Chapter Four | The Dream

THE RATTLE OF the train against the tracks were like a drum to Iris' ears. She rested her head against the window to the Hogwarts Express, her friends sat in the compartment with her: Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. The pair were geeking out over the books they'd gotten for Christmas—a book on the history of transfiguration and runic magic for Hermione, and "Mystic Herbs and the incredible uses" for Neville.

Iris tried her best to pay attention to the conversation. Really, she did. But the more they spoke, the less interested she pretended to be. The pair were so engrossed that they hadn't even notice Iris disengage from the conversation. They didn't notice the long sighs that escaped. Or the glazed overlook in her eyes as she watched the rolling hills as they passed through the peak district.

She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. She never slept well when Harry wasn't there. But last night, was very different. Once she had finally forced herself to sleep, her dreams were filled with horrible images. The one that lingered the most, had truly shaken her.

She was wearing full body leather armour, a sword in each hand. A ten foot tall humanoid creature was charging towards her. She had a wand in each hand that she used to lash and curse at the purple beast, but her spells barely landed a scratch. Easily bouncing off its skin and blasting the buildings on either side of the street. A street she thought could have looked like Diagon Alley, once upon a time.

Flying beasts tore into dragon flesh in the sky above, blood splattering down and coating the earth in the burning copper liquid.

Iris leapt to the side and could hear the sound of someone screaming. She'd turned to see her best friend, Neville. A creature that was easily pushing ten feet, had ripped the boy—no, in the dream he was easily in his twenties—in two. Chucked his legs over the roof of a damaged wand shop. And it ate Neville's torso in tow bites. Iris had raised her arm to stop the beast from eating her friend, but a pain had raced through her. She looked down and saw that a small, wolf like beast, no bigger than she was, had started chomping on her leg. Fangs like a razor blade, thin but deadly. She pulled her leg away, that pulse of pain returning. She whipped her wands in the air and a torrent of flame slammed into the creature, disintegrating it.

She had lost her leg. She had lost Neville. A scream that she would recognise anywhere echoed through the roars and sounds of buildings being destroyed. She sat up, and saw that the giant purple one had disappeared. Anger charged through her, an overwhelming warmth flooded to her skins surface, and the tips of her wands sparked with wicked green energy. With a SNAP the world became black as she appeared in a whirl next to her bushy haired friend, she reached her hand out and grabbed her before the rest of the world could rematerialized around her.

Iris could feel the fluttering of Hermione heart as she held her close to her chest. The pair zipping through black space until they squeezed through a light tunnel. When they reappeared in the mortal realm with a CRACK, Iris looked around at where she had reappeared.

It was a tunnel. The brick stretching high and curving to hug the other side, vines, dust and blood stains being its only paint of colour. There were a few sofa's dotted around the place, but it looked otherwise decrepit.

Iris let go of Hermione, so that she could fall onto one of the sofas. A quick look showed that Hermione wasn't in any immediate pain. But once the support of Hermione vanished—Iris fell to the ground. The adrenaline and rage she felt vanishing, leaving only pain. And the feelings of grief. For now she had entered mourning, over her missing leg. And her friend Neville.

The pain had become so much, that Iris had woken up, pulled away from the dream. It had truly shaken her, but she didn't feel that she could turn to Harry. It would be stupid to deny, that things had been changing between the two of them. Iris just wanted to know what the change was.

The twins had always been close. Always secretly shared a bed when they weren't in school. Always trained together and helped each other out. Harry had sworn to be her protector, and she always saw him as her little knight.

But since Christmas. Since he ran off to the woods after their mother announced that Harry would have to be married, he'd changed. Harry wasn't Harry anymore. Physically, he no longer resembled the knobbly kneed, skinny boy who was a good foot shorter than her, struggling to cast even an expelliarmus. Replaced by a godlike physique, that oozed magical energy. So much so, that it was almost intoxicating for Iris to be around him. Addictive, even.

When Harry was around, it made her magic react in ways that she'd never felt. It made her feel things that he had never made her feel. She had always loved him, but she no longer felt comfortable around him, or, it was better to say that she got the feeling that he wasn't comfortable. That his mind might be somewhere else, making him talk and act differently. More confident and sure of himself. Iris felt as though he was changing, and because he wasn't talking to her, she didn't know if she was comfortable with these changes.

But, he was more attractive now.

She thought that, once you got to know him, before the change, Harry was very charming. He was her noble knight. He'd gotten into fights with Draco and other members of Slytherin (despite being in their house) to defend Iris' honour. When rumours were going around school back in their first year of Hogwarts about Iris being the Heir of Slytherin when the chamber of secrets had opened, Harry had valiantly been the first one to jump to her defence.

That had been a strange year.

Others at Hogwarts very rarely gave Harry the time of day. He had been The-Other-Potter. And Iris resented that. Because at times, she felt that Harry was more deserving of the saviour title than she was.

It was because of that, that she hadn't even told him about the prophecy. She didn't know all of it. But she knew enough about it that she was going to be the one to stop Voldemort, if he ever returned.

Now that Harry was physically very attractive (especially comparing him against the other third years who hadn't gone through their second magical trimester yet), she worried that other witches would realise just how wonderful Harry was. And he'd rather spend his time making out with pretty witches than help her with her potion's homework, or whatever villainous plan had been set in place to kill her this year.

'Iris?'

She turned to see that Hermione and Neville had stopped their conversation, instead staring at her with worried brows.

'Sorry, what was the question?'

Neville just smiled it off.

'We asked how your Christmas was.'

Iris thought for a second, 'it was full of changes.'

Hermione gasped, 'Do you mean your third trimester? As a third year? That's almost unheard of! I did notice that you look more—' she eyed Neville then whispered. 'developed.'

A blush crept up into Iris' cheeks and found a home there. Causing her face to match the red of her hair.

'No!' She exclaimed. 'I haven't gone into my third magical trimester; I'm barely finished with my second!'

She crossed her arms under her chest, and stared awkwardly at the seating opposite her, and, as if realising for the first time, someone was sleeping there.

She turned to Neville and Hermione and mouthed "who's that?" but the pair just shrugged. Hermione pointed to the trunk up on the storage rack. The initials read: R.A.B.

Iris couldn't put a name to the initials, or even a company, and so shrugged and joined her friends in a conversation about the upcoming term.

She hated it. She wanted to stab her wand into the eyes of every witch present. Harry had been in a different carriage on the train, sitting with his friends and catching up. But once they got off the platform, both groups of friends met up and walked to the carriages together. As they walked, she couldn't help but hear the hushed comments that witches were making as they passed, stealing a glance or two at Harry.

It boiled her blood. No. It royally pissed her off.

He is MY Harry Thought Iris.

Even the captain of the Gryffindor team called over to him—'Potter! What kind of training routine were you on?! You've got to share! Two weeks working out and you look herculean!'

The Weasley twins pushed Woods face away and apologised comically for Wood's adoration of Harry's changed appearance.

§'they better keep their hands to themselves or I'll be slinging hexes'§

She heard a chuckle.

§'I'd be careful sister. You don't want the vultures to hear you.' §

Her eyes widened, and she turned to see Harry looking incredibly uncomfortable and staring up at the silhouette of Hogwarts that came into view.

In that moment, many thoughts ran through her mind. First, that Harry was aware that there were witches talking about him. But he was choosing to ignore them, that made her feel better. Second, and more importantly, Harry had casually spoken parseltongue to her. Which lead her to her third thought.

Something has happened. This can't be my Harry.