Seeing my mom at St. Mungo's was like having a warm amulet pressed against my heart. I even felt that if a Boggart or a real Dementor were to suddenly leap out in front of me, they'd be scared away by the sheer joy radiating from my head. Even the Transfiguration homework seemed so easy - going and friendly. I even corrected a small mistake of Miss Granger's.
I don't know what the Potter trio and Miss Granger were up to last week. I only noticed that they seemed extremely concerned about the Dementors still stationed around Hogwarts and would seize any opportunity to dash towards Hagrid's hut. I guess they're still trying to reverse Buckbeak's fate. Miss Granger, no longer fighting alone, seemed to be in a much better mood (of course, it could also be because she finally got rid of Divination class).
Everything seemed so wonderful, as if the darkness and hardships had finally passed and the light was stretching out its arms, telling us that it was welcoming us ahead. However, life isn't a well - behaved and formulaic novel. It never follows the pattern of ups and downs. It's like a pack of Bertie Bott's Every - Flavor Beans, and you never know what even more unpleasant taste the next one will be.
"God heavens, Harry!"
The day after we returned from visiting St. Mungo's, I was happily spreading some cheese on my bread, something I don't usually eat. Miss Granger took a copy of the Daily Prophet from under the owl's foot. After skimming through a few lines, she suddenly let out a sharp cry to wake up the still - sleepy Potter.
"What's wrong?" Potter, with a piece of bread in his mouth, looked blankly at Miss Granger, whose brows were knitted tightly.
"You're in the newspaper - and Iris too!"
Only then did I notice that after the letter - delivering owl had come, the whispers in the Great Hall had increased. Glancing around, I saw that gazes were constantly shooting towards us from the long tables of the four houses. Everyone was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet.
"Is it because of our visit to St. Mungo's? Dad was right. These journalists will seize on any rumor. What's so newsworthy about children visiting their parents?" Potter didn't seem to care. He even stood up and tried to reach for a bottle of blueberry jam in front of Miss Granger, but Miss Granger grabbed his wrist and slammed it down on the table.
"Read this!"
Mr. Longbottom handed me the Daily Prophet in his hand. I unfolded it and saw a relatively large - sized picture on the page. It was a photo of Mr. James Potter, with bandaged hands, leading Potter and me into St. Mungo's through the side door. The title of the article was "The Turmoil Continues: What Price Did the Heroic Auror Pay for Hunting Peter?"
It seemed like a rather normal report. I skimmed through a few lines and shrugged. Besides using rather exaggerated words, emphasizing that my mom was critically ill and criticizing the Ministry of Magic for refusing to disclose more information to the public, there didn't seem to be much else.
"No, no, Iris. Look below, it continues on page three - "
I turned to page three. As soon as I folded the newspaper, I froze on the spot.
Two photos were placed side by side. The first one showed Potter pulling my sleeve as we crossed the road. Due to the distance, it looked as if he was holding my hand. The second one was taken from very close to us. I was handing Potter a hairpin wrapped in a handkerchief - how could someone be so close to us without our notice?
The title on this page was in the kind of cute font that you'd only see in children's books.
Youthful Pals, Timeless Love: The Untold Story of The Deep - Bonded Second - Generation Aurors
Aurors, as important figures who drive out evil for the public, have long been out of the public eye due to the secrecy of their missions. And their lives after retirement mostly end in misery and destitution (see the previous character special issue: Mad - Eye Moody and the Ten Years Stolen by the Wind, written by Rita Skeeter). However, to our relief, this spark of driving out the darkness has never been extinguished by the coldness of the road ahead. Instead, it has been passed down from generation to generation in the name of the Auror spirit. After waiting arduously for many days at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, we were finally fortunate enough to see Harry Potter, the son of James Potter, the great hero who captured Peter Pettigrew, and Alice Snape, the daughter of Lily Snape. The two poor little ones, who had just been severely frightened, looked extremely strong. They both said that it was their mutual support that enabled them to bravely endure the separation from their parents.
"Both of us said? When did we say that - " I was dumbfounded.
"Look below, Iris. Don't be angry in a hurry - " Miss Granger looked at me worriedly and then at Potter.
It is reported that Harry Potter and Iris Snape are currently studying in Gryffindor House at Hogwarts. The two, who were youthful pals, share timeless love. Inheriting their parents' talents, they also perform excellently at school and are widely loved by other classmates and teachers. Besides visiting their parents, Miss Snape did not forget to give her little boyfriend a personal handkerchief to show affection. Perhaps we can look forward to an even more outstanding couple emerging in the future Auror community, just like the parents of the Boy Who Lived, Neville Longbottom.
I couldn't say a word. I just opened my mouth wide and stared at the picture of myself in the newspaper, lowering my head and handing the handkerchief to Potter. I felt that my face in the picture was strange, and the words that I clearly knew were also strange. My face was burning with pain, and the gazes of the people around me were like one curse after another, stabbing at me.
"How is it possible? There wasn't a single person around us at that time - not a single wizard!" I heard myself speaking in a shrill voice. "This journalist - who is it? Rita, Rita Skeeter. How could it be - "
"Don't worry, Iris." Miss Granger tried to comfort me. "Although it's all nonsense, actually, it doesn't say anything really bad. It's just some wrong gossip - "
"Just some wrong gossip?" Black stuck out his tongue. "If Snape sees this, the first thing he'll do when he comes back is to poison Harry."
"Don't think so badly," Ron Weasley said. "Maybe Snape won't even be out of the hospital by the end of the term - ouch, why are you pinching me, Hermione? Oh, no, I mean - "
"Thanks for your 'kind' words," I said coldly. "My dad will be back this week, Ronald Weasley."
I knew that Dad wouldn't poison Harry Potter because of this tabloid article (but it wasn't entirely impossible that he would keep him in detention for a few weeks). But why was I so flustered? I stared fixedly at the picture of myself in the newspaper, lowering my head to hand the thing. Why did I lower my head at that time? Why did I go to the trouble of wrapping up the hairpin? It really looks like I'm shyly and affectionately handing something to Potter. What will other people say?
No, why did I suddenly start caring about what others would say? Haven't I heard enough of those harsh words? The traitor of Gryffindor, the sneak who tattles on her father... I've heard far worse names than "Harry Potter's girlfriend." So why am I so nervous now?
I looked up and saw Draco at the Slytherin table. Parkinson had just giggled and handed him the copy of the Daily Prophet in her hand. He expressionlessly read the paragraphs she pointed out to him, then impatiently folded the newspaper haphazardly and tossed it carelessly into Parkinson's lap. He picked up his schoolbag and left the Great Hall. Crabbe and Goyle, who were still having breakfast, slowly followed him, bacon sandwiches still in their mouths.
From beginning to end, he didn't glance once in the direction of the Gryffindor table.
I lowered my head to pack my schoolbag and was about to go to today's Arithmancy class with Miss Granger. As I passed the Slytherin table, I heard Blaise Zabini whistle a long, drawn - out note at me.
"Deep - bonded youthful pals?" he asked in a mocking tone. "Just how many people were you childhood sweethearts with?"
I took a deep breath, not planning to pay him any attention.
"She might be trying to follow in her mother's footsteps," Parkinson continued to giggle. "Oh, maybe it was her own mother who taught her this. Didn't her mother dally between Professor Snape and James Potter back then? What if you and Potter are siblings? After all, filthy Mudbloods are capable of anything - "
I slowly turned around and looked into Parkinson's eyes. "What did you just say?"
Parkinson stood up and looked at me venomously. "Oh, the pretty - face is angry. Do you really think Draco will protect you this time? I just said, your mother is a filthy Mudblood - "
"Iris!"
I shook off Miss Granger's hand that was holding me. My mind went completely blank. Parkinson drew her wand after seeing me draw mine, but she was too slow. I felt my body filled with rage, my mind emptied of all thoughts.
"Sectumsempra!"
She was too slow. She didn't even manage to get a quarter of the way through "Stupefy." The whispers that had filled the Great Hall moments ago had vanished completely, replaced by a deathly silence - of course, I wasn't counting Parkinson's sobs. I'd grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face - first into the bowl of cereal in front of her. My wand slowly moved from the Slytherin table, which was now deeply cracked, to her cheek.
"Don't move." Seeing Zabini reaching for his wand, I spoke softly, tapping Parkinson's face as I coldly said, "I haven't practiced this spell very well. This time it stopped right in front of her, but next time, who knows."
"Iris..." I heard Miss Granger call my name in a trembling voice. "Let her go... We can tell Professor McGonagall and let her handle it. There's no need - "
"Iris!" The Potter trio came over.
"Mind your own business." I'd never thought my tone could be so like my father's. "She insulted my mother and she has to pay for it."
"Do I seem like an easy target, huh?" The tip of my wand prodded Parkinson's flushed face as my hand still tightly grasped her black hair. "Always staying out of the way, never speaking up, letting you all point fingers and talk - is that it? So you thought you could use that kind of word to insult my mother? You thought that without Draco Malfoy, I'd just hide in a corner and cry? Is that how it is?"
"Miss Snape!" Amid Parkinson's sobs, I heard the shocked voice of Professor McGonagall behind me. "What are you doing - Good heavens, this table - Who, what spell was used - Miss Snape, release Miss Parkinson immediately!"
"I'll accept all the points deductions and detentions, Professor." I slowly let go of Parkinson's hair and watched as the disheveled Parkinson scurried behind Zabini like a poodle, crying and babbling incoherently as she tried to tattle to Professor McGonagall.
"And I'm going to promise you in front of Professor McGonagall, Miss Parkinson," I said with even a hint of mockery, "next time you use that word to insult anyone in front of me, whether it's my mother, Miss Granger, or anyone else, I'll make sure the crack on this table appears exactly the same on your face - or maybe it'll spread to your neck - "
"Miss Iris Snape!" Professor McGonagall sternly interrupted me. Her eyes were filled with nothing but shock. "You! Come to my office at once."
"Professor, Parkinson and Zabini provoked her first!" Potter stepped in front of me. "They insulted Mrs Snape by - "
"I think I have a good idea of what just happened, Potter." Professor McGonagall still looked at me, my face pale and my hand still tightly gripping the wand. "Under no circumstances, Mr. Potter, under no circumstances, should you use such a spell to attack a classmate in school. Miss Snape, put away your wand and come with me."
"Move aside." I pushed Potter, but he didn't budge.
"Professor - " He stubbornly tried to defend me.
"Move aside, Harry." I said softly. "This has nothing to do with you."