE, HER STRENGTH AND REFLEXES WERE ABSURD. FAR TOO POWERFUL TO BE NORMAL."
"SHE ASKS A GOOD QUESTION, DUMBLEDORE," came Karkaroff's nasally voice, a tone of arrogance and greedy curiosity lacing his words. No doubt he wanted to know how to replicate her power. "HOW DID POTTER—"
Then, the oddest thing happened: Fleur shouted at the headmasters and Ministry officials.
"SILENCE!" She cried, shutting up everyone in the tent before sending Iris an apologetic look. Iris simply shook her head, both to clear the ringing out and to show that she was alright.
Karkaroff turned bright red with indignation, his face twitching violently at the absurdity of being told to shut up by a girl half his age. "YOU DARE—"
"Her ears are much more sensitive than yours. I used a spell to suppress most of the sounds but from her winces, I'd say it is still as though you were shouting in her ear with the way you are all carrying on." Fleur responded quickly, cutting off any reprisal from the Headmasters. "As are the rest of her senses from what I heard."
Everyone fell silent and turned to Iris, who had a brow raised as she observed a bunch of 'adults' get told of by someone not even a third the age of the eldest.
"Iris, my girl, is this true?" Dumbledore asked, thankfully having lowered his voice. He now sounded as though he were trying to have a conversation rather than trying to shout over everyone else.
Iris couldn't stop the scowl from reaching her face. "First off, Professor, I'm not your anything. Secondly, yes. Thanks to Fleur, it no longer feels like I'm being stabbed in the ears with a pair of flaming ice picks. Doesn't stop the lot of you from sounding like your screaming in my ears. A few adjustments to Fleur's spell are in order. So, do me a favor and SHUT YER TRAPS!"
The elder wizards and witch gaped at the girl who was currently rubbing her ears in annoyance as she thought of how to increase the effectiveness of the Quarter-Veela's sound suppression spell. Her thought was cut off when, wouldn't you know, the same bastard who locked up her godfather on circumstantial evidence stepped forward.
"It does not matter," Barty Crouch said in a superior tone as he glared at Iris with an accusing look. She had a pretty good feeling he had his mind made up about her flames. She returned the glare with equal force, unknown to the fact her eyes had become reptilian once again. "What does matter was Potter's display out on the field. We must know exactly what happened out there. Well, out with-it Potter. What did you do?"
Iris growled as she pushed herself to her feet, internally relieved that her wound had finished healing as she moved over to the man who had locked up Sirius for twelve years with no concrete evidence. She vaguely noted that she stood half-a-head taller than Mr. Crouch. "If you're thinking what I think you are, then I will punt your pasty ass right back out of this tent. We all know how you see Dark Magic everywhere you go, Mr. Crouch."
The man turned dark red as his flinty eyes glared at her before he turned to his fellows as Dumbledore spoke up. "I certainly hope you are not suggesting that Iris was using Dark Magic as she thinks you are, Barty."
The Headmaster's voice was quiet, but the tone was one that Iris had previously considered to be one of the scariest she had ever heard. Her brow furrowed as she realized that his reprimanding tone no longer phased her. A primal part of her said that Albus was not her Superior, nor was he her Equal. He was her Lesser, and she would not be cowed by him. These new instincts were starting to confuse her.
"I'm sorry, Albus. But you must admit that what happened out there was not normal, even by Wizarding standards. That thing she conjured when she roared. The fact she could roar like that to begin with. Add those factors to those flames, her absurd strength and ferocity, what could it be if not Dark Magic?" the man looked superior at his 'brilliant' deduction, despite the fact that it made no sense. Iris was shaking her head at the idiocy of the man as Dumbledore began to argue against Crouch's logic. Iris payed no attention as she looked down at her stomach and poked the spot where her wound had been. There was nothing more than a minor scar that had healed in the shape of an 'X' on the lower left side of her abdomen, the scar a few shades lighter than the tanned skin that was pulled tight against her athletic form.
Dark Magic…is it possible? She thought as Crouch's words pushed their way to the forefront of her mind. Part of her was afraid that he was right. She wasn't normal. Not even by the standards of the Wizarding World. Killing a fully-grown mountain troll at age eleven with her bare hands was NOT normal. Killing a two millennia old Basilisk at age twelve with nothing but a sword and her bare hands was NOT normal. Killing fifty dementors in a single night with what was supposed to be a Patronus at age thirteen was NOT NORMAL!
Was it possible that she had been infected by Voldemort's Dark Magic as a child? It would be possible. A child's magic was a lot like a sponge at that age, constantly pulling in bits and pieces of other peoples magic as it was settling. But nothing she had ever read told her that Voldemort had used Dragon Slayer Magic before.
She winced. Dragon Slayer Magic…? Is that what I used out there…? It feels right…but the name feels like it's a bit insulting…
Our power? Dark? No! the rumbling voice returned, full of righteous fury. It is the strength to push beyond any obstacle. The Sword we use to defeat our foes and the Shield we carry to protect our loved ones. The True Dragons are gone. We are their Legacy. Do not allow this filth to corrupt who we are!
"Iris…Iris…Iris Potter!"
Iris blinked and looked up at the assembled adults who were staring at her expectantly. "Did you say something?" she intoned in a bored manner.
Crouch and Karkaroff looked infuriated, Fleur and Krum were amused, Dumbledore and Maxime were stoic, and Bagman looked like he was ready to fly away in joy.
Albus spoke. "Do you believe that the power you used to defeat the Horntail is Dark in any way, shape, or form?"
Iris decided to be honest, but vague. "No, I do not. All I know for certain is that the Power I possess saved my life and the lives of the people I care about more times than I can count. Until I see solid evidence that it is in fact Dark Magic, I will continue to use this Power until further notice. So you can either get on board, or get out of the way."
Her final words came out as a deep growl, smoke streaming from the corners of her fanged maw as she glared at the man obsessed with Dark Magic. His face paled as he watched the smoke stream from her.
She grinned evilly as Crouch's face paled. This is gonna be fun!
I LIIIIVE! Please don't hate me for taking so long to update this story.
First off: Multiple people have pointed out that my story looks like Fiori75's 'Return of the Dragon Slayers' story. I'm going to point out right now, I did not do that on purpose. I went back and read his story after the third person insisted on it and i damn near punched myself in the face. Best i can guess is that when i began writing this story, a small part of my brain remembered Return of the Dragon Slayers from when i read it forever ago and adapted it to how i was writing. I AM SO SORRY FIORI75! I DIDN'T MEAN TO COPY YOU!
Translations:
Excusez-moi Madame Potter? - Excuse me, Ms. Potter?
Est-ce que tu vas bien? Vous Semblez malade... - Are you alright? You seem unwell...
Je vais mieux, Madame Delacour. J'aimerais juste pouvoir faire quelque chose pour mon audition. - I've been better, Miss Delacour. I just wish I could do something about my hearing.
Si vous le souhaitez... je pense pouvoir vous aider avec ça... - If you wish it... I think I can help you with that...
Oui s'il vous plaît, Madame Delacour. J'apprécierais grandement cela. - Yes please, Ms. Delacour. I would greatly appreciate that.
Faites le monde silencieux, laissez chanter la magie. - Make Silent the World, Let Sing the Magic. (I figure that since France is so different than England, they would use spells that were fundementally different than they do it at Hogwarts)
Merci, Fleur. - Thank you, Fleur