September 16, 2000
Morning rays of sunlight flooded Iris' bedroom drawing her out of the haze of unfulfilling sleep.
Her head ached miserably.
Her throat, so dry it pained her to swallow, felt as if a dagger had been shoved down it.
That's what I get for not drinking enough water. She thought.
She sat up and readjusted the dress she'd worn to Hermione's, the velvet fabric having twisted around her body as she tossed and turned throughout the night. She'd managed to remove her heels and jewelry before crawling into bed, but the zipper on her dress had proved beyond her inebriated capabilities.
She rubbed at her eyes, disgusted by the layer of makeup that still coated her face, as she threw her legs over the side of the bed. A wave of dizziness rushed over once her bare feet hit the hardwood floor and she curled her fingers into her duvet as she waited for it to pass.
She desperately needed a shower, desperately craved a rinse to cleanse her skin of Draco's touch.
Once the dizzy spell ceased, she stood, slowly, and headed into the bathroom.
She stripped off her clothing once she neared the shower, her breasts and back screaming with relief as she chucked her bra as far away from her as possible. Before sliding the glass panel aside to enter the shower, she reluctantly glanced at herself in the mirror.
Her eyes darted towards the bruises that decorated her neck.
"That bastard." She hissed out loud.
The bruises Draco had left upon her skin trailed from below her jaw to just above her collarbone. She brushed her fingers across the bright red spots and flinched, the skin sensitive and tender under her touch.
She wasn't sure which frustrated her more—the inconvenience of needing to cast a Disillusionment Charm every few hours until the marks healed, or the vivid memory of her succumbing to Draco's intoxicating presence just as easily as she used to as a teenager.
Her gaze drifted towards the bandage still taped around her injured palm, eyeing the dried spots of blood scattered around the cloth before ripping it off entirely and throwing it into the waste bin.
She frowned at the sight of the horizontal gash that ran from one end of her palm to the other.
Pansy had been right to offer Episkey the night before, something she didn't admit to herself easily. She could already picture the scar that was going to form, could already imagine the way it would stand stark against her skin.
With the exception of the gash, the rest of the damage across her palm and around her fingers resembled tiny paper cuts—shallow injuries that would heal and disappear over the next few days.
Iris sighed audibly as she dropped her hand to her side and turned away from the mirror.
She could blame the bruises on her neck on Draco, could reconcile with the fact that they were lust driven, but her palm had been sliced to bits because she'd lost control of her magic, of herself.
She'd been born with a short temper, had even made peace with it over the years, but her declining control over her anger terrified her. She'd been numb to the effects of the War on her body and mind, numb for so long that the thought of what she could be capable of once the past caught up with her—
She shoved her concern into the darkest corner of her mind, compartmentalizing it for another day.
Iris had only just exited the bathroom, wet curly hair cascading down to her chest and a black satin bathrobe tied shut at her waist, when Harry's voice floated through her bedroom door.
"Iris, can I come in?" He asked. "I brought you a cuppa."
Panic rose within her and her fingers instinctively brushed along the length of her neck. She'd rebandaged the gash on her hand once she'd left the shower, downed a couple tablets for her headache, but had yet to cast a Disillusionment Charm on the bruises.
"Just a minute!" She answered unable to hide the frantic tone of her voice.
Her eyes raced around her bedroom, desperately searching out her purse. After the incident in the parlor, she'd somehow remembered she'd left it on the floor of the entryway and had managed to snag it before dragging her body up the stairs.
Her eyes landed on the leather bag lying haphazardly near the dresser.
She darted towards it, nearly tripping over her heels from the night before as she did so.
She knelt down and turned her purse upside down, dumping the entirety of its contents on the floor. The vials of firewhiskey hit the hardwood with a few loud clanks, followed shortly by her wallet, some loose change, a tube of lipstick, a handful of old receipts, and a trading card of Godric Gryffindor she'd kept superstitiously since Fourth Year.
Her wand, however, was nowhere to be found.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." She cursed under her breath.
"Everything alright?" Harry asked as he began to turn the doorknob.
Iris' eyes went wide as she rushed to the door and shoved her back against it to prevent it from opening.
Harry's surprised gruff at being shut out floated through the cracks of the doorframe.
"Yes, everything's fine!" She ground through her teeth. "One more minute!"
She slid to the floor, racking her brain for a hint of where her wand could've ended up, and the sight of a fluffy white tail poking out from underneath her bed lit a metaphorical lightbulb above her head.
"Of course." She grumbled.
She laid down on her stomach and peeked underneath her bed, expectantly greeted with Nyx fast asleep, eyes twitching as she dreamt with Iris' wand nestled between her large paws.
"You menace." She whispered as she retrieved her wand from the cat's grasp.
She slid out from under the bed and cast a Disillusionment Charm along her neck mere seconds before Harry burst through the door, curls of steam coming from the contents of the mug in his hand.
"What are you doing? And what was all that noise?"
"Nyx stole my wand." Iris smiled weakly, twirling her wand around her fingers. "And you know how possessive she gets once she has her paws on something—it was life or death. I spared you truly."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I don't believe you."
"Well, that's not my problem." She huffed with annoyance as she stood up off the floor. "Now, are you here to interrogate me or give me that cup of tea? Because I would prefer the latter."
He resigned with a dramatic sigh and handed her the mug. "Here."
"Thank you." She said appreciatively as she sat on the edge of her bed. "Come sit."
Harry plopped down beside her, his fingers running over the scruff on his jaw nervously.
Iris brought the mug to her lips, waiting for the inevitable.
She didn't have to wait long.
"About last night." He began cautiously. "Iris, I'm starting to worry that—"
"Harry." She rested a hand on his forearm. "No."
"No?"
"No. Not today."
"Iris—"
"No." She answered assertively. "There's too much going on right now. Not now, but soon, I promise."
Harry leveled his gaze at her, searching for any weak spot he could push to get her to open up.
When he was unable to find one, he surrendered.
"Alright." He grumbled, a hint of frustration present.
Iris squeezed his arm graciously and then laid her head on his shoulder, the familiar smell of his cologne warming her heart.
A brief silence ensued.
She drank from her tea, savoring the feeling of the liquid as it soothed her throat, while Harry stared at the age-old rips and tears of the wallpaper, imagining the sort of renovating he might be able to pull off once he and Iris finished with the floors below.
It was a comfortable silence, one that could only be achieved when you knew someone as well as they knew one another.
Her mug was empty by the time his voice broke through the quiet.
"You'll have the townhouse to yourself until tomorrow evening." He announced. "Besides Kreacher, of course."
"Oh, yeah?" Iris leaned off his shoulder and smiled at the spot her wet hair had left on his sweater. "Where you off to?"
"The Holyhead Harpies are playing a friendly against the Caerphilly Catapults tomorrow. Gin wants to check it out, really size up the team before her tryout—you know how she is." Harry's tone was threaded with adoration. "We figured we'd spend the day in Cardiff before heading up north."
"I'd beg you to let me tag along if I didn't have so much casework to catch up on." She sighed as she reached over to lay the empty mug on her bedside table. "You said I'll have the place to myself? What about our houseguest?"
"About that—" He pushed back the bridge of his glasses. "Malfoy left London this morning. He'll be back Monday."
Her heart sunk.
She should've seen this coming.
"He left? When?" She cleared her throat to stabilize the shaking of her voice. "Where did he go?"
"Shortly after sunrise—with Astoria." He hesitated before adding, "To the Greengrass family chalet on the Swiss Alps."
Iris screamed inwardly.
"He told you this, did he?"
"No, he left a note with Kreacher explaining his whereabouts." Harry scooted away from her, eyeing her out of his peripheral, as he said, "We could always talk about that instead—I have thoughts."
She laughed softly. "Oh, you have thoughts, do you?"
"Yes, well-developed, sincere, thoughts." Harry's lips curled amusingly. "Advice, even."
Iris snatched a pillow from the head of her bed and Harry's lips parted with a plea for mercy as she smacked him repeatedly.
A few hours later, Iris forcibly led Hermione towards the checkout desk of Flourish and Blotts.
She'd stopped by the townhouse shortly after Harry and Ginny departed for Cardiff, ready to collect on Iris' offer of tea and a visit to Diagon Alley, and she'd demanded that the bookshop be their first stop.
As Hermione handed book after book to the cashier, from a stack that nearly surpassed her height, Iris retreated a couple steps behind her, and was gifted with a view of the array of newspapers lining the shelves of the checkout desk.
Most prominently displayed were the latest issues of The Daily Prophet—a special Saturday edition that had been released while she trailed Hermione up and down every bookshelf within Flourish and Blotts.
Printed on the front page was a moving photograph of Draco and Astoria smiling at one another, each holding a steaming mug, as they stood side by side on the upper balcony of the Greengrass chalet. The headline read Malfoy and Greengrass Romance Heats Up In The Cold!
Iris' blood boiled as her eyes burned into the photograph plastered upon issue after issue.
After Hermione purchased her books and cast a delivery spell to send the stack to her flat, Iris flicked three Galleons towards the cashier and swiped every single issue of the Prophet off the shelves.
The young wizard's eyes went wide, and Hermione, once she'd eyed the front page for herself, had tried to convince Iris to leave the newspapers behind.
She'd refused.
She carried the pile outside, the occasional issue slipping beyond her grasp and floating onto the cobblestone street beneath her feet. She turned the corner for the empty side-alley between Quality Quidditch Supplies and Slug and Jigger's Apothecary, Hermione on her heels.
She headed far enough down the side-alley to be out of sight from the main street and then chucked the newspapers onto the ground.
Hermione reached her side just as she retrieved her wand from the waistband of her jeans and pointed it directly at one of the moving photographs.
"Iris, don't you dare—" Hermione warned.
"Incendio." She whispered.
The newspapers went up in flames.
September 18, 2000
It wasn't until late Monday morning that Iris found herself alone with Draco again.
Seated behind her desk, she'd been in the midst of reading through documents on a recent robbery when he'd thunderously thrown open her office door, startling her so thoroughly that she'd nearly ripped the report grasped between her fingers in half.
"Good morning, boss." He drawled as he slammed the door shut just as loudly.
Her face heated with aggravation at the jovial curl of his lips.
"You're late."
"Late? Yes." A smirk stretched across his face. "But without good reason? Absolutely not."
He revealed a large to-go cup of tea that he'd been hiding behind his back.
"The café down the street, the one Potter always goes to, was out of Earl Grey so I asked for English Breakfast instead." He strode towards her and placed the cup on her desk. "Hope that's alright."
Her eyes widened with disbelief. "Thank you?"
"You're welcome." He grinned as he leaned against her desk. "Now, what's all this?"
"Huh?"
His gift had momentarily halted her ability to think properly.
"The file, all of the documents." He pointed at the surface of her desk. "What're they for?"
"Oh." She furrowed her brow. "Viola Fawley's townhouse was broken into early this morning and we've been assigned the investigation. It would've been passed down to one of the other Junior Aurors but, when the First Responders arrived, it was noted that she explicitly requested the two of us."
Iris had already perused the reports from the First Responding Aurors twice over, reports that detailed after greeting a cloaked figure outside her front door, sometime between two and three in the morning, a wand had jabbed into Mrs. Fawley's throat.
The intruder had then forced themselves inside her townhouse and cast Flipendo, sending Mrs. Fawley flying down the entryway. She lost consciousness when her head smacked against the edge of a decorative table and when she came to, the intruder had disappeared.
First Responders were then dispatched after she managed to cast Periculum and they briefly surveyed the crime scene, noting that the only item missing was a centuries old heirloom—a citrine amulet said to have been gifted to the Fawley family by Helga Hufflepuff herself.
"With the Fawley family being one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the case shot to the top of the pile." Iris continued explaining. "I was going to try and tie up some loose ends with other cases before our visit to Hogwarts tomorrow, but, after all I've asked of Robards lately, I couldn't refuse the assignment."
Draco, his mind having focused solely on the tiniest detail, furrowed his brow as he said, "Hogwarts? Already? When did—"
"Saturday." She interrupted curtly. "Saturday evening Slughorn and McGonagall sent responses to my letters while you were out of the country, galivanting atop the Swiss Alps with Astoria and the rest of the Greengrass family."
His demeanor shifted as his arms crossed defensively across his chest.
"Iris." He sighed, her name on his lips forcing her eyes towards his.
"Yes?" She arched an eyebrow.
"You don't—"
"I don't know the whole story? I've heard that one before so don't bother." She shoved the documents spread out across her desk into a manila folder and stood abruptly. "I can live without the details Rita Skeeter wasn't privy to."
She rounded her desk and held out the folder for Draco to grab.
"You expect me to believe that?" Draco chuckled as he took a step forward, close enough that the folder poked his chest. "You expect me to believe that you don't want to rip my throat out for leaving without a word? With another woman?"
"Yes, I do, because it's the truth." She shoved the folder harder into his chest. "If you were hoping for a reaction, I apologize for the disappointment."
He snatched the folder, and as she tried to release her own grasp on it, reached out with his other hand and locked his fingers around her wrist.
"Draco, let me go."
He ignored her and flipped over her palm, examining the healing gash curiously. "That's cleaned up nicely."
"Yes, the wonders of antiseptic. It's a marvel."
"You're going to be left with one hell of a scar." He locked eyes with her and brought her hand up to his lips. "Such a shame."
Her eyes widened. "What are you—"
She gasped as he pressed a kiss upon her palm.
And then a loud knock against her office door surprised the two, jolting them apart.
Iris' hand darted to her side as the door opened and Harry's cheerful face peeked through.
"Iris, Robards is expecting us. He wants an update your leads so far but he's also pushing for a progress report on the Greyback case." His eyes flitted towards Draco. "Welcome back, Malfoy."
"Potter." Draco greeted him through clenched teeth, perturbed at the interruption.
"Oh, uh—" She shifted her gaze from Harry to Draco and reached for the tea he'd brought her. "We're heading to the Fawley townhouse in Notting Hill after so have that folder memorised before I get back."
"You got it, boss." His lips quirked up to one side. "Enjoy the tea."
"Stop calling me that." She hissed as she stormed towards Harry, the tea clasped tightly in her hand. "And I will!"
She snatched her jacket from off the back of one of the armchairs and slipped through the door, the remembrance of his lips upon her palm burning through her veins the entire trek to Robards' office.
The overcast clouds shed a grey haze over Viola Fawley's neighborhood, heightening the eerie feeling that chilled Iris' bones as she stood side by side with Draco outside the witch's front door.
Iris' eyes were glued to Draco's hand as he reached out and lifted the badger-shaped door knocker, a nod to the Fawley family's sorting into Hufflepuff since the formation of Hogwarts. They were one of the few Sacred Twenty-Eight to do so, the majority of Pureblood families having planted roots within Slytherin instead.
A few minutes passed without an answer and Iris was starting to grow impatient. Sensing it, Draco reached out and lifted the door knocker once more, letting it bang against the door louder than before.
"How long does it take to answer the door?" He grumbled.
And, as if on cue, the front door swung open and an elderly woman slightly taller than a goblin appeared.
A tuft of white hair rested atop her head like a cloud and her pale blue eyes were wide with panic as they flitted between Iris and Draco.
"Who are you? Why are you here?"
"Ma'am, I'm Auror Sinclair and this is my trainee, Auror Malfoy." Iris said calmly. "We've been assigned the case regarding the break-in you suffered early this morning. It was noted that you personally requested the two of us for further investigation."
"Yes, yes, Iris Sinclair! The Other Golden Girl!" The witch giggled and her eyes went wide as they flitted from her to Draco. "Yes, I asked for you too Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, please hurry inside."
Mrs. Fawley ushered the pair after her, her eyes surveying the neighborhood anxiously.
"We're going to die here." Draco whispered once they crossed the threshold.
Iris elbowed his side sharply.
They were greeted with the pungent scent of lavender and Iris was sorely reminded of the cloud of perfume that filled the dormitory the night of the Yule Ball. Draco, put off by the smell as well, massaged his temples to prevent a headache from the overstimulation.
They had only taken a few more steps inwards when the lavender was replaced by the suffocating grip of Dark magic. It knocked the air from Iris' lungs, slamming into her with the pressure of a thousand bricks, and the expression that crossed Draco's face indicated that he felt it too.
"How's your Mark?" She whispered.
"Dormant." He whispered as he fiddled with the sleeve of his dress shirt that it lay beneath. "For now."
Mrs. Fawley led the pair to a sitting room that was decorated from floor to ceiling with various herbs and flowers. Bushels of rosemary and basil laid near the fireplace, porcelain bowls filled with chamomile and hibiscus flowers lined numerous surfaces, and bay leaves were scattered precariously along the bookshelves.
Mrs. Fawley led Iris to a loveseat where the two witches settled while Draco paced slowly around the room, visibly uncomfortable and on guard.
"Mrs. Fawley, how's your head?" Iris met the witch's eyes and goosebumps rose upon her skin at the emptiness present within. "Uh, the—the reports stated that the intruder jinxed you with Flipendo and the impact caused you to lose consciousness."
Draco halted in place at Iris' stumbling speech.
"Oh yes, my head." Mrs. Fawley dreamily traced her fingers along her temple. "It did hurt but they cast Episkey once I came to, they were very gentle. They asked for a cup of tea, but they disappeared before I could put the kettle on."
"One of the Healers at St. Mungo's used Episkey on your injury?" Iris asked for clarification. "Your case reports state that the First Responding Aurors brought you to the hospital after their initial survey of your home."
"No dear, I haven't visited St. Mungo's in years. Not since my husband passed." Mrs. Fawley reached out and squeezed her hand and Iris flinched at her freezing touch. "That lovely visitor I had healed me. The one in the cloak. The one I gave the amulet to."
Iris shifted her gaze towards Draco and the confusion plastered upon his face mirrored hers.
"Oh my, I should've offered you tea. Tea and biscuits." Mrs. Fawley frowned, tears seemingly welling within her eyes. "How rude of me."
"Mrs. Fawley, Viola, are you—" Iris began.
"Are you saying that the Aurors never brought you to St. Mungo's? That your assailant healed you?" Draco interrupted. "Mrs. Fawley, the Auror Office is under the impression that you almost lost your life because an intruder attacked you and stole a family heirloom."
"No, no, no, that's not what happened." Mrs. Fawley asserted frustratingly. "That was the tale they weaved for the Aurors so that I could see you, Iris Sinclair and Draco Malfoy—only Iris Sinclair and Draco Malfoy. They said your names explicitly and then they cared for the Aurors the same way they cared for me. They said, they said, they said—"
Dread washed over Iris' body.
Something was wrong, very wrong.
"Iris, get away from her." Draco warned.
"Cared for the Aurors? Cared for you? Mrs. Fawley, what happened here?"
Mrs. Fawley smiled dreamily as her eyes glazed over.
"Iris. Now." Draco growled.
"No." She spat, her eyes remaining on Mrs. Fawley. "Viola, why were Draco and I brought here?"
"It is your own fault, said the little prince." Mrs. Fawley's glassy eyes drifted towards the ceiling. "I never wished you any sort of harm, but you wanted me to tame you."
Iris jumped up off the loveseat and Draco rushed to her side.
"She's under the Imperius Curse." He explained slowly. "Fuck, I should've noticed it earlier, but whoever cursed her rushed the job. The curse is weak—it's eating away at her mind."
Iris also felt foolish for not noticing the signs—the panicked manner, the absence of defined thought behind Mrs. Fawley's eyes, the hypnotic state she'd succumbed to once she'd fulfilled the wish of the one who had cursed her.
"I must distract you, must keep you busy, as they retrieve what is rightfully theirs." Mrs. Fawley mused. "But I must also warn you to stop searching for what doesn't wish to be found or your loved ones will suffer."
Draco retrieved his wand with one hand and threw the other out in front of Iris protectively.
"Who? Who gave you such orders?" He snarled as he pointed his wand at Mrs. Fawley. "Give us a name!"
"I can't, I—" Mrs. Fawley squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't rememb—"
"Give us something!" He persisted.
Mrs. Fawley's eyes shot open, her pupils dilated from fear. "Who are you? Why are you in my house? Get out, please." She covered her ears with her hands, tears streaming down her face. "GET OUT!"
The witch screamed, a shrill, horrified scream, that Iris would never forget.
The porcelain bowls holding the flowers, as well as various knickknacks scattered throughout the room, shattered.
"Protego!" Draco shouted as he looped an arm around Iris' waist, holding her to his side.
Object after object erupted before Iris' eyes creating a fog of dust that obscured her view of the pointed shards that flew towards her and Draco. Mrs. Fawley was nowhere to be seen as fragment after fragment hit the invisible forcefield, incinerated upon arrival.
The room quieted as quickly as it had upended into chaos.
Once the haze cleared, Iris was greeted with the sight of destruction—gashes ran across the loveseat and the armchairs, sections of the wallpaper had torn off the wall, and the carpeted floor was covered with shredded flowers and herbs and the shards that had not hit Draco's conjured shield.
Mrs. Fawley, unprotected from the demolition, was covered with a thick layer of dust and surface-level cuts that bled lightly. The hair on the back of Iris' neck rose from fright as the elderly witch began to gasp for air, one hand clawing at her throat as if it would force the oxygen into her lungs.
Iris left the safety of Draco's shield and ran towards Mrs. Fawley as she continued to breathlessly wheeze, one arm now outstretched begging for help. Iris scrambled to retrieve her wand from her trousers, preparing to cast Anapneo, when a horrific rattle left Mrs. Fawley's lips.
The witch's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she went limp against the loveseat.
"No! Mrs. Fawley! Viola!"
She placed her fingers against the witch's throat to check her pulse.
Her pulse was weak, but that meant her heart was still beating.
She backed away from Mrs. Fawley, her wand now in hand. She cast a weak Stamina Charm along the witch's body, hoping that would be enough to keep her spirit fighting until she was in the hands of actual Healers.
She shoved her wand back into a pocket of her trousers and spun around to face Draco.
"Draco, she's still alive." She explained hurriedly. "I need you to, no, you must take her to St. Mungo's while I head for Grimmauld Place. Whoever wanted us distracted is going after the journal and the book and I have to try and beat them to it."
"Fuck that." Draco snarled as he took a step towards her. "You're not running into danger alone. I won't let you."
"You won't let me? You don't let me do anything." She bared her teeth. "I am going alone and, if you follow me instead of bringing Mrs. Fawley to St. Mungo's, I will personally request that you be removed from Harry and I's mentorship because your personal feelings led to the death of a civilian. Do you understand?"
"Do I understand?" Draco growled. "I don't care how you decide to retaliate but your safety is my priority, Iris. I'll cast Periculum so others know to find her, but my place is at your side."
"No! We are wasting time by arguing about this!" Iris shouted. "Draco, I will never forgive you if you leave her behind. Please, I beg you, take her to the hospital. Once she's in the hands of the Healers, you can meet me at the townhouse."
"Fuck, I hate you sometimes!" Draco shouted as ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands as his eyes flitted from Iris to Mrs. Fawley. His eyes intensely burned into hers as he said, "Go. Go now, before I change my mind and let this old bat die."
Iris nearly cried out with relief.
"Thank you."
With the promise of his reluctant assurance, she spun on her heel and ran out of the townhouse.