Iris Potter and the Goblet's Surprise

by AutumnSouls

The Girl Who Lived is young, small, but fierce and not easily controlled. A story of her mischief and troubles in her fourth year of Hogwarts. New tasks, lots of snarky humor, fem!Harry/Fleur. ABANDONED.

11. Masquerades and Moonlight

Disclaimer:

Just a reminder that none of this story is mine; not this chapter, nor the rest.

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Chapter 11

Masquerades and Moonlight

1994, December 2, Gryffindor Common Room.

"If you don't do what I say," Iris muttered under her breath, her quill scribbling away on the parchment, "I will turn you into a rat, then feed you to my pet basilisk. Wishing we were better strangers, your freak of a cousin."

Hermione watched on disapprovingly.

"There!" Iris said happily, folding up the parchment and putting it in her pocket. She looked over at Hermione. "Why so glum?"

"What did you say he had to do?" she asked, and her eyebrows began waggling uncontrollably.

"His homework," Iris lied, biting back the urge to laugh. She had placed an Eyebrow Waggling Jinx on Hermione an hour before, and though she tried, Hermione was unable to stop it; this was likely because Iris had hid the book that contained the counter-jinx. It was fading now, and the amount of times they began waggling per minute was decreasing, but Iris and Ron found it better when they couldn't predict when it would happen.

"Does he even know what a basilisk is?" asked Hermione, covering her eyebrows with her hand.

"Fear of the unknown, Hermione, fear of the unknown," Iris said, patting Hermione's shoulder. "It'll keep him guessing, keep him on his toes."

"Oi, Potter!" yelled a voice from behind them.

Iris turned around to see Cormac McLaggen. "McLaggen, I swear on my magic, if you ask me one more time —"

"C'mon!" he moaned playfully. "We'll have a good time, eh?"

Iris stood up, pulling her wand out discreetly. "McLaggen, every time you ask me from now on, this will be my answer — Stupefy!"

McLaggen dropped to the floor, the goofy grin that he must have thought was roguish still on his face. Iris sat back down, dragging her hand down her face in irritation. The idiot had asked her to the Yule Ball a total of eleven times now. She had lost count of how many times she had been asked in total. Two dozen or so from Hogwarts and another dozen combined from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, if Iris had to hazard a guess. And they weren't all different people; some asked more than once, a few more than twice. And it was only the second of December. It was driving her mad, especially as she still had no intention of attending the ball.

"That's the fourth boy you've Stunned," Hermione said, casually observing McLaggen's form on the ground.

"I've only Stunned those who were too stupid to take no for an answer," Iris pointed out irritably.

Ron flopped into a chair near them just then. "At least you get asked," he said. "I wish I could have a girl ask me. Why do we have to do the work? Say, Iris... you're the type of confident person to do something like that. Why don't you just ask the boy you want to go with?"

"I don't want to go with anyone," Iris said.

Ron seemed mildly disappointed at this. "Well, I'm not even sure who I'd like to go with."

"Go big," Iris suggested. "Go ask Fleur. Cho Chang. Daphne Greengrass. The Patils. Lavender. Hermione."

"I don't think I belong in the same —"

"God, shut up, Hermione," Iris groaned. "Just shut the hell up. No one is calling you a supermodel. When the day of the ball comes, I promise you you'll be receiving jealous looks."

"Greengrass is that Slytherin, isn't she?" Ron asked, his upper lip curling up into a sneer.

"Yes, she is. The blonde. And don't do that," Iris said, looking pointedly at Ron's lips. "You look like Malfoy, and that's the only way you can lose the remaining dignity you have."

Ron snorted. "You're an asshole, Iris. But no thanks. Greengrass is alright looking, I suppose… but…"

"Alright looking?" Iris asked, jerking her head. "Are you mad?"

Ron shrugged. "I'm not into blondes. That Davis girl is nice, I think. Still a Slytherin though."

"Not into blondes?" Iris echoed. "You drool anytime Fleur walks by, you goofball."

"Fleur isn't a blonde. She's silver."

"And Greengrass is gold," Iris said firmly.

"You're awfully defensive, Iris," said Hermione. Her eyebrows were raised slightly, knowingly.

Iris shook her head. "Fine. Go for the others then. There's one here right now. Hermione, sit still while Ron asks you to the ball."

At that moment, Iris could swear that a small flicker of flames shot out of Hermione's nose as her eyes flashed with indignation.

"Excuse me?" she said. "If Ron wishes to ask me, he can do so when he decides to, and not by your command."

"She's right," said Ron. "It'd be weird, wouldn't it? Asking her just because you told me to."

Shortly later, Ron went back to complaining about being the one who would have to ask a girl to the dance. Iris fished more parchment out of her bag and began working on her Potions essay. Ron and Hermione bickered about whose life was easier in the background. Iris did her best to ignore this.

"Girls are lucky," Ron grumbled for the third time. "You've got it easy."

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "It's not all that great, you know!"

"Yeah," snorted Iris, "a third of our time is spent bleeding and crying, while boys twirl their cocks around like a lasso, hoping to catch anything that moves."

"Hear, hear!" said Lavender and Parvati loudly from their table, and they both burst into giggles at the sight of Dean and Seamus, who both looked like they wanted to refute what Iris had said, but couldn't seem to find the words.

"Not exactly the way I would have phrased it," said Hermione slowly, still looking at Iris as if she was some odd new creature Hagrid had brought to class. Ron wasn't looking at either of them. He looked to be trying his hardest to not meet the eyes of any girl in the room, in fact, and there was a small bit of pink in his face. Hermione went back to her essay.

"Hey, is there a spell to detect magic?" Iris asked curiously, a little later.

"Okay," said Hermione vaguely, too absorbed in her own work.

"Okay?" repeated Iris. "Perfect. Cheers, Hermione."

"Sorry, what?" Hermione asked, looking up in confusion at Iris's sarcasm.

"I asked if there was a spell to detect magic."

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "It would be a silly though, wouldn't it? You'd use magic, so of course it would detect magic. Why?"

"Something Slytherin's portrait said to me," Iris muttered, then more loudly, "It doesn't matter." She tossed her Potions essay back in her bag, only a few sentences having been written out, and pulled out a book on Ancient Runes. "Do you know anything about blood runes?"

"I know that they're illegal," Hermione said through narrowed eyes.

"So they likely wouldn't in this book?"

"They might mention them, but you won't learn how to do them, of course."

"What do you know about them?"

"Well," Hermione said, straightening her back, her lecture tone starting up, "they're considered Dark Magic, and not like the dark jinxes and hexes students here use on each other — illegal Dark Magic. The official term blood runes fall under is called Blood Sorcery, but that's a much broader term that describes any magic that involves the use of one's own blood. It's been dying out over the decades, if it hasn't already."

"But, Hermione, didn't — er — didn't we use blood magic on our trunks?"

"What we did was legal," said Hermione. "McGonagall showed me it, remember? The magic that only needs a drop or two of blood is mostly legal, but most magic that falls under Blood Sorcery needs more than a few drops."

"Is that why it's been dying out? People getting stingy with their blood?"

"Of course not," said Hermione. "It's been banned for a long time for one. I imagine there are some blood runes that don't require much blood and are mostly harmless, but there's some really nasty stuff in that category of magic too. Some of the blood rituals I've seen mentioned in books talk of steep prices."

"What, like sacrificing a virgin?" Iris asked. She jerked a thumb over at Ron. "Wouldn't be too hard to find one."

"Oi!"

"Yes, actually," said Hermione. "Well, I'm not certain, but I wouldn't be surprised at all. You might have to sacrifice an entire unicorn just so your wounds can regenerate a little quicker, or so you can have a better sense of smell or something. Like I said, the price for the smallest improvement is always steep. It's why the Ministry outlawed it. Some wizards would kill a dozen muggles just to be able to stay conscious if they take a single Stunning Spell. Not multiple, Iris, just one. The second would take them down."

The solemn tone was ruined by Hermione's eyebrows waggling furiously again. Ron made an odd squealing sound as he tried to hold back his laughter. Hermione huffed, eyebrows looking ready to blast off, and said, "I'm going to the library. You two are so immature!"

Iris chuckled as she left, then was forced to reapply the Sticking Charm to the mandrake leaf, which was becoming exponentially annoying.

"Say, Iris?"

Iris looked over to Ron, a smile still on her face. "Yeah?"

"I — I was wondering — I was just…" Ron began, his cheeks turning a red Iris hadn't seen on his face in a long time, encounters with Fleur Delacour aside. It then hit Iris that she hadn't talked with Fleur ever since the first task. Was Fleur really bitter about losing? Ron coughed, and he looked ready to speak again, but McGonagall entered the common room just then.

She scanned the room before her eyes fell on Iris. "Potter, may we talk?"

One corner of Iris's lip pressed inward as she attempted a smile. "Sure, Professor."

She lifted herself up and followed McGonagall out of the room, ignoring Fred and George who were betting on what she was in trouble for, and pulling out her wand and threatening another Gryffindor who looked ready to ask her to the ball — again. McGonagall stayed silent as she took Iris down the stairs and into the nearest classroom. She shut the door with a wave of her wand, and continued to wave it.

"Privacy charms," she said, taking Iris's look as curiosity.

It was really apprehension. Had she pushed McGonagall too far? Would anyone be able to hear her scream? Iris almost laughed at her dramatic thoughts.

"I need to talk about the Yule Ball, Potter," said McGonagall.

"I don't really think I'd be much of a conversationalist for that, seeing as I'm not going."

"Yes, I know," McGonagall said flatly.

Iris looked at her strangely. "Then why am I here?"

"You — you need to find someone willing to be Iris Potter for a few hours," said McGonagall, her tone suggesting that the sentence was rather difficult to say. She reached into her robes and pulled out a small vial. It had five long hairs in it.

Iris's jaw dropped. "Is that — no way — you actually took my hair off the ground?"

McGonagall looked as though she had swallowed a whole bag of Dumbledore's lemon drops, but she nodded anyway.

Iris couldn't help it, she didn't even try to stop it: she burst into laughter. She couldn't believe it. She had pulled out her hair and suggested Polyjuice Potion mostly as a joke, dropped the hairs as an ultimate sign of disrespect, and yet, McGonagall had sunk so low as to actually go with her plan.

Just then, a boy's head popped in through the door. Evidently, Professor McGonagall hadn't thought to actually lock it. Iris recognized him as a sixth year in Hufflepuff, but she couldn't remember his name.

"Er — Potter?" he said, looking nervous, then he saw McGonagall in the room as well, looking irritated. "Oh, Professor! Right — I — I was just wondering, Potter —"

"Is this about the Yule Ball?" Iris interrupted. "Trust me, you don't want me as your partner. I won't take it seriously. I'll make us both look like fools. I'll be that woman who ends up dying with a dozen kneazles as my only friends — no, seriously, I'm doing you a favor. Go ask someone who'll enjoy their time there."

The dumbstruck Hufflepuff nodded slowly, then retreated from the open door.

When the door closed, Iris turned back to McGonagall. "Looks like we'll need to find someone who's going to make a fool of themselves. Otherwise, that boy's gonna catch on and realize I played him. You don't want to break a poor boy's heart, do you, Professor?"

"Potter," McGonagall said impatiently, "I'm completely certain McLaggen was the way he was in the common room because of you. Don't play stupid games with me, I've seen over a dozen students walk to you in the Great Hall only to have to walk back, usually with a defeated look about them. Your numbers are only beat by your fellow champion, Fleur Delacour — and no, I am not saying this to flatteryou."

Iris didn't hear a word of this, as she was beginning to realize that she was running out of absurd excuses to use on boys asking her to the dance. She preferred to use the more ridiculous ones because she thought it was better that they walk away confused and unnerved by her, perhaps even relieved that she had declined, rather than embarrassed and hurt.

There was also something inexplicably funny about seeing the expression on people's faces after she gave her excuse, as though the cogs in their brains were working overtime to think of something to say back to her. She wasn't sure if it was okay that she was making a bit of a game out of it.

One of her more favorite excuses was when she had said, 'Oh, sorry. I think of you more as a brother.' It would have left her feeling a little guilty if she had said it to someone she actually talked to, but to a random fifth-year Ravenclaw she had never spoken to once in her life, it was fucking hilarious.

She noticed McGonagall was still talking, unaware that Iris hadn't heard a word.

"Yeah, of course, Professor," Iris said absentmindedly, making a mental note to ask Dumbledore about using his Pensieve.

"Excellent, Potter," McGonagall said, relieved. "Just make sure she — or… he — is completely willing. Do — not — bribe — them."

"What?"

"Do not bribe them, do not threaten them, do not shove a love potion down their throat."

McGonagall gave her a hard stare before turning around, leaving Iris behind to stare at her retreating form, feeling slightly offended.

She would never use a love potion.

---

o

Warrington v Delacour

o

---

The day of the duel between Fleur Delacour and Cassius Warrington arrived quickly. The student body grew nearly as excited for the duel as they did with the first task. Iris had the distinct impression that many of them believed they were going to witness some spectacular spectacle. These were mostly the younger students, however, as they looked up to the seventh years as incredibly powerful — and they were, when compared to first years. She was guilty of this as well, at least when she was a first year. In her second year, she realized most students, whatever their year, sucked.

"Who do you think will win?" Hermione asked her as she and Iris sat down in the Quidditch stands. The duel was to be done here. It wasn't a simple stage like it had been for Lockhart's dueling 'lessons' two years prior. It looked a bit like a mix between a large playground, about the size of half the Quidditch field, and a paintball arena she had once seen on television.

There were numerous large trees planted throughout the arena, each one holding a small building that was built into them, made out of what looked like stone and wood. It looked like some sort of village made of tree houses, and many of these tree houses were connected with others: wide and stable bridges that looked like they wouldn't waver if there was an explosion; narrow and unstable bridges that would definitely sway if a single person stepped on them; there were even a few that Iris wasn't sure could qualify as bridges, as the wooden boards weren't connected to the other wooden boards, and were just hanging by ropes.

There were also several large platforms, all floating a dozen or so feet above the ground, spread around. These weren't connected to anything, however, and Iris wasn't sure what the trick there was, as each of these platforms had walls and what looked like boulders set upon them. It looked as though the champions were meant to use these as cover from spellfire, but unless they were meant to jump onto these from the bridges and treehouses above, Iris wasn't sure what they were to be used for.

It really looked no less than what Iris expected from this tournament — in other words, a death trap. She briefly wondered how many psychopathic tournament designers it took for this tournament to be passed. Maybe they were all lunatics. Otherwise, surely one of them would realize that they were going a bit overboard with the lethality, not to mention all while saying there were safety precautions set in place.

"Fleur," Iris answered, her eyes taking in the entire arena. She wasn't sure if she'd have to duel Krum in the very same one, but it couldn't hurt to be prepared for that scenario anyway.

"You're just saying that because you think she's attractive," Hermione said.

"Yeah, Warrington will be too busy jerking off to defend himself."

There was a moment of silence.

"What's wrong with you?" Hermione asked, sounding interested in the answer.

"Would you like your answer with or without profanity?"

"Without," said Hermione dryly. "Actually, don't answer that."

"Ha," laughed Iris, "you're getting better at avoiding my traps. Where's Ron?"

"I told him to go get us drinks," Hermione said. "I think he needed to get away for a little bit since you wouldn't stop calling him firecrotch. You're torturing him, honestly."

"You'd think you'd be the prude."

Hermione's face twitched with something Iris couldn't identify.

"Yes, well, spending over three years as your best friend does leave its marks," said Hermione. "Ron isn't there on late nights in our dormitory, where you begin listing people you'd see have sex purely out of morbid curiosity."

"That's rather disturbing."

Iris and Hermione turned around quickly. They had thought they were the only ones in this part of the stadium. They weren't, as Cassius Warrington stood near one of the Quidditch pitch tower entrances.

Iris frowned at him. "What did you hear? Hermione, Obliviate him."

"He couldn't have heard anything bad," said Hermione. "Besides, I don't know how to do the Memory Charm."

Iris frowned at her. "Why not? Warrington, find me a new best friend."

Hermione sniffed.

"Aren't you supposed to be down there?" Iris asked Cassius. "It's starting soon."

"In a few minutes," Cassius confirmed. "I wanted to get a better view of the arena. It's unique. Isn't it?"

"That's one word for it," Iris said wryly.

"I heard you two," he continued. "Your performance in the first task had me curious, I'll admit, so I stuck around." Cassius laughed quietly. "I can assure you that Delacour won't cause me to begin…"

"Jerking off?"

"Must you be that crude?" Cassius said, though his tone wasn't biting. "But then I heard something interesting — it seems that one of us might still have issue with keeping focus during a duel with her."

Iris's mouth went very dry.

"It's not what you think," he added. He walked down the stairs to sit near both Iris and Hermione, both of which now had stony faces despite his reassurance. He gave a sort of facial shrug with a quick tilt of his head. "I don't care who catches your eye. Most don't — I'm not really sure why it is that you're so concerned over people finding it out. Most traditionalists would care, I suppose, but they already don't like you. Actually, it's very convenient — for me, at least."

"Why?" said Hermione. "You needed blackmail material?"

"No. I've got enough of that," said Cassius, and he smiled slyly at Hermione — though, Iris had the impression he was joking. "You see, the two of us must go to this Yule Ball whether we want to or not. I've heard you don't."

Iris nodded reluctantly, feeling frustrated — partly because of the Yule Ball issue and partly because the idea of her caution with her sexuality being unnecessary made her feel foolish.

"I'm already in a relationship," Cassius continued. "She no longer goes to Hogwarts — but you might know her, seeing as she was involved in the Chamber of Secrets incident. Penelope Clearwater?"

Hermione looked at Iris questioningly, then turned back to Cassius. "Isn't she going out with Percy? Weasley, I mean."

"She was," he replied. "Apparently, his head got the better of him and he cared more about pleasing the Ministry than he did her. We met over the summer."

"Your time for chatting is running out, pretty boy," Iris said, not really seeing the point of any of this. "What do you want, exactly? For the two of us to protest this? Hold up signs? Sorry, I didn't even do that for that Ravenclaw last year that everyone loved for some reason."

"She was deaf, Iris," chided Hermione. "You know that. And no one asked you to learn sign language, don't be ridiculous. People liked her because she didn't let it get to her. She still got great marks on her exams."

"Yeah, say what you want about her…" Iris said, letting the sentence hang for a moment.

"But?"

"Hm? No, seriously, say what you want about her, she can't hear you."

Hermione laughed, then covered her mouth with her hand. "You're horrible."

"My time is running out," Cassius said, stopping Iris's response to Hermione. He stood up. "I can't find anyone who would be willing to go with me and not try anything — the younger Greengrass sister would fit, but the older, Daphne, said she'd — well, she doesn't want me taking her younger sister. You wouldn't try anything, though, would you? Don't even find me attractive. Would you want to go together?"

"Oh," Iris said, surprised. "Er — well — I'm not — I don't think I'm actually going to the Yule Ball," she admitted. "I told McGonagall she could use my hairs for a Polyjuice Potion, because I'd make a fool out of myself, and by extension, Hogwarts. She told me to find someone who's willing to pretend to be me for the night. Who's Daphne's younger sister?"

"Astoria Greengrass," Cassius said. "You're thinking of talking her into pretending to be you? Could work… if she doesn't already have a date, and if Daphne doesn't figure it out."

"Me talk her into it?" Iris asked, laughing. "Oh, no, the whole reason I'm not going is because I want as little to do with this as possible. You do it."

"And if she accepts?"

Iris shrugged. "Tell her to see McGonagall. But I would like to see if she can act."

"I'll talk to her then." He turned to go, but stopped. "I suppose I shouldn't ask for you to wish me luck?"

"Have you grown tits in the last minute?" Iris asked.

Hermione groaned.

"I should hope not," Cassius said, patting his own chest.

"That's my answer too."

The duel between Fleur and Cassius had already begun by the time Ron made his way back with three butterbeers.

"Need help with that?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I'm not a bloody octopus, so yeah," said Ron, struggling to carry three glasses down the stairs of the stands.

So far, neither champion had managed to hit the other with a spell. They were taking turns playing cat and mouse, making their way from tree house to tree house, platform to platform — which were to be Apparated on, as Bagman had pointed out to the stands after Cassius had left them.

Another disadvantage Iris would have to put up with, apparently. It irritated her immensely. Her regret for treating Krum as she did increased as the duel stretched on. She knew she didn't stand a chance if neither could Apparate, but with only Krum having the ability? Couldn't he just Apparate behind her? She could only hope his Apparition was loud. Either way, it sucked.

"Say, Iris?" Ron said, pulling her out of her brooding. "The Yule Ball is coming up."

"Wow," Iris said flatly, not taking her eyes off the duel. "An impeccable grasp of the obvious, congratulations."

"Don't be an arse," said Ron. "I was wondering — I mean, you haven't got a date yet, do you? And neither —"

"I got a date ten minutes ago. Why? Has someone been meaning to ask me? Tell them no."

"What?" said Ron, startled. Then, a bit more forcefully, "Who?"

"Er — someone," said Iris, not really sure how Ron would react to her agreeing to go with a Slytherin. Then again, it wouldn't really be her. "It won't exactly be me, Ron. Well, I don't know. I might stop by after the opening dance to see what it's like. Polyjuice," she added, seeing Ron's confusion. "I'm having someone else pretend to be me for the night. McGonagall's behind the plan."

Ron's opened mouth didn't seem to want to produce any words. Excited chatter rippled through the stands as Fleur was thrown from a treehouse and onto a slowly collapsing bridge.

"Still, like I just said, I might show up anyway," Iris said. "Think I should get a dress, Hermione?"

"Hm?" Hermione said, not paying any attention. Her eyes were glued to the duel. Fleur and Cassius were trading spells — offensive spell, Shield Charm, offensive spell, Shield Charm, and so on. Iris looked on, feeling unimpressed. Were most duels like this? She doubted Dumbledore and Grindelwald did this for three hours.

"Eh, nothing," Iris said. "Have you got a date yet, Ron?"

"Er — no," said Ron, uncomfortably. "I'll find one. It's no big deal. Who asked you though? Who's going to be dancing with the person pretending to be you?"

"That's a surprise."

Ron didn't look happy at her answer, but he didn't push for more. A moment later, Fleur sent a Severing Charm at the ropes of a bridge directly above Cassius, sending wooden boards raining down on him. He cast a Shield Charm over himself and dove behind cover, but Fleur jumped directly in front of the boulder Cassius hid behind and Summoned several wooden boards that lay behind the boulder. They flew directly into Cassius, and then, with a quick Transfiguration of a few other wooden boards to distract a bruised Cassius, Fleur jumped around the boulder and ended the duel by wrapping Cassius in the cut rope from the broken bridge.

"That's a victory for Fleur Delacour!" Bagman shouted to the cheering and howling audience. "That's ten points to Miss Delacour, pushing her total amount of points to ninety-three! Just one point behind Iris Potter!"

Iris grinned. "Maybe I don't have to worry about winning or losing after all."

"Unless she wins one more duel," Ron pointed out.

Iris's grin slid off her face. "Oh, yeah."

---

A few days later, after Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall ended for the last time that term, Ron and Iris were to be found walking to the kitchens. Well, Ron was simply walking wherever Iris was, not really paying attention to where they were going.

"I can't believe she assigned us extra homework," Ron groaned.

"And because it's break," said Iris. "Not despite it, but because of it. I'll show her break," she grumbled. "Break her fucking legs."

"Er — Iris?" said Ron, sounding concerned.

"Listen, Ron, I've got to do something. I'll meet up with you and Hermione in Care of Magical Creatures, yeah?"

"Oh — er — yeah, sure. I'll see you then."

Two Slytherins and more house-elves than she would know what to do with, which was saying something for Iris Potter, were inside the kitchens when she walked in. She greeted Dobby, ignored Winky's wailing, and made her way to Cassius Warrington and Astoria Greengrass.

"This is her? Looks nothing like Daphne."

"It's her, Potter," said Cassius, using his hand to gesture Astoria to sit down. "Not all sisters look exactly alike."

"And she hasn't got a date already?" Iris asked. Cassius conjured another chair for Iris and she sat down in it.

"I'm right here, you know," said Astoria a little testily. She combed her fingers through her black hair as she leaned back, eerily reminding Iris of herself. Astoria Greengrass had a more heart-shaped face than Daphne, and her eyes were gray rather than the pale blue of her sister — not that there was that much of a difference. "Least you could do is ask me that question."

"Okay," said Iris, patting her head. She looked back to Cassius. "So, does she have a date?"

"Wow," said Astoria with a false expression of awe. "Does this mean I have to pretend to be a bitch all of Christmas?"

Cassius leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, an amused look on his face as he observed the two sitting girls.

"Oh, I doubt you'll have to pretend," said Iris, sliding the pudding a house-elf had just given her across the table to the younger girl. Ignoring Astoria's sputter, she added, "And it'll be just the evening of Christmas — why are you even here if you don't want to do this?"

"I don't believe I've ever met anyone who was able to get off on the wrong foot with people so fast," noted Cassius.

"She knows I'm joking," said Iris confidently. Astoria narrowed her eyes at this, but Iris looked back to her before she could say anything. "So why do this? You're pretty enough to have a bloke or two ask you to the ball."

"Daphne scares them all off," said Astoria, shrugging. "She's super protective. Kinda annoying. But yeah, the only way I'll be able to go to the Yule Ball without Daphne dragging me off the second she sees me is if I don't look like myself."

"Can you act?"

"Is it really that hard to be you?" said Astoria. "All I gotta do is come up with a few creative insults, mix them in with a sarcastic comment, raise an eyebrow sardonically — am I using that word right? — and do that little smirk thing — not like you're being smug or anything, but like you're amused with all of reality and existence. I think I'm missing something..."

"She's observant," said Cassius.

Iris scowled at him. "That's not all there is to me!"

"Ah!" said Astoria. "Yes, that face right there — I gotta use that whenever someone tells me a truth I don't like. Anything I'm missing?"

Iris turned her scowl toward Astoria now. "Yes. Don't forget to battle acromantulas, dementors, dark wizards, a cockatrice, a griffin, a dragon, and a bloody big basilisk too. And to be vilified by the majority of the school for the second time. And to —" Iris paused, staring blankly at Astoria. Then she narrowed her eyes. "You got me riled up on purpose," she said. "The same way I rile people up."

Astoria smirked, lifting one eyebrow slightly, exactly in the way that once more reminded Iris eerily of herself.

"You brushed your hair back when you sat down on purpose too!" Iris exclaimed, standing up suddenly and gaping at Astoria in half-incredulity, half-wonder.

Astoria's smirk grew.

"Told you she'd do good," Cassius said, looking smug.

"Good?" Iris repeated. "She'll completely ruin what's left of my dignity and reputation!"

"Most likely," agreed Cassius.

Iris's face split in a wide smile. "Brilliant!"

Astoria gave a kind of choked, disbelieving laugh. "You — you want me to ruin your reputation?"

"Well, no," Iris admitted. "But it's the sort of thing that comes with being me. You'd be a failure if you didn't shatter my reputation at a big event like this."

Astoria's eyes suddenly shined bright with anticipation.

"Whoa, hey," said Iris, raising both her hands. "That doesn't mean you should go and try to ruin it. It has to happen naturally, without any conscious effort."

Cassius snorted. "This is the most ridiculous conversation I've ever been a part of."

"You don't hang around me enough," said Iris, not sparing him a glance. She was looking at Astoria as though the younger girl was a protégé of hers, ready to leave her guidance and finally enter the dark, difficult world.

"So, Potter, what are you going to be doing the whole time?" asked Astoria.

"Relieving stress," said Iris vaguely.

"Do you taste good?"

"Find out for yourself," said Iris, offering Astoria her index and middle finger. Astoria looked confused, while Cassius closed his eyes as though to give himself patience.

"The Polyjuice Potion — will yours taste good?"

"Oh," said Iris. "How should I know? Why would I ever try my own juice?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Why would I ever try my own Polyjuice?" Iris tried again.

"Dunno," said Astoria. "I just hope it does."

"It depends on the person's nature," said Cassius. "Whether they're a good person or not. The color differs on that."

"Goyle and Crabbe had a disgusting color and taste," said Iris.

"You've taken Polyjuice before?" asked Astoria.

"Yep," said Iris. "Goyle's. Or Crabbe's. I forget. It was really odd growing a —"

"Nevermind!" Astoria quickly said, beginning to go red. "So, what now?" she asked, her voice almost sounding like a squeak. "Do we talk to McGonagall now? The ball is only a week and a half away."

"We? What is it with we? You go talk to her," said Iris, getting up from her seat. "I've graced the two of you with my presence enough."

"Was that a joke?" asked Astoria, seriously. "I can't tell if you're joking or not — should I say things like that?"

Iris turned to leave the kitchens. A part of her worried about how Astoria would play her, if she'd use the opportunity to do things she might not want to do herself, something that would stick to Iris's name instead of Astoria's. But really, how badly could it go?

She stopped before she walked out and turned around.

"Hey, do you know anyone who needs a date? That isn't a Slytherin, preferably?"

---

o

God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs

o

---

Christmas day had finally arrived. Iris was happy with herself. She had done almost nothing productive the entire month, and her Firebolt had finally been given to her by McGonagall, fully repaired; she had given it to McGonagall the week before to send in, as she wasn't allowed to go to Diagon Alley; it had only taken telling McGonagall that without the Firebolt, she might not be able to win the Quidditch cup the next year.

Classes had ended, and Iris had thrown the homework schedule Hermione had written her into the fire, not planning on doing any of it. It felt great, especially after November. She had only read from a few books that contained information regarding Animagi, Ancient Runes, and spells that would be of great convenience to her. Her golden egg laid in her trunk, forgotten.

"You're being lazy," Hermione had said to her once in the common room, where Iris was taking up an entire couch, eating grapes from an eager first year; it turned out being labelled a dark witch by the Daily Prophet had its merits. Still, she had to make a mental note to keep an eye on the first year from that point on. She almost responded to Hermione's words, but instead Iris gave her a halfhearted indignant look and shrugged.

After Dobby had dropped by to give his gift to Iris, and to cry over the fifty socks Iris had bought him, most risqué enough to make McGonagall swell up like a dragon ready to breathe fire if she ever saw them, Iris began opening her presents. She had mostly received sweets, dungbombs, and clothing, which she was perfectly thankful for. Sirius had given her a neat penknife that would apparently open any locks and undo any knot. She slipped this into her pocket, promising herself to keep something that handy with her at all times.

Hermione had given her a book called How to Defend Yourself in Court, something Hermione claimed Trelawney had told her would be useful. She said this in a very insincere manner. Iris almost kissed her full on the mouth for how much Hermione was loosening up — would have, actually, if the other girls weren't there opening their presents too.

"Iris, you gave me a… key?" Lavender asked weakly, holding up a rusty bronze key that Iris had found in an abandoned classroom. Then she perked up. "Oh, oh! Is this the key for the locked box?"

Iris smiled mysteriously at her.

Lavender went to fetch the locked box that Iris had given her the year before for Christmas. Quite frankly, Iris was surprised to see that Lavender still had the box. She would have expected both her and Parvati — ninety percent of the people she gave presents to, really — to stop expecting anything good out of her gifts.

"What the — Iris! This key doesn't fit!"

Fay Dunbar snorted with laughter.

"Er — Iris?" said Parvati uncertainly. "Isn't this the present I gave you last year? Did you even — you didn't even unwrap it!"

Iris looked over to Hermione. "You'd think they'd learn by now to not bother."

"You'd think," said Hermione, "that one of these days you'd take Christmas seriously, given that you never really got to celebrate it before Hogwarts."

"I am taking it seriously!"

"Peeves sends his regards?" Fay called out to Iris, holding up a bag of cotton balls. "Are these meant to be… ghost droppings or something?"

"Of course not," said Iris. "They're poltergeist droppings."

Professor McGonagall made her way into the Gryffindor Tower later, wanting to confirm with Iris that Astoria was definitely going to be there. Iris really had no idea, but she told McGonagall what she needed to hear anyway. As McGonagall turned to leave, Iris stopped her.

"How'd you like my Christmas present, Professor?"

McGonagall stiffened for a moment, then walked on out as though Iris hadn't said anything.

"What did you get her?" asked Hermione.

"A scratching post. Figured she'd need something to take all that anger out on, you know?"

Iris's best Christmas present came with Hedwig when she finally returned from Privet Drive. She and Dudley had exchanged several letters, and after Iris explained to him just what a basilisk was, he immediately agreed to send her what she wanted — really, with how stressful the past two months had been for her, it was more what she needed.

She, Hermione, and Ron spent most of the morning in the common room or the Great Hall. They all agreed that it didn't feel right to go down to the Chamber of Secrets today, where they would be so isolated from everybody else.

An hour before the Yule Ball started, the three were to be found in their own dormitories, two of them getting ready for the Yule Ball.

Hermione exited the bathroom, feeling exceptionally confident. Looking into the mirror a moment ago, she hadn't been able to recognize herself. Lavender and Parvati, in their own dresses and makeup, both squealed at the sight of her. The two rushed over to get a better look, but the person whose opinion she wanted wasn't in sight.

"Where's Iris?" Hermione asked.

"On her bed," said Fay Dunbar, braiding her light brown hair. "She closed her curtains and said not to disturb her."

Hermione's face fell. "Is she okay?"

"Of course she's not!" said Parvati. "She isn't even dressed yet! Is she going to go in a sweater and sweatpants?"

"Don't worry about that," said Hermione. "Iris will be ready when the time — is that smoke?"

The four girls turned to look at Iris's bed, and they saw smoke making its way through the curtains.

"Should we leave?" asked Lavender. "Last time smoke came from her bed, it was when she —"

"Oh, don't!" squealed Parvati. "I'm trying to forget that ever happened!"

Lavender and Parvati both shuddered in unison.

"I can hear you two! And it wasn't that bad!" came Iris's voice from behind her curtains.

"Wasn't that bad?" Lavender echoed quietly. "I heard the clicking whenever I laid awake at night for weeks after."

"You have to admit, though," said Parvati, grabbing Lavender's arm and pulling her toward the door. "It might be a little boring without her, don't you think?"

Hermione listened to the two's fading voices until she was sure the two were gone. But before she could do anything more, Iris pulled back the curtains and left her bed, a fog of smoke behind her. She had a silly sort of smile.

Then she took one look at Hermione and her jaw dropped.

Iris had smothered the fire that lit itself whenever Hermione was nearby — smothered it and stomped on the ashes, all to save their friendship. When she had told Hermione, more than a month ago, that she had completely pushed all those feelings out, she wasn't even sure if she was being truthful. She had put so much effort into not thinking about it that she hadn't bothered to confirm if the feelings were still there or not.

Evidently, they were.

"Should I be flattered?"

Iris raised her eyes from the dress to meet Hermione's anxious eyes. She sighed heavily as she sat back down on her bed.

"Is it that bad?" Hermione asked, running her hands over her dress.

"No," said Iris, putting on a fake smile. God, heartache hurt. "You look great. Honestly."

"Really?" Hermione asked disbelievingly, but looking happy.

"Yeah," said Iris. "I told you, didn't I? Just wait until everyone else sees you. Krum will look hilariously below your league."

"Hm. I feel a bit bad that you won't be there."

"You know I'd have a terrible time, Hermione. Really, can you picture me in some dress? Dancing? Nope, I'm good with being and looking lazy."

"Why aren't you going?" asked Fay. "I thought champions were opening up the dance."

"Long story," said Iris, not caring that Fay was there. Fay had overheard many conversations she shouldn't have, but had never done anything about it; she preferred keeping her head down, and being involved with Iris beyond casual conversation would be the exact opposite of that. "Iris will be down there, but Iris won't be down there."

Fay stopped braiding her hair to stare at Iris in confusion for a moment, then she shrugged and returned to it.

"What was all that smoke?" asked Hermione.

"Oh no, I'd rather not ruin your evening by making you angry," said Iris, and she began giggling. It was time for Hermione's jaw to drop now; Iris never giggled. Laugh, snicker, chuckle, sure, but never giggle. There was a vague sense of pieces coming together in the back of Hermione's mind, but — completely believing Iris in that her evening would be ruined if she figured it out — she pushed it all out of her head.

"You should go see Ron. Make sure he's getting ready for — who is it again?"

Iris giggled again. "You're worse than me. He's going with Moon."

"Who?"

"Wow, you really are worse than me," said Iris. "Lilith Moon? That Ravenclaw in our year? She has white hair."

Iris's hair turned completely white. Fay's jaw dropped at the sight, and Iris grinned stupidly at her.

"Does white look good on me?"

"You could probably pull pink hair off," said Fay. "This is one of those things I should never mention to anyone, isn't it?"

"Sure is," said Iris. "And what, like bright pink? I don't think anyone could pull that off." Her hair turned into a pastel pink color. "This, though, maybe. Wicked!" she said, both sounding and looking astonished as she stared into a mirror.

"Mhm," said Hermione, applying a bit makeup on. "Iris, leave before I figure out what's wrong with you. Really, get out," she said again, firmly, looking as though she was trying her hardest to ignore what her brain was trying to tell her.

"Fine, fine," said Iris. "I'll go check on Ron."

"Change your hair back!"

Iris waved her off, her hair already changing back to an inky black. She made her way down the stairs into the common room, and then, ignoring Lavender and Parvati's exclamations ("Iris! You're still not dressed!"), she made her way up to Ron's dormitory.

"Ron!" she said happily, bursting into the room without knocking. Dean, who was wearing only a towel around his waist, squealed and tripped backward, his towel coming undone. Iris beamed at him, her hands on her hips. "Wow, and they say stereotypes have some basis in truth."

Dean covered himself quickly and scowled at her. "Iris, what the hell?"

"Oi!" shouted Seamus, throwing his arms up in indignation. "You don't ever make fun of a bloke's prick, alright?"

Iris raised her eyebrows at him. "A lot of experience with that?"

"Piss off, Potter," said Seamus. "We're all still growing here. What are you even doing here?"

"And don't you know how to knock?" called Dean from the bathroom, where he had gone to change.

"And aren't you supposed to be dressed? Don't girls need a long time for that?" asked Seamus.

Ron, who had been sitting in a chair the entire time, eating something, watched on, looking most entertained. He didn't look like he had put in any effort yet. Dean and Seamus weren't dressed either, but they were at least getting there.

"Okay," said Iris. "First, how are you going to complain about my comment on stereotypes —"

"That's not what I complained about!"

"— but then believe in a stereotype yourself? Secondly, it was a joke. I'm sure Dean's packing. If I was into that sorta thing, I imagine—"

"Because he's black?"

— that I'd be pleasantly surprised," Iris finished, glaring at Seamus with such intensity that one would think he had just gifted her hippogriff shit for Christmas — which, coincidentally, is exactly what Iris had gifted him. "Thirdly, what's that smell?"

"You know exactly what that smell is!" said Seamus intensely. "What kind of fucking leviathan shit out that turd?"

"Don't worry about it, mate" said Ron. "She gave dragon dung to half of Slytherin house. You got it lucky."

"Dragon dung?" repeated Seamus incredulously. "Where the hell…?"

"My brother, Charlie, he works with dragons," said Ron.

"You had dragon dung imported just so you could give it to someone for Christmas?" asked Seamus. "And why did I deserve any dung?"

"Fourthly," Iris said, looking at Ron, "why the hell aren't you dressed?"

Ron shrugged. "I've got time."

Iris frowned at him, then noticed the Christmas sweater his mother had given him lying on the ground. "Ron, why aren't you wearing your Christmas sweater?"

"Why would I?" said Ron.

"Sure, just ignore me," said Seamus in a falsely airy tone.

"What do you mean why should you?" said Iris, ignoring Seamus. This was oddly bothering her. "Your mum made it. Don't you appreciate that she took time out of her day to make that? I've got my sweater on."

"You hardly ever wear my mum's Christmas sweaters!" Ron protested.

"Yeah, 'cause it's hardly ever Christmas," said Iris, looking at Ron as if he was stupid. She waved a hand at him to dismiss Ron's next comment before it even slipped past his lips. "Fifthly, where's Neville?"

"He's already gotten dressed," said Seamus. "The pal's sure excited, I'll tell ya."

"Don't blame him," said Iris, and she noticed Dean reentering the room. "He's going with Ginny. She's a looker. Say, Dean, didn't you once say you'd shag her brainless?"

"What?" said Ron, alternating his stares from Iris to Dean, Dean to Iris, repeatedly

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Iris laughed. "I'm just kidding, Ron," she said, discreetly winking at Dean. "But seriously, go get dressed or I'll continue talking about your sister getting shagged."

"Right," said Ron, rising to his feet instantly. He grabbed dress robes from his bed, scowled at them, and made his way to the bathroom.

"Who's Ron going with again?" asked Dean.

"Lilith Moon," said Seamus. "You know, that white-haired Hufflepuff?"

"Ravenclaw," corrected Iris.

"That quiet one?" asked Dean. "Thought she was in Slytherin."

"Do you really think Ron would go to the ball with a Slytherin?" said Iris. "She's in Ravenclaw."

"No," said Seamus slowly, shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure she's a Hufflepuff."

"She's not, you walnut," said Iris. "I talked to her. She had Ravenclaw colors."

"Yeah, she's a Ravenclaw," said Ron as he came out of the bathroom, wearing something that Iris considered an abomination to reality.

"I thought you were going to get dressed for the ball?" Iris said, eyeing Ron's dress robes with ill-disguised revulsion.

Ron scowled at her. Then he pulled on the lace of his robes with a thoughtful expression. "Think I could use a Severing Charm on these horrible parts?"

Iris continued to stare at his dress robes.

"Should he feel creeped out or flattered with the way you're staring at him?" said Seamus, holding back a laugh.

"I can only hope he doesn't feel flattered," said Iris flatly. "What in the bloody hell are you wearing, Ron?"

"Bugger off," Ron muttered, pulling out his wand and heading back to the bathroom.

Iris shook her head slowly, watching him go. "Poor Lilith." She looked at Dean and Seamus, a calculating look in her eye. "Hey, could you two do something for me?"

"No," said Seamus at the same time Dean said, "Sure."

Seamus glared at Dean, looking betrayed.

"Sure? Why do you want to help her after that hippogriff shit she gave me for Christmas?"

Iris smiled at Dean. "Because he's my —"

"Don't say it," Dean said, pointing a warning finger at her. "What's the favor?"

"Right," said Iris, "if you see me acting like a complete fool at the dance, come and straighten me out, alright? If I refuse to listen, just tell me that you two know the secret and that you'll get Daphne if I don't stop."

Dean and Seamus both looked at her with baffled expressions. "What?"

"Things might get a little wild, alright?" said Iris. "Just say that if I begin embarrassing myself."

"I know the secret and I'll get Daphne if you don't stop," said Seamus.

"Oh, piss off, Seamus," said Iris and she turned to leave.

---

o

The Yule Ball

o

---

Fleur Delacour looked over the Great Hall, now unrecognizable, and took in everything — the decorations, from silver frost covering the walls to lantern-lit tables, all of which created an atmosphere that was pleasant enough, perhaps even cozy, if she dared admit it; the students from all three schools, many of them looking very excited about the ball, something that brought a smile to Dumbledore's face, she noticed; and then there were the top table she was sitting at, sharing it with Madame Maxime, Albus Dumbledore, Igor Karkaroff, Ludo Bagman, Barty Crouch, and the three other champions, each with their own partner.

Though, Cassius Warrington and Iris Potter seemed to have chosen each other, something she found slightly surprising, and admittedly, amusing. And by the looks on many of the Hogwarts students' faces, they hadn't been expecting it either. That Ronald Weasley was ignoring his date, a white-haired girl, and glaring at Iris from his table.

Fleur wished that Iris would take her eyes off her partner and talk to her, as her date, Roger Davies, was completely pathetic. Did Iris make friends with all sorts of people and then just stop talking to them? Was she just another one of the hundreds Iris had hopped to, joked around with, then hopped away from?

Another surprising pairing was that of Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum. But she could hardly say she knew Hermione enough to tell herself that it was a big surprise. She looked over to Iris, who had sat down next to her. She couldn't help but be surprised again. She had heard a rumor that Iris was against attending the ball. Also surprising was that her and her apparent best friend, Hermione, weren't talked to each other at all.

"Enjoying the meal?" Dumbledore said, leaning over to Iris. Fleur kept the two in the corner of her eye, but made herself look as though she was paying attention to Roger — soft, quite laughs, faint smiles, nods, and the like.

Iris looked up at him, surprised. "Er — yeah, sure — I mean, yes, sir," she corrected herself, looking slightly alarmed.

Dumbledore looked a bit puzzled by this behavior, as was Fleur, but she didn't dwell on it. Iris was nervous about all this, it appeared. She wasn't acting like her typical self, which Fleur had admittedly found refreshing. She had a feeling Iris wouldn't care in the slightest about her haughty laziness, if it wasn't directed at her, and these two reasons were why she was hoping to get to talk to her tonight.

"So what made you change your mind, Iris?" Dumbledore said in a quiet voice.

"Huh?" Iris said, looking confused.

"You were quite adamant on not attending the ball, and yet, here you are," said Dumbledore, smiling down at her.

"Oh, I — er — I just thought it'd be a good time, you know?" said Iris. "What else was I going to do, you know? Spend my night in my dorm, all alone, sulking?"

Iris smiled at her own words, a smile Fleur recognized as a sign that Iris was thinking about something mischievous, and likely insulting.

Dumbledore hummed in approval as Iris lifted a goblet to drink her pumpkin juice. He leaned in closer, and whispered so quietly that Fleur had to strain her ears to hear it: "And have you considered Newton's offer? Will you take the basilisk?"

Iris choked on her juice, and it came spilling out all over the front of her dress.

"W-w-what?"

Dumbledore took out his wand and Vanished the juice, leaving the dress looking as though it hadn't had anything poured over it.

"Oh, not now, Iris," said Dumbledore casually. "Our neighbors are attempting to eavesdrop on our conversation."

Bagman looked away, abashed, but Fleur only shrugged at Dumbledore's gentle smile.

"Anything to make Iris spit out 'er drink must be shocking," Fleur said. "I 'ave seen 'er appear out of thin air with a phoenix and walk right into the Forbidden Forest as though she owned it. I was only curious as to what surprised her."

A basilisk?! Fleur thought frantically. Quelle est cette merde erreur de la nature?

Fleur turned away to continue talking with her date, Roger Davies, while Dumbledore took in this bit of new information with disguised surprise. When had Fawkes Flamed Iris? More importantly, where had Iris been Flamed to? He wasn't sure if he should be concerned with this either. On one hand, Iris was showing enough loyalty to him that Fawkes was willing to take her places. On the other, Iris may have a way to get around the country.

He nearly shuddered.

He turned his attention to the others, letting Iris talk with someone more her age.

Barty Crouch. Something was off with Barty, but he didn't know what. He didn't dare attempt Legilimency on Barty. Dumbledore caught him glancing at Iris every now and then. Was he still of the belief that Iris had put her name into the Goblet of Fire herself? Surely not. If the way Iris behaved in the first task, the things she said, were of any indication, it was quite obvious that she hadn't wanted anything to do with the tournament.

Then again, she had told Rita Skeeter she would win.

And as the Yule Ball went on, he began to suspect that Iris was acting oddly as well. Had Cassius Warrington taught her how to dance or was she just a natural, as she was in many aspects of magic? And when had they even gotten close enough to consider being each others' partner?

Very odd, indeed.

And the more he had talked to her, the more confused he had gotten at her behavior. He glanced over at Professor McGonagall, who looked to be avoiding his eye. But every time she looked over at Iris, a small, pleased smile appeared on her lips.

Almost an hour into the ball, he saw Iris pull out a vial, full of a silver substance with a slight blue glow to it, pour it into her empty goblet, and drink it.

Then the pieces fell together.

It wasn't Iris. Who, he hadn't the foggiest, but this must've been what Professor McGonagall had spoke of. He was a bit disappointed, if he thought about it. He had thought that this was really her, acting maturely.

And then there was the silver color of the Polyjuice Potion. The color put little behind Iris's words, her fears, that she spoke of nearly a month ago. If silver meant something dark, she would have thrown Draco Malfoy from the Astronomy Tower by now. And the blue he had seen in it, surely blue wasn't anything terrible. Maybe he was exaggerating. Maybe there was more to silver than gray. Maybe Iris had done more questionable things that he simply didn't know of. Maybe now wasn't the time to think about this.

He turned his thoughts back to the ball, and the hours sped by.

---

"I couldn't have — no, not that much," said Iris, taking in the scene before her. She stood, beneath her Invisibility Cloak, to the side of the hall, her eyelids drooping, her head shaking slightly at how bizarre it all was.

Ron and Hermione were currently having a row. She couldn't hear what they were saying, as they were whispering, but it was a rather furious kind of whispering. Hermione looked livid. Ron was bordering on looking like a lunatic with his bulging eyes and red face. Cassius and Astoria, still Polyjuiced as Iris, were walking toward the direction of the dungeon. Dumbledore was standing near the entrance of the Great Hall with Fawkes, looking as though he was giving a lecture to the phoenix. Meanwhile, Barty Crouch was standing in the shadows, in a corner only Iris could see, watching Astoria and Cassius walk away.

Iris whipped the Invisibility Cloak off of her, no longer caring about appearances, and Hogwarts, and reputation, and all that bollocks. She threw it off at the same time Cassius and Astoria were passing her.

"Potter!" Cassius said in surprise, while Astoria jumped in fright. Iris didn't like how she looked, scared and all. As far as her stoned brain was concerned, Iris Potter was never scared. She refused to think of the time with Fluffy — the first and second time; or Quirrell; or the Chamber of Secrets; or the dementors; or the Forbidden Forest — the first, second, and third time; or the first task.

Iris nodded. "Warrington. Thought you should know Barty Crouch is following you."

Cassius and Astoria both turned around. Barty Crouch turned a corner a second later, looking to be in a hurry.

Astoria turned back to her, still wearing her face. "Should you be out here? We were the last to leave, but still, you're dressed in — whatever those are — and a sweater."

"They're called joggers, you filthy pureblood," said Iris. "Or sweatpants. Whatever you prefer. Can you get my face off your face?"

"You alright, Potter?" he asked, looking over her with a frown.

"Fine, why?"

"Your eyes are bloodshot."

"I'm super high," Iris said bluntly. "I understand Dudley now. I understand the world, really, and it's shit. I think he laced this with something. I'm coming down now, but I was up in my dorm freaking out. I thought Crookshanks was a nundu."

"I don't know what half of what you just said means," said Astoria, whose face was now transforming back into her own, "but I got enough to know you're on drugs."

Iris shrugged. "You've no idea what I've been through in the last month. I needed a break, alright? It's not like it's cocaine."

"Yet," snorted Cassius.

"Cocaine?" asked Astoria.

"Where the hell would I get cocaine?" said Iris. "Surprised you know what that is, though."

"Hey, Astoria's the filthy pureblood," said Cassius. "I know something about the muggle world. At least, enough to know how to easily make money in it."

"Don't worry about it, Greengrass," said Iris when she saw Astoria open her mouth. "I hope you two enjoyed your time, but you might want to make your way back to your room before your sister rips Warrington's balls off and feeds them to —"

"Yeah, listen, Potter," interrupted Astoria. "That's an Invisibility Cloak, right? Do you think I could —"

"No," Iris said, and she pushed past the two.

"By the way," Astoria called, "someone owes Lilith an apology for Weasley!"

Iris spun around, giving a double thumbs up to her. "I'll deal with firecrotch, don't worry."

"Hey, Potter?" said Cassius. "Listen, I never got to thank you. I know Penelope wasn't dying or anything, but you still killed that monster," he added at her puzzled look. "I heard a rumor Voldemort was somehow involved, so I've no doubt that she could have died. So thanks."

"You said Voldemort," Iris noted.

"That's all you got out of that?" Cassius said flatly. "It's not as though Voldemort can hurt me now. What's the harm in saying his name?"

When Iris finally reached Hermione and Ron, who were somehow still arguing, there were only them three in the Great Hall. Hermione and Ron both looked furious with each other as they stood outside the entrance hall.

"Well, if it isn't Tom and Jerry!" said Iris, announcing herself to the two. "Do you two ever stop trying to torment each other? Oh, I'm sorry," she added when the two turned their glares on her, "did the beginning of my sentence interrupt the middle of yours?"

"Not — now — Iris," said Hermione through gritted teeth.

"Nonsense! 'Tis the time to be jolly! Or however that goes," Iris muttered to herself. "You two look like you were having the time of your —"

"Shut up, Iris!" said Ron. Iris pouted, but it didn't dissuade Ron from turning on her. "You too, actually! Both you and Hermione! Unbelievable!"

Iris looked to Hermione. "What's firecrotch talking about?"

Ron exploded. "Stop — calling — me — that!" he bellowed at her. His whole face and neck was red. Why he was yelling at her, Iris had no idea, but she didn't like it. She hadn't done anything wrong, had she? She went over the last twenty-four hours in her head, reviewing anything that had the capability of upsetting Ron. This was the wrong thing to do, apparently, as Ron took her expression as her ignoring his continued stuttering yelling — which, really, she was doing.

Hermione took a deep breath and spoke before Ron could continue. "He's upset because I went with Viktor Krum, Iris. Now go away, this isn't your business."

Iris promptly ignored that and turned to Ron. "Why would you be upset about that?"

"What?" Ron said, looking furiously bewildered. "Krum! She wouldn't tell us who she was going with this whole time — and then — Krum!" He looked beyond words now.

"I knew she was going with Krum," said Iris. This was also, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

"What? You — you — you? You!" Ron said, seething. "Warrington! A Slytherin! A Durmstrang student and a Slytherin!"

Iris snorted, but there wasn't much humor behind it. "Calm down, Ron. You know that wasn't me."

"Bullshit!" said Ron. "No one's that good of an actor!"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "Look at her! She's wearing a sweater and — she looks exactly like she did before the ball!"

"She changed quickly then!"

Iris watched the two scream at each other for a little more, feeling like her high was coming down much quicker than it should. Ron was being a bit ridiculous. How was it her fault if Astoria did a good job being her? Could she really done that well of a job? She thought it a good idea to ask.

"Did Astoria do that good of a job?"

"What? Who?"

"Astoria. Astoria Greengrass, the person who was Polyjuiced as me."

Ron's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Then he found his words. "You picked a Slytherin for your date and another Slytherin to be you?"

"It's hardly having a Slytherin as my date if it wasn't even me," said Iris impatiently.

"Oh, don't bother!" said Hermione. "He treated Lilith Moon horribly! She clearly isn't the type to stay quiet, so she told him how he was acting! He's just taking his anger out on us."

"I am not!" said Ron, growing even redder in the face, a feat Iris didn't think possible. "That — that has nothing to do with anything! First, I ask you, Iris! But no, you'd rather pick a Slytherin — the Slytherin champion!"

"What the hell does that mean?" said Iris. "Ask me what?"

"And then I ask you, Hermione" continued Ron, not answering her question, "and you pick someone who studies the Dark Arts! The Durmstrang Champion! To the ball!"

"You didn't ask me to the ball," said Iris, her face growing stonier. Then she cracked a smile at her own thoughts.

Heh, stonier.

"You think it's funny?!" Ron bellowed at her, covering her in spit.

Iris's smile was wiped off her face just as slowly as she wiped the spit off her face. "What the fuck, Ron? What's your fucking problem?"

"Both of you! You make fun of my dress robes, go with a bunch of dark people to the ball —"

"Neither of us went with dark people!" Hermione said in frustration.

"— and then it's poor Moon, poor her, having to go with the bloke who can't afford some decent robes!"

"Ron, it's not like that," Hermione said desperately. "But you can't take your anger out on —"

"Are you kidding me right now?" Iris interrupted, earning a fierce glare from Hermione. "We always insult each other, Ron. That's just what we do."

"Well, this time is too far!" said Ron, and he attempted to rip apart his dress robes from the collar, but it wouldn't tear. He growled in frustration. "Durmstrang — Slytherin — champions — unbelievable — they're just going to use you!"

"What is this obsession with them being champions?" asked Iris. "Is that what this is about? Hermione and I had two champions as partners, and you didn't? If it's that big of a deal, I can go talk to Fleur about giving you dance — though I doubt she wants to get her dressed ruined by drool."

Ron's eyes flashed with fury. "Fuck you, Iris," he spat. He turned and walked angrily away, attempting to rip up his dress robes the entire time.

"Too far?" said Iris once Ron had turned a corner. "I know I'm a bit of a moron sometimes, but —"

Hermione snorted.

Iris stopped speaking. "What the hell are you snorting about?"

Hermione paused for a moment, but spoke anyway, a dismissal, mocking tone to her voice. "How haven't you figure it out already?" she asked. "He fancies you. I thought it was incredibly obvious, but you somehow stayed oblivious."

Iris sputtered.

"And then he had the nerve to come to me and say, 'Hey, you're a girl, Hermione!'" Hermione added angrily. "That doesn't mean I want to be some second choice he sees at a moment of desperation, just because the most beautiful girl was taken!"

"Oh, bloody hell," moaned Iris. "Not this again, Hermione."

"Iris, shut up!" Hermione snapped.

"What the — are you — you've got to be —"

"No, really, how?" said Hermione. "Why haven't you told him anyway? Maybe he'd get over you quicker. He might be an idiot, but he's not a bigot."

"Seeing as he's acting this way about this whole Slytherin thing, I seriously doubt it he's not both," she said. "And rich, calling us the only idiots," she shot at Hermione. "You know I like girls, that I don't pay attention to boys, how the hell would I have been able to figure it out? Seems Miss Doesn't-Know-When-To-Shut-The-Fuck-Up has moved past her prime."

Hermione let out a high-pitched, nearly out-of-control laugh, looking on the verge of tears.

"Do you fancy Ron or something?" Iris suddenly asked. "Is that what this bloody thing is? Some kind of twisted, fucked up love triangle?"

"Will you stop using that language?!" Hermione screeched, sounding an awful lot like an air raid siren.

"What? No, fuck off. Why are you even yelling at me?" Iris said angrily, raising her voice. "Just because you've got insecurities doesn't mean you get to take your anger out on me. If you want his attention so bad, squeeze your tits or something — they're bigger than mine — his blood will rush south so fast he'll pass out."

Hermione definitely had tears now, but whether it was from anger or pain, Iris wasn't sure. The two of them stood in the hall, glaring at each other. Iris was fighting herself to not breathe hard. She did not want to seem as though the absurdity and injustice of this whole argument was getting to her.

"And thanks for ruining my high too."

Iris swatted a beetle out of the way and pushed past Hermione, heading for the front doors, needing to get fresh air now, to get away before she said something that would be one step too far.

"High?" she heard Hermione say. "Iris, you did not!"

Iris heard Hermione running after her, and she twisted around, an insult she knew to be horrible on the tip of her tongue, but Dumbledore stepped out of the Great Hall, Fawkes on his shoulder, and stopped Hermione.

"Miss Granger, perhaps it would be best if we all went our separate ways for tonight, to calm down."

Hermione looked furious, but her anger didn't extend far enough to defy an order from Dumbledore, even if it was phrased as a suggestion. She turned around and walked away — nearly ran, more like.

"Quite the argument," said Dumbledore.

"Was I in the wrong there?" Iris asked him, finding it hard to believe that an argument such as that had just taken place. She was breathing harder than usual now.

"Oh, I don't think I'm in the position to comment on such matters," Dumbledore said. "They were both upset and your… sense of humor just wasn't appreciated, I'm afraid."

"Right. Er — sir, the moon's showing a third quarter tonight."

"Ah, the next step to become an Animagus?" Dumbledore said, and Iris nodded. "When did you begin on the first step, if I may ask? Or have I already asked? Sometimes I forget."

"When school started, so the beginning of September. Sirius told me I might as well start on the meditation thing even if I don't have what's necessary for the rest of the steps."

Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought and stared out into the grounds. "If you're lucky, I dare say you might finish the process by the end of February. I'm not sure if I have ever heard of an Animagus who become so so quickly. Any ideas as to what you might become?"

"I dunno," Iris admitted honestly. She hadn't really thought about it much. She had looked through the book Spirit Animals and What They Mean, but she hadn't found any animal that matched her perfectly. Then again, she hadn't been that focused that day. Hermione had said a bird was likely — a red-tailed hawk, a raven, or a golden eagle — and not just because she loved flying; Iris couldn't remember the other reasons. She would have to look through the book again tomorrow, and really pay attention this time.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure you will find a use for it," said Dumbledore. "I appreciate the Christmas gift too, Iris, but I think you misunderstood me that night — when you asked me what I, myself, saw in the Mirror of Erised," he added. "I'm afraid I said wooly socks."

"Ah," said Iris. "See, that's what I thought you said. But with what Aberforth told me, I thought I did mishear, and that you said wooly —"

"Quite an understandable mistake," Dumbledore interrupted, and if he was younger, Iris was sure he'd be blushing by the tone of his voice.

"You could just cut a hole to make them socks," said Iris. "Hope you enjoy them either way."

"I shall cherish them forever."

Iris laughed at his deadpan delivery.

"Would you like to use Fawkes once more?"

"Once more?"

"To find yourself a roof to place the vial on," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Miss Delacour said you appeared with a phoenix in front of her. Fawkes denies it, of course, but I believe he has a soft spot for you."

Fawkes let out a low, annoyed sounding kind of bark, and glared at Iris. The mischievous smile Dumbledore grew to be wary of crept up on Iris's face.

"I'd love to use Fawkes, sir. Come on, Fawkes," she said, and Fawkes grudgingly hopped to Iris's shoulder. "Fire me up, Fawkes, and maybe I'll smoke you up."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to protest, to find out what Iris meant, but she disappeared in a small explosion of flames.

Minutes later, Iris removed the mandrake leaf from her mouth and placed it in a vial containing a single hair of hers, wondering if there could have been any effect on the mandrake leaf from her actions today. Would she become instantly high every time she transformed into her Animagus form? She had read of mutations, negative and positive, occuring due to certain things happening during some of the Animagus steps. She wasn't sure if this would be a blessing or not.

She reached up to her hair, which was in a bun, and pulled her wand out from it. Applying a Sticking Charm to the vial, she placed it on the floor — roof? — of the top of the Owlery, which was the highest tower with the exception of the Astronomy Tower. But as students used the Astronomy Tower, she didn't feel it would be smart to place the vial there. Thankfully, the Owlery roof wasn't cone shaped.

Iris twisted on her knees and sat down, hugging her knees, staring into the distance. Even at night, the view was quite beautiful. Thoughts of the argument she had just had with Ron and Hermione swam up to the front of her mind. She still didn't believe she had done anything wrong. She had only joked a bit, only to try and diffuse the situation, to lighten the atmosphere a bit in hopes that Hermione and Ron would calm down. She didn't think any of their previous arguments were as passionate and insulting as this one. Both Hermione and Ron were more red in the face than Iris had ever seen.

And Ron. Did he really fancy her? It made her feel uncomfortable. She had assumed she was like a sister to him.

She flicked her wrist and out came a long stemmed, wooden pipe, where her wand would normally be held. It was ten inches long — or at least, Iris thought so. She couldn't exactly remember how long Quirrell's wand was.

A bit morbid, one might say. Iris, however, considered it the best thing she had ever done — smoking out of a pipe made partly from the wand of a man she had burned to ash. Badass, she might say, not morbid.

Hilarious, too.

She had only smoked once before, the summer after her second year, and that had just been from a blunt given to her by Dudley after she threatened to turn him into a street lamp. As a result, she hadn't been sure how much would get her as high as she'd like to forget the hell she had gone through in the last two months. Evidently, she should have smoked more.

She held her pipe out to Fawkes. "Mind lighting that, Fawkes?"

Fawkes lifted a single wing, and a single feather at the tip of it flickered with a flame, lighting her pipe.

"Take the first hit?" Iris offered, grinning at him.

Fawkes took one last look at Iris before he Flamed away, leaving Iris alone on the Owlery roof, no easy way down in sight.

"Don't think he likes me," Iris mumbled, and she put the pipe to her lips and inhaled. She looked out at the scenery once more, and she found that this — the view, the pipe and whatever its contents were, and the cool air, which wasn't nearly as cold as it should have been for a winter night, all of it, was much better than going to the Yule Ball could have been.

She exhaled, the smoke fading away into the night.

Melancholy washed over her. It couldn't be helped. She was alone, looking over a dark castle with only but a few lights glowing behind the windows. If anything, it made her feel more isolated, knowing there were people there, but that she couldn't reach them. She brought the pipe to her lips again, and inhaled. The smoke filled her lungs, memories filled her mind, and then both were gone.

She hung her head. It was as though something always had to happen, wasn't it? This month had gone by relatively peaceful when compared to November — at least until now. Ron and Hermione would surely make up, as they always did — but would she need to make up with them too? How could she? She wasn't even sure what she would say to Ron now, not after what Hermione had said, if it was true.

Looking back on it now, it did seem obvious.

And speaking of fancies, Iris found that the feelings she held for Hermione were now gone. Perhaps they'd return, but perhaps not. If this was all it took to ruin something like that, she figured she should get into an argument with Daphne Greengrass soon, since that was unlikely to ever happen.

"Damn it," she muttered. Everything did always seem to happen to her. It was beginning to get a bit maddening. There was no point in sitting here and moping about it, though. She lifted her wand. "Accio."

There was a distant sound of shattering glass, but Iris couldn't find it within herself to care, and then a rushing sound as her Firebolt sped toward her. She put her wand down calmly, and raised her hand — she caught the broom, then used it to lift herself off the ground, picking up her wand with the hand that was holding the pipe.

She inhaled from the pipe once last time, blew the smoke out, and emptied the contents out over the edge of the roof, hoping she'd see a few funny acting owls the next day. She placed the pipe back in her wand holster and the wand back in her bun, the tightest part, so as to make sure it wouldn't fall out.

She was hardly sitting on the broom before she lifted off and was speeding onward. She spun in the air, twirled and dodged the other towers, the feeling exhilarating. She nearly crashed into a few towers as she got used to her Firebolt in this state of mind. But she flew on, and minutes passed. It was just her out here. There were no problems, no stupid arguments, no tasks, no dangerous creatures — unless that griffin held a grudge — and no stress.

It was her, the night sky, and a blur of something dark blue. She swerved as the thing nearly smacked into her face, and was forced to change directions again to avoid slamming face first into the Gryffindor Tower. She had quick glimpse of a girl with long red hair as she raced off, likely Ginny. She looked over her shoulder, and then to her side, for the thing that had nearly slammed into her was no longer behind her, but had caught up remarkably quick — and it was now flying right next to her, singing a soothing, but haunting song.

It wasn't the same as Fawkes's song. It didn't warm her, necessarily, nor did it strengthen her, instill courage in her, or make her feel as though her heart had swelled in size the way Fawkes's song had in the Chamber of Secrets.

This phoenix's song was almost indescribable. The only shared quality it had with Fawkes's singing was in the way it calmed her, soothed her, made her feel as though she was in a slight state of tranquility. It was similar to how she felt when she was inside the castle during a heavy thunderstorm, where an overwhelming sense of peace would overtake her even though a storm raged outside, thundering, a release of pent-up tension that she easily understood.

The phoenix brushed up against Iris softly, then she took a sharp turn down — Iris followed suit. The two flew toward the ground at breakneck speed, spiraling down and around each other. Iris laughed joyfully as she pulled her broom up at the last second. And then the phoenix's claws latched onto her shoulders, harmlessly, and with a crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, and a nauseating, electrifying feeling, they were gone.

---

o

Cat, Rat, and Snake

o

---

"No, leave that table. It's mine."

There was no one else in the Great Hall, which wasn't a surprise — it was past two in the morning. Iris had taken a chair and placed it right at the dessert table — or rather, she had thought the table was too far away, being only against the wall, and had Summoned the entire thing. A trail of fallen puddings had stretched from the wall to the center of the Great Hall, until a house-elf showed up to clean it. He was ready to clean more, remove the table and all, it being the only thing to clear out of the Great Hall now, but Iris had told him to hold off.

Ron and Hermione weren't here with her, as she wished they were. So she decided she would have to play Ron's part and devour everything she could. There was still the act of playing Hermione though.

"Hey," she said, looking at the house-elf. "Do you want to be freed?"

The house-elf gave a frightened squeak and Popped away.

Iris felt as though she hadn't eaten for days. This was perhaps because she was still heavily under the influence of whatever she had smoked (she made a mental note to remove Dudley's kneecaps) on top of the Owlery… over the lake… at Hagrid's home… under McGonagall's open window… in the company of Seraphina, the sphinx…

So she sat at the table, in the very center of the Great Hall, stuffing her mouth with as much as she could. She had just done an hour of intense flying with a hyperactive phoenix, who was perched on top of the chocolate fountain, her claws and beak covered in chocolate.

"Hey," she said, her mouth filled with treacle tart, "I'm gonna give you a name, yeah?"

The phoenix lifted its head from the waterfall — chocolatefall? — and looked at Iris with her bright, shining blue eyes. She tilted her head in question.

"It's just that we're basically friends now," Iris said. "We've had many encounters with each other now — two, to be precise — and it seems only logical I give you a name. Hedwig already had a name so I couldn't name her this, but how about Ragnarok, Destroyer of — no? Fine, suppose Astra will do — means the stars or something."

The phoenix didn't splatter Iris with chocolate like she had when Iris suggested she and Fawkes should have little phoenix babies, so Iris took it as casual indifference from the newly named Astra.

"Mm," Iris said, wiping her hands on the table linens. "Yep, I'll be getting no sleep tonight. Hey, you wanna fly through the corridors?"

Astra chirped in agreement.

"If you see a greasy haired man, do your little sonic scream thing."

Iris reached into one of her pockets and pulled out the Marauder's Map. She drew her wand from her hair as one hand shook the map to unfold it.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Every corner of map filled with lines, like a spider's web; dots, like freckles on skin; and words, written next to every dot, most of which were unmoving. Iris looked over it as she stood from her chair, grabbed her Firebolt, licked her lips of whatever remaining crumbs there were, and whistled for Astra to come along.

Dumbledore was a room next to his office, unmoving, likely sleeping. Snape was awake, but on the other side of the castle, and Filch was near him. She looked at all the corridors she and Astra could fly through, the classrooms and broom closets near them too, to make certain there would be no one to see her, and —

A low droning sound filled her head at the same time a disbelieving sort of anger filled the rest of her.

She had looked at the Gryffindor dormitories to make sure everyone was asleep, and while her eyes drifted away from the rooms, she saw a name in the Gryffindor common room, standing near the stairs leading up to the girls' dormitory: Peter Pettigrew.

Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew, here, in Hogwarts… Could it be a trick? But no, Lupin had said that the map didn't lie. What was he doing there then? Likely to get her, if his location was any hint. She stood feet away from the doors leading out to the entrance hall as she watched Wormtail — the filthy fucking rat. An unbelievable amount of fury pounded against her senses — her blood like drums in her ears, a blurring in her sight, numbness throughout her body. This was the man who was responsible for the death of her parents.

She hadn't had the time to process it that night in the Shrieking Shack, but now, months later, the full force of Wormtail's betrayal slammed into her as if it was the Hogwarts Express. She couldn't imagine Hermione or Ron turning her over to Voldemort, not even now, after the argument the three had just had, not even if they had a hundred more similar arguments, but that was exactly what Wormtail had done.

"Astra," she said in a low, fiery whisper. Astra looked down at her from the top of one of the double doors. "Gryffindor common room. Now."

Astra leapt from her spot and glided down to the shoulders of Iris, instantly Flashing away as soon as her claws clamped down.

They reappeared with a sharp, loud crack in front of the fireplace of the common room. Astra instantly flew up and perched herself on top of one of the rafters above. Wormtail, who had his wand out and pointed at the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory spun around, shrieking, and nearly fell over. He looked over at Iris, his eyes widening with every millisecond that passed between the two.

"Wormtail," Iris hissed, her eyes narrowed, her wand already in her fingers, ready, her blood roaring in her ears now, as though a jet engine was in the room.

"I-Iris," Wormtail said, looking nervous. "I was just looking for you… I'm sorry, Iris, but I'm going to —"

Iris's wand twitched once in her fingers; a red light shot out of it and sped toward Wormtail, making him stop mid-sentence. The Stunner splashed against his shield, of which Iris didn't even see Wormtail's wand form. It gave her a moment's pause — wasn't he a terrible wizard?

"Confringo!"

This spell was deflected by Wormtail, who was approaching slowly, and it hit a corner, breaking a table and several chairs, setting it all on fire, creating an explosion of sound. Hopefully it would attract attention. Wormtail's wand swished in his hand and ropes spiraled toward Iris — she ducked, the ropes flying into the fireplace instead.

"I've Silenced this room, Iris. Please make this easier on me. The Dark Lord wants you tonight."

Iris flicked her wand upward at the couch in front of her as she said, "Depulso!"

The couch was instantly cut in half with some cutting curse, and as Wormtail stepped through the two parts of the couch as they flew behind him and into the wall, his curse sliced across Iris's shoulder.

Iris gave a sharp cry, not of pain, but of frustration

"Accio!"

She jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding Wormtail's Stunner and the ropes she had just Summoned, alight with fire from the fireplace now — they wrapped around Wormtail, and before he could do anything but look wildly down at them, Iris pointed her wand at him.

"Expulso."

Somewhere deep inside her, she hoped that this spell would kill him — blow him into a million pieces, crush all of his ribs enough to pierce his heart, send him flying against the wall with enough force to break his back. But she knew it was best if she took him in alive. It was this reason she hadn't put much power behind the spell.

Wormtail easily shielded, even wrapped in burning ropes, which came undone a second later. Then with a flick of his wand, Iris was thrown against the wall. She grunted as she slid down. Wormtail raised his wand again, a small flicker of anger on his face now — but before his sickly yellow spell could reach Iris, there was a blur of dark blue, a crackling of electricity, a flash — and Astra became nothing more than a puddle of water and a small, dark cloud.

Wormtail was blasted back into furniture a split second later by Iris, out of sight, and Iris took the time to heal her cut. It sealed up nicely, letting Iris know it had not been a dark curse that Wormtail had used. She stood, wand pointing in the direction of Wormtail's crash, but he was nowhere in sight. It was stupid of her, to begin thinking of how Wormtail could have disappeared. She had spent the last few months attempting to become an Animagus — she had done another step just two hours before — and yet, the thought of Wormtail using his Animagus form not flee, but to flank her… it never crossed her mind.

The hairs on her neck stood on end —

---

Iris woke to the smell of something burning. She opened her eyes, attempting to move but finding herself wrapped in rope, and saw she was in a graveyard. It was still night. Wormtail was busying himself over a cauldron, large enough for a grown man to sit in, from which the burning smell drifted in from. Near him lay a bundle of robes, which made her scar prickle with pain when she looked in its direction.

"Wormtail," she growled. "Wormtail, let me down before I —"

"Silence!" hissed a high, cold voice out of the bundle of robes. "Wormtail, hurry. Get it over with!"

Iris struggled in her bindings, trying desperately to hold back what her apprehension was so ready to turn into: fear. She doubted very much that she was here simply to be killed, and though she was still high, a very large part of her deeply regretted that the last time she had talked to Hermione and Ron was in an argument. She threw her head back and yelled in frustration.

"Riddle, this is supposed to wait until the end of the year!"

There was a sizzling noise, and Iris looked over to Wormtail again, whose hands were above the cauldron, as though he had just dropped something in. The bundle of robes, and whatever was inside it was gone. She heard him mutter, "Bone of the father…"

And then, he pulled out an old looking bone and a long, shining, silver knife. He muttered something more, but Iris wasn't listening. She had flicked her wrist, and into her hands shot the pipe she had used. She doubted very much it could still be used as a wand, seeing as she took out the core and hollowed out the wood.

Or could it?

She thought hard back to anything she had been taught about wands. Wizards and witches didn't need wands, but the wood and core, magical as they were, and when combined, helped focus the magic immensely. But was the core needed? Furthermore, would hollowing out the wood negate any magic the wood held? Magical potion ingredients, when cut, crushed, or shredded did not lose their magic.

There was another splash. Wormtail had dropped the bone in. He spoke again, but this time through sudden sobs. He raised the knife to his hand.

"Flesh of the servant…"

Iris ignored the rest. There were no real sharp edges to the pipe, so she could not cut the ropes, so the question remained. Had she done too much damage to Quirrell's wand? If she could use it to perform spells, how good would they even be? Would it be like a dull knife compared to a sharpen knife? Would it —

A horrible, harrowing howl pierced the night. Iris did not see him do it, but she knew — Wormtail's right hand was cut off at the wrist. Iris took a sort of twisted sense of pleasure in seeing Wormtail clutching the cauldron with his remaining hand, sobbing uncontrollably. And then a frightening thought came to her.

Flesh of the servant…

If Wormtail, an actual servant of Voldemort, had to lose a hand, what would happen to her? A whole arm? Both arms? Would she be callously thrown into the cauldron, boiled alive, her body never to be found?

It didn't matter. Her time had run out. She had to try now. As Wormtail continued his anguished weeping, Iris pointed the pipe in his direction, hoping that she was pointing it the correct way.

"Stupefy," she muttered. To her delight, there was a dull flash of red — and it fizzled out before it even reached halfway to Wormtail. Iris stared in horror. It had worked, but just as a dull knife was to a sharpened one, it was utterly pathetic. She pointed it at the ropes binding her instead. "Diffindo."

One line of rope was cut.

"Oh — you're joking — Diffindo! — fucking kidding me — Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo!"

Line after line was cut and then it all fell apart. Iris slid down the tombstone she had been tied to and ran to Wormtail's back, a trail of ropes behind her.

"Stupefy!"

The spell hit Wormtail in the side as he turned around, but did nothing. Out of exasperation, she punched Wormtail in the nose. He reeled back, blood flowing down his mouth, chin, and neck now, and then tackled her to the ground. She kneed him in his groin, doing her best to ignore the continuous stream of blood pumping out of his arm, and all over her. Wormtail fell to the side and Iris grabbed a bit of rope that had fallen off her as she first rushed to him.

Wormtail had his back to Iris as he whimpered, and she wrapped the rope around his neck — once, twice, three times — and she pulled hard. Wormtail only had one hand to try and stop her, and consequently, his attempts were fruitless. Iris only pulled harder with every one of his tries. She placed her knee against his back and stretched, pulled, pushing the rope deeper into Wormtail's throat.

She couldn't think through her blind rage. She pulled, pushed, pulled, and pushed, not realizing that Wormtail had stopped struggling, not caring that Voldemort was in a cauldron, perhaps about to be revived any second now. She pulled harder one last time, letting out a guttural, primal yell... howl… cry… whatever it was, it was full of rage, heartbreak, longing, and bitter triumph. She released all the suffering, from all the torment she had gone through these last few months, these last few years.

It was only until three things happened, all at once, all simultaneously, that she stopped — when she heard something snap in Wormtail's neck, a sickening sound; when the bells of a church rung from far away, from the town, wherever it was; and when she was no longer able to scream out of anything but pain, due to the fangs piercing her thigh.

She let go of the ropes. Wormtail slumped down into the dirt face-first. The snake, dark green and large, withdrew its fangs, and struck again — this time, Iris threw her own arm in front of her, and the fangs pierced it instead. She wrapped her own legs around the neck of the snake and used her other arm to fumble for Wormtail's wand.

She found her own wand instead, the curves and design of it familiar to her hand, let go of the snake, and blasted it away. Her own blood seeping down her arm and leg, she scrambled away. She blasted the cauldron over, the snake again and again, which didn't seem to want to die after a Blasting Curse and a Severing Charm, a tombstone she thought she saw move, and the snake once more.

Her bitten hand reached into one of her pockets, the other grabbing the pipe she had dropped, and pulled out the Portkey Dumbledore had given her. She was ready to use it, to flee, but thought better of it. She had both Wormtail and Voldemort here, and Voldemort appeared to have gained himself a body somehow. She was likely bleeding out, sure, and Wormtail was dead, yes — and she didn't want to even think about how to feel about the fact that she had just killed him, brutally — but it was worth it anyway. They should only need his body to prove that there's something wrong with the Sirius's case.

Sirius. Innocent. Free.

The words danced around in her head, which was slightly fuzzy now. She Banished the snake, which she now remembered was called Nagini, once more as it slithered toward her, Summoned the cauldron, and with a Levitation Charm, trapped Nagini under it. The dull banging noises of the serpent attempting to get free were ignored by Iris as she made her way to the pile of — whatever disgusting substance Voldemort was lying in.

She crouched down next to him, trying her best to ignore the pain from her scar, and looked down, first at her blood-soaked hands.

"It's warm. And I've got blood on my shoes," she grumbled.

Voldemort was just as disgusting as the chunky fluid he was in. Half a pale white, half a dark red, and wrinkly all over; one of his arms was much shorter than the other; both his legs were same length, but only one foot was the size it should have been.

"Hm. You look like the back end of a sphynx cat."

Voldemort didn't respond. He only groaned in pain. Iris grabbed him by the head and turned his head to face her forcefully. His red eyes looked up at her in hatred.

"Potter…" he rasped in a nearly inhuman voice. "What have you done…"

Iris clutched her lower arm tighter. The blood wasn't coming out as quickly as she thought it would, but she figured a bit of pain was worth not risking death next to this slimy crotch dropping. She looked down at him.

"Look at you," she said softly. "You're so harmless, it's kinda adorable."

She spit in his face.

"What is this, the fourth time we've come across each other? The fourth time I've won? I should have a shirt made. What do you think? Potter, four. Riddle, zero."

The amount of fury she felt coming off of Voldemort definitely wasn't something she was imagining. His magic was attempting to lash out, she guessed. She sat down next to him, bringing her knees close to her chest.

"Where… where is Wormtail? You… you killed him."

He turned his head to stare at Wormtail, who was blue in the face, his eyes slightly bulging and rolled back into his head.

Iris turned to look too. "Oh, come on, he's not even — oh, bloody hell, he is dead."

Iris felt sick looking at the sight and turned back to Voldemort, who really didn't look that much better, but at least his appearance didn't scream: 'You murdered me.'

"Potter…" Voldemort said. "I will offer you a chance... to join me… one last —"

"No."

"Hear me, Potter, listen to my —"

"I hear you every time I take a shit, Riddle," Iris said, and she would have laughed at the scream of rage this stillborn-looking sack of shit let out, but a feeling of sickness was beginning to rise in her. She couldn't get the image of Wormtail's face out of her mind, the sound of something in his neck being crushed...

"Weak, Potter… you are weak…"

"Shut up," Iris snapped. "Shut up. Damn it, I can't do this right now — had to come down now — of all the times for you to — just ridiculous — horrible luck, really."

As she muttered to herself, almost deliriously, she prepared her pipe again. After a moment, she brought it to her lips and inhaled.

"You know, I found Salazar Slytherin's portrait."

"H-How?"

"Chamber of Secrets. Y'know, after I killed that basilisk and destroyed your little diary."

Voldemort began breathing hard, though it sounded as though his body was having difficulties. Iris inhaled more from the pipe as she waited for his response.

"You — no, impossible, my diary was hidden away, you —"

"With Lucius Malfoy?" Iris said coldly. "Yeah, he tossed it in my direction, the fool. Enough of this bullshit, Riddle. What was the plan tonight?"

"I will not — Lucius would know not to —"

"Listen, you piece of shit." Iris tore off a piece of her own clothing and wrapped it around her hand, so as to not kill his body yet like she had done so with Quirrell. Then she picked Voldemort up and held him by his neck. His body hung limply as he struggled to breathe. He was half her size. "You're in my mercy now, get it? I killed your servant. You think I'm Dumbledore's little Golden Girl? Some of them call us the Golden Trio, y'know, stupid name, really — we've broken too many rules, laws, moral standards to be considered that, but it's mostly stupid because I'm not who they think I am. You were right, end of my first year. I was weak. But I fixed that," she hissed in his ear.

She wasn't lying, exactly. She wasn't what the rest of the wizarding world thought she was, as they thought her to be the persona she was portraying now.

"How long did it take for Wormtail to find you?" she said. She could feel his fury building. "How long did it take for you to regain this pathetic body? Unless you want to spend another decade as a wraith, start talking. What — was — the — plan? To resurrect yourself?"

"Y-yes," Voldemort choked out, barely able to breathe with the grip Iris had on his neck. There was a little too much of something in his eyes for Iris to feel satisfaction from his pain. He was planning something.

"Why now?" Iris asked. "Why here, why now?"

"Winter solstice," Voldemort said hoarsely. "The potion — the blood ritual — it is done best on or near a solstice."

The apprehension in Iris grew, not by his words, but by his willingness to give this information to her. It was as though it was no bother, like it wouldn't matter — and it wouldn't, if she was to drop dead before she made her way back.

"Anything else?"

"No…"

"I know I can't kill you," she admitted. She took another hit from her pipe. "Not permanently, at least. But I can still take everything from you. Your body. Your wand. Your title. Salazar offered me the title of Lady Slytherin. Said I'd be much better than what he's got now. Isn't it sad that Salazar Slytherin, your own ancestor, thinks you're an idiot?"

"Salazar Slytherin's portrait has gone insane from centuries of —"

Iris squeezed harder on his neck, making him go silent. "I think I'm going to take him up on his offer. I think I'm going to destroy your body here, take Wormtail back and prove Sirius Black is innocent, take your wand and make another pipe out of it, just as I did with Quirrell's, and then, I'm going to have a statue created. It'll be of you. The plaque will say, 'Voldemort sucks flaccid cock.' Any guess as to what your statue is going to be doing?"

She threw him to the ground and pressed her heel against Voldemort's throat, ready to kill the body he was in.

"Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal."

But then, it was all over, and her threats were nothing, her hopes diminished, her plans unable to play out, for fangs were piercing her neck. She fell backward, gasping, attempting to pull Nagini off of her. After what felt like an eternity, Nagini withdrew, reared back to strike again, but before she could plunge her fangs into Iris once more, the killing blow, Iris blasted her away with her wand.

Iris choked on her own blood, and she knew that she wasn't going to be bringing anything but herself back with her. Wormtail was too far for her to reach with this blinding pain in her neck, with blood spilling out of her as it was now. Nagini lunged for her again, but she was gone, and Nagini sank her fangs into Voldemort instead.

She appeared in Dumbledore's office, clutching her neck with her hand, blood pouring through her fingers and down her front.

To her surprise, both Dumbledore and McGonagall were awake and in Dumbledore's office. They whipped around at the sound of her appearance, the blood draining out of their faces almost as quickly as her own was out of her neck.

Iris wanted to say, 'How do you keep two professors in suspense?' and then pass out. A great joke, she thought. But instead, she choked on her own blood and fell to her knees, splattering Dumbledore's and McGonagall's robes with blood as they rushed to her. She was unconscious before they reached her.

---

Author's Notes:

How did Wormtail beat Iris?

Wormtail was capable of creating a 40 ft crater in the ground, of being an Animagus at fifteen, overpowering Bertha Jorkins, nonverbal magic, and more. Fanfiction likes to depict him as weak, and perhaps he is when compared to the likes of Snape, Dolohov, McGonagall, etc. But Iris is a fourteen year old with almost no dueling experience whatsoever. She'd stand no real chance at this point in the story.

What's up with 'Flame' 'Flash' and 'Pop' being capitalized?

Because 'Apparate' is capitalized, I'm going to use 'Flame' for Fawkes's method of transportation, 'Flash' for Astra, and 'Pop' for house-elf travel.