December 31, 1993
It was nearing midnight on New Year's Eve and Iris was in the middle of doing something very, very stupid.
Snow fell from the night sky in soft tufts, blanketing the ground in an icy white that packed under her feet. It was cold enough that her breath left her mouth in visible puffs and she mumbled a wandless warming charm as she rubbed her gloved hands together.
The castle loomed behind her as a reminder of not only the numerous school rules she was breaking, but also of the curfew that had been installed for the purpose of protecting the students from the Dementors and Sirius Black.
The cloaked ghouls and the escaped murderer were the least of her worries, the fury of Minerva McGonagall is what she feared most.
As Iris treaded down the snow-covered hill that led to the Quidditch pitch, the rest of the students that had remained at Hogwarts over the holidays were congregating around the Clock Tower Courtyard, excitedly preparing for the annual fireworks display Dumbledore put on to ring in the New Year.
The chatter of the students, as well as the voices of the professors that were supervising, floated over towards Iris. Her eyes darted in the direction of the noise, but she was far enough away that their heads were blobs in the distance.
She inhaled deeply before continuing her trek.
This was her first year celebrating New Year's Eve at Hogwarts, and while the thought of standing underneath the pyrotechnics as they lit up the sky had filled her with joy only days prior, she couldn't care less now.
There was a mystery that needed unraveling and the distraction of the fireworks, as well as Iris' knowledge of at least four secret corridors that led out of the castle, presented her with the perfect opportunity to solve it.
She looked over her shoulder as she reached the tower of the Quidditch pitch that held the Commentary Box, taking care to make sure she wasn't followed before beginning the ascent up the curling wooden steps.
Iris was grateful for the time away from the castle, she was beginning to feel as if the stone corridors were closing in on her as her holiday break continued to fare disastrously.
Ever since a catastrophic row the evening of Christmas, her friend group had been split right down the middle. Harry wasn't speaking to Hermione, which meant Ron wasn't speaking to Hermione, and as result, Iris wasn't speaking to either of the boys out of solidarity.
It had all spurred from Hermione's decision to inform Professor McGonagall of the mysterious gift Harry had received that same morning—the fastest racing broomstick ever produced, the world-class Firebolt.
The Firebolt had been addressed to Harry without any acknowledgement of the sender and while that hadn't bothered Harry, it had bothered Hermione. Professor Lupin had been a probable suspect until Iris described the note he'd attached to her Comet 270.
With the list of possible candidates dwindling, Hermione's theory that the broomstick could've been a hexed gift from Sirius Black did not sound too out of the realm of reason, and Iris had stood by her when she'd gone to McGonagall out of concern for Harry's safety
The boys had been furious.
Gryffindor's next Quidditch match was against Ravenclaw and, after Harry's Nimbus 2000 had been destroyed by the branches of the Whomping Willow after the match with Hufflepuff, he'd seen the Firebolt as renewed hope that Gryffindor could still be a contender for the Inter-House cup.
And after going to McGonagall, Hermione was now seen as the destroyer of that hope.
For the past week, Harry and Ron had gone above and beyond to avoid the girls, and it was taking a toll on Hermione's spirit. Despite Iris' pleas, she'd refused to attend the New Year's Eve celebration and had instead holed up in their dormitory with Crookshanks.
Which, on any other day, would not have been considered out of the ordinary.
She and Hermione were the only Third Year girls that had stayed within Gryffindor Tower over the holidays, meaning they had entirety of their dormitory to themselves. Not wanting to leave her friend alone while the rest of the castle celebrated, Iris patiently waited until Hermione dozed off before setting her evening scheme into motion.
Iris' legs burned as she reached the top of the Commentary Box tower, quietly cursing Hogwarts under her breath for refusing to acknowledge the convenience of lifts. She rushed to a spot hidden by the cover of night and silently waited for her nocturnal flyer to arrive.
Merlin, she hoped she hadn't risked expulsion, and very well her life, to unmask a rebellious First Year.
The nocturnal flyer, a term Iris had grown accustomed to using, first made their appearance the evening after the castle emptied out for the holidays.
Iris had been abruptly awakened one night to the sound of someone whizzing around on a broomstick near Gryffindor Tower and, in her frazzled state, she'd been sure Sirius Black was about to come crashing through one of the dormitory windows.
Hermione, a notorious deep sleeper, had not stirred in the slightest when Iris rushed to the window closest to her bed and was greeted with the sight of the nocturnal flyer as they soared towards the Quidditch pitch and then swerved around the gold scoring hoops.
The nocturnal flyer had flown up and around the Quidditch pitch for the next hour or so, from midnight until past one o'clock.
The following night they appeared again, jolting Iris from her sleep once more, and had continued to do so every night since.
Desperate for a distraction from the tension within her friend group, Iris had become mesmerized by the mystery of it all, determined to discover the nocturnal flyer's identity.
Butterflies fluttered around her stomach as she checked her watch.
"Any minute now." She whispered to herself.
Five minutes passed before her eyes darted towards the familiar sound of a broomstick whizzing through the air.
The nocturnal flyer had completed their routine start near Gryffindor Tower by the time she noticed. They flew ferociously towards the gold scoring hoops on the opposite end from Iris and looped around those before heading for the set near her.
It was too dark for her eyes to be able to distinguish what kind of broom they were flying, and their hair was covered with what looked to be a black knit cap.
Whoever it was, they had a form that she was deeply envious of. They looked as if they were born with the hollow bones of a bird, as if they belonged in the air. She hoped beyond reason that the nocturnal flyer was someone that wouldn't mind giving her a few lessons.
The nocturnal flyer went into a Spiral Dive near the middle of the Quidditch pitch—a maneuver commonly used by Seekers to intercept the Snitch.
The familiarity of the move tugged at Iris' memory.
They dove until they were mere feet away from the ground and then shot their broomstick upwards with a brutality that made Iris grit her teeth.
As the flyer rose higher and higher in the sky, their head was forced backwards by the pressure of the wind and the knit cap they had been wearing fell off and drifted slowly to the ground below.
The nocturnal flyer halted and hovered to observe the Quidditch pitch below and Iris' breath hitched in her throat at the sight of short platinum blond hair illuminated by the moonlight.
"Malfoy?!" She shouted.
She smacked a gloved a hand over her mouth as the echo of her voice resounded throughout the empty Quidditch pitch. Draco's head shot in the direction of her voice and he pointed his broomstick towards the Commentary Box.
"Who's there?!"
Iris jumped from her hiding spot and tried camouflaging herself underneath the bench. However, her effort proved futile when an overwhelming rush of wind ruffled the Commentary Box and goosebumps rose on her skin at the feeling of being spotted.
"Christ, Sinclair is that you?" Draco exclaimed as he hovered outside the Commentary Box. He then cocked his head to one said as he sneered, "I can see you, you know."
Iris groaned audibly as she crawled out from underneath the bench.
"Spying on me, are you?" Draco continued as she stood. "Potter, ask you to gain intel on the enemy? When I see him next, I'll be sure to report how horrific of a job you did."
"Sod off. This has nothing to do with Harry." Iris spat. "You've kept me awake night after night with your reckless flying near Gryffindor Tower and my curiosity got the better of me."
Draco laughed mockingly. "And I'm expected to believe that?"
"I don't care what you do or don't believe, Malfoy."
"Hmph." He pondered. "So, you snuck out here, Merlin knows how, risking expulsion as well as an encounter with the Dementors and a certain escaped convict, just to figure out who it was that enjoys a little late-night flying?"
Iris crossed her arms defensively. "Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound half as thrilling as I made it out to be in my head."
His lips curled up with amusement.
She shifted her feet uncomfortably. "Well, now that I have my answer, I'll be going now."
"Wait." Draco demanded before she could turn around. "Aren't you going to ask why?"
"Why what?"
"Why I've been practicing this late?"
"No." Iris furrowed her brow. "It's obvious why."
Draco grumbled under his breath and then jumped off his broom, which continued hovering in the air behind him awaiting his return.
"If it's so obvious, why don't you tell me?" He asked as he drifted towards her.
She met his eyes. "If you insist."
"I do."
The air was thick with the brief silence that ensued.
Draco arched an eyebrow, daring her to unleash her thoughts.
She narrowed her eyes before she did so.
"You were only just cleared to fly after your injury, an injury you inflicted upon yourself by provoking a dangerous creature. You haven't been able to practice your flying since September because of said injury so, out of the fear that you'd make a fool of yourself in front of your usual crowd of cronies and admirers, you waited until most of Hogwarts emptied out for the holidays to get back in the air."
He eyed her intriguingly as she continued. "And that is also why you wait until everyone is tucked into bed to fly around the grounds. No witnesses means no public humiliation if it all goes wrong. You're not that hard to figure out, Malfoy."
Her eyes were drawn towards the gentle stretch of Draco's lips as he grinned widely.
"I appreciate your candor, but you are horribly off base." He snorted. "I'm an excellent flyer, with or without practice, therefore I've never been fearful of being inferior or inadequate. As for the timing of my practices—" He chuckled mid-sentence as he noticed Iris still staring at his lips. "I've always been a night owl."
Iris' cheeks were flushed from more than the cold.
"You're incorrigible." She remarked before spinning around on her heel to head back down the steps—her mystery had been solved and the answer had turned out to be more disappointing than she could've ever imagined.
"Wait!" Draco pleaded.
Iris clenched her fists at her side and turned back around. "For the love of Merlin, what now?"
"Jump on." He motioned towards his broom.
Iris' jaw went slack. "Absolutely not."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Why not?" She threw her hands exasperatedly. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because you never fail in reminding every Muggle-Born at this school how lowly you think of their dirty blood. Maybe because you are cruel to the people I care about, vile even, and you seem to be so disgusted by my presence that you haven't deigned to acknowledge my existence in months."
She poked her finger into his chest. "So, forgive me for not wanting to hop on a broom with someone that is more likely to throw me off of it than not."
"I'venever called you a Mudblood." He stated matter-of-factly. "And if I had known how much it would bother you that I've been too busy trying to make Potter's life a living hell to ridicule you, I would've started up again a long time ago."
"That is not the point!"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Are you done?"
"No." Iris huffed and puffed, similar to a dragon blowing smoke from its nose. "Your Dementor imitations are subpar at best."
"Subpar?"
"Yes, the hand gestures are ridiculous. A Dementor would never do that."
"The hand gestures were Crabbe's idea, said he'd seen a poltergeist do it in a Muggle film once." Draco pondered. "As for the rest, I have no explanations or excuses and you shouldn't expect any apologies."
"I never expected an apology." Iris replied, resisting the strong urge to shake him.
"Good." He smirked. "Now that that's settled, are you ready? The fireworks will start soon."
He stuck out his hand to guide her towards his broomstick.
Once again, Iris was baffled.
The following morning, she convinced herself that her next move was made solely out of revenge.
Revenge against Harry and Ron for being so spiteful, for she could've been with her friends in the Courtyard that evening if not for their petty behavior, and revenge against Pansy Parkinson, who shouted Mudblood in Iris' face every chance she got.
Pansy would've died from envy if she'd seen Iris on the back of Draco's broomstick.
Another minute of inner turmoil occurred before Iris sighed with resignation and placed her hand in Draco's. His palm was warm against hers, and she was reminded of the last time their hands had been enveloped, when he'd used the constellations to bring a smile to her face.
Draco's disbelief at Iris' agreeance morphed into raw joy as he headed back to his broom and brought her with him.
He let go of her hand to jump onto his broomstick and then reattached his fingers with hers to pull her up afterwards. The Nimbus 2001 wobbled slightly underneath their combined weight and Iris gripped the handle of the broom to steady herself.
"Hold onto me." Draco glanced at her over his shoulder.
"Don't push your luck, Malfoy."
"Have it your way then." He said, the amusement clear in his voice.
Draco directed his broomstick upwards, shooting forward at the speed of light, and Iris was sure the whole of Scotland heard her horrified scream as she looped her arms around Draco's waist, holding on for dear life.
Among the castle spires Iris and Draco sat side by side on his broomstick, a feat that would not be possible without Quidditch ingrained balance.
The pair were so close to the fireworks that Iris felt one with the pyrotechnics.
She felt goosebumps rise on the back of her neck and, from instinct, her eyes darted towards Draco. He'd been watching her, instead of the fireworks, and a knot formed in Iris' stomach as she watched the colorful lights reflect in his silver eyes.
"Do you need something?" She arched an eyebrow.
Draco smiled faintly as he tore his eyes from hers. "No."
"Good." Iris said as her gaze shifted back to the fireworks.
"Good." He agreed.
They spent the next thirty minutes in awestruck silence as explosion after explosion light up the night sky. Once the last firework was released from Dumbledore's wand, Draco flew Iris towards Gryffindor Tower and she used Alohomora on one of the dormitory windows.
He laughed quietly as she squeezed her body through the too small window, a window she was sure hadn't been opened since the thirteenth century the way hinges creaked.
After a brief struggle, she climbed down from the windowsill and Hermione's snores floated over to her as she landed quietly beside her bed. Confident she'd managed to sneak in without waking her best friend, she turned back towards the window to speak to Draco.
He was already gone.
September 16, 2000 (Midnight)
The shards of the champagne flute sliced into Iris' palm before scattering around the living room. Her mind was a fog of alcohol and anger, numbing the pain of the cuts that were trailing blood down her wrist.
The voices of others nearby reached her ears muffled and indistinct, the ringing within overpowering all else.
Her throat constricted painfully as her eyes bore into Seamus hovering around the threshold of Hermione's front door.
"Oppugno." She incanted breathlessly.
The shards of glass that had fallen to floor rose around her and shot towards Seamus.
Not caring whether or not the shards hit her intended target, Iris sank to the floor and clutched her injured hand. She focused on the trails of blood as they dripped down wrist and disappeared underneath the sleeve of her dress.
"Immobulus!" Hermione shouted as she attempted to halt the shards on their path to Seamus.
The majority of the shards fell to the floor, but the smallest pieces escaped Hermione's purview, striking the doorframe of the front door jarringly. Seamus' face, mere centimeters away, was the image of shock as his fingers traced the cuts that had formed on the apples of his cheeks.
He gasped as blood began dripping down his face.
However miniscule the damage, Iris had hit her target.
"She tried to kill me!" Seamus screamed. "That filthy bitch actually tried to kill me!"
Seamus' voice floated to Iris as if she were underwater and he was shrieking at her from the surface. The faraway sound of shuffling feet reached her next and she looked up just as Ron escaped from Hermione's grasp and thrust his fist onto Seamus's face.
The loud crack of Seamus' nose resounded throughout the flat as he fell over backwards into Dean's arms, blood flowing from his nostrils as well as the slices upon his cheeks. Iris' gaze shifted downwards towards her palm just as Ron wrung out his fist, trying to rid himself of the ache that came with connecting bone to bone.
The repeated sound of rushing footsteps indicated to Iris that Seamus had bolted with Dean, the thud of the front door slamming shut raising goosebumps on her arms. The floor beneath her was beginning to spin and she felt close to vomiting, the only thing keeping her from doing so was focusing on her injury.
Hands gripped her shoulders and Iris' eyes glanced upwards at the touch.
"Get up, Sinclair." Pansy Parkinson demanded, her chocolate brown eyes absent of pity and her pouted lips set in a determined line.
"Granger, where's your antiseptic?" Pansy shouted as she gripped Iris' forearms and brought her to her feet.
"Upstairs, the bathroom connected to my bedroom." Hermione hurriedly explained. "I'll show you."
"No. I'll take care of her." Pansy said as she led Iris towards the stairs and pointed at various partygoers. "Weasley, get some ice on that hand and get the birthday girl a drink, something strong. Longbottom, clean up the glass and Potter, get the blood out of that rug it looks expensive. Ginny—" She stared knowingly at the redhead. "Have a martini waiting for me when I get back."
"She just called me Ginny." Ginny mumbled to no one in particular.
"You—you smell like vanilla." Iris hiccupped as Pansy led her up the stairs. "Like the vanilla-bean cream puffs the House-Elves used to make at school. Do—do you remember those? I would die for a plate of those right now."
Pansy snorted. "Greg and Draco used to inhale those. Draco always ended up with—"
"The cream on his nose." Iris interrupted. "I—I know."
Pansy avoided Iris' eyes and the rest of trek to the bathroom was spent in silence.
Iris watched Pansy closely as she wiped a cloth soaked with antiseptic across the cuts on her palm.
The sting from the antiseptic cleared the haze that had formed around her mind and the glass of water Pansy had forced her to chug had settled the rumblings of her stomach. She was more grateful for the latter—the last thing she wanted to do was hold her head over a toilet while Pansy Parkinson held her hair back.
"You did a number on yourself with this one." Pansy mumbled as she held the cloth against Iris' palm. "I wish Finnigan's head had been the one exploding instead of the champagne flute."
"That would've been quite the party trick." She winced as the antiseptic worked through the cuts and burned away any hint of infection. "I'll remember to use Bombarda next time."
"Does that happen often?" Pansy asked.
"Does what?" Iris met her eyes.
"The anger. Do you lose control like that often?"
"No. I mean I've always had a short temper but after the War—" Iris frowned. "Let's just say I'm having trouble adjusting."
"We all are." Pansy said as she removed the cloth. "I should be able to cast Episkey now."
"No."
"No?" Pansy arched an eyebrow.
"Wrap it with a bandage. I want it to heal without magic."
"Are you sure? It might scar."
"Yes, I'm sure." Iris motioned towards the sink. "Hermione keeps a few bandages inside the mirror."
Pansy stood and snatched the gauze bandages from inside the mirror above the sink. Then she knelt in front of Iris and rolled the bandage around her palm, the reapplied pressure to the cuts causing blood to soak through the white cloth.
"Sinclair, I—" Pansy sighed. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Iris furrowed her brow. "I did this to myself."
"No, not for this." Pansy laughed softly and met Iris' eyes once she taped off the bandage. "For being such a heartless bitch while we were kids, for calling you such vile names. I wish I could say it was from jealousy, but it wasn't. I was cruel because I wanted to be. I had everything and I enjoyed feeling superior to others."
"It took losing my parents, losing our home, losing the power that was associated with being a Parkinson, even losing Draco, for me to realize that I was as susceptible to change and loss as any other witch or wizard." She continued as she stood. "I realized, that in the grand scheme of life, being a Pureblood means nothing in the end. It's just blood."
Iris wanted to accept her apology wholeheartedly, she wanted to embrace Pansy and let bygones be bygones.
But the child she once was couldn't, not yet.
"Just blood." Iris spat. "It may be just blood, but my blood has been the determining factor of my life for the past decade. I accept your apology Pansy, because I can hear the sincerity in your voice, but I can't forgive you entirely, not yet."
She shook her head as she continued. "You will never understand the challenges I have faced for simply being Muggle-Born. Being a Pureblood does not mean nothing because you had, and still have, privileges that I will never. Pureblood society will recover from the War but the discrimination against Muggle-Borns has endured for centuries."
Pansy's face remained stoic as she absorbed Iris' words.
"You are The Other Golden Girl. The title may have been given to you ironically, but it has cemented you within our history." Pansy threw the cloth she'd been using to clean her cuts into the sink. "You are Harry Potter's best friend—one of the witches that saved the world. That is the highest privilege, one that few ever achieve, and if you can't see that you must be blind."
Pansy stormed out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her.
Iris left the bathroom a few minutes after Pansy's exit, descending the stairs quietly.
She was surprised to hear cheerful chatter floating up the stairs, the sound of laughter relieving the heavy weight on her chest. When she rounded about the landing, she noticed the remaining guests had gathered in the living room passing around a bottle of scotch.
Pansy noticed her first, the witch's fingers played delicately around the rim of a martini glass.
"Oi, there's the champ." Ron applauded her with a toothy grin. "How're your battle scars?"
Everyone's heads darted in Iris' direction and Hermione jumped off the sofa at the sight of her.
"Healing, slowly." She smiled faintly as she held up her bandaged hand. "How's yours?"
Ron lifted the fist he had smashed into Seamus' face—a bag of ice lay across his knuckles.
"Healing, slowly." He winked.
"Why am I not surprised that both of you refused Episkey?" Hermione grumbled as she reached Iris, reaching out to examine her palm before shifting her hands to her forearms. "Are you alright? Everyone was so worried."
"Yes, I'm fine." Iris felt tears well in her eyes. "I'm sorry I ruined the party Hermione I didn't mean to—"
"Stop right there." Hermione interrupted. "You did not ruin the party. Do you know how many hot-headed Gryffindors were crammed into this flat tonight? I'm surprised drinks didn't start flying earlier."
"But the—" Iris made a whooshing motion with her arm to represent the shards flying through the air.
"It added a little spice to the evening is all." Hermione dismissed her with a wave. "But I have to ask again, are you alright? It's been a long time since I've seen you lose control like that."
She wasn't alright but she didn't want to worry her best friend.
It wasn't the outburst that was bothering her, it was the cause of the outburst. The emotion that had risen within her because of the poisonous vile Seamus had spewed.
"I promise, I'm alright." Iris said as she pulled Hermione into a tight hug, knowing that the witch would be able to see the lie in her eyes if she looked closely.
Hermione squeezed her back just as strongly and, over her shoulder, Iris' eyes roamed over everyone still in the living room.
Ron was sitting between Harry and Ginny, his hands flying about animatedly as he described the various Muggle shops he frequented to purchase painting supplies, asserting that a true artist used as little magic as possible within his work.
Angelina was sitting on the floor with her back to the sofa as she affectionately ran her hands through Oliver's hair, his head lay in her lap, and Lee sat beside her begging for a head massage of his own.
Luna and Neville were sitting closely together on the loveseat, their limbs twisted around one another as they whispered about each other's plans for the rest of the evening.
Pansy dipped her olive into her martini before biting it off the toothpick, trying her hardest to ignore George's efforts at trying to make conversation with her.
Hermione smiled at her warmly once they pulled away from one another. "Come join us, the night's not over. No one is angry with about Seamus, Katie only left because she has a train to Liverpool to catch in the morning."
Iris' eyes briefly darted towards the group once more.
Their night wasn't over but hers was.
"I need sleep. I've sobered up enough now I should be fine to Apparate home." She said and Hermione pouted instantaneously. "Let's have tea tomorrow. Pop by the townhouse and then we can go to Diagon Alley and buy a lot of things we don't need."
"That sounds very impractical." Hermione pondered. "But I'm in."
Iris kissed Hermione on the cheek and wished her another happy early birthday before saying goodbye to everyone else. She ignored a concerned remark from Harry, who would undoubtedly be at her bedroom door the following morning with a cup of tea and a worried frown plastered across his face.
Once she gathered her things, she left Hermione's flat and Apparated home.
When she appeared on Grimmauld Place, she searched through her purse for her wand to lift the Fidelius Charm on the townhouse and found it beside a few suspicious shot-sized vials of firewhiskey. She snatched the handful of vials out of her purse and found one with a sticky note stuck to it.
Firewhiskey heals all wounds.
George.
Iris chuckled softly at the note before retrieving her wand with her free hand and lifting the charm. Once the townhouse fully formed, she sat down on the concrete steps and eyed the handful of vials.
"Who needs a guardian angel when you have a Weasley?" She mumbled before uncorking the first vial.
After downing every single vial in her hand, Iris stumbled through the entryway of the townhouse.
She was tipsy again, her lack of sufficient motor skills evident of that, but she wasn't past the point of awareness. As she placed her uninjured hand against the wall to steady herself, the faint sound of the piano reverberated throughout the townhouse.
Kreacher didn't have a musical bone in his body and the last person she'd seen at the piano was—
"Oh no. No, no, no. Go to bed." Iris demanded of herself as she neared the staircase. "Go to bed."
The music intensified when she placed her hand on the railing as if it could sense her resistance.
"Oh, it does sound nice." She sighed as she pushed off the railing, her purse falling to the floor beside the staircase. No one ever played on the piano in the parlor and the sound of it calmed her bones.
"Just for a minute." She announced to no one but herself. "I'll be in and out."
Through clumsy, wobbled movements, and feeble attempts at avoiding the sharp edges of furniture, Iris found herself near the entrance to the parlor.
Draco Malfoy was seated at the piano bench, dressed comfortably in a white tee shirt and grey joggers, with a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey at his side. His eyes were closed as he focused on the music, lost in a trance as he played.
Iris stepped over the threshold into the parlor, and at the sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, Draco's fingers stalled on the piano keys.
His eyes opened slowly to meet hers across the room.
"Oh, don't s—stop on my account." Iris hiccupped. "The music is what distracted me from my very comfortable bed upstairs."
Draco's lips curled up on side. "Was it the music? Or the alcohol in your veins?"
She frowned. "I only had a f—few shots of firewhiskey."
"Your hiccups say otherwise." His smirk persisted until his eyes found her bandaged hand, the delight within his expression replaced with a lethal intensity. "Iris, what happened to your hand?"
She lazily followed his eyes. "Oh this? It's nothing, I did it to myself."
"What?" He furrowed his brow. "Get over here, let me have a look."
"No." She scoffed. "P—Pansy took care of it, I'm fine."
"Pansy? You're not making any sense." He dismissed her. "Come here."
It took what little restraint she had left not to rush over the second he beckoned her.
After the night she'd had, she felt raw and exposed, her wounds on display for the world to see.
In the past Draco had been the perfect remedy for that.
And they do say old habits die hard.
She resigned with a groan, clutching her injured hand as she drifted over towards him. She sat beside him on the piano bench, close enough that he'd be able to get an adequate look at her but also far enough away that she felt comfortable.
"Thank you." He said mockingly.
She ignored his tone and stuck out her hand for him to examine. He gently traced his fingers across her palm before unraveling the bandage that had been decorated with dots of blood since Pansy first tended to it.
He hissed at the sight of the shallow cuts on her palm and then retaped the bandage.
"How did it happen?"
It was more of a demand and less of a question.
"Uh—" Iris' eyes drifted towards the ceiling. "Seamus Finnigan said something idiotic, as per usual. I fell face first into the trap, as per usual. Then my temper got the better of me and my champagne flute exploded in my hand."
"In your hand?" Draco's eyes widened. "What did he say to you?"
"That's not important."
"Iris." He had yet to let go of her hand.
She sighed and met his eyes. "He said something about you, something I didn't like."
"Hmph." He eyed her curiously. "Finnigan has always been a half-wit, some things never change." He ran his fingers delicately across the bandage once more. "You're letting it heal without magic?
"Obviously." She answered and he leveled his gaze at her, annoyed with her tone. "Pansy was the one that cleaned the cuts for me. Hermione invited her and Seamus wasn't exactly thrilled to have her around—"
"A snake in the lion's den." He released her hand and swiped the bottle of firewhiskey still at his side. "I see why tempers flared so quickly."
He downed what was left of the amber liquid before laying the bottle on the floor and her eyes were drawn towards his mouth as his tongue ran over his lips, savoring the cinnamon taste of the liquor.
She tore her eyes away, "Well, Luna was there, so technically an eagle and a snake in a lion's den."
"I stand corrected." He chuckled as he positioned his fingers above the piano keys. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I planned on playing more Brahms before bed." He eyed her out of his peripheral. "You can stay, if you'd like."
Iris hesitated before saying, "I would like."
Without another word, Draco closed his eyes and resumed the piece he had been playing before her interruption.
Her eyes were glued to his slender fingers as they pressed upon the keys, as well as the veins that protruded within his hands. He moved swiftly and with purpose and pressed upon the keys rougher than Brahms could've ever intended when writing the piece.
His head swayed to the flow of the notes, his eyes crinkling with thought as he played from memory. Hair fell across his brow as his playing intensified and her fingers twitched as she resisted the ever-present urge to brush the strands back.
She felt her anxiety clear as the vibrations from the music spread throughout chest, stripping the suffocation away with its touch, allowing her to breathe.
She scooted close enough to Draco that their thighs touched and the notes he played reverberated through him and passed onto her.
At the feeling of her skin against his, he opened his eyes and stalled his fingers upon the keys.
"Why'd you stop?" She asked.
"Give me your hand." His eyes darted towards her uninjured one. "The one without the bandage."
Iris eyed him suspiciously and then placed her palm in his. He flipped their hands over so that her palm laid across his knuckles, and her fingers laid against his. He directed their hands back to the piano keys and then pressed down as intensely as before, the added weight of her hand seemingly not an issue.
Iris's grin was pure joy as the note coursed through her.
"Stay with me." He whispered.
And then he continued the piece.
She followed his every move, keeping the weight of her hand on top of his as light as possible so not to disturb his playing. With her skin connected to Draco's, she was able to feel the music with him, instead of through him.
It spurred the kind of heartaching intimacy that she would scold herself for in the morning.
The exchange was reminiscent of their stolen moments at Hogwarts. The brief instances of familiarity that only occurred when they found themselves entirely alone, or when he was craving the electrification of their bond as badly as she was.
Her heart had never let her consider how all of that secrecy would scar her.
A few minutes passed before Draco reached the last note. The sound of it thundered throughout the parlor, leaving Iris feeling elated and empty once the vibrations ceased dancing within her bones.
Draco's hands left the keys, but he twisted his fingers around hers to prevent her hand from leaving his. His head turned away from the piano and his eyes met hers, their noses mere centimeters apart.
"We should do that more often." Iris said softly.
"We should?" Draco arched an eyebrow.
"It was—" Her breath hitched at the intrigue present within his eyes. "Fun. It was fun."
He untwisted his fingers from hers and laid his hand on her bare knee, setting her skin on fire.
His silver eyes burned into her, searching for answers in her hazel ones. His face was flushed, and she was unsure of whether it was from the rush of the firewhiskey within his blood, or because of their close proximity.
"Is this alright?" His eyes flicked down as his hand drifted past her knee and up her thigh.
Her heart pounded as Seamus' words from earlier rang through her mind.
You act so high and mighty, but your loyalty shifted the day Malfoy ran his hands up your skirt.
Seamus' words held an inkling of truth—Her loyalty never shifted, but the feeling of Draco's hands on her skin was an addiction. An addiction that she'd been in withdrawal from for far too long.
"It's more than alright." She answered.
"I couldn't bear to look at you earlier." He leaned towards her, the gap separating them minimizing dangerously. "I know you noticed, and I apologize sincerely, but it's painful to be around you when look this beautiful and I can't do anything about it."
Any sense of inhibition that Iris had left disappeared once those words left his lips.
She closed the gap and nuzzled his nose with hers. "And if you could do something about it, what do you have in mind?"
He chuckled softly before bringing his mouth to her ear. "I think that's better left unsaid."
In hindsight, Iris was appreciative of the interruption that occurred moments later.
"Draco?" A soft voice whispered from the corridor.
Iris' eyes shot towards the archway that led into the parlor and the trance that the music and Draco's touch had put her in was broken instantaneously. She shoved his hand off her thigh and stood abruptly, soft footsteps now audible to her ears.
She forced herself away from the piano and leaned against the wall behind her as Astoria Greengrass crossed the threshold into the parlor, her feet bare against the hardwood floor.
The witch was drowning in a black tee shirt that hit mid-thigh and her long, platinum tresses were thrown over one shoulder. The sight of her in such little clothing, and the meaning that held, caused bile to rise in Iris' throat.
"There you are." Astoria smiled sweetly at Draco. "I've been upstairs for an hour waiting for you."
Astoria's gaze shifted towards Iris, noticing her for the first time since entering the parlor, and she placed her hand over heart. "Oh, Iris I didn't see you there! I thought I heard the front door earlier, but I didn't hear anyone come up the stairs."
Iris' throat was tight with rage. "I was about to go to bed, but I heard the piano being played and I wanted to check it out." She tried to calm the shaking of her voice as she said, "I apologize if I was loud, I didn't know we had guests."
"Astoria, I'll be up in a moment." Draco abruptly stood from the piano bench once he noticed the shift in Iris' tone. "I'll bring you a cup of tea. Chamomile or Valerian Root?"
"Valerian would be wonderful. No sugar." Astoria turned on her heel to leave. "It was nice to see you again, Iris."
Iris feigned a warm smile at Astoria before she exited the parlor.
And at her absence, Iris and Draco were plunged into silence.
Draco drummed his fingers on the top of the piano while Iris continued to lean against the wall, unclenching and clenching her jaw repeatedly.
She wanted to retreat upstairs without a word, without another glance Draco's way, but she felt frozen in place. Her eyes focused instead on the constant drumming of his fingers, the sound booming within her mind.
One, two, three, four.
Pinky, ring, middle, pointer.
One, two, three, four.
Pinky, ring, middle, pointer.
One, two, three—
"I see nothing has changed." Iris pushed off the wall. "Except now the woman keeping your bed warm is Astoria instead of Pansy and I'm in the same position I always have been, albeit temporarily and by mistake."
"Mistake?" Draco's fingers halted their drumming and he pushed away from the piano bench to face her head-on. "And that is not what's happening here."
"That is exactly what's happening here." Iris stepped forward. "And to think you tried to convince me only yesterday that she was just a friend."
"She is just a friend." He asserted. "If you cared to ask before jumping to conclusions, I would've explained to you why she's even here. For someone that insists on not being jealous, you seek reassurance from me that is far past the point of being just friends."
"As always, you have read the situation entirely wrong." She spat. "I don't need reassurance. I'm merely a woman looking out for another because I know what it's like to have my feelings treated like a toy you only reach for when you're bored and lonely."
"That is not true."
"What would you call it then?" She threw her hands in the air. "Because all I can remember is how desperate you were to hide the fact that you enjoyed snogging a Mudblood from your cronies and your family."
"Don't call yourself that." He growled as drifted closer.
"Why? You did." Her eyes were ablaze with fury as they met his. "Only once but I will never forget it. You reminded me and every other Muggle-Born at Hogwarts what you thought of our blood status day after day."
"And I will apologize for that for the rest of my life."
"That still won't be long enough."
"Fuck, Iris!" Draco shouted. "What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything from you." She crossed her arms. "I'm your mentor, for the time being, and we are roommates. Once your training is over, I'll never have to see you again and for that I'm grateful."
"That's a lie, and you know it." Draco pointed at her accusingly. "Otherwise, we wouldn't have found ourselves in this old push and pull routine so easily. I push, you pull. You push, I pull. It's how we work. It's how we've always worked."
"Shut up." Iris shouted as she stepped forward.
"No." He snarled. "Answer the question. What do you want from me?"
"I don't know!"
His lips curled amusingly. "You're afraid to admit it."
"Afraid to admit what exactly?"
"That you feel the same as you did all those years ago." He was close enough now that Iris could feel his breath. "You're afraid to admit that time has done nothing but fuel the fire between us. Afraid to admit the commonality within your desires."
Iris' cheeks warmed. "You know nothing about my desires."
"You know that's not true. I know you, inside and out." He drawled before threading his arm around her waist and pulling her towards him. "Just as you know me."
She placed her palms flat against his chest as an automatic defense.
"Tell me to stop and I will." He whispered as he leaned downwards to rub his nose against hers.
He was hers for the taking.
If she leaned upwards an inch their lips would touch for the first time in years.
Iris knew she should break out of his hold, run upstairs, and pretend as if this never happened. But she also knew that if she did that, she would never know. She would never know if it was simply the last drop of teenage infatuation that thrummed within her whenever his eyes met hers or if it was something else—
"Fuck it." Iris sighed as she smashed her mouth against his so harshly she felt her teeth rattle.
Her body ignited the second their lips touched, and, after a moment of frozen disbelief, Draco kissed her back hungrily. His right hand drifted to the small of her back, pushing her flush against him, and his left curled around the nape of her neck, holding her steady as his thumb pressed roughly into her jaw.
His lips were as soft as she remembered, the feel of his mouth slanted against hers so familiar it strained her heartstrings. She slid her hands from his chest to his shoulders and then folded her arms around his neck to draw him ever closer, desperate to deepen the kiss.
Sensing her intent, he ran his tongue along her bottom lip, and her mouth parted eagerly. His hand drifted from the nape of her neck and slid into her curls, an action she barely registered as the cinnamon taste of the firewhiskey upon his tongue weakened her at the knees.
She twisted her fingers around his silky, platinum strands and tugged at his hair roughly as she sought to stabilize her stance and the lustful groan that escaped his lips reverberated throughout her body, eliciting an intense feeling of desire between her legs.
Draco pulled away, the act forcing her to open her eyes.
"That wasn't very nice." He hissed.
"And?" She responded breathlessly. "What are you going to do about it?"
His lips curled dangerously as his hands slid to the dips of her waist and lifted her off the floor.
She squeaked from surprise as he spun her around and set her down on the key block of the piano, the notes released from the keys piercing her eardrums as he reattached his lips to hers fervently.
Draco towered over her, one hand holding onto the piano behind her as the other settled on her chest. Through her dress, he squeezed one of her breasts so roughly that she gasped, and he smirked against her mouth as their tongues reunited and his hand slid to her waist.
His knee nudged her closed legs, begging her to give him access, but she refused.
Instead, Iris rested her hands on either side of his face and ran her teeth along his bottom lip before biting down gently. She dragged his lip and he growled with pleasure as she released it with a start. The hum of his desire intensified the flutters within her core and the rising heat became nearly unbearable as his hands slid to her knees and up to the tops of her thighs.
She squeezed at his hips as he tore his lips from hers, a reluctant whimper escaping her throat.
He planted a soft kiss on the apple of her cheek, and she leaned her head back as his mouth drifted to her neck. Her breath hitched as he ran his teeth against the sensitive skin there, biting and suckling at the spots that he remembered drove her wild.
He ran his tongue along the marks he'd left and she moaned, blushing furiously after she did so. Her legs opened of their own accord at the feeling and she felt him grin against her neck as he found purchase between her thighs, the pressure upon the keys the only sound besides their mingled heavy breathing.
Her hands found the hem of his tee-shirt and dove underneath to rest on his bare skin. He sucked in a breath as her fingers traced the muscles of his abdomen, as they drifted higher over his chest and explored the lines of his shoulders and forearms.
He pressed his body upon her, his arousal evident as he slid his hands higher up her thighs and pushed back the velvet fabric of her dress, resting his fingers dangerously near the trim of her underwear.
His lips brushed along her jaw before he returned to her mouth and pecked her softly, the careful gesture so out of place amongst the fervor.
Iris realized why seconds later when he released his grip on her thighs and forcibly pushed himself off of her.
Her eyes darted open at the absence of him, feeling cold and empty without his heat and weight. Her eyes roamed his figure as he retreated towards the archway, committing to memory the swell of his lips from her teeth, the ruffle of his hair from her fingers, and the prominence of his—
"That's what I thought." Draco whispered with a tightly clenched jaw.
His eyes bore into hers once more, his pupils enlarged with desire as he greedily drank in the sight of her so disheveled from his lips and his hands.
Without another word, he left the parlor, leaving Iris on her own to face the consequences of what they'd just done.
As he had so many times before.