April 30, 1994
The Golden Quartet had only just resolved their feud when outside hostilities arose in its place.
A viciously competitive spirit had consumed Hogwarts with the arrival of the Inter-House Quidditch final, Gryffindor and Slytherin each going to extraordinary measures to give their House an edge.
Students were dueling throughout the corridors, proclaiming their allegiance to one House over the other, and the starting Seeker for either House had become the prime target for the opposition.
Crabbe and Goyle had been tasked with following Harry's every step, waiting within shadowed corners for an opportune moment to break a bone or two. A moment which never arrived as Iris, Hermione, and Ron had purposefully remained glued to Harry's side.
Draco, however, had not been so lucky.
After Fred and George slipped a handful of their experimental Puking Pastilles into his goblet one morning, Slytherin's Seeker had spent the rest of the day vomiting from a bed in the Hospital Wing.
Iris had nearly fared similarly.
Three days before the match, Pansy Parkinson had hexed her with Colloshoo as she'd exited the library. The Stickfast Hex had glued Iris' shoes to the stone beneath her and she would've fallen face first if not for Neville nearby who'd caught her mid-descent.
Iris' almost accident had driven Oliver into a frenzy—not a single member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had ventured throughout the castle unaccompanied for the rest of the week per their Captain's demand.
And yet, the charged atmosphere within the castle had done nothing to prepare the staff and student body for the electricity that sparked within the Quidditch Pitch as Gryffindor and Slytherin raced against one another.
Penalty after penalty enacted by either House had resulted in free-bleeding wounds and bruised egos, and the brutality of the match only increased as Gryffindor began to establish a distinctive lead over Slytherin with a score of seventy to twenty.
Oliver had taken each Bludger to the stomach, one right after the other, Iris had barely dodged a club to the shoulder from Slytherin Beater Peregrine Derrick, and Katie had momentarily forgone her position to elbow Slytherin Chaser Cassius Warrington in the face.
Scarcely a minute passed without Madam Hooch ferociously blowing her whistle.
The match was nearing its end as Iris sped towards the Slytherin Keeper and the gold scoring hoops, the Quaffle safely tucked under her arm. Harry buzzed by her, having been given the go ahead from Oliver to search for the Snitch, and her eyes widened with horror as he narrowly dodged a Bludger to the head.
Concerned for her own safety, she glanced over her shoulder to find Slytherin Beater Lucian Bole gaining on her, his club aimed at the tail end of her broomstick to send her spiraling once he got close enough.
Further down the Pitch, free of the opposition, Angelina screamed for Iris to throw her the Quaffle. On pure instinct, Iris spun her broomstick around and blindly chucked the Quaffle over her shoulder, executing a Reverse Pass to confuse the Slytherin chasing after her.
A sigh of relief left her lips as cheers erupted around the Pitch, signaling that her aim had rung true.
The relief was short-lived as Lucian, affronted at her deceptive play, continued to hurtle towards her. His teeth were borne viciously as he held his arm high above his head, preparing to slam his club into her body.
Iris screeched loudly and pointed her broomstick downward, speeding towards the grass to avoid Lucian's assault.
After his club hit nothing but air, Lucian resigned his desire to batter her and instead headed straight for Fred and George. The twins were taking turns hitting Marcus Flint with a Bludger they had managed to balance between their clubs.
Once Iris could be sure she was safe from harm, however temporarily, she halted her flight.
As she hovered, she allowed herself a second to catch her breath, to wipe at the sweat on her brow, and just as she was about to throw herself back into the fray, a flicker of gold caught her eye.
She gasped loudly as she turned her head.
It was the Snitch, buzzing around mere inches from her face.
If she'd been Harry, all she would've needed to do was reach out, curl her fingers around the golden orb, and the match would've been Gryffindor's for the taking. However, as Chaser, if she was seen grabbing for or touching the Snitch, her House would be forced to forfeit the match.
She desperately searched for Harry across the Pitch, a part of her desiring to tempt fate, to snatch the Snitch and hold onto it until he neared.
She never got the chance.
A flash of emerald and silver to her left caught her eye and she froze at the sight of Draco Malfoy flying as fast as lightning towards her, his gaze blindly focused on the Snitch.
"Out of my way Sinclair!" He shouted.
Iris' jaw went slack at his blatant demand.
She may not be able to grab the Snitch for herself, but she wasn't about to let Draco Malfoy have it.
"You're going to have to barrel into me first!" She shouted just as ferociously.
Draco's lips curled with delight. "Have it your way then!"
Her eyes widened as he seemingly sped up.
"MALFOY DON'T YOU—"
With one arm stretched outward towards the Snitch, Draco crashed his body into hers.
The impact threw Iris off her broomstick and Draco followed her, his fist seemingly closed around the Snitch. They careened towards the ground, their arms curling around one another instinctively as they hurtled through the air.
Those seated around the Pitch gasped loudly as they hit the ground, Iris' back against the grass and Draco on top of her, his face buried into her shoulder.
The momentum of the landing had knocked the air from her lungs and the pressure of his weight atop her was making it difficult for her to regain her breath. She wanted to push him off, to roll out from under him, but every bone in her body felt imbued with lead.
As their broomsticks landed nearby, Draco lifted his head from her shoulder, breathing heavily. He seemed unaware of the precarious position he and Iris had landed in as he uncurled his fist, searching for the Snitch within his grasp.
A scowl appeared on his face at the sight of his empty palm.
"Damn it." He growled.
He pounded his fist into the grass frustratingly before shifting his gaze towards Iris lying underneath him.
His brow furrowed at what he saw there.
"Sinclair, you're bleeding."
Iris laughed at the absurdity of the concern threaded through his tone.
"Wa—watch out." She stuttered. "I might contaminate you with my d—dirty blood."
Draco rolled his eyes and forcibly turned her face to the side to find the source of the injury. His fingers traced down from the middle of her forehead to her temple as he said, "It's shallow, just a long cut near your hairline."
He wiped at her skin with his palm and then lifted his hand, her blood stark against his pale complexion. He seemed awestruck, baffled that her blood wasn't the murky color he'd always imagined, but instead a bright red like his.
Iris wasn't sure whether the nausea that overwhelmed her arose from the sight of her blood or from lingering presence of his touch, but it was enough to shock her limbs back into working properly.
She pushed hard at Draco's shoulders and snarled, "GET. OFF. ME."
His eyes widened with surprise as the force from her shove forced his body onto the grass beside her. A disgruntled grumble escaped his lips as he propped up on his elbows and narrowed his eyes at her, "That was uncalled for."
"Uncalled for? Christ, Malfoy, what is wrong with you?" She resisted the urge to kick his side as she slowly rose to her feet. "You just about killed us! Or worse, you could've destroyed my broom!"
Draco scrambled to his feet. "I could've killed us?! You were the one that refused to get of my way!" He pointed at her accusingly. "The Snitch was flying under your nose! I had every right to be aiming for it!"
"You should've waited until it flew away from me!"
"So you could signal Potter over?" He scoffed. "Not a chance."
Suddenly, the Pitch exploded into an array of cheers, into screams of nothing but pure glee.
Iris' eyes darted over towards the source of the noise, towards Harry as he held up the Snitch, a grin of victory brightening his face with the golden orb firmly grasped between his fingers.
"Fuck!" Draco hissed.
"Yes!" She threw her fist into the air, her throat tightening as tears of joy brimmed within her eyes. The months of relentless practice, rain or shine, of studying tactics and maneuvers until her eyes burned, had just proved their worth.
Harry caught sight of Iris and raced towards her, the rest of the Gryffindor team trailing behind him. He jumped off his broomstick once he landed and sprinted towards her, lifting her off the grass as he pulled her into a hug and victoriously spun her around.
"Iris, we did it! We did it! We've won the Cup!"
She was beaming brightly as Harry placed her back on the ground, but his cheer waned once he noticed the blood that had dried on her forehead.
"Are you alright?" He brushed a bundle of curls that had freed themselves from her braid behind her ear. "I didn't even see what happened."
Before she had the chance to explain, Draco took it upon himself to answer Harry.
"She's fine, Potter. It's just a scratch." He sneered, the sound of his voice poison to her ears. He bore his eyes into her as he continued, "A scratch that could've been prevented if Sinclair wasn't as stubborn as a mule."
Harry's lips curled with disgust. "Shut your mouth, Malfoy."
Draco crossed his arms, a smirk forming across his face, as Iris gently pushed away from Harry and stormed towards him.
"For someone who prides themselves on their flying capabilities, it sure is odd that you weren't able to swerve out of the way at the last second." She narrowed her eyes. "What's that about, Malfoy? Are you not as talented as you boast or was your intent to get me thrown off my broom all along?"
Draco laughed mockingly as he took a step towards her. "You have me all figured out, don't you?" His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Yes, instead of pursuing the Snitch, I was pursuing you, waiting for an opportunity to get my hands on you."
They were nearly chest to chest, his ever-growing height towering over her, as he drawled, "Is that what you want to hear?"
Her face warmed as he arched an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response.
Her veins fueled with hatred at his teasing, at the underlying intimidation.
His words would play on a never-ending loop within her mind afterwards, sparking something within her that she had trouble explaining. It wouldn't be until less than a year later that she understood why his speech had clouded her mind so, had briefly rendered her speechless under the weight of his cold gaze.
She cleared her throat, righting herself. "Maybe you wanted to finish the job your girlfriend started a few days ago, when she attacked me outside the library." She grimaced as she asked, "Was that on your orders? Or did she act of her own cruel accord?"
At the mention of Pansy, an annoyed sort of exhaustion crossed Draco's face. "Pansy is not—"
He was interrupted by Marcus Flint's hand on his shoulder.
The rest of the Slytherin team had begun to crowd behind Draco, their faces a mixture of anger and frustration over having lost the match. Iris glanced over her shoulder to find Harry right behind her, as well as the rest of the Gryffindor team.
Fred and George seemed all too eager to jump to her defense, their clubs at the ready.
"Care to explain why the fuck you weren't in the air when Potter snatched the Snitch?" Marcus growled as he shoved Draco harshly. "Why your feet were planted on the ground, arguing with one of Gryffindor's Chasers, instead of following through on the ONE job you had?"
Draco's face flushed red as he stumbled away from Marcus. "I—"
Marcus interrupted Draco once more as his eyes drifted towards his hand, the one stained with Iris' dried blood. "Blimey, Malfoy, is that blood?"
Draco lifted his hand, his eyes surveying his palm before they slid to Iris.
Dread washed over her as his lips curled into a scowl, as his eyes steeled with malice.
"I would've had the Snitch if it weren't for the Mudblood." He spat. "As for the blood, it's hers. I'll have to brew an Antidote for Uncommon Poisons when we return to the castle. Her dirty blood is bound to make me ill otherwise."
Time slowed for Iris once the slur left Draco's lips, as she felt her body reject the label being thrust upon her. Her heart sunk, as if it had been chained to a thousand stones and thrown into the depths of the ocean, and tears of embarrassment, of shame, rose to replace the joy she'd felt minutes prior.
Harry attempted to lunge at Draco once the slur reached his ears, but Oliver's arms around his chest had prevented him from doing so. The uproar coming from the rest of the team, especially from Angelina who had stolen George's club and was pointing it threateningly at Flint, sounded miles away as Iris stared at Draco, searching his eyes for a semblance of remorse.
She found none.
She clenched her fists as the discomfort he'd caused her to feel within her own skin transformed into blinding, hot rage.
And then she acted for herself, for Hermione, for every Muggle-Born at Hogwarts.
She punched Draco Malfoy in the face with as much strength as she could muster.
September 19, 2000
Only an hour after sunrise, Iris and Draco Apparated onto the Viaduct bridge, right outside the boundary that protected Hogwarts against intruders, and were greeted by Professor Flitwick who was all smiles as he welcomed his former students.
As they followed Flitwick across the bridge, Iris couldn't help but feel dwarfed by the castle's shadow. She had visited Hogwarts a few times since the last clash against Voldemort, to help aid with the rebuild or to see Hagrid, but the warmth she'd once felt on the school's grounds had yet to return.
Her jovial childhood memories had yet to supersede the loss endured.
Draco's discomfort was obvious as they drifted through the courtyard and across the entrance, as if he expected to burst into flames or be thrown out by an invisible force once his feet crossed over the threshold into the castle.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips once they took a few steps forward and neither occurred.
Flitwick's endless chatter filled the silence between Iris and Draco as they journeyed throughout the castle, his animated delight over how far each of them have come since the War echoing off the flagstone.
Iris and Draco had hardly spoken since he'd pleaded with her to accept his selfish need to protect her without hinderance.
She hadn't been able to accept it wholeheartedly, had never been able to when he'd made similar, subtle requests in the past. So, she'd lied, and although she was constantly being told how horrible of a liar she was, he'd believed her.
She couldn't accept his plea when he refused to let her do the same.
Students began to stop and stare as word spread of just who was trailing the Charms professor. The awe that crossed their faces as they looked over Iris from head to toe transformed into bewilderment, and once they realized it was Draco walking beside her.
Iris glanced at Draco from her peripheral to gauge his reaction, but his face was stone cold.
He either hadn't noticed, or didn't care about, the reaction they were garnering.
Once they reached the gargoyle guarding the Headmistress' Tower, she began to feel oddly out of place. She felt as if she should've been dressed in her old school robes, Gryffindor colors bright and on display, her Prefect badge pinned to her chest.
The only thing that felt right was Draco at her side, a strange sense of déjà vu rushing over as she recalled one particular evening that she and Draco, during their Sixth Year, found themselves waiting to trek up the curling stairs for a scolding from Dumbledore.
She glanced over at Draco once again, unable to stop herself from tracing his figure from head to toe.
McGonagall had requested that they dress as casual as the Ministry would permit, not wanting to alarm the students with the sight of two Aurors storming throughout the castle. The Headmistress had wanted their visit to be perceived as more of a trip down memory lane and less of a Ministry intervention.
Iris, preparing herself for the Pureblood interpretation of casual, had had been pleasantly surprised by the grey long-sleeve and slim-fitting black trousers Draco had managed to throw on, while also retaining a touch of his upbringing with a Rolex around his wrist and a pair of designer charcoal loafers.
She, on the other hand, had managed to piece together an old comfort outfit after spending half the night repairing broken bedroom furniture and mending clothing—A white button-up blouse, decorated with wide, vertical navy-blue stripes, and a navy-blue skirt that flared out at her knees. She'd clasped a brown leather belt at the waistline of the skirt to accentuate her curves and had forgone her usual pair of heels for brown ankle boots.
Draco had given her an eyebrow raise of approval once he'd met her by the front door that morning.
And she'd kicked him in the shin for doing so.
As the curling stairs leading up to the Headmistress' tower began to form, Iris found herself fidgeting with the hawk pendant lying between her collarbones, rotating it nervously between her fingers as the memories of her life as a Hogwarts student gave rise to her anxiety.
Draco, having noticed, laid his hand on the small of her back as Flitwick led them up the stairs. She inhaled and exhaled through her nose as the pressure of his hand calmed her, the heat of his touch prominent through the fabric of her blouse.
He removed his hand as soon as they reached the top of the stairs.
Iris didn't dare glance his way.
As they entered the Headmistress' office, she noticed that the old Transfiguration professor had hardly made a single change to Dumbledore's interior decoration. The only significant differences being moving portraits of Dumbledore and Snape that hung among the rest of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses and a self-playing harp instilled in the corner that lulled soft, peaceful music.
McGonagall herself stood behind her desk, her hands pressed onto the surface and her lips pursed with frustration as her eyes burned holes into the yellowed scraps of parchment laid out before her.
"Minerva, Iris Sinclair and Draco Malfoy have arrived." Flitwick announced.
The Headmistress' focus remained unchanged.
Flitwick cleared his throat loudly.
She flipped over a page of parchment, unaffected by his attempt to grab her attention.
Flitwick huffed with frustration before shouting, "Minerva!"
McGonagall jumped from the volume of Flitwick's voice, placing a hand over her heart as she did so, and her eyes widened with surprise as she absorbed the sight of the group standing before her.
"My goodness, I apologize for not hearing you arrive. I've just been entranced with these ridiculous course schedules." She waved around a scrap of parchment before letting it float back onto her desk. "Iris, Draco, I'm glad to see you arrived without difficulty. It truly is wonderful to see you both."
Draco was unable to hide the shock that crossed his face at McGonagall's warm welcome.
"Professor, are you alright?" Iris asked. "You seem a bit out of sorts."
The witch had discarded her usual pointed black hat and her tight topknot was coming loose, stray grey hairs sticking out at all angles. Her glasses, perched upon the bridge of her nose, accentuated the exhaustion present within her eyes.
Iris had never seen her this flustered, not even when the castle was about to be stormed by a horde of Death Eaters.
"I'm well enough, but the state of this castle, however—" McGonagall huffed as she rested her hands on her hips. "Half of the staff are laid up in the Hospital Wing after a bad batch of Hagrid's Treacle Tarts and finding coverage for the courses affected has been quite troublesome."
"I was in charge of the Flying lessons for the Second Year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors this morning." Flitwick added, his eyes widening as a thought crossed his mind. "It didn't go well."
Iris held back a startled laugh as her gaze returned to McGonagall.
"Is there anything Draco and I can do to help?" Iris asked. "We only need a few moments of your time but, if you can't seem to find a use for us until you're available, we can return later this week when things have settled."
"No, no, no. I wouldn't want you to waste the trip." McGonagall dismissed her with a wave. "Let's see," She began to shuffle through the scraps of parchment on her desk, "Poppy is due for help in the Hospital Wing, oh, and Sybil will need relief after balancing Divination and Muggle Studies—"
"Minerva, what about Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Flitwick interrupted her.
"Oh, Filius, you're right!" McGonagall exclaimed. "I need coverage for Fourth Year Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—at this very minute." The witch's eyes were alight as she said, "What better substitute for Professor Fenwick than a pair of Aurors?"
Iris' eyes widened. "That isn't exactly what I had—"
Draco interrupted her. "You want us to teach?"
"Is that going to be an issue?" McGonagall asked, her eyes flitting between Iris and Draco.
"Yes—"
"Absolutely not." Draco answered. "Sinclair and I would be glad to."
Iris' jaw went slack at Draco's eagerness. "Excuse me, but I—"
"Brilliant." McGonagall smiled brightly. "After your lecture, head to the Potions classroom to speak with Slughorn. He'll still be in class with his Sixth Year N.E.W.T. students for a few more minutes, but once you're finished there, come and find me and we can run through your questions."
"Wait, I never agreed to—" Iris began.
Draco stepped in front of her, blocking her view of McGonagall.
"We'll head there now. Wouldn't want to be late, now, would we?" Draco smiled cheekily before spinning around and pushing Iris towards the archway they'd just entered through. "Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, you can count on us." He exclaimed over his shoulder, saluting the pair as he did so.
"Draco Malfoy, get your hands off my shoulders this instant or I swear I'll—"
"Silencio." He whispered under his breath as he directed her down the curling staircase.
And, just like that, she was rendered mute.
Draco waited to lift the Silencing Charm until he and Iris had arrived outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, forcing her to act as if her voice hadn't been stolen from her as they passed countless groups of students throughout the corridors.
He'd tried to escape her by barging into the classroom, but she'd jumped into his path and forced the door shut behind her, an array of curse words and threats spewing from her lips.
"Draco Malfoy, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I swear to Merlin that your precious family line will end with you." She threatened. "And not because you'll be dead, but because you'll be physically unable to—"
"Sinclair!" Draco's eyes were wide with horror as he interrupted her. "I believe you, I do, but spar me the graphic details."
"Just as you spared me from your sneaky wandless magic? Are you truly that eager to lecture a bunch of fourteen-year-olds?"
"You're asking if being offered the opportunity to corrupt the youth, to impart my own personal wisdom upon their measly minds, sounded appealing?" He arched an eyebrow. "Do you know who you're speaking to?"
Iris' expression steeled with annoyance. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am." His lips curled into a smirk as he reached around her and turned the knob on the classroom door, shoving it open. "Come on, Sinclair, we've got a class to teach."
He brushed past her and strode into the classroom, leaving Iris without any other choice but to follow him inside.
The Fourth Year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students were dumbstruck as they stared at their substitute instructors.
Draco paced up and down the sliver of space that separated one section of students from the another, his head held high, and a wicked smile plastered across his face.
Iris, further away, leaned against Professor Fenwick's desk, her arms crossed defensively as her eyes inspected every inch of the classroom. They were the same four walls that she'd spent six years of her life within, the same four walls where her bond with Remus Lupin had first formed.
Her last memory within the classroom was of sitting near the front, Hermione beside her, as Severus Snape finished what would become his final lecture of the school year.
The last lecture he would ever give her.
Days later Draco let Death Eaters into the castle and Dumbledore's lifeless body was thrown from the Astronomy Tower.
Less than a year later, Remus died.
And so did Snape.
The ghosts of her past would consume her if she wasn't careful.
Draco cleared his throat loudly, snatching her attention as well as that of the students.
"I assume introductions aren't necessary?" He asked the class.
Iris stifled a snort as every student shook their head.
"Good." Draco announced cheerily as he drifted towards Iris. "Now, Professor Fenwick is ill, so Headmistress McGonagall has asked Auror Sinclair and I to cover your lecture for the day. Who can tell me where you left off last class?"
A few reluctant hands raised.
Draco settled beside Iris and called on a lanky, red-haired boy. "You, Hufflepuff with the pumpkin juice on your robes."
The boy flushed red at Draco's comment. "We were discussing the use of counter-curses when casting jinxes against dueling opponents. Professor Fenwick promised to introduce us to the Tempest Jinx—sir."
"Sir. I like the sound of that." Draco boasted and Iris rolled her eyes. "The Tempest Jinx? That's a favorite of Gellert Grindelwald's. Or was?" He frowned. "Sinclair, is Grindelwald dead? I can never keep track these days."
Iris resisted the urge to face-palm before answering his question.
"Yes, murdered by Voldemort. Surprised you didn't know considering—"
"Hey, hey, hey!" Draco's jaw went slack at her insinuation and he turned his back on the students. "No Death Eater jokes in front of the children." He whispered. "I'm trying to rebuild my reputation here."
"Oh, for Christ's sake." She grumbled as she leaned off the desk and pushed Draco out of her way. "How about, instead of wherever that was leading, you lot observe Auror Malfoy and I duel, we discuss as a class which spells you found the most effective, and then we let you out early?"
The students were too starstruck by Iris's direct acknowledgement to respond.
Iris sighed. "Nod for yes. Shake your head for no."
The nods were overwhelming.
"Alright, that's what I thought." She spun around on her heel and met eyes with Draco. "Sound good?"
Draco's lips curled devilishly. "I call offense."
"Predictable." She scoffed.
They moved far enough away from each other to prevent inflicting actual harm before retrieving their wands and formalizing their dueling stances. Iris squared her feet and raised her wand, her eyes meeting Draco's across the classroom.
"On three." He announced as an expression of unabashed mischief brightened his face.
Iris narrowed her eyes daringly, "One."
"Two."
"Three!" She shouted.
"Rictusempra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Draco was a millisecond quicker than her with his casting of the Tickling Charm and she buckled over with laughter, the feeling of someone tracing a million feathers up and down her body too much to handle. The classroom erupted into laughter as she strained to compose herself, her lungs burning as she struggled to regain her breath.
Once she was able to compose herself, she glared at Draco.
"Rictusempra? Honestly?" She spat. "Is this Second Year?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "It's an old favorite."
"Raise your wand." She ground through her teeth. "Again, on three."
"One."
"Two."
"Three!"
"Impedimenta!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Iris hit Draco with the Impediment Curse and his body movements slowed exponentially. She observed gleefully as it took a whole minute for his mouth to close and for his dueling arm to return to his side.
"Funny." He spat once he'd been freed from time's restraints.
"It's an old favorite." She mocked.
Without warning, Draco raised his wand and shouted, "Tarantallegra!"
Iris darted out of the way to avoid being hit and a scorch mark was left on the wall behind her as result.
"You bastard!" She shouted. "I wasn't ready!"
"And? We're supposed to teaching!" Draco motioned to the students, their eyes glued to Iris and Draco's every move. "Your opponent is never going to wait for you to be ready outside of this castle."
Iris raised her wand and shouted, "Bombarda!"
Draco fell to the floor and the charm hit the window behind him instead, shattering the glass.
His face was aghast as he jumped to his feet.
"I called offense!"
Iris smiled at the students. "When fighting for your life, you and your opponent aren't going to designate who is offense and who is defense." She shifted his gaze back towards Draco, "Isn't that right?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, resuming his dueling stance without another word.
And that was when she knew that this wasn't going to end well.
"Incarcerous!"
"Protego!"
"Deprimo!"
"Langlock!"
"Depulso!"
"Diffindo!"
Half an hour passed before Professor Flitwick burst into the classroom, having been informed of the disastrous duel by a student that had managed to slip away.
The sight of students using their books as shields, of shattered windows and scorch marks along the walls and the flooring, and of Iris and Draco hiding from one another on opposite ends of Fenwick's desk was enough for the Charms professor to go red with rage.
Class was promptly dismissed.
After their failed attempt at Defense Against the Dark Arts instructing, and after a brief lecturing from Professor Flitwick who chastised the pair as if they were still under his tutelage, Iris and Draco were sent on their way to meet with Professor Slughorn.
They bickered the entire trek to the Dungeons, neither one willing to be blamed for taking the duel a bit too far, and, as they debated whose side Flitwick seemed to have been leaning more towards, they walked directly into a thick mist near the Potions classroom.
Iris stifled a gasp as her senses were overwhelmed with an array of scents. Teakwood oil, cinnamon whiskey, and burning firewood clouded her inhibition—the faintest hints of tea leaves, worn leather, and tart apple lingering as a past memory.
Slughorn was teaching his Sixth Year N.E.W.T. students how to brew Amortentia.
"Fucking Horace." Draco grumbled. "Teaching a bunch of hormone-crazed teenagers how to brew the most powerful love potion in existence is asking for disaster."
"We dealt with it then, when we were those hormone-crazed teenagers, we can deal with it now—"
She lost her train of thought as her gaze shifted to Draco's, his pupils doubling as they locked eyes.
Heat rose within her cheeks at the intensity of his stare, at the shaky heave of his chest, and she felt a primal urge to twist her fingers into the collar of shirt and—
The slam of the door to the Slytherin Common Room startled her out of the Amortentia-induced trance and she cleared her throat loudly as she tore her eyes away from his.
"We should head inside."
Draco managed a simple, "Uh huh."
They kept a distance from one another, Draco remaining a few steps behind, as they drifted under the archway that led into the Potions classroom. The sounds of their footsteps upon the stone echoed loudly, alerting Slughorn and his students to their arrival before they stepped into view.
"And that is why we never slip our peers a love potion—Iris Sinclair!" Professor Slughorn's face brightened once he caught sight of Iris, his eyes then darting to Draco over her shoulder. "And Draco Malfoy! Come, come, I was just finishing up my lesson on Amortentia."
"Hello, Professor." Iris feigned a smile. "And yes, we figured that. A mist of it has drifted out into the corridor."
The students parted divisively as Iris and Draco drifted past them and their boiling cauldrons, the wafts of Amortentia becoming near unbearable the closer they reached Slughorn's perfect rendition of it on his table.
Slughorn smiled widely as they joined his side. "Iris, is the scent any different to you now? It's known to mature over time, as our personalities and interests most often do."
Iris laughed uncomfortably before answering, "I smell teakwood oil, cinnamon whiskey, and burning firwood now, but there are still hints of before."
"Fascinating!" Slughorn's eyes widened before focusing on Draco. "And what about you, Mister Malfoy?
"Oh, I don't—"
"Yes, Draco." Iris interrupted. "Why don't you also share with the class?"
He glared at her before responding, "It's the same as before. It hasn't changed."
"Which is?" Professor Slughorn pushed further. "My memory isn't what it used to be you know."
Draco looked around the classroom, a disgruntled expression forming upon his face as he noticed that everyone's eyes were trained solely on him. He clenched his jaw and ground through his teeth, "Butterscotch, amber perfume, and the morning air after a snowfall."
"Splendid! I must say that is the perfect conclusion for today's lesson, a real life example of evolving attraction and one of consistency!" Professor Slughorn exclaimed. "So, once you drain your cauldrons and clean your tables, you're all free to go."
The students began to ruffle and scuttle around excitedly, daring to nervously glance towards Iris and Draco as Slughorn turned to face the pair head-on.
"I understand from your letter that you have questions regarding my tutelage of Regulus Black, but, as Minerva undoubtedly explained to the two of you when you arrived, we are a bit short-staffed, and I am needed elsewhere." Slughorn rambled as he began packing up his things. "I apologize sincerely, but I must rush off to cover Professor Caplan's Transfiguration class with the Third Year Gryffindors and Slytherins."
Iris couldn't believe her luck, or, more appropriately, her lack of it.
"But, Professor, it is of the utmost importance that Draco and I speak with you—"
"Yes, yes, yes, I know." Professor Slughorn asserted as he began backing towards the exit. "And that is why I will find you later. Stay here with the rest of the students until they finish cleaning up, will you? Oh, and leave my brew of Amortentia, I want to fill up a couple vials!"
Slughorn rushed out of the classroom before Iris and Draco could protest, waving at the pair over his shoulder as he did so.
"Fuck." Iris grumbled as she slouched against Slughorn's table. "It's going to be nightfall before we get any answers at all."
"Is that such a bad thing?" Draco asked as he observed the students cleaning their cauldrons. "I happen to be enjoying myself, but you've been desperate to leave ever since we Apparated onto the Viaduct bridge."
"I'm not desperate to leave, I just—" She sighed. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."
To her surprise, he didn't push for a further explanation and instead the pair resigned themselves to a comfortable silence as they waited for the Sixth Year students to finish clearing their tables. Most of the students anxiously introduced themselves to Iris before they exited the classroom and a few even dared to acquaint themselves with Draco.
The tiniest crack of joy crossed Draco's face at not being entirely shunned by the older students.
After the exit of the last student, the only noise to be heard was the bubbling of Slughorn's Amortentia potion—the repeated popping of the bubbles emphasizing the anxiety Iris felt over being alone with Draco in their old Potions classroom.
She glanced over at Draco, the rigid set of his posture indicating that a similar thought was at the forefront of his mind.
"Butterscotch?" She questioned, breaking the silence.
"Yeah." His brow furrowed at her continued confusion. "You don't remember? Fourth Year, you used to buy sacks of butterscotch candies from Honeyduke's. They would fall out of your pockets during class."
Draco's recollection brought the memory to the surface.
"I was on edge constantly because of the Triwizard Tournament and the butterscotch candies were my comfort food." Iris frowned. "It did the trick, but God, did it put me off butterscotch for the rest of my life. I can't believe I forgot about that."
Draco slowly inched closer.
"The first time I kissed you I couldn't stop thinking about how you tasted like butterscotch."
Iris leveled her gaze at him as he placed himself directly in front of her.
"And I couldn't stop thinking about how the vilest boy I'd ever met had just stolen my first kiss."
"Ouch." Draco feigned offense as he rested his hands near hers on the table. "You don't play fair."
"Neither do you." Her cheeks warmed as his height towered over her, as she found herself stuck between Draco and table behind her. "And you're far too close, back up."
"Am I?" He arched an eyebrow. "I'm under the impression that I'm not close enough."
Iris snorted at his cocky tone. "The Amortentia fumes are getting to your head."
"Maybe." He considered. "But there wasn't any Amortentia around last Friday."
"Oh, no. We are never speaking about last Friday."
"And why not?"
"Because it was nothing but a drunken interaction and, I might add, a power play on your part." She pursed her lips. "That's what I thought? You've always been one for dramatics but that was purely theatrical."
His mouth quirked amusingly at her imitation.
"I wonder—" Her eyes alight with mischief as she felt the desire to push his boundaries. "Did you ever manage to bring Astoria that cup of Valerian Root tea?"
A growl of annoyance left Draco's lips as he hung his head defeatedly.
"Must you always bring her up?" He grumbled as his eyes returned to hers. "The way the buttons on your blouse are straining against your breasts is driving me mad and you bringing up another woman is only going to ruin the mood."
Iris' heart pounded ferociously at his words.
She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest and feigned stabilization as she responded with, "It's difficult for me not to bring it up when you refuse to acknowledge, or even explain, what is going on between the two of you."
With another groan Draco rested his head on her shoulder.
"Gods, why does it matter?" He spoke into the fabric of her blouse.
His lips burned into her shoulder through the fabric, rendering her speechless.
At her lack of response, Draco raised his head and locked her gaze with his once more.
"Why does it matter?" He repeated.
The vulnerability, the blatant desire for the truth within his eyes rattled her.
"You know why."
"I do know why, but I want to hear you say it."
"No." She spat. "Now back up."
She pushed at his shoulders, but he'd steeled his position and didn't budge.
She gasped as he snatched her hands off his shoulders and curled his fingers around her wrists, pinning her hands back onto the desk and locking her there with his grip.
"Tell me." He insisted. "Tell me."
The rasp of his voice and the feeling of his fingers tight around her wrists were doing unspeakable things to her mind and her body and the haze of Amortentia was making it near impossible to bear.
She sighed resignedly, closing her eyes briefly before returning her gaze to his.
"I'm jealous."
Draco's eyes darkened at the revelation.
"Say it again."
"No."
He removed his left hand from her wrist and delicately laid his fingers across her jaw.
"Say it again."
She felt weak at the knees as she repeated, "I'm jealous."
Draco's lips curled arrogantly.
"It's about time you admit it to yourself."
Iris raised her free hand to smack the arrogant expression from his face, but he caught her wrist once again before she made contact.
He forced her hand back onto the table, rage boiling within her as he did so.
They remained in that position as the seconds ticked by, her hands glued to the table by his, their foreheads nearly touching although his height overpowered hers by over a foot of difference, until a student burst into the classroom expecting to find Professor Slughorn.
They jolted apart at the interruption.
And after hurriedly explaining Slughorn's whereabouts, Iris and Draco slipped past the student desperately avoiding eye contact.