Chapter 9 - Too many colors

"Are you trying to set some kind of record, Miss Potter?"

Harry had finally been let into the hospital wing, after an assistant healer had told him that Iris had woken up. He had quickly zeroed in on Iris' bed, only to find her looking downcast as she was currently being berated by the hospital matron.

"You've been at Hogwarts for all of two days and wound up in my care just as many times," the healer said sternly.

"I'm sorry, Madam," came the timid response. Harry paused. This wasn't like her. He would have expected her to argue, quip, maybe even deflect. After all, it really wasn't fair to blame her for any of her accidents, right? It had obviously been out of her control. Harry firmed his jaw indignantly, intent on giving the healer a piece of his mind. Then he saw the look on Iris' face and deflated.

Guilt. Was she blaming herself for what happened? Even if it hadn't been her fault? Of course she was, he realized. He was self-aware enough to admit he would probably do the exact same thing. Apparently, they were even more alike than he had thought.

"You're lucky you've only incurred a broken arm and some cracked ribs. Those are trivial to fix. However, somehow you also seem to be experiencing symptoms of magical exhaustion, and after a non-wanded class no less. Have you been performing any spells before this happened?"

"I... hope so..." Iris mumbled. Then she looked up anxiously.

"T-The boy... the Gryffindor I ran into... Is he-" Harry could see she struggled to get the words out.

Madam Pomfrey sighed, then hesitantly began talking. "Mr. Longbottom is... in critical condition. I've managed to close his wound and put him in medical stasis, but he had to be transferred to Saint Mungo's."

Harry blinked. Neville was gone? He had been sure that Madam Pomfrey would fix him up just like she had Iris yesterday.

Iris seemed to share his concerns. "W-why couldn't you just heal him, if you closed the wound?"

The matron seemed to consider for a moment, then said, "Several of the splinters are still lodged in his abdomen, and as wood is organic material, it is not as trivial as just vanishing them. He will be undergoing surgery later tonight."

What if Iris had been hurt that badly? What would he do then?

He couldn't wait any longer. Harry barged into the conversation and called out, "Iris! I'm so glad you're okay. Are you still hurt? Do you need anything?"

Harrys mind whirled with thoughts good and bad. He needed her to say something, anything, he needed to know. Her eyes found his, and her expression became one of relief, then it acquired a pained tinge.

"Harry... I... I'm sorry," she croaked.

He immediately stepped up to her and pulled her into a firm hug. He nuzzled her head into his chest and murmured, "It's alright. It wasn't your fault."

Harry kept rubbing her back, trying to soothe her emotions, and the matron gave them a soft look for a second and swept out of the curtains.

"B-but... It was, though," Iris whispered. Of course she wouldn't believe him.

"Listen, yes, Neville got hurt, bad. He almost died there, and he's still in hospital. But you cannot blame yourself for that. It was an accident. You couldn't have known that your broom would go out of control like that. Whatever might happen to him is not your fault."

Harry was trying his best to make her understand. He had only been flying for a short while, but it had been great. Flying was so easy. There was no way whatever had happened was her fault. If anything, it could be the result of her strange magic, but even that wasn't something she could control or be blamed for.

Iris opened her mouth as if to say something, but the more he spoke, the more her face fell. He had no idea what he was doing wrong. In the end, she didn't say anything and just hugged him closer. He could tell she was holding back tears.

"Neville..." came a faint whisper.

"He'll be fine. You'll see," Harry said soothingly.

There was no response.

"You know what? Here. Once Neville comes back, give him this," Harry said and handed a small glass sphere to her.

"It's his Remembrall. He must have dropped it in the crash. Malfoy found it and gave it to me. If you still feel guilty, you can give it back to him. Even if it wasn't your fault."

~V~

Iris had been released in time for dinner. This time, she didn't even bother showing up. She couldn't face them right now.

Yes, the boy, Neville, had gotten hurt. But Harry was wrong. It was her fault. She had fucked up. The teacher would probably have prevented her from flying too, if she hadn't cheated. And then she had gone and tried to wing flying a broom using her light, despite having no idea what she was doing. She had wanted nothing more than to tell Harry, hoping at least he would understand. But the more he had kept talking, the worse she had felt about what she had done. Every innocent word another nail in the coffin of her own making.

In the end, she couldn't do it. She felt too ashamed of herself; scared of what Harry would think of her. Her lips had remained sealed, the weight on her soul unchanged. Unwilling to surrender to her tears, she had wandered the castle aimlessly. Over time, a plan started to form in her mind. Maybe, there was one more thing she could do. And this time, she would make sure she knew what she was doing. But for that, she needed to get back to her room. Luckily, Tracey was still at dinner.

Iris entered her room and quickly zeroed in on her trunk, where she had hidden Draco's book. Flipping it open, she devoured the first few pages with determination. Apparently, she didn't need to use objects, she could also use drawn symbols. That was convenient. Also, it looked like the location it was performed in was significant, too. Draco had mentioned that as well. Once she felt like she had a general idea of what she needed, she tossed the book in her bag, along with all the other magic supplies she had brought, in case she needed them. She didn't know what she would do yet, but she knew where she would do it. Once she had everything ready, she left her room, hurried through the maze that was her common room, almost ran into Draco, who was giving her a bewildered look, and made her way to the grand staircase.

She had been here twice before, yet this was the first time she had walked the path in this direction. Before her stood the imposing double doors leading to the hospital wing. It was already late, and when she had left earlier, she had been the only remaining patient there. Her hope was that even Madam Pomfrey would be at dinner right now. Carefully, she edged open the door. Darkness greeted her. Perfect. Iris produced her light and made her way into the far corner of the hospital wing, where she would be out of sight from anyone entering the door. She plonked herself down on a bed and flipped the book open again. She could have looked up this stuff beforehand but felt it more appropriate to do the whole thing in the place of her choosing.

Looking through the list of recommended template rituals and the encyclopedia on symbolism, she quickly found herself at a loss. For what she wanted to do, she had a distinct lack of either the objects required or was unable to draw it in a way that would be recognizable. The obvious choice was out, and all the other objects or symbols were either very regional and thus not recommended, or something she had no chance of procuring or drawing. Her gaze glanced across the page again and settled on one thing. Well, technically, she had no way to draw this, nor an object to represent it, but... She did have a fireplace in here.

Luckily, it was currently unlit. Iris looked around the cupboard next to it and found what she was looking for. A large dirty steel brush. She shook herself, steeling her nerves for what she was about to do. She sent her light floating towards and then inside of the fireplace. Grabbing the brush in one hand, and the Remembrall in the other, she stepped over the grate.

Instantly her lungs filled with a cloud of soot. Hacking and coughing, Iris dropped the brush and wrapped her face in her robes. Finally, she picked up the brush again, shook herself, raised the cleaning utensil, and started brushing. She had no idea how chimney sweeps actually did their work, so she would just have to give it her best effort. Even with the fabric wrapped around her mouth, she was almost choking. Which was good.

The book had explained that the more significant what she was trying to do was, the more likely it was to fail if she did not provide a sacrifice of an adequate value. Since sacrificing anything alive definitely wasn't an option, she would just have to settle for personal sacrifice. It didn't really seem adequate at first glance for what she wanted to do, but in the end, she didn't need to perform any miracles. After all, he was already with capable healers, all she needed to do was tilt the scales of fortune slightly in his favor.

~V~

Pale eyes swept the dark corridor again. Cobwebs. Again. What were the little blighters doing? He took out the small blue bottle, applied two strokes of the handle, a spray of sparkling liquid, and the corridor was spotless again.

The soft sound of footsteps—no, paws. He turned. Yellow. His eyes narrowed. "What is it dear?"

A twitch of the tail, and off were the paws, along the corridor they swept, his old feet following swiftly.

A smell. Awful smell. Burnt to dust, ashes. Not like the courtyard. Like years of chimney soot served on a platter. His eyes found black. On the ground, trailing down the hall. A snarl emerged. Someone was heading to detention. He followed, both cat and the trail in agreement. If it was those red-haired terrors again... There was a shiny new chain adorning his office, oh yes, he would show it to them.

He turned a corner. Red. But not like them, much darker. A girl. And completely covered in soot. Dredging black ash all over the marble. His eyes narrowed.

"Someone is in biiig trouble," he said, barely a whisper, causing the girl to jump and turn to face him.

Green. He blinked. The Potter girl. "Up to no good are we, Potter? Just like your father. Dragging ash around the corridors, making a mess... Oh, yes. I'll have you in detention."

Detention was good. Troublemakers, waving their wands around, no thought, no regard...

"I-I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't know how to clean up other than in the dorms bathroom..."

"What, can't even cast a cleaning charm?" Argus sneered. It was unfair, she was a first year. He didn't care all that much.

The girl shrank further. As she should. "No... I can't even do the flame freezing charm, no way I could manage that one..." she mumbled to herself. He understood anyway, but his mind refused to comprehend. The flame freezing charm. Even the simplest of all spells had refused him. Not even the flame freezing charm. He tried so many times. She had just said-

"What did you say?" he whispered.

"I - I couldn't even do the flame freezing charm in Defense," the girl said meekly.

That... That wasn't possible. She couldn't be... Then she wouldn't be at Hogwarts. But she wasn't lying. He knew children and their lies.

"Are you saying you can't do... magic?" he said in a raspy voice.

The girl looked at her feet. "I-well..." the girl trailed off. He kept staring at her intently, causing her to shift uncomfortably and begin to explain. "S-something is wrong with my magic... Madam Pomfrey said it has to do with s-something that happened when I was a kid with polarized magic..." his mind failed to comprehend anything after that.

No.

Polarized magic. Accursed, foul, vilest of magics. Not her, no. Even he would not wish this on anyone.

"...and b-basically, the only magic I've been able to do just like that is this," she finished, eyes looking scared.

The girl raised a hand, and there was color. All the colors of the rainbow. So many colors. Too many.

The corridor looked less like a corridor and more like a courtyard with every pulse of the light. His mind once more forcefully wrenched from his grasp and returned back to that awful night, kicking and screaming. Fire blazing; stone crumbling. A rattle like the breath of death himself. The scream of an innocent child. His shaking hand in front of him clutching a wand like a lifeline, his wand. And his lips, uttering the words, those hated words, the last spell he had ever cast.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Bright Light, and death retreated. A flutter of warmth, a shimmer of hope. Everything would be alright. But then-

"Crucio!"

Red flashed through the courtyard, inexorably towards him—oh if only it had hit him—but the Light was in its way. Red collided with white, and there was color. Far too much color. A scream—his own, agonizing pain, and the sound of shattering glass ringing in his soul, which had never quite faded even to this very day.

Ears still ringing, the corridor finally came back. Argus was breathing deeply, held up by the girl.

"-ou alright? Sir? What happened?" her worried voice right in his ear.

The colors were still there. Terrifying. Beautiful.

"Could you put that out... please?" he rasped, as if the words pained him.

The light winked out; darkness returned to the corridor. He took a breath. Not a courtyard.

"A-are you okay?" she asked again.

"It's nothing. Just some bad memories," he growled. Even he didn't believe himself.

Finally, he got to his feet and looked at the girl.

"You can't cast any spells... But you can do... this?" He still couldn't believe it.

"Well, I managed to get one spell working by using my light with a single color, but that was only because that spell only uses a single aspect. I couldn't do that with any of the other spells."

She had done one spell? So she still had hope... It was cruel, but perhaps for her, not entirely unfounded. Perhaps... perhaps she could do what he had failed to. He still didn't know what to think about that. He needed time. But in the meantime-

"Topsy?" he called.

There was a pop, and an unfamiliar elf appeared next to them, causing the girl to jump.

"Who are you?" he asked with a frown.

"I is being Topsy, Sir!" the little blighter replied with a smirk.

Argus groaned. This again? He palmed his face and sighed.

"I'm not going to have any trouble with you, am I?" he asked dangerously.

"No Sir, he was being very helpful. Topsy knows what to do," the elf replied with a grin.

Argus shrugged. Whatever. He would never understand elves.

"Could you take Ms. Potter here somewhere to get her cleaned up? Preferably without making any more mess?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, Mr. Filchy, Sir," the droopy eared elf replied with a happy nod.

A snap of his fingers, and both elf and girl disappeared from the corridor. Argus sighed, took out the blue bottle again, and got to cleaning. He had a lot to think about.

~V~

Iris suddenly found herself elsewhere. One moment she had been scared out of her mind by the lunatic they called a caretaker, next he almost collapsed on her, then he had called in some kind of creature that looked even stranger than the goblins at the bank, and now she entirely had no idea what was happening anymore. Why was she suddenly in what looked like a gigantic bathtub filled with warm water, bubbles of all colors and shapes, and God knows what else? Wasn't she supposed to have gotten detention? Where had her robes gone? She had just appeared inside the very comfortable water, and only realized after an embarrassingly long time she had noticed that her clothes had disappeared somewhere in the process. Along with the strange creature the caretaker had called Topsy. She had so many questions, but nobody to answer them.

She only hoped that her adventure had been worth it. They would find out soon enough, she supposed. She let out a sign and sunk back into the water. It really was quite relaxing, despite the circumstances. She would definitely have to visit this place again, wherever this was. Iris dove under the water, settled onto the ground of the bath, then shot back up and out of the water, only to fall back into the bubbles with a happy yell and a splash. She'd never had a bath like this. Luckily, she had learned to swim in primary school, otherwise she guessed she'd be having a lot less fun right now. She almost couldn't smell the soot anymore.

After half an hour, even though it had only felt like minutes, she finally emerged from the bubbles onto shore, feeling refreshed, both body and mind. On a small chair next to the bath she spotted robes—her own, she realized, except they were clean, good as new. Her bag was sitting next to them, just as clean. She really loved magic sometimes. Okay, most of the time.

Having put her robes back on—which smelled of flowers instead of soot, nice—she made her way to the door. Iris emerged into a completely unknown corridor. Now, she would have to figure out both her way back, and how to get back here later. So, she utilized the wisdom granted to her by her Defense professor, turned towards a portrait depicting a man with braided white hair sitting at a piano, and asked, "Hey, uhm sorry, could you tell me where we are in the castle right now?"

The man scrunched up his nose. "Fifth floor, young lady. Honestly, children these days..."

She looked up and down the corridor and spotted several other doors. She tried to burn the location of the particular door she had come from into her mind, and then made her way over towards the staircase.

Finally arriving back in the common room, she was immediately accosted by an upside-down Tracey, who had spotted her from one of the stairways running along the ceiling and was now making her way down (or up) to her.

"Iris! Where have you been? We've missed you at dinner. Harry said you were already released, but then you didn't show up!" Tracey called out in a worried tone. She stumbled her way over to Iris and pulled her into a quick hug, which made Iris stiffen for a second.

Iris opened her mouth and began "Well, I..." Then, a mischievous glint entered her eyes.

Tracey beat her to it. "Don't say it!"

Iris smirked and said "...it's a long story."

Tracey facepalmed.