The Worst Day of Her Life

This story is just something I came up with to try to break my writer's block by writing outside of my normal styles. In my telling, "Harry" is going to be a trans girl, and in Ravenclaw. If you don't like queer romance and trans positivity, don't bother reading this. People who send hate messages will straight up get blocked.

Potential Trigger Warnings for the Story:

Homophobia and racist events, including harrassment and potentially attempted violence.

Sexual harassment and attempted sexual assault (nothing graphic "on-screen.")

Suicide Attempt (this chapter only) and Self Harm Behaviours.

Internalized Bigotry and Hatred of Self

Child Abuse and Neglect (in the past)

Character Deaths (in the past)

List will be updated as necessary throughout the story, and each chapter will have its own warnings for whatever happens during it.

Chapter Warnings:

Attempted Suicide, Self Harm, Reference to a Previous Attempted Sexual Assault.

Iris had had an AWFUL year. Actually, she'd had had an awful life. Frankly, she was sick of living. After being treated like a monster, a Dark Lady to be, and a freak, for her ENTIRE life, she was ready to give up.

She was in the Prefect's bathroom, sitting in the empty pool sized tub, curled in a ball with her robes covering her body and head. She'd been bawling for a couple hours. She had never felt more like Moaning Myrtle than that exact moment. Finally, as the tears began to run dry, she knew what she had to do.

The spell that Fake Moody showed last year. He said that it could only work if the caster had true hate in their heart. Well, Iris hated herself. She hated the world. She hated almost everyone still in it. Surely that would be enough.

She sat up, pulling her head out of her robes. She pulled her wand out of the holster on her wrist, and readied herself. The tears started again, but she didn't stop herself. At this point, she no longer could. She pointed her wand at her chest, and whispered the words. "Avada Kedavra."

Dumbledore had never felt so powerless. The famed Leader of the Light, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Defeater of Grindelwald, and the only man Voldemort fears, felt the full weight of his one hundred years. His failure in keeping Harry - 'Iris!' He idly corrected himself - Potter informed had lead to a spectacular catastrophe.

If only he had told her just why she shouldn't go to the Department of Mysteries, under any circumstances, she might not have gone. If he had explained the connection between her and Voldemort, she would have realized her vision was a lie.

He gazed around the room the girl had wrecked mere hours previously. He had repaired all of the damage, but he couldn't replace the magic on his most valuable and rare trinkets: the ones that had maintained the blood wards. Blood magic was rightly considered nearly a Black Art, but Albus had learned in his old age that anything short of actual Black Magic could be justified. After all, it was only how you used the tool that mattered.

He had given up approximately twenty years of his own life to erect those wards, in the hope it would protect the child he thought of then as 'Harry.' It did protect the child, but only from evil magics. It didn't stop her 'family' from abusing her, and it didn't stop the bullies and bigots of the Muggle world from attacking her. He would have been better served by allowing the Tonkses to take care of Iris, instead of trusting those damned wards. Instead of believing that the Muggle World was, in fact, more progressive than the Wizarding World.

He would correct his mistake. He would let her go wherever she wanted now, and he would make sure she had the knowledge and ability to face Tom. And he would fight and die, if needed, to make that destined moment came only after she was ready.

Suddenly, the Wards of Hogwarts sent an icy chill down his back. Extremely dark magic had been used. Within the castle. He cast the spells that allowed him to interface more directly with the wards, a golden "screen" - as Muggles would call it - appearing in the air before him.

Quickly reading all of the information, he discovered the spell had been cast in the Prefect's bathroom, and only one person had been in there at the time, and that that one person was not a prefect.

He also discovered that a Prefect was about to go into that room, speaking the password even now. They were in horrible danger. He called Fawkes.

Hermione was scared, but despite the potentially mortal wound scarring her side and sending shockwaves of pain through her torso, she was not scared for herself. Her best friend, Iris, had been unraveling for the last couple of days, since her godfather Sirius Black had been killed, right in front of the two girls.

Iris wouldn't even talk to Hermione, and had all but screamed at her to go away, when Hermione had tried to comfort her friend. Hermione believed that Iris still felt guilty for Hermione taking a spell to save Iris's life. Or perhaps she felt guilty for thinking she could fight Voldemort and his followers with only herself and three other students. Maybe she blamed herself for getting Sirius and Bill Weasley killed in the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione choked back her tears. She couldn't help her best friend, when she wanted nothing more than to hold Iris and tell her that everything would be okay. She dragged herself painfully out of her bed, and awkwardly pulled on her robes, her wound making it difficult to move her left arm. She needed to take a bath, partially to relax, and partially to clean the wound so she could apply her healing potions and spells to it.

Though the wound on her side made it hard to breathe, she was able to walk normally, though with more stopping to catch her breath. So she slowly made her way to the Prefects' bathroom. Finally, she was there. She stopped to catch her breath, contemplating the odd nature of this Term's Bathroom password, 'Cleanliness Is Godliness.' Most mages were polytheistic or atheistic, and very few European mages ever were Christians, so how did a Christian phrase end up as the entry password? Putting that thought aside as an idle curiosity, she said the password. The door opened to a horrific sight.

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She saw Iris, laying in the otherwise empty tub. She wanted to move towards her friend, but she was rooted to the spot. Just then, there was a flash of light and heat, and the Headmaster appeared between her and her friend, Fawkes perched on his shoulder, and his wand at the ready.

Dumbledore looked around, standing combat ready, and finally realized what he was seeing. He let out a strangled gasp, and rushed to Iris's side. Hermione thought she could hear him muttering disparaging things about himself, calling himself a "senile old fool," among other things. He desperately casted a spell over Iris, and audibly sighed in relief. He began casting several more spells in quick succession, then disappeared with Fawkes, Iris in tow.

Hermione had very much forgotten her own problems. She mustered all of her magic, and tried to Apparate to the Medical Wing, and fell painfully down as she failed. Too late, she remembered the anti-Apparation wards over Hogwarts. She could no longer suppress her tears.

To her suprise, Iris woke up. Her head was hurting, but for once, it wasn't her scar. No, it felt more like a baseball bat had been aimed at the back of her head. She'd learned how that felt during an 'accident' when Dudley was practicing for a baseball game in primary school.

Her chest felt like it was on fire, and she could barely breathe. She gasped for breath. She couldn't hear, and she couldn't open her eyes, but she could smell the faint odors of chemical cleaners that all hospitals had in abundance. Her tongue felt like it weighed a ton, but she tried to speak. She couldn't tell if she succeeded, but she felt someone grab her hand.

Slowly, over what felt like hours, her hearing came back. There was a dull roar obscuring most noise, but she thought she heard crying, from the direction of the person holding her hand.

She tried to open her eyes again. The blurry light made her close them back. She let out an involuntary groan. The crier stopped. Iris tried to move, but it hurt. She was sore all over. Despite the pain, she squeezed the hand of her visitor.

"Iris?" It sounded like Hermione. She tried to say "yes" but just moaned again. Hells, she hurt. 'Isn't the Killing Curse supposed to be painless?' she asked herself. 'Well, now I can be the Girl-Who-Lived-Twice. Fuck.'

The crier let go of Iris's hand. Confused, Iris tried yet again to open her eyes. Despite the splitting pain the light caused her, she managed to keep her eyes open this time.

The world was even blurrier than normal, but she could tell this definitely wasn't Madame Pomfrey's domain because the room was too small, and there was only one bed, hers. Whoever had been in here with her was gone. She'd probably just imagined it, since nobody cared enough. Stupid wishful thinking.

She tried to find her glasses, but couldn't make out enough detail, and she couldn't move much anyways. She groaned in annoyance. She heard the door open, and close, and a few indiscernibly blurry figures stepped into her line of sight.

Hermione's voice - 'She is here!' a rebellious part of her mind exulted in - was nearly indistinguishable through her difficulty hearing, but Iris could tell she was concerned.

One of the other figures said something.

Nobody said anything for a few moments. The figure repeated themselves. Iris thought maybe they were trying to speak to her. She tried to say "I can't hear." She didn't think she got it right, but all the figures looked at her.

A few minutes passed. Iris could tell that the figures were busy, but she couldn't tell exactly what they were doing. One of them put a glass to her lips, and she gratefully drank the water. Another put another glass to her lips, and she reluctantly drank the foul potion.

Her hearing and eyesight began to sharpen almost immediately. She could make out the words everyone was saying! The figures were still blurry, but Iris made out a man with short grey hair and a short salt and pepper beard in white Healer robes with a rune she couldn't make out, and two young nurses with pale skin and dark hair, both wearing outfits like Madam Pomfrey's. Hermione stood in the corner nearest to where Iris was sitting.

"Can you hear me now?" The Healer asked, his deep voice surprisingly soothing to hear.

"Yes," she managed to rasp out.

"Fantastic. Potion Eight, Nurse."

This one, at least tasted better. The soreness in her throat and chest subsided a little bit. She tried to speak again, and thankfully sounded mostly like herself. "Thank you."

"Alright, now that we've handled your symptoms, can you tell us what happened to you?"

"The Killing Curse."

One of the nurses practically jumped in surprise, and Hermione collapsed into the chair beside her. The Healer managed to keep his cool. Likely, he already suspected. "Who cast the spell?"

"Me."

"Why did you attempt to kill yourself?"

"Why wouldn't I? Everyone hates me, and everyone I care about dies."

Hermione quietly cried in the corner, which made Iris feel guilty. The Healer made notes on his parchment.

"Potion Three, Nurse."

Thankfully, this potion tasted alright, and almost all of her remaining pain went away almost immediately.

"Did that help?" The Healer asked.

"My soreness is gone. What kind of potion was that?" Iris replied, and moved to sit up. She abruptly stopped once she realized she wasn't wearing clothes under the sheets. Blushing, she wrapped the sheets tighter around her, and laid back down. "Where are my clothes?"

"For hygienic reasons, we had to vanish them. Don't worry, your modesty is preserved. To answer your other question, it was an anti-Cruciatus. We figured it may help in soreness related to the OTHER Unforgivable." He said sternly. "Now, in order to establish your identity, you ARE the individual given the name 'Harry James Potter,' yes?"

She scowled. "I go by Iris Lily Potter now, thanks."

"I will take that as a yes. How long have you been on the body altering potion?"

"Madame Pomfrey had me begin taking it after my twelfth birthday; she said that was standard practice to make me go through the right puberty."

"How much do you typically eat per day?"

"Three full meals," she lied. Except it sounded a lot more like "Almost nothing," the truth. She glared. "That wasn't water," she accused.

"Why don't you eat more?" The Healer asked, ignoring her statement.

"I don't deserve it. Fuck! Veritaserum?" She hissed in rage.

"A very low dose, diluted in water, yes." The Healer nodded, and made more notes on his parchment. "When did you start not letting yourself eat?"

"After I nearly got my only friend killed in second year." She growled out. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Too bad. This is a standard suicide questionnaire." He responded. "You seem much too malnourished for just a couple years of this self harm. How much did you eat before that?"

"My aunt and uncle only let me eat enough to keep me alive." The whole room reacted in surprise. "Tell me more about how your aunt and uncle treat you," the Healer ordered.

"I don't want to." She said. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. How do they treat you?"

"Like a fucking house elf and punching bag rolled into one!" She screamed. "They hate me because I have magic, they hate me because I'm transgender! They're wastes of air and if I could have, I'd have killed them several times over! Is that what you want to hear?!?"

Hermione began crying harder, and Iris immediately tried to calm her down. "I'm sorry Hermione, I don't want to hurt you."

The Healer made more notes. Hermione sniffled and came over, hugging Iris, who blushed due to her current state of undress. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You don't deserve to be burdened with my pain," Iris whispered, trying to keep it quiet enough that Hermione couldn't hear her. Hermione hugged her tighter, and Iris winced in pain, but she didn't try to stop Hermione. She secretly rather enjoyed this show that someone still cared.

The Healer spoke back up. "So they starved and hit you. Did they do anything else?"

Iris glared, but was compelled to reply. "They encouraged Dudley to try to rape me. He might have succeeded except for the dementors sucking his soul out last year."

"Did you allow the dementors to do that?"

"Yes. I could have stopped them. I didn't cast the Patronus until they dropped him."

The Healer noted again, and Hermione hugged her tighter. "Given that this event clearly had extenuating factors, the official report will say you were in shock and didn't remember the spell until it was too late. We'll also omit the use of an Unforgivable from the record."

She glared. "Any other secrets you wanna drag out of me?"

"No, I think this is all we need. The Veritaserum will wear off in another minute or so. You are clearly suffering some severe depression, likely resulting from the significant abuse you've been through. We can give you potions to take the edge off, but that's the best we can do. Magic just can't help the mind that well."

He gestured, and one of the nurses held out a cup with a bright purple potion in it.

"Well, fuck you too. I still want to die." She said, then gasped. She had meant to thank them. Apparently she didn't mean it enough and the potion made her state exactly how she felt. Hermione squeezed again, sobbing quietly.

"Are you going to attempt suicide again?" The Healer asked pointedly.

She paused, thinking it over. "No, I don't want to hurt Hermione again."

"Good. Then take the damn potion."

Iris couldn't fault that logic, so she reluctantly reached out and took the potion. She drank it in one gulp, to avoid the taste. Almost immediately, she felt a little calmer.

"Each potion will last for about half a day. Take it when you wake up. We'll give you two weeks of doses, and the recipe for brewing it to yourself and your friend here. We'll give you a spare recipe for whomever ends up taking your guardianship. You certainly won't be going back to your current ones."

A load dropped off of Iris's shoulders, hearing that. She said, very truthfully, "Thank you. Gods above, thank you."

Hermione finally stopped her crying, and she whispered hoarsely, "Can I have a few minutes alone with her?"

"Of course. I have to file this report, and get legal action moving against both her Muggle guardians and magical guardian." The Healer nodded. "Just step out and call for someone if you need anything."

The Healer and nurses left the room, and Iris was alone with Hermione, her best friend.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Iris said again. "I thought you hated me too, after I got you hurt."

"You silly girl! I could never hate you!" Hermione said. She sat next to Iris, and now that she was close enough, Iris could see her brown, but bloodshot eyes, and the tear tracks marking her dark skin. Iris gently wiped away a tear on Hermione's cheek. "But please," she said, leaning into Iris's hand ever so slightly, "don't do that to me ever again."

As Hermione slightly pulled away, Iris moved her hands back into her lap. She looked at her hands, guilt and shame overwhelming her, tears coming to her dark green eyes. "I can't stop hurting the people I care about," she sobbed. Hermione grabbed Iris into another hug, and Iris returned it, careful to keep the sheet covering her chest. The two cried together for a minute or so.

"I'm sorry. I'll try not to hurt you ever again," Iris promised.

Hermione sniffled. "Do or do not," she referenced, a small smile gracing her face, though it disappeared a moment later.

Iris didn't get the reference. "Alright. I won't ever hurt you again. I'll do everything I can." She squeezed her friend before letting go and backing away a bit to look Hermione in the eye. "But what can I do? I don't know how to start."

Hermione looked at Iris, and said, "I'll see if my parents can take you in for the summer. I don't trust anyone else not to hurt you more. I know a therapist in the Muggle world who can help you. He helped me after the troll and... well, everything else."

Iris sighed. "I guess, saying 'I don't want to,' isn't going to work after my promise."

"Nope," she smiled sadly. "Don't worry, he knows about magic, and he won't judge you for being yourself. And, I WILL be telling my parents so they can make sure you eat."

"Can you not? I'll eat until you say I can stop, I swear. I just don't want them to feel bad for me."

"Fine, but I will tell them you're depressed, even if I don't tell them exactly how bad."

Iris nodded. "That sounds... fairer than I deserve."

"That's because it is. Now, I'm going to get us both some food."

Hermione stepped outside, after pulling some fresh clothes out of a closet for Iris to change into.

A few hours later, Hermione had made sure Iris had eaten a full plate of food, and then sat beside her as she fell asleep. Now that Iris was asleep, Hermione left the hospital room. She needed to call her parents.

She walked through the wide hallways, dodging Healers, nurses, visitors, and patients. She walked past the checkout area, and let them know she was leaving, but would be back. She stepped out into Diagon Alley. She rushed through the Leaky Cauldron and stepped out into the Muggle World. On the street corner was a payphone. She hurried over to it, and paid it with some coins she was carrying.

She dialed her parents' office. When the secretary picked up, she said, "Hey, Susie. Any chance my mum or dad is available right now?"

"Sure thing," Susie replied, and yelled in the background. "It's Hermione!" Back on the phone, she said, "Your mum's coming."

The phone switched hands, and Hermione's mother, Erin, spoke up. "Hey, Hermione. How's your friend?"

Hermione tried to sound less emotional than she was. "I... It... She's awake. She was tricked into telling the doctor the truth, and... It was so much worse than we thought, Mum. I think she needs to stay with us. I don't trust her not to relapse if she goes to anyone else, especially her relatives. I can't say anymore now, but I'll tell you everything if you can meet me at home."

"Of course! I have a couple hours free right now, I can meet you there for an hour or so. I'll be on my way right now."

"Alright, see you soon, Mum."

Hermione hung up the phone, and walked back into the Cauldron. She Apparated home as soon as she was in a safe spot to do so.

A/N: This was a quick little rewrite for improved detail, and I hope it's good enough to pass muster for now. This chapter is probably the darkest of this whole fic. Iris has hit her rock bottom, and she's going to get the help she needs.

I'm going to continue trying to work on my primary fic: Harry Potter, Lord of Darkness. Unfortunately, I am in a bit of a spot where I can either put out a chapter that's entirely boring but probably necessary exposition, or skip it entirely for a chapter that's not so boring, and try to relay the information as flashbacks or something similar. (It's so boring I can't even write it. I can't imagine anyone wanting to read it.)

Thank you guys for reading.