Author's Notes:
I know the pacing's been rather slow. There are roughly ten or so chapters left for Iris Potter and the Goblet's Surprise. These ten chapters will lead to the end of her fourth year, so the second half of this fic will cover nearly six months. So it'll speed up, especially after January.
Chapter 12
Of Two Flowers
1994, December 26, Hospital Wing.
"Start from the beginning, Iris. Tell me everything."
Iris didn't look into Dumbledore's eyes. She had no plans of telling anyone everything. She desperately wanted to, she couldn't lie to herself — for what might have been the first time in her life, she wanted to talk of her feelings, of her emotions. Hermione would be proud. But no, she did not want to think of Hermione now, not after what she had been told.
Miss Granger was informed, yes, but she has not come to visit, I'm afraid.
Where was she to begin? Was Astra worth mentioning? She didn't seem so, and Iris also didn't want to mention her. Dumbledore, for all his leniency, would not want her with access to a phoenix. And what had become of Astra? Had she died, or had her phoenix side have her reborn — through ash and flame, no, perhaps not, but through something else?
"I — I," started Iris, not having her story planned out, not at all ready, but knowing it would be unwise to spend time thinking of it, now, with Dumbledore watching her. "I was flying on my broom, outside, and I —"
What was she to say now? The window she had broken by Summoning her broom had likely woken the other girls, and one of them had probably repaired the window. But even if so, had they told Dumbledore? It wouldn't be wise to say she had flown in through the window and had heard noise downstairs.
"— made my way back to the common room, through the portrait — the Fat Lady was half-asleep, so I just gave her the password under my Invisibility Cloak. Wormtail — Peter Pettigrew, I mean — was trying to go up the stairs when I got in. We dueled, I lost."
"The common room was a complete wreck," said Professor McGonagall, who was also there, sitting next to Madam Pomfrey, who refused to leave on the claim of needing to watch over Iris. Bless her. "How long did you two duel?"
Iris shrugged in her bed. "No more than two minutes, I don't think."
"Two minutes?" said McGonagall. "Heavens, how could the two of you have done so much damage?"
"Well, he was partly responsible in my parents' deaths," said Iris. "I wasn't exactly going to hold back, was I?"
Half-truths, Iris, half-truths.
"What happened next, Iris?" said Dumbledore.
"I tried blowing him up," Iris said bluntly. "It didn't work. He flew into a corner, and when I was healing my shoulder, he turned into a rat and snuck behind me. I woke up in some graveyard, tied to a tombstone. Wormtail threw Voldemort in, some bone, his own hand, and was going to do something with me, I think, but I got free then —"
"How?" asked Dumbledore.
"I cut myself free," Iris lied.
"With what?"
"Sirius gave me a knife for Christmas, used for unlocking locks, undoing knots, and, y'know, cutting. I was tied in a way that let me reach into my pocket."
Dumbledore nodded that he understood. "Continue."
"While Wormtail was sobbing over his missing hand, I grabbed his wand from his pocket and Stunned him. Then I took my own wand, and that's when Nagini — the snake — attacked. First my thigh, then my arm, then my neck. I tried using Banishing Charms and a Levitation Charm on the snake in between the bites."
Iris thought this would work. There was a chance Dumbledore had checked her wand to see the spells on it, and she knew the Stunning Spell would not show for she had used the pipe to cast it — and the last thing she needed now was Dumbledore, McGonagall, and a healer finding out she had done drugs. It would also explain what happened with Wormtail without any of them having a way to really confirm it. It wasn't as though she could have told them the location of the graveyard. She had no idea herself.
And she didn't really like the idea of telling Dumbledore she had Voldemort at her mercy and that she could have easily brought him back to Dumbledore's office. She still couldn't believe she had gone into a monologue, coming out worse for wear because of it… and after she had laughed at sixteen-year-old Voldemort for doing the same.
"I used the Portkey after the bite to the neck," she added, reaching with her hand to touch the bandages on her neck. Nagini had venom, apparently, but according to Madam Pomfrey, the venom was neutralized. Iris chalked it up to phoenix tears or the universe's obsessive urge to make sure she'd suffer as long as possible — death making future torment impossible.
"So Peter Pettigrew was still there to either finish the ritual or stop it," said Dumbledore, pensively.
"Hope he bled out," Iris muttered, just loud enough for them all to hear.
"I shall attempt to learn what ritual was done," Dumbledore said, standing up. "We can only hope that there was more to it, that Lord Voldemort has not already returned. Is there anything more, Iris?"
"Yeah."
"May I hear it?"
"No, sir."
This seemed to take Dumbledore by mild surprise, and McGonagall by more than mild indignation.
"It's not important," Iris added. And it wasn't, not exactly. What difference did Wormtail's death really make? If anything, letting Dumbledore believe Voldemort still had a servant would do some good. Maybe, with Voldemort without a servant once more and Dumbledore on higher alert, a double positive in a way, the rest of the year might be somewhat peaceful, deadly tournament tasks aside.
Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a bottle, holding what looked like water. A small dark cloud hovered over the water in the bottle. "This was found in the Gryffindor common room. It appears to be water, but for some odd reason, both Professor McGonagall and I are unable to Vanish it. Is it a spell Peter Pettigrew, or you, yourself, cast? As you can see, there is a small cloud of something hovering above it. It follows the water wherever it goes. It's most peculiar."
"It's a potion I was working on," Iris said, eyeing the bottle. Was it what became of Astra? "The bottle I had it in smashed. I Transfigured the shards of glass into rope to use on Wormtail, since I haven't been able to cast the Incarcerous Spell myself."
McGonagall nodded in approval. "I saw the rope. An excellent Transfiguration, Potter, for having done so in the middle of a duel. Take five points for Gryffindor."
Iris almost laughed in her face.
Dumbledore soon left the room with McGonagall at his heels, whispering frantically in his ear about the possible return of Voldemort. He had placed the bottle of water — Astra juice? — on the table next to her bed. She had an bizarre urge to drink it.
Iris turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Did anyone visit?"
"No," said Madam Pomfrey brusquely. "Only Weasley and Granger were told, I think, so no one else would have a reason to think you were here — well, given how many times you've been in the hospital wing, I suppose it's perfectly reasonable for one to assume you're here."
Iris did not find this as amusing as Madam Pomfrey did, which was very little in the first place.
"I mean, really," said Madam Pomfrey, "it's absolutely ridiculous. Once in September, twice in November, and now once in December — either you go looking for trouble or you have the worst luck I've ever seen!"
"Thank you for your input."
"Don't take that tone with me. Your luck will run out one of these days, Potter."
These words echoed in Iris's head throughout the day, bouncing off the inside of her skull so as to never leave her mind. Your luck will run out one of these days. It was as though Madam Pomfrey thought Iris didn't know, as though she believed it was her fault for being kidnapped, as though Wormtail wouldn't have figured out a way to get her anyway. What was she to do, spend every waking and sleeping moment with an Auror at her side?
Iris remained moody as the day dragged on. It seemed that more Gryffindors were turning on her now, due to the fact that her partner to the Yule Ball had been a Slytherin. However, it also seemed as though Astoria had been quite polite and respectful the entire night. She was getting random small, polite smiles from people she had never talked to before in her life. A few even came up to her to start conversations. These were people from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.
The attitude of many Gryffindors completely soured these moments though, and what was worse, Hermione and Ron weren't there for her at all. Ron was flatly ignoring her, except for when he snapped at her making a joke in his vicinity, not even directed at him. And she certainly had no plans of begging for forgiveness that she felt wasn't needed in the first place. Hermione, on the other hand, was another matter.
"Are you okay?" she asked later, when the sun was setting.
"You'd like to know now, would you?" said Iris, not looking at Hermione as she pulled a book from her dresser and hopped into bed.
"I — I thought you wouldn't want me to come visit, after last night," said Hermione. "And I thought you'd be fine. Professor McGonagall said you were going to be fine, so I thought it wasn't a big deal."
"Hm."
"Are you still angry?"
"Why shouldn't I be? You got all pissy with me last night over something that wasn't my fault, and then today — today, Ron is massive git and you didn't even bother."
Hermione placed her hands on her face. "It's — I just — there's no easy place for me to be right now, Iris, not with my two best friends fighting —"
"Ron and I are hardly fighting," Iris said. "We're not even speaking, except for that ridiculous outburst he had downstairs in the common room. You and I are fighting more than him and I, all because of your ridiculous outburst, your ridiculous jealousy over a git that hadn't even realized you were a girl until yesterday. It's pathetic."
"Look, Iris, just — just try to see it from my perspective," Hermione said with a forced calm. "I —"
"I don't think we can afford to shove another head that far up your ass."
"Really?" Hermione said through gritted teeth. "Can't you just — just shut up with the insults for once and have a civilized, normal discussion?"
Iris sighed. "Sorry."
"So, what happened last night?" Hermione asked tentatively, sounding as though she was regretting not visiting Iris in the hospital wing. "Why were you injured? What did you even do after — well, once the ball was finished."
"Had a date with firewhisky and misery."
"Firewhisky? You said you were high, Iris."
"High off of firewhisky," Iris lied. "What was I supposed to say? You ruined my drunk?"
"Is that why you were injured?" Hermione said, sounding disapproving. "You got drunk, again, and got yourself injured, again?"
"No, Hermione. It wasn't because of that. It had nothing to do with that. If you had bothered to check up on your best friend in the hospital wing —"
"Well, you're always in the hospital wing," Hermione said impatiently.
"Three times this year, Hermione, three times."
"Three times too many! You were always fine before, so I figured you'd be fine this time too."
"Well, I wasn't fine," snapped Iris. "What is this? You're putting me on a bloody pedestal now? Iris has been through worse! What's a little normal venom compared to basilisk venom?"
"Venom?" said Hermione worriedly.
"She fought a dragon, what's the big deal about being kidnapped by Peter Pettigrew, brought to Voldemort, having fangs sink into her neck, nearly killing her —"
Hermione gasped. "V-Voldemort?" she said, looking pale now.
"Yes, Voldemort." Iris gave Hermione the edited version of what had happened, the same she had given Dumbledore. "I was almost killed by Voldemort and you weren't even there after, when I wanted you, when I needed you."
Iris shut her curtains on Hermione's horrified face.
Before she began reading, she placed the tip of her wand on her chest, and incited: "Amato Animo Animato Animagus."
It was as though everything beneath her had suddenly vanished and she was falling from a great height. And just as suddenly as it started, it ended a second later. It was the same as the one she had felt in the morning when she had done it, before Dumbledore had come to the hospital wing to question her. She would need to do this every morning and every night now.
Looking down at the book she had grabbed, Spirit Animals and What They Mean, she began browsing it, reading through any pages of animals that caught her eye, calming down as the rest of the world, the rest of her problems, all drowned away, leaving only excitement at the fact she was getting nearer and nearer to becoming an Animagus, just like Sirius.
She read of cats, of their patience, curiosity, courage, independence, confidence, laziness, and temper; of the doe, with its tenderness tempered with its strength, of its grace and love, which reminded Iris of her mother; of hawks, and of their lack of fear, their positivity, their ability to tear apart their enemies in a second, metaphorically, or so Iris assumed. An hour passed as she became absorbed in the book.
She turned back to the page for cats, small or large. Outside of the independence, and perhaps the patience one — okay, definitely the patience one — but outside these two, it described her well enough. Did the courage one count if she took on an animal a hundred times her size? She didn't like the idea of being a lion, however; it wouldn't be all that useful outside of swinging her metaphorical dick around.
Iris knew her mother's Patronus was a doe. Was this because her father's was a stag? Or would her Patronus have been a doe before she fell in love with her father? She wasn't even sure if her mother was an Animagus, though she doubted it. Lupin or Sirius would have mentioned it, surely, and she didn't really see why her mother would try to become one.
The Marauders had done so for Lupin; she was doing so because if she got lucky, it could become useful in hiding or escaping, which she was evidently involved in quite a lot. Escaping the ropes Wormtail had put her in would have been simple if she could have turned into a small animal of sorts. She moved on, figuring that a doe form wouldn't give her much use either.
The birds interested her the most. It was true that her broom could fly faster than most birds, but as her flight with Astra had proven, birds — or at least, phoenixes — were more agile. Iris had also jumped off her broom several times the night before, and the feeling was exhilarating. Though she could only travel down without her broom, free falling felt better, freer, in a way she could not explain.
The peregrine falcon and the golden eagle in particular caught her attention, the two fastest birds, faster than the Firebolt — at least, when diving, which is exactly what Iris would often do if she ended up a bird. Other birds also piqued her interest, such as the raven, the hawk, even the owl. She also had to admit that being a small snake would be incredibly practical.
Once she was done, she closed the book, applied a Sticking Charm to it, and tossed it onto her headboard, as she was too lazy to get up and place the book back on her dresser. She closed her eyes. The memory of what happened in that graveyard drifted lazily to the forefront of her mind. She didn't try to stop it.
She had killed Wormtail. This wasn't like Quirrell, where she had only sped up Quirrell's eventual death through self-defense. Or had she? She wasn't certain what to make of Dumbledore's reassurance. The reasonable side of her wanted to believe Dumbledore's reassurance to be nothing but a falsity — an attempt at comfort, yes, but a lie nonetheless. The hopeful side of her wanted to believe that Quirrell really would have died regardless of what she had done.
But if that was true, why had Ginny lived after Voldemort's diary has possessed her? But if it wasn't true, why had the animals that Sirius had found in Albania had melted brains and whatnot? Was it this confusion, this uncertainty in the facts, that let Iris sleep at night? But now, there was no confusion. There was no uncertainty in the facts. There was only one fact.
She had killed a person.
She needed a holiday.
It could be argued that it was out of self-defense, but she wouldn't bother. She wouldn't be able to convince herself. Wormtail had been done for. She had found her own wand in his pocket easily, she could have Stunned Wormtail easily too. But would he not have bled out by the time his wound was sealed?
No, if she had just taken him with the Portkey, Dumbledore would have stopped the bleeding. So yes, she had killed someone when it wasn't needed. It was at least some small comfort to know that this bothered her so much. But bother her it did. She wanted to talk about it, with someone who wouldn't judge her for her actions. It was odd. She had almost never wanted to talk about her feelings before, but this — this was more than she could handle alone.
There was the ritual Voldemort spoke of as well. A blood ritual. Salazar Slytherin's offer looked more appealing now; she knew Dumbledore wasn't going to give her any information. He hadn't her first year, when she had been literally moments away from death, had he? Why would he now? If she wanted to know the details, she would have to find the information herself. That was how it always was when it came to these things.
And did Voldemort learn of this specific ritual from Salazar Slytherin's books and notes? She also realized, now, after the fact, that she probably shouldn't have told Voldemort she knew of the secret part of the Chamber.
Then there were the lingering thoughts on snakes. She hadn't heard Nagini sneaking up on her both times. How very useful Nagini was for Voldemort. How very useful any snake could be for anyone. She very much doubted she'd become a snake Animagus; the symbolism and personality traits that reflected a snake as an inner animal form didn't reflect her.
And the venom. It might have not killed her, for whatever reason, but it had given Madam Pomfrey quite the trouble. Not that she was awake to witness it. And this was the venom of — what was Nagini, exactly? A viper? How deadly, how helpful would venom of a basilisk be? If she had one the night before, it could have been out and about, could have seen Wormtail's rat form in the common room, could have attacked Wormtail while she couldn't.
And would a basilisk judge her for killing someone? Did serpents even have real personalities? The basilisk from her second year was more of a raving lunatic than anything else, but Jerry, Newt's basilisk, had been the opposite. She hoped whatever Newt had wasn't some oddly formal snake that preferred to have a napkin wrapped around its neck before it ate cut up small portions of mice.
She leapt out of her bed, Summoned parchment and a quill, and sat down at the table on the other side of her bed, opposite of the dresser. Under five words, she drew a lightning bolt.
I want the venom included.
ϟ
o
Poison and... Ivy?
o
Iris began her walk to the Great Hall for lunch, alone and quite hungry, as she had not had breakfast that morning. The week had been uneventful, thankfully, but unfriendly to her patience. Ron and Iris were still not talking. Hermione insisted that she at least start the conversation that would lead to Ron apologizing, but Iris refused to do so. This led to Hermione being irritated with her too, but at least the two girls, however awkwardly, still talked.
The only real pleasant thing that had occurred was that Newt had sent her a letter back.
Dear Ivy,
Venom, but no killing gaze or rooster vulnerability. The fifteenth!
Newt
Iris found the name Newt had used peculiar — incredibly so, in fact. Ivy. This was a nickname a muggle girl, Reagan, who Iris still kept in contact with over the summers, had given her in her days before Hogwarts. She had once asked Reagan why she called her Ivy, and it was due to her middle name, Vivienne — or more so, the second and third letter of her middle name — I-V.
Ivy.
It was a bit of a stretch for a nickname, Iris thought; a bit silly and unnecessary, as she had told Reagan, and it was this reason that had her curious as to why Newt had used it. Ivy was not a nickname anyone would use for Iris or Vivienne. Reagan had done so purely because she hadn't liked being reminded of her grandmother, whose name was Iris, and who was also a bit of a cunt.
So why had Newt? Was it just a coincidence? Had he used the name in case the letter was intercepted, so that it wouldn't be linked to her? Had he just picked a name at random and assumed Iris would know the letter was addressed to her because of the contents?
Just as she was about to enter the Great Hall, Hermione came nearly stamping out of the Great Hall, looking furious and on the brink of tears.
"Hermione?"
Hermione stopped in front of Iris, took one look at her, shook her head fiercely, and pushed past.
"Hermione!" Iris called after her, but Hermione ignored her. Iris pulled a slice of treacle tart out of her pocket and took a bite out of it, still watching her walk away.
"Did you just pull out some treacle tart out of your pocket?"
Iris looked to her side to see who had spoken: Cedric Diggory, the Seeker for Hufflepuff. She shrugged. "Impervius Charm," she said through a mouthful of the food.
"I didn't realize the Impervius Charm kept lint off too," Cedric said.
Iris looked down at her treacle tart in concern.
Cedric hesitated for a moment, but then spoke quietly to her. "Listen, Iris, you might want to avoid the Great Hall."
"What?" said Iris, her stomach grumbling. "Why?"
"It's just —" Cedric paused. "Rita Skeeter," he said simply.
"Ah," said Iris, widening her eyes mockingly. "She's done another on me, has she?"
Cedric smiled down at her with sympathy. "This one isn't as bad as the Parselmouth one, at least not to the general public — it's not even in the Daily Prophet. But you'll find it worse — if you were meaning to keep it a secret." He said goodbye after giving her one more warning and walked away.
Iris made her way into the Great Hall anyway, not really taking Cedric's warning seriously. But as soon as she walked in, half of the eyes turned on her. Many of the students had a purple and pink magazine in their hands. It was Witch Weekly; Lavender and Parvati had thrown them carelessly around their dorm enough for her to get a decent enough look at the covers of them. She saw McGonagall's face planted firmly into her palms at the staff table.
Iris went to walk toward an empty spot at the Gryffindor table when someone suddenly looped an arm through hers and began pulling her out of the Great Hall.
"What the —"
"Not 'ere. As far as they are concerned, you 'ave already read it and you simply do not care. This is better. If you stay, you will become upset and they will see. You do not want this."
Iris stared up at Fleur, open-mouthed, as she was pulled away from the Great Hall, through the entrance hall, and eventually into an empty classroom.
"What the hell, Fleur?" Iris said as she turned around to see Fleur lock the door. "What's everybody's problem? Hermione's bursting into tears, Cedric Diggory's acting like the Great Hall's found out about the dead body I've — ah, no, you weren't supposed to hear that."
Fleur looked unimpressed. "You will not be joking when you read this," she said, and she waved one of the Witch Weekly magazines. "That was not you at the Yule Ball?" she asked in her melodic accent.
"What? Let me see that. How did Skeeter find out about the Polyjuice?"
"Were you shouting it to the skies?" Fleur asked, sitting down in one of the chairs in the classroom and crossing her legs.
"I'll be cursing Rita Skeeter's name to the skies soon," Iris muttered as she flipped through the magazine, pacing back and forth in the empty classroom. She finally found the article.
Dysfunctional Love Triangle — Iris Potter's Secret
Though she remains the number one champion of the Triwizard Tournament even after the Beauxbatons champion, Fleur Delacour, gained an additional ten points in her duel against the Hogwarts champion, Cassius Warrington, not all is well with fourteen-year old Iris Potter, writes Rita Skeeter.
Many were shocked with Potter's behavior during the Yule Ball at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but not for the reason you might think! Potter was polite, respectful, and behaved maturely. But the fourth-year Gryffindor was keeping a secret. There was a reason Iris Potter wasn't spouting foul language, insulting people, and generally acting as though there wasn't a care in the world to give in a formal, respectable setting like the Yule Ball at Hogwarts.
Or perhaps it should be said there was a reason Astoria Greengrass wasn't acting like a buffoon. Overheard at Hogwarts, Potter freely admitted to having Astoria Greengrass use Polyjuice Potion to masquerade as her at the Yule Ball, as she herself did not want to attend.
And more was overheard as well — a heated argument with the famous (or perhaps, infamous) trio of Hogwarts: Iris Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley. Those who still attend Hogwarts will likely know these three, but to those who don't…
Iris skipped past the introductions, her heart racing fast. Was the Polyjuice her secret? Or had Rita Skeeter overheard everything?
Hermione Granger seems to fancy Ronald Weasley, so much so that the friendship between her and Iris Potter sounded as though it was shattering into pieces, as Ronald Weasley seemed to be smitten with Iris Potter. Now, if it wasn't overheard that it wasn't really Potter with Cassius Warrington as her partner, one might assume that Warrington was who Iris Potter was smitten with, but as it so happens, Potter isn't smitten with any boy in Hogwarts — not any boy in the world. From what was overhead, it is far more likely that Iris Potter is smitten with her best friend, Hermione Granger.
And there it was.
Iris cursed loudly. Rita Skeeter have overheard it all. But how? She was certain there was no one else there. Was she too high that night? But no, Dumbledore had been there as well — wouldn't he at least have seen Rita Skeeter?
"I don't think you've read it all," said Fleur, who had been watching Iris the entire time. "It is foul. This Rita Skeeter 'as written about you, your friends, Dumbledore, that Professor McGonagall, me —"
"You?" Iris said absentmindedly, her mind still reeling from the fact that the entire school now knew of the Polyjuice and her sexuality — though, Cassius Warrington's words about sexuality in the wizarding world had sunk into her over the last two weeks and she was feeling particularly more indifferent to the whole matter now. So what if they knew?
And if they couldn't keep their comments to themselves, she would simply go back on her promise to Dumbledore — that is to say, forget the rules, stop caring about points, detentions, and reprimands. She would simply Stun them. She would do it in front of Snape if need be. Dumbledore would not expel her if she Stunned Snape himself. She could probably Stun Dumbledore and he'd wake up thinking it was a fine joke.
"— and someone 'as spoken of the time we 'ave spent together, 'owever short it was," Fleur was saying. "She 'as made it so that she does not look as though she is insulting you for your sexuality, but is nonetheless pointing it out as often as she can, knowing people will read about it whether they are okay with it or not."
"You don't care?"
Fleur snorted. "I know bigotry, Iris. I would be a — 'ow do you say? — hypocrite? — if I did care, non?"
"How, though?" Iris said to no one in particular, sitting down. How had Rita Skeeter known? Surely Ron wouldn't have — no, he hadn't even heard the full conversation; he still didn't know that she was — well, he did now. She read the rest of the article. To back up her claims about Iris being insulting and disrespectful, Rita Skeeter had brought up the encounter with the goblins in the Three Broomsticks, and though the whole inn had heard some of what she had called the goblins, only Ron and Hermione had heard some of the other things mentioned in this article.
Rita Skeeter had been there as well.
"I 'ad wondered why you did not speak to me during the ball," Fleur said, disturbing the silence. "I was… a little upset. It is lonely 'ere, after all. But it was not you the whole time, was it?"
Iris shook her head, which lay on her palms now.
"Don't worry," Fleur said. "Soon you will grow to become like me. Beautiful, indifferent —"
"And very haughty?"
"No," said Fleur, not sounding insulted in the slightest. "The 'aughtiness will come with the indifference. You will realize that the rest of the world 'ardly cares for you, and that it is not worth a damn, not worth much of your attention or time."
"Oh?" said Iris skeptically. "Why did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire if you're so — so unconcerned about everything? — so believing that the world isn't worth your effort? Why did you get so upset at me when you found out I was a champion?"
"Because," sighed Fleur, "I was a fool. I let Madame Maxime fool me into doing this. I thought it might be, 'opefully, a little fun if nothing else. I was wrong. Just you wait, Iris Potter, perhaps it will not be in the same way as me, but you will grow indifferent. You will stop caring about these matters. And it will show, in one way or another. Dumbledore has stopped caring about many things, 'as he not? Now, you are 'ungry, non? I would not be surprised if you knew where the kitchens were — so let's walk, Iris. Come, I will not allow you to sulk. No sulking," she demanded, pulling Iris to her feet.
Iris snorted, the edges of her lips curving upward. "I know a way you can get me to stop sulking."
"No, I'm afraid not, Iris. The indifference isn't the only thing you've yet to gain."
"Ouch."
There was a moment of silence as the two stared at each other, both attempting to keep a straight face.
"You said I'd become like you soon," said Iris into the silence. "Does that mean that there'll come a day where you will be willing to —"
"Come, let us go eat," interrupted Fleur. "And then the two of us will grab our golden eggs and find out the secret behind them, yes?"
"Maybe you haven't read the article," Iris said, waving the magazine before throwing it on the ground and obliterating it with fire, "but it said that I was into girls, and anyone with golden eggs is most definitely not —"
"You deserve that article, you know."
Iris laughed. She laughed more freely than she had in what must have been weeks — if she didn't count the unstoppable giggling that accompanied Christmas night. And she didn't. She hadn't really considered that real laughter, not like this. Not even Ron was willing to insult her so carelessly like this, and it made her feel better, however odd it might have been.
"Yeah, I know."
o
Elves and… Moody?
o
Iris barged into the kitchens as though she owned it — and with how much each house-elf here loved her for her kind words and praise, which she frequently gave, she might as well have owned it.
"Ah, my minions." Iris sighed happily at the beaming faces of the house-elves. They didn't rush to her as they used to, thankfully, as Iris had told them there was no need. Then she frowned. By the large fireplace, where Winky spent most of her time, drinking herself to death with butterbeer, Professor Moody was talking with the drunken house-elf. "Professor Moody?"
Moody spun around, wand in hand. "Agh — Potter. Delacour. Didn't hear the two of you walk in. What are you doing here, Potter?"
Ignoring his question, Iris raised her eyebrows. "Probably because, from what it looked like, you were interrogating Winky as though she held the secret to fixing your face. Or were you under the impression that butterbeer was the key to immortality?"
Moody grunted a short laugh. "It's none of your business, Potter. Not that it matters, ruddy elf won't talk. Acts as though she's still Crouch's house-elf."
Winky let out a small sob.
"Why are you here anyway?" asked Moody. "Don't answer that, I don't think I care," he said lightly. He gave a nod to Iris and Fleur and began to walk toward the exit, but stopped. "Oh, Potter, you'll probably want to know I checked out that graveyard on Dumbledore's orders."
Iris's head turned so quickly to look at Moody that there was a sudden sharp pain in her neck. "What? How?" she said quickly. "I didn't know where it was, how did —"
"Dumbledore figured it out. It was in the village his parents used to live in. Little Hangleton. Didn't find much though." Moody gave Iris a very shrewd look. "Thought you'd oughta know."
"I 'eard 'is eye can see through clothing," Fleur said once he had left.
"He's not like that," Iris said, her mind on the look Moody had given her. Had he really found nothing? Did Nagini hopefully eat Wormtail's body? "Wouldn't be surprised if a curse took out something a little higher than his leg. Don't think he'd care enough about me anyway," Iris said absentmindedly and quietly, staring at Winky curiously. "Covered in scars and all that."
She wasn't sure if Fleur heard this.
"Winky?" Iris said, leaning down and placing her hands on her knees. Winky looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. "What did Moody ask you about? And where's Dobby?"
"He is asking Winky of Winky's master!" she squeaked with a sort of half-anguished, half-indignant sob. "But Winky is not telling him anything! Winky will not tell anyone of master's secrets! No, no, no, no —"
"Right," said Iris, straightening up. "Forget it. Did you want to eat, Fleur? I forgot if you —"
Iris looked over her shoulder, but Fleur was not there. Instead, she was lying on a couch that had not been there before, being fed various foods by a bunch of house-elves.
Iris asked her to conjure a couch for her too, and the two spent the next hour being as lazy as they could possibly be; Fleur had even used an advanced Vanishing spell on the both of them to empty their bladders so they did not need to get up. When Dobby had come from wherever he had been and had found the two in the kitchens, Iris had been sure he was going to explode from happiness.
To the pleasure of both Iris and Fleur, they began spending most meals here; Iris began spending as much time as she could with Fleur, usually in places in the castle where she wouldn't run into others. She did not want to find out the public opinion of what Rita Skeeter had revealed.
To the displeasure of Iris, her friendships with Hermione and Ron weren't improving at all. She and Ron still weren't talking when classes started up again, and many of her conversations with Hermione were stilted and too polite.
"So, Iris," Hermione said in their Care of Magical Creatures class. "Are you doing okay? I haven't really seen you much since that article came out..."
"Do you blame me?" Iris said, sitting on the wooden fence all the boys stayed behind while the girls studied the unicorn from up close.
The unicorn had nearly impaled Iris with its horn when Iris had gotten near. She figured it was either because she had recently killed. She couldn't tell anyone of this, of course, so the Slytherins found their own reasons; according to them, the unicorn hadn't wanted her near because she wasn't pure. In other words, by the end of that day, all of Hogwarts would have heard a rumor of Iris giving herself to Cassius Warrington.
Hagrid angrily exclaimed that unicorns weren't like that, that they were all basing their jokes off a myth. He and Professor Flitwick were the only two teachers who bothered defending her. Taking away points was all McGonagall had bothered doing, but it didn't really matter as Snape would just give them all back, seeing as most of the insults came from Slytherins.
It was all ridiculous. One moment, she was a lesbian who hadn't really gone with Cassius to the ball. The next, she had let Cassius have sex with her on the night of the ball. Iris stopped paying attention. When Sirius had asked her what they were saying, she couldn't tell him; she wasn't really sure of the general consensus of what Rita Skeeter's article revealed even days after. She was thankful, though, that Sirius was completely supportive — so much so that he began talking about the time he had found her mother and Marlene McKinnon in a broom closet.
Iris began looking forward to her time with Sirius through the mirror and Fleur in general more so as the days passed.
With Ron, it was silence. With Hermione, it was constant questions about how she was doing, how Iris should be preparing for the second task, and — well, Iris zoned out after this point; this usually led to more arguments. With Fleur, it was relaxation and simply not caring about the rest of the world. And as Fleur actually enjoyed speaking with Iris, her English was improving.
Hogwarts saw less and less of Iris as each day passed.
About a week before her duel with Krum, Iris realized that there was a week before her duel with Krum.
"Oh, shit."
"Hm?" Fleur said, curled up in her Transfigured couch by the fireplace in the kitchens. Both her and Iris had their own small couch set up against the wall now. At first, the house-elves had objected, but Iris had told them that her mere presence would keep Hermione Granger (the house-elves all shuddered here) away from the kitchens. And now, Iris and Fleur had just eaten more than they could handle, thanks to the unrelenting deliveries of freshly baked food, and they both felt nauseous.
"I just realized I have to duel Krum."
Fleur snorted with laughter, though it was followed by a soft groan. She had just finished eating quite a lot of food. "You will lose. You might be able to fight dragons better than the rest of us, but a month would not 'ave been enough for you to duel somebody from Durmstrang. I will lose against Krum. Durmstrang 'as a 'eavy emphasis on dueling. Iris, perhaps it wasn't wise to spend so much time 'ere. I am being overfed. I think I am gaining a stomach."
"It's been like two weeks since we started eating here," Iris pointed out. "You're fine."
"Oh?" Fleur said in a low, sultry voice. "You think so, do you?"
"No, not really."
"Hmph! You English have no taste," Fleur said, and she stretched, her stomach showing as her top lifted with her arms.
Iris tried not to stare.
Fleur smiled at her. "I forgot to ask, 'ave you tried anything new with the egg?"
Iris sighed and picked up her golden egg from the floor. "Yeah, I took it outside and cast every fire spell I know on it. It was glowing red by the time I was finished with it. I had to open it with my wand because it was so hot, but it didn't make any difference. I even asked Hagrid what kind of things you need to do with a dragon's egg, but nope; nada; nothing."
Fleur clapped her hands twice, signaling to Iris to throw the egg to her. Frowning, Iris did so. Upon catching it, Fleur immediately sat up, opened the egg, and tossed it like a basketball into a cauldron that had just been filled with water by a house-elf. After the initial splash, and ignoring a house-elf's glare, the two listened.
The screeching turned into a muffled kind of singing. Fleur and Iris both looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
"Well," said Fleur, "there you go."
"Want to shove your head in there and listen?" Iris asked.
"Non," said Fleur, getting up and making her way toward the cauldron. "I think we will need a bath. Does 'Ogwarts 'ave one? It is a bit chilly to go swimming in the lake."
"The prefects have one. I used it last year. They've changed the password since then, though."
"But 'ow did you 'ave the password last year? You were not a prefect, no?"
"Percy Weasley told me," Iris said. "I saved his sister, Ginny, in my second year. I might have" — Iris hesitated for a moment — "reminded him of that little fact when he refused to give it to me."
"Are there any other prefects who 'ave loved ones who've you've saved the lives of?"
Iris tsked once loudly in halfhearted disapproval. "Guilt tripping one prefect was enough, any more is just crossing the line."
While Iris was thinking of bringing Fleur down to the Chamber, where she had built herself a small pool that was no longer a pool, Winky burst into sobs.
"Oh, here we go again," groaned Iris, dismissing the idea; Iris and Hermione had removed the water after the first task and filled it instead with more pillows and blankets than they could count, creating a sort of large bed in which Iris loved to jump in and Hermione read in; the thought made her head hurt — removing all the pillows and blankets, filling it with water again, and making it deeper.
Conjuring spells were something Iris had never been able to get the hang of. She had attempted to learn the Water-Making Spell (Aguamenti) and the Incarcerous Spell (Incarcerous), but it was no good. Perhaps Fleur could cast the Water-Making Spell, making it much easier to fill the pool? Or perhaps she could just bring Winky down there and have her tears fill it up.
"Winky, will you please stop crying? We're going to stop coming here otherwise."
All the other house-elves, including Dobby, shot a death glare at Winky. Iris saw one house-elf finger a cleaver in his hand, looking at Winky thoughtfully. Iris shot the elf a look and he relented.
"W-W-Winky is — is — is a bad elf!" Winky wailed.
"Why don't you just take her in as your 'ouse-elf?" Fleur suggested casually.
Winky's sobbing instantly ceased, and she stared wide-eyed at Fleur, amazement plastered on every inch of her face. Her head swiveled from Fleur to Iris, her eyes tearing up — not from misery, but hope. The entire kitchen grew quiet, as though Fleur had just suggested that Iris execute Winky to shut her up.
Dobby came bounding from the other side of the kitchen, a hopeful look in his eyes too.
"Iris Potter, ma'am!" Dobby and Fleur both said at the same time, the latter in a more mocking tone. Dobby blushed fiercely, and Fleur smiled down at her, half-sheepishly, half-kindly.
"Yeah, Dobby?" Iris said, still contemplating what Fleur had just said.
"Freedom does not suit Winky, Iris Potter, ma'am," Dobby said, wringing his hands. "She is needing a master or mistress, ma'am."
"Huh," Iris said, "I always figured you'd be the one to want me, Dobby."
"Oh, no, ma'am," Dobby said. "Dobby likes to work but he likes freedom too!"
Dobby looked at her apologetically, but Iris waved him off.
"Is that you want, Winky?" Iris asked, a little unnerved that Winky had not stopped staring at her this entire time.
After a moment of silence, Winky slowly gave a single nod, her expression disbelieving but hopeful still.
Iris shrugged. "Alright, sure."
Winky fainted.
She fell off her stool, sideways, her head falling into the fireplace. Dobby squeaked and ran to take her head out, but the other house-elves looked reluctant to help. Hermione would probably kill her if she ever found out, Iris couldn't help thinking, and it was likely she would find out, as Iris wasn't really planning on keeping it much of a secret.
"What exactly do I have to do?"
"I think you must go to the Ministry," said Fleur, reaching into the cauldron and picking up the golden egg she had closed. "To register your 'ouse-elf, or so it is in France."
Iris flicked her wrist and then her wand once it was in her hand. "Ennervate."
Winky woke up, pushed Dobby off of her instantly, and jumped a remarkable height to Iris, latching herself to Iris's chest.
"Iris Potter is taking Winky in! Iris Potter is as great as Dobby is saying!"
Iris awkwardly patted Winky on the back. "Yeah, listen, Winky — if I've got to go to the Ministry to do this, it might have to wait —"
"But Winky can serve you now, miss!" Winky said excitedly. "Winky can serve you before we is going to the Ministry of Magic! No one is knowing, mistress!"
"Er — right," said Iris. "I don't exactly have a home for you to take care of, so I've got nothing for you now…"
"Winky be staying here in the kitchens if you is not needing her!" said Winky, hopping down from Iris and looking like she hadn't just been drinking herself to death. She straightened her back and rushed to help the house-elves with cooking.
Dobby took in the expression on both Iris and Fleur's face. "Ah, yes," he said, and Iris fought the urge to laugh at his wise tone, "Winky knows your bond is coming. She is tiring herself now and will sleep earlier tonight, Iris Potter, ma'am, but —"
"Bond? What bond?"
"The bond between a house-elf and the master or mistress, ma'am," said Dobby.
"It gives the 'ouse-elf strength to work as much as they do," said Fleur. "Without it, they need more rest and sleep. That is correct, Dobby, non?"
Dobby nodded vigorously. "Yes, miss. Dobby does not have a bond with a witch or wizard, so he is not working as much as the others — but Dobby is okay with that, miss, for Dobby greatly enjoys his sleep!"
Fleur smiled to herself. "Don't we all?"
Iris shot Fleur an amused look. "Didn't you just wake up from a nap twenty minutes ago?"
Iris just barely caught the golden egg flung at her face.
"Yeah, you definitely need more beauty sleep," Iris said.
"You definitely need to quit staring at my breasts."
"Breasts? What breasts?"
"Chicken breasts, miss?" said a house-elf from nearby. "Right away, miss!"
"What? Wait — no!"
But it was too late, the house-elf was already making some.
Fleur looked over at Iris and gave a small, light shrug. "I could eat."
"You just complained about — you know what, no. Dobby, think you could find us a cauldron big enough to fit this golden egg and our heads in it? It's got to be very big" — Iris spread her arms out wide to show Dobby just how big — "if we're going to fit Fleur's big head in there."
"Dobby… could find one, ma'am," Dobby said hesitantly. "Professor Snape has big ones, ma'am —"
Fleur snorted.
"— but Professor Snape has placed a spell to stop house-elves from entering his private office, says — he says — he" — Dobby seemed to swell up with indignation — "he says it is because of you, Iris Potter, ma'am."
"Me?" said Iris.
"Yes, ma'am, says he thinks Iris Potter will use house-elves to break into his private office and his private private room."
"Private private room?" asked Iris, amused. "Do you have any idea how many jokes I'll have for him next time I see him?"
"A butt load," said Fleur.
"I bet he's the type to be into that."
Fleur stared straight into her eyes. "There is nothing wrong with that," she said, a little too defensively.
"Dobby is knowing a place, ma'am," interrupted Dobby. "A place where you may conjure a room for your needs."
"This conversation got incredibly dirty," Iris muttered, still feeling her cheeks burning from Fleur's comment. "What room, Dobby?"
"It is called the Come and Go Room, ma'am!"
Iris could practically feel Fleur's smirk from her side. "It's called the Come and Go Room?" Iris echoed. "Of course it is."
o
Songs and… Snogs?
o
"I think I've lost him," said Iris, peering over the corner of a corridor.
"Only you could gain 'ouse-elf stalkers, Iris," said Fleur.
"Hey, it's not my fault the little lunatic seems to think I need chicken legs shoved down my throat — don't say it — and besides, I said chicken breasts, not legs."
Fleur stopped pacing back and forth in the corridor, seventh floor, when the door appeared. As she stood in front of the door, inspecting it, Iris leaned against the opposite wall, taking in the sight. If she was a photographer, she would have taken a picture here; Fleur, in her robes that revealed her willowy form, standing impressively in front of large intricate doors, her silvery-blonde hair flowing down her back, wavy and slightly messy, as Fleur had kept it these last few days — ever since Iris had told her she liked it so.
And now, the both of them clutching their golden eggs, they were about to enter this room hoping for a pool. When Iris had gotten uncomfortable before, Fleur acted as though she had read her mind and had told her she'd conjure a swimming suit for her. The truth was that she hadn't read her mind. Iris could Transfigure herself one well enough, she supposed, but the thought of Fleur in a swimming suit…
Iris felt butterflies in her stomach, and a growing heat between her —
"Well, let's enter, yes?" Fleur said, and she pushed one of the doors open and stepped inside. Iris heard her suck in a soft breath. "It is magnifique."
Iris walked in behind her.
The room immediately reminded her of the tropics. There were several tall palm trees scattered around the large pool, kidney-shaped and surrounded by large stones that added to the outdoorsy look of the room. The pool also had several golden taps at the edges of the pool, similar to the small pool in the prefect's bathroom. The stone walls could hardly be seen through the plants, vines, and sky blue drapery, which moved on its own, resembling both a beautiful sky and a silent waterfall.
She closed the door behind her and locked it with a spell just in case. When she turned around, Fleur was no longer in her fine silk robes, but rather a bikini of the same color, pale blue. Iris's mind went blissfully blank, but not because of Fleur's veela heritage. It might have been just the shock of a great first impression, but Iris thought her body was the epitome of perfection.
She suddenly felt very insecure. It was something new; she had hardly ever cared about that sort of thing before. She was never a girly type of girl, but now, she wished she had cared enough about her appearance outside of the very minimum. Maybe then she wouldn't have been so carefree about her scars; maybe then she would have took Madam Pomfrey up on her offer of getting them removed —
But did she even have the money for it? The repair cost for the Firebolt had cost her a sily amount of money, and then there were the numerous things she had bought over the last few months: the numerous things at the Quidditch World Cup, the wand holsters, getting her eyesight fixed (which had cost more than the Firebolt repair), the Essence of Dittany, the payment she had been forced to pay for Inigo, and there was surely more she was forgetting.
How many scars did she even have excluding the iconic lightning bolt? The basilisk fang's scar on her right arm; the Hungarian Horntail's stretching over her shoulder blade; the three on her left thigh from the griffin; and the numerous fang marks from Nagini and the large bat from the first task, but they could hardly be seen. Still, she found the ones on her thigh and back ugly.
"Iris?" said Fleur. "I would like to get this done soon, so we may stop worrying about it, yes? Then we can laze about — in this beauté of a pool. Merde, I suppose I must apologize for all I 'ave said against 'Ogwarts. Beauxbatons does not 'ave anything like this room — or perhaps I 'ave just not found it. Would you like me to Transfigure your clothes into something suitable?"
Iris shook her head. "No, just hop in. I'll do it myself. Turn on some of those faucets too, I think they create foam and bubbles." She thought of just giving herself a full body suit, but knew Fleur would tease her and ask why, so she waited.
Fleur took in her troubled expression and frowned, but nodded anyway. She casually threw her golden egg over her shoulder, letting it fall into the middle of the pool, and then dove in. After turning on every faucet she could find, she dove down after the egg.
Iris had her wand in her hand in an instant, flicking, swishing, and jabbing to Transfigure her clothing also into a bikini, a simple black. She hopped to one of the stones outlining the pool, tossed her golden egg in too, and attempted to dive in the same way Fleur had done —
She landed directly on her belly instead.
Spluttering as she rose from the water, warm but refreshing, she turned around quickly, hoping Fleur hadn't just seen that. But she hadn't; she was still underwater and Iris was beginning to get worried. But before she could do anything, Fleur rose to the surface too. She ran her fingers over her face and through her hair, clearing the wet strands, foam, and bubbles.
"You need to listen to this," was all she said before she dived back under.
Iris took a deep breath and followed down. Before she reached the bottom of the pool, which the depth of was more so Fleur's height than hers, there was a chorus of eerie voices spreading throughout the water. Once she reached the bottom, Fleur looked at her and then closed the golden egg and motioned to behind her. Iris turned around in the water and saw her own egg lying a few feet from her. Iris turned back to Fleur in confusion and saw her making opening gestures with her hands.
Iris kicked her feet in the water, realizing she was a worse swimmer than she thought, and swam to her egg. Fleur was right behind her, her wand in her hand. She pressed the tip of it against Iris's chest once they stopped, and Iris felt her lungs fill up with oxygen again.
Then she opened her own egg —
Instantly, the bone-chilling song started up again.
"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you will have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But troubles lay beyond the shore,
Creatures of the deep, runes, and more,
Find the key within one of eight,
And make a journey past our graves,
Above and back below again,
Through the door, never stop, and then,
Take what's yours and leave while you may,
Of the dangers, we cannot say,
But beware once the hour is past,
Too late, you're trapped, you won't come back."
Iris and Fleur both broke through the calm water and swam to the edge of the pool to place their eggs in between the stones. Then they looked at each other. The foam and bubbles covering them lightened the mood slightly.
"Well," said Iris, "if that isn't the most eeriest thing ever."
Fleur stared at the golden egg. "Eerie," she said, trying out the word. "That means strange, unnerving, yes? I agree if so. It is eerie, just like the lake. What is the lake called? The black lake? The name itself is eerie."
"Not the official name, but some call it that," said Iris. "You think it involves the lake? Makes sense — cannot sing above the ground, beyond the shore, creatures of the deep…"
"What sings in the water?" Fleur asked.
Iris frowned. "I don't know. Here, hold on, we'll get to the rest later —"
Silver suddenly flowed from her wand and a doe formed half a second later, but the stream of silvery magic didn't stop; it kept rushing out of Iris's wand and into the doe.
Fleur scrunched her face up. "I still 'ave not been able to produce one."
"I'll teach you," said Iris. "Wait — shit — no! — sorry, Professor Dumbledore — for the language, I mean — and I didn't mean I'd teach this spell to anyone! But the Patronus itself, rather — I keep forgetting this thing starts recording so soon —"
And then the flow of silver stopped and the doe shot off, galloping into the wall.
"No!" Iris shouted, slapping her arms childishly against the water. "Come back, I wasn't — damn it! Can't I ever get a break?"
Fleur gave a smothered laugh, but turned it into a cough at Iris's glare. Iris raised her wand from the water and produced the spell again —
"You can do it without an incantation?" Fleur said, sounding as though she had just realized Iris wasn't using words.
"Hm? No, it doesn't require an — wait, no — don't record that!" As Iris's frustration grew, her concentration broke and the Patronus shot off into the wall once more. "You have got to be — what the hell is wrong with me? — Fleur, please, just shut up so I can do this."
Fleur didn't bother smothering her laughter this time.
Once more, Iris cast the spell. "Professor Dumbledore. I hope you ignored those two last messages. I've got a question. I know you said I shouldn't abuse this spell by constantly using it with you and Professor McGonagall, but it's important — life or death! Are there…" Iris paused for dramatic effect, hoping that McGonagall was in Dumbledore's office now to hear this: "Are there merpeople in the lake?"
And finally, successfully, the doe ran off when the time was right. Iris sighed and threw her face into her palms.
"You look as though you need to relax, no?" said Fleur. "Maybe I can give you a massage?"
"Fleur, giving me a massage will do the exact opposite of relaxing me, and you know that."
Again, oddly, Iris could somehow sense Fleur was smirking.
"I didn't know a Patronus could do that," said Fleur.
"It's a spell Dumbledore created — well, he really just modified the Patronus. It's the only spell I can do nonverbally. It's supposedly easier to do than your normal nonverbal spell. And it's possible to send out messages without actually speaking, but I can't do that for the life of me."
A few moment later, a phoenix Patronus flew in from the ceiling, spiraled down, and came to rest in front of Iris. Dumbledore's voice spoke.
"What an interesting question, Iris. Why, I believe Professor McGonagall thinks so as well. It's unfortunate others cannot speak into another's Patronus Messenger. I'm sure she would have greatly enjoyed educating you on the matter. Ah, yes, yes, my apologies, Minerva. The answer to your question, Iris, is that there are indeed merpeople in the lake — a whole colony, in fact. They first settled in the lake in the early — must you take the fun out of everything, Minerva?" Dumbledore said, sounding an awful lot like a child.
The Patronus vanished, leaving the two girls with their thoughts about merpeople and whether or not Dumbledore was really a kid who had accidentally taken an Aging Potion.
"So, merpeople," Iris said.
"Merpeople who will 'ave something we will sorely miss. We will 'ave to face other creatures too, I do not doubt," said Fleur.
"And runes. Cast runes or decipher them? I can do the latter, but casting them…"
"Teach me the Patronus and I will teach you what I can of runes… An 'our long to search —"
"And if we don't get out of wherever it is we'll be, we'll be trapped inside there forever," Iris said, scowling at the egg. "I seriously hope that's an exaggeration."
Fleur snorted with disdain. "With 'ow the first task was, I doubt it. I do not believe we will be able to figure out the rest, Iris, not now. It seems like we will only understand the entire song when we are doing the task."
"Great," sighed Iris. "I'm going to become an alcoholic or pothead if this kind of stress keeps piling up on me."
"Pothead?"
Iris explained the bare minimum to her, of where she had gotten the drug, how much she had left, what it did, when she had used it, but not what had happened with Wormtail. Fleur was left unaware that anything of importance had happened that night. She did not feel as though she knew Fleur enough to begin sharing that, to talk of murder, no matter how comfortable they had gotten over the weeks with each other. Though, she had the distinct impression that Fleur wouldn't have cared if Iris had blown up half the school, much less killed someone like Wormtail.
Fleur's eyebrows rose and an impish smile crept up on her face.
"No, last time led to disaster," Iris said sternly. "Don't ask."
"And 'ow will it lead to disaster 'ere?" Fleur said, placing a hand gently on Iris's arm.
"Good point." Iris was about to get out of the pool and make her way to the Gryffindor Tower when she realized she didn't need to. She lowered herself back into the pleasantly warm water. She thought about calling for Astra, wondering if that would even work, but then remembered that Astra was still some strange liquid in a bottle, even now. "Winky!"
There was a pop and Winky appeared on one of the stones, bouncing on her heels. Iris wasn't sure how Winky even knew she was calling as the so called bond hadn't been formed yet.
"Mistress calls for Winky so soon!"
"Yeah, listen, can you go into my trunk — actually, no, you can't get in. Can you bring my trunk from my dorm here, Winky? I'd really appreciate —"
Winky Popped away before Iris could finish her sentence, and appeared once more before Iris could say anything to Fleur. She had her hand on Iris's trunk, but took it off to clap excitedly about doing what Iris had asked — consequently, the trunk, which was positioned awkwardly in between two stones, slid down and into the pool.
Winky stared down at the submerged trunk as though it was her own dismembered leg.
"Ah!" Iris said. "Perfect, Winky, I was going to toss it in the water anyway. I'll be placing a spell on it that requires it to be underwater, you see, so you just saved me time."
Winky's eye twitched and Iris had to fight back the urge to laugh. She nodded slowly, a hesitant smile appearing on her horror-stricken face. Then at seeing Iris's smile, she relaxed and disappeared with a pop.
"A spell that requires the trunk to be underwater?" repeated Fleur, sounding amused.
"Didn't want her to burst into tears," Iris muttered as she lifted the trunk from the water with a Levitation Charm.
As Iris opened her trunk and dug through her belongings, which had remained dry, Fleur took to swimming around underwater. Iris had told herself she wouldn't smoke again, but Fleur had a point — what's the worst that could happen here?
She pulled out Quirrell's wand, observing it for a moment before coming to a conclusion: she would not tell where this pipe had come from. Fleur appeared to be uncaring about many things, but how far would that indifference extend?
The pipe was loaded with the cannabis — or whatever it was — by the time Fleur had come up, right beside her. Fleur took in Iris's appearance, making Iris fidget as her gaze covered her body.
"The color brings out your eyes," she said. "The black swimsuit, it brings out the green."
Iris nodded slowly, unsure of what to say to this. Instead, she offered the lit pipe to Fleur, who hesitated for a moment before taking it.
"What do I do?" she asked.
"Put it to your lips and inhale," Iris said matter-of-factly. "Wrong end."
"My sincerest apologies," said Fleur, "I was not raised in a 'ome where this was learned — and I did not 'ave a cousin to show me."
And so the time passed inside the Come and Go Room. Iris forgot about her scars as Fleur taught her how to dive correctly, swim better, and the spell to give herself more oxygen even when underwater. In return, Iris tried to teach Fleur how to do the Patronus; Fleur's spell nearly took form as a result.
"Hey, are you hungry? I'm hungry," Iris said after she had climbed a palm tree and leapt off.
"Oui," said Fleur, "I could 'ave something to eat. Oui."
"Winky!" Iris said, and Winky appeared once more, looking immensely excited to have another order. "Winky, Fleur and I are starving. Think you can get us some food? You know what Fleur and I like to eat, yeah?"
Winky's whole body looked as though it was nodding, but it was still stiff in a way, as though showing the slightest amount of relaxation would make her mistress upset. Iris raised her wand from below the water and flicked it at Winky. A blob of foam splattered against Winky's forehead. Winky did not even blink.
"Alright, gotta stop this now — Winky, just because I'm your mistress does not mean I'm a goddess —"
"That's me."
"Shut up, Fleur. You're allowed to be more relaxed around me, alright? There's no need to stand so stiffly. Actually, here," Iris said, extending the pipe to Winky. "Put the end of this in your mouth and inhale."
"Mistress?" Winky said uncertainly. "Winky is never be doing this, mistress."
"Here, I'll show you," said Iris, and she took a hit. Winky still looked hesitant so Iris took another hit — and another — and another — and then the room began to look funny. Iris giggled for no reason. Finally, Winky took her mistress's laughter as a good sign and actually look excited to do this.
And she did it. She inhaled, and continued doing so, one long continuous inhale, and Iris began wondering how any creature suck in so much breath. Only until Fleur had her jaws hanging slightly open, did Winky stop. She stood there for a moment, swaying on the spot.
Then Winky's face relaxed into complete and unadulterated bliss.
"There you go, Winky," Iris said, smiling lazily. "So, think you can get us some food?"
And then, Winky's face hardened, her eyes went wide, they were bloodshot, completely crazed, and she whispered, "Motherfuckers," and then Popped away.
Iris, whose jaw had gone slack, looked from where Winky had been standing to Fleur and back again. "What the — Fleur, did you — did I just — is Winky about to kill someone?"
Fleur frowned. "Quelle? Why would you say that?"
"Did you not hear what she said?"
"Non, she simply vanished… vanished."
Iris looked down at her pipe, then tossed it out of reach. "Yep, too much. Dudley's going to be giving me foot massages all summer for this."
"Iris?"
Iris turned around, only to find Fleur standing very close to her. Her heartbeat sped up.
"Turn around," Fleur said softly, and she spun Iris around in the water before Iris had a chance to say anything. "Is this from the dragon?"
Iris stiffened slightly. "Er — yeah. Madam Pomfrey said she couldn't completely heal it." She tried turning around, feeling uncomfortable, but Fleur held her in place. "It's fine, Fleur, just leave it —"
Then she felt warm lips against the scar on her back, lingering for just a second too long.
Iris felt as though she was beginning to melt. Fleur turned her back around, and for one crazy moment, Iris thought Fleur would kiss the scars on her thigh too. She was sure that she would not only melt but become one with the pool if this happened.
"F-Fleur?"
"Are you okay, Iris?" Fleur asked.
"Y-yeah, think the food's just a little spicy."
"Food?" said Fleur, looking perplexed. "Winky 'as not come back yet."
"Yeah, well, things get all confusing when you pull this seductive stuff!" said Iris, pushing Fleur away. "I think you're a sadist. Really, it's torture. You know damn well how attracted to you I am. I can't even tell if you're into me or not and it's driving me crazy —"
She knew she was rambling, but a part of Iris hoped that Fleur would just grab her and kiss her already. If there was truly anything to make her forget how unwelcoming Hogwarts — or particularly, Hogwarts' students — had become, it would be snogging Fleur Delacour.
"Iris," Fleur interrupted. "If it does bother you like so, I will stop. I did not mean to upset you, I am just a teasing person, I only thought that it would calm you down, let you forget about your troubles."
"It's letting me forget about the rest of my troubles, yeah, but it's still… Look, I don't mind the teasing or the flirting, but good god, kissing my back? Do you want me to have an orgasm in the pool?"
"Yes," Fleur said without pause. She did not mean it, but it made Iris laugh anyway, regardless of the fact that there would be no snogging tonight.