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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: The Great War

“I know why we try to keep the dead alive: we try to keep them alive in order to keep them with us. I also know that if we are to live ourselves there comes a point at which we must relinquish the dead, let them go, keep them dead. ”
― Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

Iris had known for a long time that her mum wasn’t like other mums.

For one, she was much younger. A lot younger. For another, she was smart. Wickedly smart. She seemed to know absolutely everything. And most importantly, she was a witch. The last part Iris only learned when she was eight and had her own burst of accidental magic—at least the first burst that had any major consequences. Strange things had been happening around her since she could remember. Little things mostly. The jar of biscuits that would move within her reach, her favourite toy zooming into her outstretched hand from across the room. A dying rose that returned to vibrancy at the lightest of touch. 

Even when she was tiny, she’d felt awe at the rush through her bloodstream. Part of her had always sensed it, like the tide and the moon –a pull that always existed.

Then there was the incident. A mean boy fell off the climbing gym. A gust of wind was blamed, yet Iris had seen the truth with her own eyes: how his grip on the cold metal bar was released finger by finger by some unseeable force as he stared at her in horror before dropping from sight. Falls had never been an issue for her. Her Godmother, Annie often said she was like rubber against pavement: she bounced right back. The boy, Liam, had not. A sharp crack had split the silence, followed by a scream. His left arm was worn in a sling for weeks afterwards. After years of torment he finally kept his string of barbed comments about her lack of a father to himself. 

Mum called it “projection”—not that it had made it sting any less. Nor had it stopped his whispers about what a freak she was, slowly and methodically turning the others in their year against her. Except for Matilda. Thank god for her. Though, since two days after the incident, Iris knew that Matilda was not fated to come along with her to what came next.

All of it had come out while lying with her mum in bed, like they always did before she fell asleep. She’d broken into tears at her mum’s gentle prodding around her recent withdrawal, confessing how the taunts were getting to her and then all of it narrowed down to that one moment on the climbing gym. Guilt had flooded Iris when she recounted how she’d wanted him to fall and then watched in shock the way his fingers had moved, as if an invisible force plucked them up one by one. 

This had been what had finally made Mum tell her the truth: they weren’t like other people. More than that, there was an entire world just out of sight. One she’d believed for most of her life to be like all fairytales—only a story. 

Iris blew out a deep breath, turning on her rumpled duvet to eye the stack of books on her night table. The pages contained keys to her future, a future that would take her away from all she’d ever known. A future which fast approached like the speeding train that she was about to board in a few days. Summer had melted into a blur like it did each year. She’d spent the months reading in the grass at Dean Park and the upstairs patio of their flat under grey Edinburgh sky, licking raspberry ice lollies at Annie and Rosie’s while she lazed about in their garden, day trips to the pebbly beach with Matilda where her skin burned lobster red before alchemizing her limbs gold and revealing the freckles on her nose. There were also the two weeks at the Lake District where they rented a cottage each August and swam each day. 

Then finally they went to Diagon Alley, something that had been put off until the bitter end, which was entirely unlike Mum, who was the kind of person who usually insisted on always arriving on time and being fully prepared. They’d made the uncomfortable journey by apparition. Iris hated the sensation, like having your insides twisted in a vice. When they’d landed in a narrow alley across from the Leaky Cauldron it was clear by the line of her shoulders, violet smudges beneath her eyes, and her tight grip on Iris that Mum would rather be anywhere else. 

Iris still didn’t understand her reaction. The glimpses of the Magical world she’d had over the years had only filled her with awe. Instead fear radiated off her mum in waves. Iris hadn’t understood the undercurrent when she was younger, but a picture had started to slowly form, crystallising while they hastily made their way through her shopping list, only buying what couldn’t be repurposed from Mum’s own school trunk.

Iris had observed how her loving, bright, and maddening mum, with all of her intelligence, was afraid of magic—or something related to it anyway.

She mulled over the memory, uncrossing her legs and carefully leaning over to swipe the top book off the teetering pile. ‘Hogwarts: A History.’ All of the colour had drained from Mum’s face when Iris had held it up in Flourish and Blotts. It had been purchased, but Iris had felt like a criminal, slithering in and out of the bustling narrow aisles, her mother’s chestnut curls a dishwater blonde and less defined, brown eyes blue. She’d seen her use this disguise in the handful of trips they’d made to Abherhein Alley and the other pockets of Magical Edinburgh. The entire trip to London had that feeling, like it was illicit for the two of them to be in the city near where her mum had grown up.

As she’d gotten older Iris had started putting even more of the pieces together. Whatever her mum had left behind, she hadn’t just left— she’d run. One of the only concrete things she knew was that there had been a war that her mother had fought in. There was a whole chapter on the war in the book she held in her hands now, glossy pages yielding some answers, but more questions. A dishevelled curl fell in her mouth and Iris spat it out irritability as she tipped the heavy book to look over the images once again. The Battle of Hogwarts, an image of strewn stone and dust.  In large broad strokes the book covered the events that had transpired months before she’d have come along. There was one detail that had stood out amongst everything, the reason she’d locked herself away in her bedroom after supper feigning a headache. 

Her fingers traced over the names that were nearly as familiar as her own; The Boy Who Lived, The King and The Brightest Witch. The Golden Trio. 

Since her discovery, Iris had been in conflict with herself. She could march out to the kitchen, where Mum was likely hunched over her research, and slam the book down in front of her and demand an explanation. An explanation about exactly how the stories she’d raptly listened to her entire childhood had ended up in one of her textbooks, even though she already had some of the answer, an answer so terrible that it had kept her glued to her bed, wanting to never move again.

Iris could push. A part of her desperately wanted to. Three days from now she’d be gone, separated by large swaths of Scottish highland from her mum—whose love had always been the gravitational pull that kept her in place, the two of them a bit like their own galaxy. Being angry with her felt weird, at least like this. A strange brew of anger, betrayal and hurt welling up inside her. Iris stared up at the galaxy on her ceiling: glow in the dark stars that had faded, only to be brought back to shimmering light with a wave of Mum’s wand last winter when Iris had complained about it. She watched them shimmer faintly in the lamp light and ruminated, letting the book fall beside her and folding her arms behind her head. 

Normally she didn’t mind their quiet existence—just the two of them—until she was angry and had no one else to turn to. Or when she went to Matilda’s, whose mum, while not as lively and young as hers, was still kind and did motherly things. Better yet, their house was always full, with a dad who cracked jokes. Yes, her little brothers could be pains in the arse, but they could also be sweet as sugar when they wanted a cuddle. Matilda’s family extended beyond Iris’s wildest dreams; with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins crowded amongst each other. Reminding Iris of when they’d managed to glimpse the milky way on one of Mum’s research trips up north. 

It was nothing like the vast expanse of empty space in lieu of extended relations in her own family, just her and Mum in the tiny flat above the bookshop. Not that Iris thought anything of it most of the time. They also had Annie and Rosie, among other friends. Their small family was simply a fact of her life, like how she had a mum that looked a lot like her, having given her the same nose, chin, and curly hair. Or that she liked reading and adored animals–she’d finally convinced her mum to purchase the kitten currently hiding under her bed. And she loved her highland dancing classes, where she could shake off the restless energy that hummed beneath her skin. Unfortunately, her knees were annoyingly knobby in her kilt, and she hated that she still looked at least a year younger than she should. 

The feature of herself she did like was her eyes: Emerald green, a colour that often drew comments from strangers. She also enjoyed the constant exclamation as she got older that she and Mum must be sisters. Mum always gave her a conspiring smile and Iris would roll said green eyes in response. Truthfully the reason she liked them best was that Mum had told her often over the years that they were the same as her father’s. Iris had very little of him. Her father had been killed in the war before she even took her first breath.  The exact details of which she’d just read and seen for the first time that evening.

Hidden in her drawer of the nightstand, there was a crumpled photograph of him, from when he was not much older than she was now. He grinned at the camera, a lopsided smile that Iris also shared with him. His dark hair was sticking up all over, a thin arm waving off whoever was taking the picture before he pushed up the wire glasses that slid down his nose. Mum had let her see the moving photograph the same day she’d learned about magic, duplicating a copy for her. It was fitting, as they were so clearly linked in Iris’s mind: magic, her dad, her dad, magic. A big giant swirl that made her dizzy. Nothing compared to how she felt now that the truth of who her father had been slotted into place.

She glanced over at the discarded book and sighed. It was too heavy to read holding it above her so she forced herself up. Cold sweat and a cramping in her stomach made it hard to take in the words in front of her. She avoided the image that had been like a knife in her heart, unable to read past it. Instead, she’d gone back to the founding members and the drama between Gryffindor and Slytherin in an attempt to calm her anxiety. Iris didn’t look up at the creak of the door. 

“Are you feeling any better?” 

She shrugged, flipping a page. 

Out of the corner of her eye Iris watched as Mum picked up a few of her strewn clothes and tossed them in the laundry bin with a sigh. Iris decided to continue ignoring her.

She sat on the edge of the small bed which pushed against the sloped wall, plastered with posters and magazine pages, the first step in transforming her room into something more acceptable for someone who wasn’t a little girl anymore. She had, however, refused to rid herself of her Peter Pan alarm clock. Not that she could bring that, or her posters to her new room at Hogwarts which she would share with strangers. Her stomach only knotted further as her mum peered over at what she was reading.

“Learning lots?” Iris shrugged again and Mum brushed a loose curl back from her shoulder. “Where’s Brigid?” Iris pointed towards the floor under the bed where her new kitten had darted earlier. “You’re upset about something,” she said in the straightforward way that often irked Iris. There was little use trying to get past Mum's freakish ability to read her.

Iris just flicked to another page, the silence stretching out.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” she asked, more gently.

A war waged inside Iris as she thought of the war she’d just read about. The people she’d read about. The book fell onto her lap as she turned to finally face her mum, whose own curls were piled up on her head and secured with a pen, the way they always were when she was researching. Her favourite pink cardigan wrapped around her small frame, brown eyes wide and sincere, scanning her like one of the heavy ancient books she studied for work. 

Matilda had recently confessed that she was jealous of Iris. That she got to be just like Rory Gilmore, with a young, pretty mum who “got” her, who let her read (nearly) anything she wanted and who she could talk to about her life. Iris had never been able to fully express to her friend that while she adored her Mum, it wasn’t that simple. That yes, they talked loads, but there were some subjects that had always had a weight that felt unbearable. That while Mum was her best friend in the world, sometimes the two of them didn’t feel like enough, that someone was always missing.

Tears burned behind her eyelids, and she dropped her gaze to the leatherbound cover.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered. Her mum’s gaze felt weighted, and she could easily picture her look of confusion. “You’re The Brightest Witch.” The arm pressed against hers stiffened, Mum’s breathing growing more irregular. “It’s in the book,” she mumbled, opening where she’d placed the silver ribbon. An outline of three figures stood against a fading sun. The photo on the adjacent page, a simple moving photograph of the three of them. Mum was in the middle, years younger and smiling brightly. 

She couldn’t even bring herself to bring up the part that hurt the most–the image that had caused her to slam the book shut with a shuddered breath, tears burning just at the memory of it. Her father’s body crumpled and lifeless among the debris of the castle. She glanced over at her mum who’d gone pale as bone china, dark eyes glassy.

“I’m sorry Iris I—”

“Your name is in there. Your real name.” Mum swallowed. “His name is too.”

A soft sob left her, that she stifled with her hand. “I know. I’m sorry. I—I haven’t been thinking clearly, or sure—sure how to have this conversation.”

“You should have told me ages ago. I’m not a little kid,” Iris said, shaking her head and staring back at the book before she met her mother’s gaze. “Why did you tell me all those stories then? They were always about him… you could have just told me the truth.”

“It was my way of telling you…” 

“...without telling me,” Iris finished flatly.

“I’ve wanted to talk about this for a long time. To talk about this before you left… it’s overdue.”

“I’d say so,” she said, unable to hide the bitterness, easier to hold onto than the wound.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Mum said, sincerity and tears in her words.

Iris felt filled with rocks. She released a breath. She lay her head back on the pillow, staring at the glowing stars and the top of the Florence and the Machine poster. 

“So, everyone knows my dad…” she trailed off, voice remaining flat to push the tears down.

There had been hints of that, but it all came into startling clarity as she’d read. She felt beyond betrayed and stupid for not having put the pieces together herself. She’d asked for the stories less and less as she’d grown older –maybe subconsciously she’d already known and hadn’t wanted to. The truth was a terrible thing that made her sure she would sick up. 

“Yes, he was very famous. Everyone in the Magic world would know who he is,” she said quietly, pain escaping on the last word as she amended. “Was.”

Iris grimaced and swiped a hand over her face, trying to force back the tears clogging her throat. Mum hesitated before she copied her, the floral scent of her shampoo wafting over as she’d pulled out the bun before laying down.

“Is that why you didn’t go back?” Iris asked through the knot in her throat.

She felt the nod of the pillow they shared. 

“Partially. I feared for your safety. I also just didn’t know how to be in that world without him,” she said, her voice slow and uneven. “It was easier leaving it behind, even though I’m realising now that maybe it was selfish of me. There are good people I left behind too. I want you to meet them. I just—” Iris turned to see the outline of her mum’s face, her lip between her teeth and brows pinched. “I think we need to be careful,” she finally said.

“Why?” Iris demanded.

Face tilting just enough to meet her eyes, her mum lifted a hand and touched her cheek. “The one thing I’m sure of…is that there are still likely those who would wish us harm.”

“Because of Dad?” 

“Yes,” she said softly. “I need to come up with a plan.”

Iris sighed. “Mum, it's been eleven years.”

“I know.”

“Three since I’ve known,” she added forcibly. “You could have told me this sooner. We could have come up with a plan instead of… instead of avoiding it all!”

Quiet settled over them, somehow louder in the aftermath of her outburst. 

When she glanced at her mum inexplicably her lips were tilted upwards and she was studying her. 

“What?” Iris asked irritably.

Mum shook her head. “You remind me so much of him.”

Iris narrowed her eyes. “You're changing the subject.”

“I know,” she said, smile widening. She brushed over her cheek, staring at her like she was some rare lovely artefact. “But it’s true. He was like you, kind-hearted, but he had little patience for not doing the right thing.”

“Mum—”

She rested her hand on her face, expression sobering. “I haven’t handled it well. Any of it. It’s been easier to lock it away. I’m so sorry Iris. I can’t keep doing that.”

The intensity of her gaze and her apology made the tears spill down her cheeks and she let her mum wipe them away before she took a shaky breath and rolled back towards the ceiling, the light blinded stars faint against the white paint. 

“I’m scared,” Iris confessed. 

The warmth of Mum’s hand pressed against hers, their fingers lacing together easily. 

“Tell me.”

She pushed out a heavy breath. “Well first off, what if it’s all awful? Say I don’t make any friends, and I’m far from you. Also, most of those kids have been around magic their whole lives…what if I’m bad at it because—” 

Iris forced back the mean thoughts that had entered and swiftly left. Mum squeezed her fingers. 

“That’s not possible.”

“How do you know?” 

She heard the smile in her mother’s words. “You likely don’t remember… but when you were four you had a fit at Tesco and blew up a row of bottled milk just by screaming.”

A shocked laugh caught in her chest. “I do…it was like a sea of white in the aisle,” she whispered. Iris could remember the wetness under her trainers and the echo of her mum's panic. “You abandoned the trolley, didn't you?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a laugh. “It was horrifying… but also rather spectacular.” Mum swiped her thumb over her palm. “Brilliant and powerful,” she added. “I’ve always known that.” Iris shook her head. She felt neither of those things. "It would be strange if you weren’t scared,” Mum said gently. “I was terrified, I did my best not to show it, but I was.” 

“How did you manage it? Being scared?”

“There wasn’t really much choice except to muddle through it. I put on a brave face… more than I probably needed to. What really changed things was when I made friends.”

“The troll.” Her favourite story, maybe even more so now that she knew the origins, even as a wave of sadness went through her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Everything was different after that.” She felt her mum’s eyes on her. “I don’t regret it. Any of it. Going to Hogwarts, meeting your father and having you. I just wish— ”

Mum stopped and Iris didn’t need to look to know she was crying. She squeezed her fingers. “I know, me too.”

Iris felt the mattress shift, and she allowed herself to be gathered in her mother’s arms, pressing her ear over her heart like she’d always done.

“You're your father’s daughter and I’m so incredibly grateful for that,” Mum whispered into her hair. More tears gathered in the corner of her eyes, and she squeezed them closed, breathing in the comforting smell of the only home she’d ever known, honey soap and whatever it was that was just her mum. Mum’s fingers ran through the strands of Iris’s messy hair and her chapped lips pressed to her forehead.  “You are the single greatest gift of my life.”

Iris tightened the grip on her. Unable to voice all that swirled in her mind, especially being far away. Another fear pressed in as she lay there where she’d always been safest. “What if I have the nightmares? And you aren’t there?”

Mum’s hand stilled. “I did think of that.” She let go of Iris pulling the wand miraculously from the pocket of her well-worn jeans. With a flick something flew through the open door and into her palm.

“I pulled out my old books to experiment and made these.” She placed what appeared to be a locket into the palm of Iris’s hand. 

“A necklace?”

She nodded. “Open it.”

Iris pried open the small heart shape, inside there was a photo of her mum mid-laugh. 

“I have one too. With that picture of you at the beach with your hair blowing in the wind,” she said, smiling. “I’ll wear it all the time. We can tap,” she demonstrated with her graceful fingers along the center of the heart. “Do you remember morse code? When Annie taught you?”

“Yes.” Mum tapped her palm and Iris smiled with disbelief. “I love you?”

A smile lit up Mum’s face, despite the sadness that lingered in the depths of her eyes. “Exactly. I’ll tap that to you each night before you fall asleep, and you’ll feel it.” As she secured the necklace around her neck, a lovely wash of love came over Iris. “There’s some other charms on it as well,” Mum started in her familiar tone of explanation. “Magic has all sorts of wonder and mystery. Ancient runes, blood magic, wild magic that goes beyond what we can direct with a wand. Some of it’s scary and some of it’s beautiful. Love is one of the greatest of all. It’s in this necklace and in it’s in you, and it will always, always be with you.”

Iris wiped at her nose and nodded. The warmth of her mum’s love wrapped around her in her tiny bed. 

“I was thinking, do you want to sleep with me tonight?” Mum asked, touching the necklace where it sat on the hollow of Iris’s throat. “For old times sake?”

She glanced down at the necklace, fighting back a grin. “Yeah, only because your bed’s bigger and more comfortable than mine.”

“Cheeky,” she replied, tweaking her nose. 

The two of them untangled themselves and stood up. Iris gathered her pyjamas before taking her mum’s outstretched hand. Neither of them glanced back at the abandoned book that contained the image that now haunted both of them.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: You’re on Your Own, Kid

 

“grief was something that moved in and stayed. Maybe it moved from one side of the room to the other, farther away from the window, but it was always there.”
― Emma Straub, This Time Tomorrow

The remaining days of Iris’s old life passed swiftly, in a whirlwind of goodbyes. There was one last afternoon with Matilda and her family. Then she bid farewell to Simon and Elenor, who worked with Mum at the bookshop, and to many of the regular customers who’d known her since she was tiny. All of them wished Iris well on her new adventure at boarding school.

Last, but not least, Annie and Rosie who were like grandmothers to her. They’d taken Mum under their wing long ago, and Iris had never known life without them. After supper, they stood on the steps of their small seaside cottage. Rosie, with her thin, strong arms, had hugged her long and hard. Annie’s hug had been no less strong, though more cushioned by her softer body, and accompanied by rare tears. 

“You’ll do well, love,” she said, knowingly. “I’ve pulled the cards and they’ve spoken loud and clear.” Iris didn’t need to look up to know that Mum was likely rolling her eyes. “There’ll be loads of the unexpected… but you’ll find whatever it is you're looking for in this new chapter. I’m sure of it.”

Iris wiped her own tears when she pulled back. “Not sure what that is exactly.”

Annie’s blue eyes crinkled. “You’ll know it when you find it.”

It was this that Iris held onto as she packed, ignoring the pit of despair in her stomach when she thought of being away from home. While she hadn’t rolled up any of her posters or shoved her alarm clock inside—redundant at a school without electrical plugs—she did, however, stow away her beloved lovie; a knit stag named Prongs, who Mum had now confirmed was named after her grandfather. 

Many revelations perforated the chaos of getting her ready for her new life. Iris gleaned that it had been her mum and dad and their other best friend on the run—the Golden Trio, as she’d known them for so long. The King, who she now knew was called Ron, had taken off, leaving her parents alone to find the Horcruxes. Eventually, events had transpired that led to her being born, something she didn’t want to think about too deeply. 

Mum hadn’t known she was pregnant at the battle that took place at Hogwarts. Iris could scarcely wrap her mind round the fact that in a sense—she’d been there too. Not that anyone would have ever known. According to Mum no one else knew about the shift between her parents.  A secret that had been between them alone. One her father had taken with him to his grave, her Mum with her when she ran. Something else that made Iris feel strange and like her mouth was full of glass at the thought of asking more about it. 

The mean boy's taunts still lingered under her skin, the words bastard, unwanted, unplanned, a shame.

She didn’t voice any of that to Mum because that wasn’t even the hardest part of the story. Instead the hardest part had been listening to the description of her father’s death. Not that the drawing in Hogwarts a History hadn’t conveyed a thousand words. It was different hearing them in her mum’s words. His body was brought back to the school and her mum’s world crashed down around her. Voldemort was gone in a rubble of ash. Yet none of that mattered to Mum after that. She’d fled within two days, having a professor help her with a Portkey. But she never went to Australia, so overwhelmed she’d run to another city she’d visited often as a child. Edinburgh. Soon enough she’d realised she was pregnant with Iris. Scared for the safety of her unborn child, she made the decision then and there to hide for good. Mum never set foot in the Magical world again. Not for a solid nine years, until Iris finally knowing about their heritage had begged her to let them visit the alley not far from their flat in Stockbridge.

And that was that the reason Iris had grown up away from the world she should have belonged to. Her mum had been afraid and hadn’t wanted to face the legacy of her father’s death, which Iris was still trying to wrap her mind around as they sat in her room the night before her departure.

“Your father hadn’t been dead twenty-four hours and there was talk of a national holiday, commiserations, statues…I couldn’t—” Mum wiped furiously at her eyes while they sat around the explosion of Iris’s room as they attempted to pack and cram in everything Iris should know along with her most important belonging to bring. 

“When I thought of going back, I was already overwhelmed with that. I hated it because I knew he’d hate it. I’d only known I was pregnant with you for five days, enough for it to start sinking in that if I brought you back there, all the public attention and curiosity would turn wildly on you.”

Iris cringed, rolling up one of her many jumpers and shoving it into her trunk. “I’d hate that.”

Mum gave a watery laugh. “I had a feeling you might—even before you were born.”

“Right. So, dad’s likely still just as famous even though he’s dead?” The amusement fell off her mum’s face and Iris felt the itch of guilt. “Sorry.”

“No. Don’t apologise. But yes, death tends to make people even larger than they were in life. And your father loomed large while alive,” she sighed, looking towards Iris. “The public always had a morbid fascination with him from the time he was a baby. I—” Mum paused, staring down at the black robes she’d folded neatly that had once been hers, adjusted to fit Iris.

“What?”

“I’d always assumed that would never stop. No matter what outcome of the war,” she said, blowing out a long breath before her eyes focused on Iris.  “Which is why I think we need to be careful.”

Iris swallowed. “How?”

Mum placed the robes in the trunk and reached over holding onto her hand. “I’m working on a plan. There are some people I want to contact but I—I want you to have the opportunity to enjoy your first months at Hogwarts without any of that—baggage. A clean slate where you can make friends and just be yourself.”

“I won’t be myself?” 

Mum’s lip twitched up and she squeezed her fingers. “You’ll always be yourself. It’s just that once people know the truth, I hate this fact, but it’s true. You’ll never not have the eyes of the wizarding world on you again.” Instantly her stomach sloshed uncomfortably and Mum tightened her grip. “Seeing my face in Hogwarts a History only cemented this my love. If people know I’m your mum…they’ll put the pieces together.”

Iris stared at her mum’s face. “Not sure what we’re supposed to do about the fact that I look like you.”

A real smile pulled her lips up the rest of the way. “You do, but you also look like yourself. People often don’t look that closely,” she paused, chewing on her bottom lip. “Hmm…alright for instance, what colour eyes does Simon’s new girlfriend Lucy have?”

“Er—I dunno. Blue? Maybe green?”

“Exactly. People are much more focused on themselves. They aren’t always clocking every little detail. You look like me, you also look like your father, but ultimately you are your own person and look like you. If people don’t know what they should be looking for…they often miss it.”

“So…I just pretend I’m not your daughter.”

“No. Not like that,” she sighed with a rueful shake of her curls. “Your mum’s name is Jane. Which is technically true or has been for the last twelve years. I’m a Muggleborn who raised you in the muggle world. Your father passed away. Ultimately it’s up to you if you want to share anymore with the friends you’ll make. I’ll only caution you that if you do tell someone, once it’s out there it may be hard to pull back.”

“Would you be upset?”

“It’s your story to tell. I’ll support you whatever you choose. I could write to Professor McGonagall and explain right now if that’s what you want.” She cupped her cheek. “I thought maybe we could check in at Christmas. I’ll work on a plan, and you can decide how you feel once you’ve had a chance to get a feel for Hogwarts.”

Iris eyed the stack of books near her feet. The weight of what she’d read hadn’t dissipated. She tried to imagine what it would be like to have every single student know the most painful part of her life. 

“You’re right. We should wait.”

Mum kissed her head and Iris leaned into her side. The knot in her stomach only tightened at whatever awaited her.

***

Iris glanced over at her mum as they made their way through the crowd at Platform 9 ¾. Her trunks were safely stowed in her coat pocket, and she held onto Brigid’s carrier.

“Do you really think someone will recognise you?” Iris asked.

“No idea,” she said, with a nervous smile. “Not worth risking though.”

As they approached the stone wall, her mum linked their arms.“You ready?”

Iris could only nod and together they went through the stone to the other side. The Hogwarts Express shone in the September sunlight that filtered in.  Families milled about, most of the students in Muggle clothing, but many of the adults wore various robes and cloaks. Owls hooted in cages and trunks were levitated onto the scarlet steam engine. 

Mum’s hold on her tightened and she glanced up to see a gleam of panic in her eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Let’s go over here where it’s a bit quieter.”

Iris wasn’t sure anywhere was exactly quiet on the busy platform. She looked back and noted several large groups. A tall red-haired man stood out, not only due to his height but the scars marring his handsome features. She allowed herself to be tugged along to the end of the platform. With her usual brisk and efficient movements, Mum pulled out the rest of her things and waited for Iris to do the same. They enlarged to their natural state with a wave of her wand, though remained light due to her clever spellwork.

The two of them settled Iris into an empty compartment at the end of the train. She placed Brigid’s carrier by the window, and with slow feet, followed her mum back to the door of the train and stepped out.

“So…”

Mum pulled her to her in a tight embrace, eyes watering. Iris let herself melt into it. Her own tears threatened to fall as the reality of leaving home crashed into her. 

“You’ll write often?” she whispered into her curls. Iris nodded against her shoulder, her mum still a head taller than her. 

Mum pulled back, a hand on each shoulder. Iris knew she was memorising her because she was doing the same. She wished her mum’s hair matched hers like it normally did, and that her eyes were her usual deep warm brown instead of ice blue. Iris focused on the freckles on the bridge of her nose that also appeared over the summer, the dip of her collarbone, her skin golden from their time at the cottage, the kindness and intelligence that radiated out of her eyes no matter the colour. 

Iris’s chin quivered, her nose burning as she swallowed down the wave of emotion threatening to take her under. Mum pulled her back into her arms. “You’ll do great things, my love. I’m already so proud. I know he would be too.”

She could only nod again, throat tight as she squeezed her mum who squeezed back.

“I love you to the moon,” Mum whispered near her ear.

“I love you to the bottom of the sea,” Iris replied. 

Mum wiped the stray tear from Iris’s cheek, her own clinging to her long lashes. The engine blew and everyone began to clamber on. Iris forced herself to step back onto the stairs of the train. 

Iris moved towards the window, letting the crush of other students pass by her and she peered at her mum through the glass. She stood with a reassuring smile on her face, hand touching the necklace. Iris felt her own warm against her skin and then the subtle tap of her message. She tapped back as the train began to move, and she stood with a hand pressed to the foggy pane as the lonely figure of her mother, separate from all the other groups of parents, grew smaller and smaller.

***

Houses spread further and further apart, and the vast greenness of the land stretched out as they left the city behind them. Brigid purred contently on Iris’s lap, and the softness of her dark fur against her fingers helped ease the anxiety swirling through her. She heard the whoops and hollers as people thundered up and down the train carriage corridor. Iris had the distinct feeling of being adrift. Most people on the train knew at least one other soul, she thought, though she knew that wasn’t true. The story of her mother and father meeting on the train, both friendless when they got on, proved that.

Iris pushed back thoughts of her parents. She refused to spend the journey to Hogwarts crying. Instead, she thought of her Charms textbook, which had excited her most. Mum had given her some pointers and she was eager to test them out. Iris had already managed a couple basic ones with her guidance, which had helped assure her anxiety about being horribly behind her new peers. The swoosh of the compartment door startled her, jostling poor Brigid, who gave a disgruntled tiny meow. 

A head popped in. “Oh sorry!” 

It was a girl. Hair bright blonde and fine as silk, her face delicate like a doll’s. 

Iris openly stared. It was jarring how pretty she was.

The girl glanced around and smiled sheepishly. “Do you mind if we join you? Some nasty older boys kicked us out of our other compartment.”

Shocked, she gave a small nod. The girl’s smile widened, and she took the seat across from her.

“Your kitten! I’m so jealous. Mum and Dad want me to wait a year before getting a pet.”

Iris managed a weak smile. “Her name is Brigid.”

“Oh, I like that!” The girl shook her head and held out her hand. “Where are my manners? Mum would kill me. Victoire. Victoire Weasley.”

The name made her pause before she finally shook it. “Iris Everdeen.”

“That’s lovely. I adore flower names.” Victoire leaned back in her seat. “I take it you’re a first year too?”

“Yeah,” she said, chewing her lip. Her mind jumped all over, from trying to puzzle out how she was related to her parent’s best friend, to all her other worries. Also, the shallow pang of eyeing the girl's neat brand-new robes. unable to help comparing them to her faded jeans and knitted jumper. Not to mention her own robes which were second hand like most of her other clothing. 

The girl's entire face lit up, again much too beautiful that it didn’t seem natural. “Maybe we’ll be in the same house! I’m terribly nervous…I’ve been having stomach cramps all week at the thought of where I’ll be sorted.”

Iris smiled. “Me too.”

“Don’t worry. Teddy said it goes by fast—the sorting. Also, that you get used to the rest of it pretty quick.” Before she could ask who Teddy was, a boy with golden curls slid the door open, his arms bursting with sweets in a variety of colours. “Did you get me Berties?” 

The boy, Teddy she gathered, chucked a striped box her way, nearly dropping his haul. “Duh. Who do you take me for?”

Victoire beamed, catching the box and immediately opening it. Iris noted that while they both had blonde hair, they didn’t look like siblings.

Teddy’s golden eyes landed on her before looking back to Victoire. “Who’s this?”

“Iris, and her kitten's name is Brigid.” Victorie replied, popping a bright blue bean in her mouth. “Blueberry, thank Merlin. Recently I got phlegm.”

Teddy ignored her comment and seemed to be assessing Iris closely, before he dumped his loot on the cushion next to her. “I’m Teddy. Hungry?”

The pile of sweets was overwhelming. She vaguely recognized some. Mum had introduced her to butterbeer and a few sweets on one of their brief visits to Aberhein. 

Iris nodded. Teddy dug around and fished out a thin red wrapped bar. “What will it be?”

She bit down on her lip, carefully placing Brigid back in her carrier. “Er—dunno.”

“Are you Muggleborn?” 

Victoire shot him an annoyed look and Teddy shot her a what look in return. 

“No and no,” she replied carefully. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Teddy said, throwing himself into the seat next to Victoire.

“Teddy don’t pry,” Victoire scolded, shoving his arm before turning back to Iris. “Sorry, he’s not normally this much of a toad.”

Teddy tugged at his curls. “Right. Sorry. Have a frog.”

Iris caught it easily. She’d heard of these, knew to grab it and bite into it before it hopped away. As she bit into the squirming frog, she felt certain that non-moving chocolate was better. 

The two of them had started talking about someone named Louis. Victoire looked over at her. “That’s my little brother,” she sighed. “I love him, but the little git hid my favourite shoes to try and stop me from leaving.” Iris smiled thinking of Matilda’s brothers. “Do you have siblings?”

“Er—no. Just me and my mum,” Iris replied.  “Do you just have your brother?”

“A sister and a brother. I’m the oldest of all my cousins too,” she said, elbowing Teddy. “Well if you don’t count this one.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“You’re cousins?” 

“No.” They replied emphatically, Teddy more so than Victoire. 

“Old family friends,” Victoire explained. “He’s just at most of the family gatherings and he’s all of a year older.”

“A year and two weeks,” Teddy added. 

“Yes, and you’ve been lording it over me for the last eleven years and four months.”

Teddy grinned.  “Do you have siblings?” Iris asked him, curious about the dynamic.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the p. “It’s me and my dad. And my Gran.”

Iris sat back against the window, folding up her legs and wrapping her arms around them. “That’s nice.”

Teddy shrugged. His probing gaze was on her again. “I can’t place your accent.”

“I’m from Edinburgh… but my mum was raised in Hampstead.”

“Ah,” Teddy said with a nod. “We’re in London— in Islington.”

“We’re near Cornwall. Right on the beach,” Victoire said brightly.

Iris smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

Iris tried to keep up as they continued to eat sweets and chatter on, but found herself looking out the window more and more, watching the rain spatter against the glass as they chugged further north. 

“Wait, are you trying out for Quidditch?” Victoire asked, voice rising. “In second year?”

Teddy bit back a smile, somehow still not full and biting into a bar of chocolate. 

Victoire gave a delicate little snort.  “Yeah, you’ve only had tutoring and whatever broom you could want since you could walk…that’s fair.”

His eyes narrowed.  “Your aunt is a bloody professional, it’s not like you haven’t had advantages.”

“Yeah, well someone sent you the latest model for your birthday, didn’t they?” Teddy’s hair turned as red as his face briefly before it reverted back. Iris watched in shock. Victoire’s blue eyes darted to hers and she shook her head.  “Sorry Iris—Quidditch is a sport—

“I know what it is,” she said softly, looking at Teddy. “Your hair changed.”

“Oh yeah. I’m a metamorphmagus. I can change—”

“Your appearance,” Iris finished. 

Both of their eyes widened. “Yeah… how did you know?”

Iris leaned back against the foggy window. “My mum.”

“So, your mum’s a witch?” Teddy asked. Iris nodded. 

“But your dad’s a Muggle?” Victoire asked kindly.

“No. He’s a wizard.” She forced out the next word on an exhale. “Was.”

A flicker of awareness went through the other two but something shifted on Teddy’s face.

“I’m sorry!” Victoire squeaked, covering her mouth.

“S’okay.”

A smothering silence descended and Iris stared down at her knees. 

“Alright, either of you fancy getting your arses handed to you in snap?” Teddy finally asked casually. 

Iris looked up to meet Teddy’s gaze, a deck of cards moving between his deft fingers.

She released a breath, returning his smile. “Sure.”

***

The rest of the journey went by in a blur of Exploding Snap and too many sweets. Iris eventually went to change into her mum’s old robes, Gryffindor badge removed, awaiting whatever fate would be hers.  A few others had eventually joined them: a boy named Johnny who was short with copper skin and an infectious laugh, and a girl named Isobel who was his younger sister. She sat back anxiously, but smiled when Iris asked her if she wanted to hold Brigid. Soon enough the train slowed, but Iris’s nerves took off like a shot as they descended onto the platform and joined the throng of other students. The sun, low in the sky, cast shadows around them, and a tall figure emerged above the crowd, with a bushy beard and dark eyes like two beetles. His booming voice called them forward.

“Firs’ years!”

The gentle giant from her mum’s tales. Iris followed the pack of other first years. Sandwiched between Victoire and Isobel, they scrambled into a boat at the edge of the vast, dark lake. A short boy with sandy hair joined them as they found their balance and then the boats were off floating along the glass-like surface. 

Within moments, they were out of the clearing of trees and Hogwarts shimmered in the distance against the fading light. Iris could hardly breathe. The fairytale castle of her childhood was right in front of her eyes.

“It’s something isn’t it?” Victoire whispered.

She glanced at her in surprise. “You’ve been?”

Victoire just nodded, eyes directed straight ahead. Iris swallowed as another reality crashed into her: she was approaching the place her father had died. Hands shaking, Iris tried to focus on all the small details; the feel of the wood beneath her, the fresh smell of pine and lake water and the way the light reflected on the water from the windows of the castle. 

There was more than the awful things that had happened there. This was the place where her parents had met, where all the adventures she’d listened to growing up had taken place. Mum had said it was her turn, and Iris wanted that to be true. 

Finally, they disembarked from the boats, trying not to dirty their robes on the muddy bank. Hagrid led them up to the large wooden door where a tall man with dark hair awaited. He was nothing like Hagrid but he still took up space. Luckily his grin was just as broad as his shoulders.

“Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor Longbottom. I’m the Herbology teacher, but tonight I’ve been tasked with taking you up to the feast. I’m sure you’re all feeling nervous but there’s nothing to fear,” he told them kindly.  His smile grew. “I know you’ve been given the information in your welcome letters, but I’ll reiterate a bit here. There are four houses that make up the school. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each of you will have a turn with the sorting hat who will decide where you’ll do best.” 

He paused, looking around at them all huddled in the dim corridor. “I know that it’s intimidating. I was petrified. But I had some of the best years of my life here, which is why I stayed,” he told them with a self deprecating laugh. “You’ll end up exactly where you’re meant to be. Now they’re just getting everyone else settled… so we’ll wait here a little longer.”

He turned and began speaking to Hagrid. Iris wanted to believe Professor Longbottom, except her hands continued to betray her and she folded them into her robes. Despite her mother having reassured her that she would end up where she was meant to be, Iris knew that your house defined so much about your time at Hogwarts. 

Soon enough Hagrid waved them off, and Professor Longbottom led them silently through the draughty corridor to the Great Hall. The star-filled ceiling was just as breathtaking as it was described in the stories from her childhood. She tilted her head back to admire the swirling shimmer and nearly lost her balance, causing Isobel to catch her by the elbow. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, a sea of students in black robes seated at the four long tables. At the front, teachers sat slightly above the fray and talked amongst themselves. It was impossible to ignore the stool with a tatty old black hat perched on it. A hush began to descend as a woman in spectacles stood up from the back table. Iris observed her straight posture and the small smile that pulled up on her serious face.

She looked at them over her spectacles. “Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts.”

Iris could hardly take in what she said, her eyes locked on the hat. A clap of hands made her jump. The serious face broke into the faintest of smiles. “Now we’ll begin the sorting.”

Professor Longbottom unrolled a scroll and began to read the names out loud. A boy named Artemis Anderson was sorted first into Hufflepuff, followed by Naomi Beckett into Slytherin, then twins Ivy and Melody Duncan into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Then Professor Longbottom’s deep voice called out Iris Everdeen.

Everything else faded away as she forced her legs to move. Professor Longbottom gave her a strange look as she approached, and she felt her heartbeat faster. Carefully she went and sat on the stool, a moment later everything went dark. Iris heard a humming sound and then a small voice began to speak in her ear. 

“What do we have here?” She swallowed, pressing her clammy hands to her knees, unsure if she was expected to reply. “Curious and curiouser. There’s so much here. An unusual life and mind. There’s your lineage of course. A lion heart beats inside you, always has.”

Her heart leaped at those words.

“But there’s so much potential. Brilliance that could make you shine in Ravenclaw, but you’d grow bored of the seriousness. Kindness and loyalty would serve you well in Hufflepuff. Except there’s a greatness inside you, a desire to prove yourself. You’ve always been resourceful, bright—sharp when you need to be. Not to be trifled with.”

Iris felt the wind, saw the boy's finger lose contact with the metal bar.

“Not Slytherin,” she begged under her breath.

The hat simply laughed. A moment later it cried out.

“Gryffindor!”

A deafening roar reached her, amplifying when Professor Longbottom pulled off the hat. He gazed down at her with a hard to read expression. She attempted to smile, but she felt lightheaded from the rush of relief that she didn’t dwell on it as she all but ran to the Gryffindor table.Teddy was standing and clapping, he let out a whoop as she approached.  Her face grew warm from the attention, but she was far too pleased to care. He offered her a high five as she sat next to him. 

“Welcome to the best house,” he said, grinning. Johnny reached over and clasped her on the shoulder echoing the sentiment. 

“Thanks,” she breathed, her eyes moving forward to where the other first years waited. 

The ceremony continued. Johnny leapt to his feet when Isobel was sorted into Gryffindor. “Was a bit worried about her ending up in Slytherin… she’s more ruthless than she looks.”

Isobel took a seat across from Iris, her dark hair escaping her plait looking rather bewildered but relieved. Then it was Victoire. Iris swore that the hall grew even more quiet at the name Weasley. Lucky for her, the hat barely stayed on her head for more than five seconds and it was crying out, “Gryffindor!”

Iris clapped along with Teddy and the others. Victoire sat next to Isobel, cheeks pink and smiling brightly. McGonagall stood again, smoothing down her emerald robes.

“Doesn’t she turn into a cat?” Iris whispered to Teddy, whose eyes grew wide.

“How did you know that?”

“Er—”

She was saved from answering as the woman who really could turn into a cat started to speak.  “Welcome, we’re glad you are all here. I still can’t believe I’m saying this but, Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Now please enjoy.”

No sooner had the strange words left her mouth did the empty dishes in front of them fill with food. The spread reminded her of one of Annie’s suppers but on an even grander scale. There was roast beef, shepherd's pie, roast gammon, and just about every roasted vegetable you could imagine, along with fluffy bread rolls and thick slabs of butter. Her stomach rumbled, finally more settled with having the sorting behind her and she happily dug in. Iris let the conversation wash over her as she took in what she could between delicious bites of her shepherd’s pie and roasted honeyed carrots. 

Mostly Iris listened to the chatter between Teddy and Victoire. A part of her was strangely fascinated by the metamorphmagus and part-Veela, which she’d overheard Victoire explain to another first year named Edith, who had a short pixie cut. 

Teddy pushed his shoulder against hers in an effort to see over her. “Where is he?” he muttered.

Iris looked in the same direction but only saw the long row of teachers. She went to ask him who he was looking for when the food vanished. Yet another spread appeared before them.

Teddy groaned. “Merlin, I’m full. But I will eat that pumpkin pie.”

“Your true weakness,” Victoire teased.

“Nah, he has another one—” Johnny started but Teddy elbowed him rather violently and he stopped. Victoire raised an eyebrow at her and Iris bit back a laugh. She took a small piece each of treacle tart and pumpkin pie, two of her own weaknesses. 

Iris had just finished her first slice when a ripple went through the hall. She could almost swear there was a shift in the atmosphere as gooseflesh pricked her arms. It seemed that most of the students were craning their neck towards the front of the hall. 

“Ah there he is,” Teddy said with a sigh of relief. “I knew he wouldn’t miss the first day if he could help it.”

“Who?” she asked. 

“My godfather,” Teddy replied. Iris turned and followed the hundreds of other eyes. At the far end of the hall there was a man she didn’t remember seeing moments earlier. He leaned near Professor Longbottom at the head table, the two of them chatting comfortably, taking no notice of the entire student body openly staring at him. 

He had wild dark hair that reminded Iris of the night sky. She wanted to pull her gaze away but a strange sensation spread out from her chest, like she was falling down, down. At the exact moment he turned enough for her to properly see his face, the falling became crashing. 

Teddy’s next words only compounded the lurch of her entire being. “You probably know him better as Harry Potter.” Her fork clattered to the table as she watched him push the wire frames of his glasses up the bridge of his nose, letting out an easy laugh.

“Or The Boy Who Lived?” Victoire supplied helpfully.

“Man who conquered the Dark Lord?” Teddy added with mock seriousness.

“And death,” Victoire continued, clearly in on the joke. “Didn’t they also call him “Zombie Boy” for a while?”

Teddy snorted.

Iris could only stare, the awful sensation taking over her entire body. She watched the man’s smile unfurl at something the other Professor said, even from a distance she recognized it. Three years of staring at his photograph had burned it in her brain.

Her dead dad’s smile.

“Are you alright?” Teddy asked, warily. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Too much treacle tart?” Victoire asked, when Iris didn’t respond.

Iris nodded numbly. By some miracle when the prefects came by to escort them to the dormitory, she stood on her shaky legs and followed between Isobel and Victoire, her shoulders tense as if bracing for impact. 

“She looks like she’s seen a ghost,” Isobel whispered worriedly. 

If she’d been capable of it, Iris might have laughed, though it would have sounded deranged. At that moment she could do nothing but stand rigid in her shock, everything muted with the roaring of blood in her ears. It was only the sound of a low, warm voice behind them that made her nearly jump out of her skin.

“Your parents will be pleased.”

Victoire released her hold on Iris.

“Uncle—Professor Potter! You made it!”

“Yeah, I had a hard time breaking away. Sorry to have missed it.”

Her heart was like a wild beast in her chest, yet she still turned a fraction. Enough to see the man who shared the same name and face as her father.

He was smiling down at Victoire with that lopsided grin and Iris stood still as a statue. All of the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention again but there was no draft, only the warmth of Isobel next to her and the feverish chills that had overtaken her. Maybe she was sick? All of this only a strange hallucination, which was more plausible than what she was seeing in front of her, all eleven years of her life story turned on its head.

“You made it!” Teddy’s voice called out happily and soon he was hugging the man. 

“Are you coming?” Isobel asked her, eyeing her up and down.

She nodded, willing her feet to move, desperately wanting to get away, yet also wanting to pull at his robes and demand an explanation. Isobel began to guide her like she was an infirm when Victoire’s melodic voice called out.

“Iris, wait!” She turned at the touch of Victoire’s hand on her arm. “We need to introduce you!”

Iris tilted her head back towards where Teddy stood with the man, the two of them laughing. Before she could do much of anything Victoire was pulling her along.

“Uncle Harry, this is my new friend Iris. She’s a Gryffindor like us!”

Harry glanced over at them, the easy smile freezing and slipping off his face. She was going to throw up. In front of her dead dad and the entire school.

“Do you know each other?” Victoire asked, curiosity apparent as she surveyed them.

His green eyes roamed over her face and Iris couldn’t move. Finally, he gave a small shake. 

“Iris knew who McGonagall was… but not you!” Teddy said, seemingly enjoying that fact.

Iris had no defence as she stood there, lips parting and no sound emerging.

He recovered quickly. “I—it’s nice to meet you, Iris.”

Iris looked at his outstretched hand. An arm she’d seen before, less thin but still with pale skin like hers in the winter months. A miracle happened and her hand moved, grasping his. A strange jolt nearly caused her to jerk away at the intensity, the gooseflesh on her arms standing out visibly, like an electric shock. 

“Hi,” she said quietly, she felt the way his hand tightened.  After a moment he released her.

“I don’t think you look well.” Victoire said, moving closer and frowning with genuine concern. “You’ve lost all the colour in your face and you're shaking.”

Iris nodded for lack of other response. 

“Do you want me to escort you to the hospital wing?” Harry asked gently, his brow furrowing.

Iris shook her head, looking up at the ghost in front of her, solid and real and utterly incomprehensible.

His eyes flicked over her face again, an uncertain pinch of his brows. “Well, don’t hesitate to visit Poppy and Hannah. They’ll help you if you're feeling out of sorts.”

Iris nodded, desperately wanting to run away.

He pulled his attention back to the other two. “You be good–don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Not any more than you did,” Teddy replied.

He gave them a rueful shake of his head. His green eyes fell back to her own. 

“Pleasure to meet you Iris,” he said, and the sincerity nearly made her burst into tears.

“Pleasure,” she managed on a shaky exhale. 

Harry ruffled Teddy’s curls. “You better catch up; I’m sure Teddy will show you two the ropes.”

Teddy gave a salute and Harry smiled before he turned.  His eyes landed on hers and for a split second she saw something flicker in them –a sadness. It was gone as soon as she blinked or could even be sure of what she’d seen. Then he made his way in the opposite direction. 

Iris had no memory of getting to the common room. Victoire had guided her up, asking her repeatedly if she was sure she didn’t want to go to the hospital wing. Iris had only shaken her head. The warm, cosy common room was as Mum had described it. The thought of her mum made a visceral ache tear through her chest. How? Did her mum lie? Was everything she said just to cover up for something else? Had her father not wanted to be around and that’s why she’d left instead?  An echo of the taunts she’d grown up with came to her fast and furious, too quickly to fully grasp, pulling violently on her heart that pounded out of rhythm.

She tried to shove all of it away, but it built up anyways. She barely got through the prefects’ spiel about house rules. Iris held tight to her necklace like a talisman, her mother loved her, she would never betray her like this. The book had said it, he had died. At that moment the only thing she wanted was her mum to race to the castle and help her sort through this. She couldn’t do this on her own.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Victoire asked when they finally got into their dorm room, which was round with five four-poster beds. 

“I—just don’t feel well all of a sudden.” Iris managed weakly, sinking onto her bed.

Victoire sighed. “You should have let Un—I mean Professor Potter take you to the hospital wing. I know it seems intimidating since he’s so famous, but I promise he’s the best and so kind, and funny too.”

All the tears she’d been fighting surfaced swiftly like a tide. 

“No, I—I need to sleep,” she said, biting down hard on her lip.

“Alright, you can wake me if you get sick in the night. I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, attempting to smile but it was more likely a grimace. 

The other girls looked at her warily, like she would explode into a vomiting mess akin to the girl in the film ‘The Exorcist’, which she’d made the mistake of watching at Matilda’s over the summer. Iris tried to keep her face blank as she went through the motions of getting ready for bed in a new place. Only once the others were asleep did she dare dig through her trunk by the light of her wand, grateful Mum had taught her that spell before she left. She grabbed the two items and dived back onto her bed, pulling the curtains shut around her. 

She opened the book and flipped through desperately. There it was, the chapter on his death. The picture of him with Mum and their friend Ron. She continued to the passage of his body being brought back to the castle, the awful drawing that had made her stomach heave. Iris sucked in a breath and turned to the next chapter: 

The Boy Who Lived Again

Shakily, she unfolded the worn copy of the photograph her mum had given her all those years ago. It was undeniable: the man whose hand she had shaken was her father, who was very much alive.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Plants and Pranks

Harry’s heartbeat drummed harder than his footsteps on the stone as he swiftly made his way out of the castle. The night air cooled off his skin though it didn't clear his head.

After all, he'd just been face to face with a ghost.

He’d long grown used to the sensation. He would spot brown curls out of the corner of his eyes, a bright laugh that would cause him to glance across the room or the flash of a delicate face that would make him turn sharply to get a better look. Sometimes it was the determined walk of a woman on a busy London Street that would make his heartbeat and gait increase. Myriads of moments where he thought maybe, just maybe it was her. It never was. She’d been gone longer than he’d known her. Twelve years had slipped by without his permission. Time stopped for nothing. He should know this by now. Except it had. Just for a second when his eyes had taken in the familiar features; the slope of the nose set within a heart shaped face, surrounded by curls with a life of their own. 

In the low lighting of the corridor, he’d glimpsed his past. Then he blinked and the memory broke. He hadn’t time travelled. Instead a young girl stood before him; eyes a different shape and colour, hair lighter, stature smaller than he remembered hers being. Although all first years appeared tiny to him now.  It was only a new friend of Victoire’s who appeared nearly as shocked as he felt. Not that this wasn’t a reaction he still received. No matter how many years went by, coming back from the dead and vanquishing a dark lord made you stick out.

These thoughts swirled in his mind, his cloak billowed around him, and he walked on. The air grew sharper as he moved across the shadowy green landscape. Trees towered over him as he trod onto the well-worn path that skirted the Forbidden Forest. Eventually his destination came into view. The small stone cabin beckoned with warm buttery light spilling from the windows and a curl of smoke drifted from the stone chimney towards the nearly full moon.

Harry gave a quick knock, and a deep voice called him inside. Warmth enveloped him as he stepped over the threshold, quickly relieving himself of his robes and hanging them on the wooden peg to his left.

Neville’s head popped out of the kitchen. His dark eyes scanned over him. “I take it you could use a brandy instead of a cuppa?”

“What makes you say that?” 

His friend just shook his head and gestured for him to move into the sitting room. Harry rolled his eyes but made his way up to the bag of the cottage.

“Hello Professor Potter.” Hannah greeted him from the floral sofa where she currently wrestled a pair of knitting needles and some thick yellow wool.

“Madam Longbottom.” Harry took a seat in the squat armchair across from her.

Hannah snorted. “There’s a reason I kept my maiden name.”

“I thought it was to avoid detection of the students.”

“Nosy buggers,” she muttered, looping a piece awkwardly onto the sharp instrument.” Not that it stopped most of them from putting the pieces together.” She brandished the knit wear in his direction. “A few of them pay too close of attention to my husband.” Harry grinned and Hannah gave a devilish little smile. “Not that the same isn’t true for you. A true legend in their midst. Didn’t you say it often takes a month for the shock to wear off the young ones?”

He shrugged and leaned back. His mind darted to the wide eyed expression of the girl earlier and he bit back a grimace.

Neville meandered out of the kitchen. Three glasses floated next to him that landed with each recipient. He stretched his long legs out on the coffee table after taking the seat next to his wife. Harry took a sip of brandy which burned pleasantly. He looked across to Hannah and Neville who were exchanging a series of facial expressions he recognized as a wordless conversation.

“So…anything unusual?” Hannah finally asked, while Neville took a large swig of his brandy.

He hummed, taking another drink. “Define unusual.”

Only the crackling of the fire filled the room before Neville pushed out a sigh. 

“Did you see her? The first year?”

“I saw a lot of first years,” he replied, his tone even.

Hannah made a huffing sound. “Don’t play dumb Harry. Neville already told me.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he replied, looking at Neville whose broad shoulders deflated as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“The one who…who looks like Hermione,” he said in a low voice.

Harry took another deep pull of his drink, hoping the spirits would lift his. Not that it usually worked that way. 

“Yes,” he said after a beat. “I did.”

Another quiet hush fell over the room and Neville and Hannah once again exchanged a wordless debate. He knew they didn’t mean to, that it happened without thought, but still the loneliness crept in as it always did. Likely worse for having once had that himself and then having lost that—her—all of it.

“Is it really that strong?” Hannah finally broached, unwinding a bit more wool. “Neville said she was almost a carbon copy.”

Harry stared down into his drink picturing the girl's face once more. “Close enough.”

“That’s so strange,” Hannah said with a frown. Her hazel eyes searched his. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked tersely, he cringed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “I’m fine. Really. I—it was just…unexpected.”

“There’s been no updates since…” Neville said quietly.

“No,” he said, flatly. He held tight to the glass in his hand and took another generous sip, the burn a relieving distraction from the ache in his chest.  “It’s likely as close of an answer as we’ll get.”

“I’m sorry Harry,” Neville said, dipping his chin.  “I—I miss her terribly. I can only imagine what it’s like for you.” Neville rubbed a hand over his face. “I thought I was going mad for a moment. When she went to sit on the stool.”

“Yeah, it’s…. disarming,” he said, his throat tight.

“Uncanny,” Neville said.

“I want to see her,” Hannah said, frowning as she attempted to hook the wool.

“Well let’s hope she doesn’t end up in the hospital wing,” Harry muttered, taking another sip of brandy. Hannah shot him a disgruntled look and he sighed. “You won’t need me to point her out. It’ll be obvious.”

Quiet descended at his statement. Not that it wasn’t true. Anyone who had ever laid eyes on Hermione Granger would unlikely be able to miss it.

“Why does Susan say this is relaxing,” she grunted after a moment, throwing the needles down. Hannah reached for her floating glass and took a swig.

Harry thought of Hermione knitting in the common room, then shoved it down. Years of practice had made it second nature. “It gets easier,” he said, glancing at Neville who smiled fondly at his wife. “Or so I’ve been told.”

Hannah blew out a huff of air ruffling her bangs. “Merlin, I hope so.”

***

The night passed in a slow crawl of awfulness. No sooner would Iris nod off, then an awful rush of confused images would fill her mind and she would wake with a gasp. Always a pair of green eyes stared back at her, burned against her eyelids. By morning the exhaustion sat on her like a heavy boulder, making getting ready for her first proper day a monumental effort.

“You really don’t look well.” Victoire said, with concern. “I think you should go to the hospital wing.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, as she slowly attempted to brush her hair despite her arms feeling like they weighed a thousand stone.

Victoire only looked at her skeptically but let it alone. Iris put on her best I’m being normal face and followed the others down to the great hall. Sucking in a breath when they reached the threshold, she was equal parts relieved and disappointed to not see him at the head table with the other teachers. 

Her heart sank into her stomach. Maybe she had somehow hallucinated it all?

A pretty girl with intricately braided hair and a shiny prefect badge passed them their timetable. 

“Thank goodness charms and herbology first thing,” Victoire said staring at her timetable intently.

Teddy leaned over her shoulder. “Oh nice, you’ll see Uncle Harry this afternoon. I don’t have him until Wednesday.”

Or not. Iris forced down her pumpkin juice, the icy deliciousness doing little for her parched throat or to settle her stomach. She picked at her breakfast and made herself study the timetable. After lunch she would be contained in a classroom with her father. Her father who according to ‘Hogwarts a History’ had come back to life three days after the battle, unbeknownst to her mother.

“Are you excited?” Isobel asked shyly, spreading some marmalade on her toast.

Iris nodded, forcing a smile onto her face. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Nervous?” 

An anxious laugh escaped her. Nervous didn’t quite cover it but she nodded again. Isobel gave her an impish grin that made Iris smile despite herself. 

“My brother’s been winding me up about Potions. Saying it’s all frog guts and cutting up newt eyes. Do you reckon that’s true?”

Iris let herself get lost in the conversation about what lay ahead. Grateful the conversation didn’t swerve back to the brain bending reality that continued to knock into her like a double decker bus. 

She vowed to herself as she stood with the others to get to class that she would get through the day without a breakdown. That could come later, behind the curtains of her four poster bed. Coming up with a plan for what she should do was still too overwhelming and made her feel like her insides were melting. All of it was too large to tackle at once. Her mum always said one thing at a time, to gather what information you could from your research. To make a list of all your ideas so it was all laid out there. Iris had no clue what would be on her list, but she hoped that by the end of the day there would be something she could grasp onto.

Trudging through the dewy grass and taking in the majestic forest that expanded beyond her sight, Iris breathed in the fresh air. She found being outside was less constraining than the castle. Not that it entirely stopped her mind from spinning and wondering about him, about the sparse information she’d read late last night, but it helped. The greenhouses were steamy on the already warm September day as the sun beat against the glass. A loamy smell filled the space as they all approached the work benches, each set with an empty pot and a trowel.

Professor Longbottom grinned at them from the front. “Right. It’s warm in here. You can hang your robes in the back,” he gestured towards a small space behind them. “None of that only sitting with your houses nonsense. Please take a seat next to anyone not in your house instead. I promise none of them will bite.”

An uncertain laughter spread through the students who disrobed, eyeing each other carefully as they all took their time to find a spot. Iris ended up next to a girl in Slytherin and a boy from Hufflepuff. 

Professor Longbottom clapped his hands together. “Right. Look at the person on either side of you. You’ll be working in teams of three for the rest of term. His grin widened. “Go on, don’t be shy.”

“Eileen,” the Slytherin introduced herself as in muted voice, her raven hair pulled off her face in a high ponytail. 

“Iris,” she replied, nodding. 

“Calvin!” the Hufflepuff boy exclaimed, offering a rather large hand that was out of proportion to the rest of him. His height was nearly the same as Iris’s and he had a mop of shaggy sand coloured hair. 

She shook it and Eileen did after a moment, a dark brow raised.

“Now today will mostly be an introduction to what you can expect, but I do want you all to get your hands dirty before we leave today.” He walked over to something that looked oddly like a rose bush. 

“I’m going to have you re-pot these,” he said, touching a dark glossy leaf. “Does anyone know what they are?”

Victoire put up her hand. “Are they magic roses?”

He nodded, shooting her a smile. “You’re correct Ms Weasley. Ten points to Gryffindor. Your grandmother, like mine, has a soft spot for these.”

“Does anyone know the difference between these and the non-magical variety?” He asked them.

Another hand shot out. Iris had only glanced at her Herbology textbook, far too distracted by the overturning of the word as she knew it. She felt the flush of irritation. She hated not knowing what was going on in class. She vowed to be better prepared tomorrow, then remembered that she had much bigger problems and the queasy feeling from earlier returned. She gripped the wooden table in front of her. In her spiral she’d missed the answer. 

“Are you alright?” Calvin asked anxiously.

Iris was certain she would be relieved to never hear that question ever again.

“Fine, thanks,” she managed, a smile forced onto her lips that probably made her look like a loon.

Calvin didn’t seem to mind, only grinning back. 

The others started to move about, and Iris blindly followed suit as Professor Longbottom explained the different aspects of the greenhouse and how lessons would generally be conducted. There seemed to be a lot of teamwork, which half the class looked giddy about and the other looked wary. Iris wasn’t sure where she fell yet.

Soon enough they were herded back to their worktables, sleeves rolled up and shovelling dirt into the pot. 

“The key with magic roses is actually something that may make a few of you feel embarrassed…but I hope you’ll have fun with it.”

Iris swallowed glancing at her neighbours who frowned in confusion. Neither of them appeared to be plant people. A few groans with only one enthusiastic sounding yes sounded across the room.

“Yes that’s right, ladies and gents. You’ll be singing to your plants!” He said with delight, humour sparking in his eyes.  “They prefer it to be in harmony…but anything will do.”

Eileen paled, which made her dark hair stand out even more. Calvin had gone bright pink which Iris was sure matched her own cheeks that felt warm. 

After a round of rock, paper, scissors which Calvin knew and Eilleen caught on quickly. Iris found herself singing to a plant. 

What was her life?

Embarrassment flowed through her but she squared her shoulders. She stared at the scraggly plant and tried the tune from an infomercial that had played on a loop all summer. The plant went limp and her cheeks burned even hotter.

“How’s it going Ms Everdeen?”

“Er—” she glanced down and back at the dark haired professor. “I don’t think it liked it.”

His lips twitched. Her cheeks may as well be on fire at that point.

“Does that tune have any meaning? I caught the phrase ‘retirement plans that can’t be beat?’”

“It’s from television,” she admitted, wishing she could actually set herself on fire.

“Right. That’s fine. Does that television program have special meaning?”

“No,” she replied, unable to keep her irritation out of her voice. “You didn’t say.” 

She bit down on her lip. There’d been a few occasions when her mum or Annie had reprimanded her for her quick temper and loose lips. Instead of reproach he gave a rueful smile that spread across his face, he scratched his cheek leaving a streak of dirt that did little to distract from how handsome he was. Something several girls had gone on about on the walk over.

“You're entirely right Ms Everdeen. My apologies.” He raised his voice so the class could hear over the chorus of different songs and quality of singing. “A student has brought up an excellent point. The songs have to be sung with feeling. A song that has meaning to you is often the key to getting them to take to their new home. Flowers are often symbols. Why is it that roses are often associated with love? Of course, they're beautiful and because we’ve said so for centuries…but there’s also the essence of a plant that is vital to creating any number of elixirs that have to do with the heart. Be it a love potion…or a rejuvenating potion after dark magic is used.”

A hush had fallen over when he’d finished, and he only gave a small shake. 

“That was a lot of information. The key is to sing from your heart, easier said than done in a room full of your peers watching, but each student who manages will earn twenty points, and another ten for the houses of their desk mates for their support.”

“Okay. What has meaning to you?” Calvin asked, glancing nervously at the limp plant in Iris’s hand. 

“I—I don’t know.” She adored music but her mind was already so full she struggled to think.

Eileen was quiet, dark brows drawn together before she looked back at Iris. “Well, is there a song that makes you think of the person you love most?”

It came to her immediately and she found to her embarrassment that tears burned behind her eyelids, while her cheeks continued to just burn eternally it seemed.

Eileen studied her and gave a small nod. “You can do it. I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, we promise not to laugh,” Calvin added eagerly, and Eileen shot him a withering look.

Iris steadied herself and forced her gaze back to the plant. She used her free hand to touch the necklace, letting the feeling wash over her anew. 

“Where the Northwind meets the sea,” she sang quietly, reciting the lullabye of her childhood. To their credit the other two didn’t say a word, only leaned forward and as the plant perked up, they helped Iris carefully place it in its new home in the dark moist soil. 

She looked up to find her teacher's steady gaze back on her from a few tables over. A look of disbelief that he quickly masked with an approving smile. 

“Excellent work everyone.”

***

Some of the numbness began to wear off as her situation settled over. Iris had struggled to focus in charms, hardly hearing the teacher. Her mind seized with what was to come. She’d still managed to have her feather fly higher than anyone else's, which had allowed a bit of pride to crowd out some of the heaviness in her chest. It also eased at least a bit of her anxiety around not being totally useless at school. She was grateful now for her Mum’s lecture on proper wand technique, even if she’d rolled her eyes at the time. 

The feeling didn’t last long because soon enough she was packing her bags along with everyone else and her heart felt heavier than the stones that held up the castle. There would be a meal that she had no appetite for, then she’d be off to Defense class. Her father would instruct them for an hour and a half while she had to pretend that all of this wasn’t completely mental.

She took a seat beside Johnny and immediately put her face in her hands. 

“Was Flitwick that hard on you?” he teased.

“Hardly. Her feather went higher than everyone else's,” Victoire said, pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice. 

“Impressive.”

Iris pulled herself up and sure enough right at that moment he walked by. Victoire waved and her father shot a grin in their direction before heading towards the teacher’s table. The shock at the sight of him left her hollowed out. Any appetite she’d had vanished, numbness floating through her again. She forced herself to spoon up a bit of soup but she barely tasted it. So much of the chatter was about defence and there was one cloying question from an older girl asking about his love life, which was met with an icy glare from Teddy and Victoire. Iris stared down into her soup. That thought of him having a love life never even occurred to her and her stomach turned as she pushed around the bits of chicken and carrots.

“Is it true that he really performed a Patronus at thirteen?” Melody asked, wide eyed.

Teddy nodded, shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, he’s going to teach me next year. He promised.”

“What’s a patronus?” Edith asked.

Victoire launched into an explanation that Iris tuned out. She stared at her half eaten food. No matter how hard she’d tried, her eyes had continued to dart in his direction, magnetised to the unbelievable sight. He was laughing with Professor Longbottom again. Then was speaking with a warm expression to the Headmistress, who Iris would have right after defence. 

It occurred to her that all of them got to be around her father like it was the most normal thing in the world. Not her. She was a stranger to him, a thought that made tears threaten, absently she reached for her glass and forced the liquid down her throat that was too tight, as it had been since she’d seen him. She puckered her lips. Orange juice, not pumpkin. She grimaced when she realised it was her neighbour's cup. Nearly too overwhelmed to feel another emotion like embarrassment she pushed it away, and at the exact moment a wave of nausea rushed upwards. 

Iris managed to stand, legs like wet noodles beneath her. The noodles from her chicken soup quickly came back from where they’d settled awkwardly in her stomach. 

Oh dear god. 

That was the only thought she had before the vomit came. She clamped a hand over her mouth willing it to stay in as she stumbled out of the hall and into the corridor.  Iris now felt exactly like the girl from The Exorcist. Except instead of being filled with the devil and rage and vomit; it was despair and humiliation and vomit. 

“Oh Iris! That prat!”

No words came, only more sick and she leaned against the cool stone wall. She had no clue what Victoire was going on about, her small hand steadying her free arm. The noise of the hall had diminished to nothing, so violent was the assault on her stomach. A clatter of footsteps announced they weren’t alone. 

“It was an accident Vic! I swear, it was supposed to be for Johnny—for being an idiot earlier—” Teddy, his voice cracking.

“Shut up!” Victoire hissed. “Now is not the time. I can’t believe you! Keep that stuff in the dorm room. For Merlin sake—look at what you’ve done!”

Iris groaned, only wanting to retreat like an animal in pain—to a cave where she could die from humiliation, and whatever this was in peace.

“What’s going on?” The new voice only made her groan again, more sick brewing inside her that came out in a torrent on her polished black shoes. 

“Ask him,” Victoire said icily, gripping Iris’s arm tightly and rubbing her back. “This is all his fault.”

She felt something pushed under her jawline—a bucket. No sooner had it entered her mind did she proceed to sick up into it and her entire body shook with the effort. 

A large warm hand pressed between her shoulder blades. “Let’s get you to the hospital wing.” Her father replaced Victoire to hold her steady. “Victoire you’ll grab Iris’s things and meet me at the Hospital wing. Teddy. I’ll speak to you later.”

His tone was commanding, not unkind, but there was a seriousness that brokered no questions. 

Iris didn’t hear or see the reactions of the others, only aware of the fact that her father’s arm kept her steady. He said something quietly, a flash of silver raced ahead of them, then she was moving despite her wobbly legs, guided by the calm and steady figure next to her. Her dad. The bucket floated in front of and seemed bottomless, able to swerve in whatever direction she became sick.

He didn’t chat. There was only the sound of his footsteps next to her and the occasional murmured word of encouragement, such as when they had to take a long flight of stairs—which he’d practically had to carry her down, another strange thing to add to the list of unbelievableness. The vomit didn’t stop, though it did make it hard for her to focus on anything else or take in the full extent of her situation. A thick oak door opened and a woman in a blue apron gasped, wide eyed and speechless before Iris began to vomit a second later. 

The woman swooped in. “Merlin! I thought I was seeing a—”

“Hannah. This is Iris. I believe a puking prank went astray.”

Hannah nodded and took her other arm, leading them over to a narrow cot. He lifted her as if she was like the feather from class onto the bed, before he stood next to the nurse, a concerned frown on his face. 

“I’ve got the counter solution; I’ll just have to find a way to get it into her quickly. Stay with her another moment?”

Iris could no longer see what was going on, unable to care anymore as she curled around the bucket which had become her lifeline. This had to be one of the lowest points of her life, covered in her own sick while she shook and fought back tears. Her suddenly alive dad nearby who had no clue she existed. Her mum was none the wiser and too far away. Iris had never wanted her more.

A cool hand pressed to her cheek. “Oh, you poor thing,” the nurse tutted, pulling her delicate hand back. “Alright, I’ve got the solution, but it will be unpleasant.”

Iris whimpered as the spoon was forced into her mouth, a bitter liquid that she choked on. 

A warm weight settled on her ankle. “You’ll feel better soon Iris.” Her father’s voice, close and one she felt like she knew, like a dream she’d once had. A familiar feeling of love, not dissimilar from her necklace, enveloped her and the warmth spread through her entire body before she dropped off into nothing.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Hospital Beds

When Iris awoke it felt like something had died inside her. As the images from what had unfolded before rushed to her she gave an involuntary moan. So much for remaining inconspicuous. Daylight filtered in but it was slanted and golden, causing shadows to dance across the white sheets covering her.

“Hello sleeping beauty, you’ve had quite the eventful first day.”

Iris rolled over and squinted at the nurse, or healer, or whatever they were called. She glowed in the afternoon rays which made her blonde hair shine. Iris noticed the dimples that sat on her pink cheeks like coins. Her uniform was far more old fashioned than the scrubs of the nurses when she’d broken her collarbone, and she had a pale blue cloak draped over her slim shoulders. 

Her round hazel eyes seemed to be assessing her from head to toe as she approached. A cool hand once more pressed to Iris’s forehead. “You’re unlikely to throw up again. Which I’m sure is a relief.” Iris nodded weakly. “I’m going to keep you overnight to be safe. You’re depleted and I think a solid course of potions will help. Have you not been sleeping well?”

She shrugged, staring down at the white sheets. 

“You’re already magically exhausted. Emotions can do that. And stress.” She sat down in the chair. “Is this your first time away from home?”

The sincerity in her tone forced the word out, her voice like an out of tune instrument. “Yes.”

Her eyes softened. “That’s hard isn’t it?” Tears were right there again. Any act of kindness liable to undo her. Hannah patted her hand gently. “Homesickness is like most sickness…it eventually passes. That doesn’t make it easy though.”

Hannah regarded her carefully, not dissimilarly to how Professor Longbottom had; like they were searching for something in her face. Iris fiddled with her necklace

“How’s your stomach feeling? Think you can muster some food?”

Iris nodded, sitting up more fully. “Just…no orange juice please.”

Eyes twinkling, Hannah stood. “I think I can manage that.”

***

“Oh you look loads better!” 

Iris looked up over her plate of plain buttered toast to see Victoire and Isobel near the curtain that separated her from the rest of the ward. 

She smiled at her new friends. “Thanks. Not sure I’ve retained my dignity…but I don’t feel like a vomiting demon.” The two of them gave her confused looks and she shrugged. “Nevermind.”

Victoire smiled broadly and came to perch on the end of her bed while Isobel folded herself neatly into the chair watching Iris take a bite of her food. “We brought you all the notes from Defense and Transfiguration. Uncle—Merlin, that's hard to get used to—Professor Potter said to tell you he hopes you feel better.”

Iris swallowed the toast that lodged in her throat. She drank deeply from her water before responding with a soft thanks.

The two of them began to fill Iris in on the day, going backwards with Transfiguration where they’d watched professor McGonagall transform from a cat. Iris felt a pang at having missed it and eyed the stack of homework they’d already been given with trepidation. The feeling of being behind pressed in on her. 

“His class was fascinating,” Isobel said, as she picked at the hem of her sock. She hadn’t changed out of her uniform but Victoire wore leggings and a baggy jumper which did nothing to make her look less glamorous. 

“I knew it would be brilliant.” Victoire said before her lovely features darkened. “He docked Teddy points and everything, though he definitely deserved detention.”

“Oh no—”

“No Iris. He was being an idiot. Look what he did to you!”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, Victoire quirked a faint eyebrow. “Really.” she added, taking a big bite of toast. Not that she wanted to have sicked up in front of the entire school…but he had bought her another two days without having to face her dad in his classroom. Time enough to maybe come up with a plan on what to do. “I don’t think I was feeling so well already and so it was probably a combination.”

“Unlikely. It was one of my Uncle's products. Guaranteed to make you vomit for hours.”

“That’s rather barbaric.”

“Some of their products really are. I’m not supposed to know but I overheard Mum talking about some lawsuits with Auntie Angelina—”

The curtain pulled back and Hannah stood there eyeing the three girls. 

“Ms Everdeen needs to take her next potion and you ladies are getting close to curfew time.”

Victoire smiled sheepishly hopping off the bed. “Will you be in class tomorrow?”

Iris tilted her head towards Hannah. “Am I going to live?”

The nurse snorted, handing her a vile of purple liquid. “All signs point to yes.”

Isobel bit back a smile and Victoire grinned widely. “We’ll save you a seat if you make it through the night.”

“Cheers,” Iris replied, lifting the vile and downing it, grimacing at the strong herbal taste.

“Sleep well Iris,” Isobel said, slipping behind the curtain.

“You better not leave us to fend for ourselves in potions,” Victoire warned and blew her a kiss before she followed swiftly towards the exit.

“It’s nice to see you’ve got some friends. That will help with homesickness, I guarantee it.”

“Yeah…it does,” she replied, handing her the empty vile.

Hannah vanished the glass away and fluffed the pillow behind Iris. “It’s an adventure for sure.”

“That’s what I’ve been told,” Iris said, leaning back into the fluffed pillow.

Hannah’s large hazel eyes swept over her before she pursed her lips. “I do have something else that might help.” Iris stared up at the nurse who had a hint of a smile that caused her dimples to flash. “Is there anyone you’d want to speak with?”

Iris nodded slowly, a flutter in her chest at even the thought of being able to speak with her mum.

“Are they connected to the floo?” Hannah asked and the spark of hope inside her went out. She shook her head. 

Hannah tilted her head thoughtfully, smiling wider. “Well how about a telephone?”

Iris frowned. “Yes...”

With a small nod Hannah replied, “Good. One moment.”

Before Iris could say another word she disappeared around the curtain. She returned seconds later, a silver iphone clutched in her hands.

“A mobile?!” 

Hannah nodded, sitting primly on the bed. “Enchanted. Another Weasley product…but I think it's much better than the puking powder.”

“How…” 

She shrugged, placing the mobile in Iris’s limp hands. “Merlin if I know—it does work to call anywhere in the world.” Iris could only stare at the mobile. Hannah patted her arm, then stood. “I can give you some privacy.”

She took her leave while Iris sat in shock. Sitting in her lap was a direct link to the person she needed most. She studied the iphone, it didn’t look magical and it was much fancier than her mum’s ancient Nokia. Iris swiped up on the screen which had a picture of a flower in bloom. She chewed on her lip as she brought up the phone icon. Iris sucked in a breath, keying in the number she knew by heart.

The phone rang and rang. Right as her heart began to sink it clicked. “Hello?”

Iris finally breathed. “Mum.”

There was a long pause. “Iris?” 

She could practically see her confused expression through the invisible connection.

“It’s me…” Normally she would tease her mum but already she felt herself fighting tears at the relief of her familiar voice.

“Are you alright? Where are you? How—”

“I’m calling from the nurse—I mean Healer’s phone.”

Her mum made a strange strangled noise. “You’re in hospital?”

“No! Well, I mean the wing, yeah but—”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. Mum, I'm fine.”

There was nothing but the sound of her breathing for a moment. “Why are you in the hospital wing on the first day of school?”

Iris picked at the thread of her sheets. “I vomited. A lot.”

“You’re sick?”

“Not exactly…”

“Iris Grace I expect the entire story.”

She rubbed her face and leaned back. Haltingly, and with great care to avoid any names, she told her mum about the prank gone wrong. Voice trembling as she delicately sidestepped the most important part, guilt gnawing at her still tender stomach.

“Oh love,” Mum sighed sympathetically. “That’s quite the start.”

“Yeah. Not exactly what I had in mind.” Her teeth nearly went through the flesh of her lip and she winced.

“You’re alright otherwise? Are you liking it? I can’t believe there are phones that work at Hogwarts…”

“Will you buy me one now?” 

She released a huff of laughter at the old argument. “Maybe. I do like hearing you this way. Much better than letters.”

Iris hummed in agreement. “How are Annie and Rosie?” she asked, playing with her locket.

“They miss you terribly but they’ll manage, ”she replied, curiosity in her next question palpable. “Are the other students nice? Aside from the prankster.”

“Yes. Also he’s not so bad…like I said it was an accident.”

“How about your teachers?”

Iris made a non-commital noise, as she curled up in the bed with the phone pressed to her ear. The ghost of her earlier sickness reared up.

“I think I might already be behind,” she said softly.

“You’ll catch up sweetheart. I’m sure your teachers will understand.”

She swallowed, listening to her move about the flat. The shop would be closed by now. Mum began to speak when the doorbell rang. 

“Whose that?”

“One second love.”

Mum was out of breath when she came back on. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you busy?”

“No, no, no. It’s just Colin. We’re meeting some people from uni for the quiz night at Bart’s.”

Colin with his perfect teeth and wavy hair. Rosie had teased Mum about him for years, Annie always muttered about him sniffing around. Her stomach heaved.

“Are you still there, love?” Mum asked.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, resentment crawled through her before she could stop it. “Enjoying the child-free life are you?”

Another huff of laughter was followed by more rustling. “Not particularly. I miss my child very much.”

“Sounds to me like you're enjoying it.” 

“Well, I don’t have you to entertain me with your wit anymore, so I’ve had to improvise,” she said seriously. 

“So you’ve got Colin to do that instead.”

“He’s not as funny as you,” she replied easily.

“It’s a high bar,” Iris muttered and her mum laughed. “Do you have to go then?”

“No. He can wait,” she said firmly. “Nothing’s changed darling. You’re my number one. Always.”

Iris closed her eyes and forced herself to sound normal. “What are you wearing out?”

“Hmm my good jeans, the red top Rosie made me buy—”

“The silk one?”

“Yes, that one,” she said, pausing and there was more rustling, likely standing in her closet, or at the vanity where she kept her perfume. “My one nice cardigan and my pearl earrings.”

“You’re going all out.”

Her mum made a sound between a snort and a laugh. “I suppose, considering I have so much to choose from.”

Iris wasn’t sure why exactly that broke her, but it did. Tears rushed to the surface as the carefully held facade crumbled. “I miss you Mum.”

“I miss you to love,” she replied, soothingly. “Every minute. But it won’t be for long.”

Iris sniffled. Words caught in a tangle in her throat and heart. How on earth did she tell her? She pictured her mum in their flat, in her silk top and pearl earrings. Mum almost never went out and she was about to detonate her life as she knew it. In front of Colin of all people. The stupid git. She choked on more tears. How did you tell your mum that everything she thought was a lie? 

“Oh sweetheart. I know it’s hard but it’s not for long. If you’ll put up with it, I’ll write to you each day.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. I’ll probably end up saving up for an owl. Not sure how I’ll hide that from Rosie and Annie…or Simon for that matter.”

“Tell them you’re starting a second career as a bird of prey trainer.”

The sound of her mum’s laugh, made her smile before more tears flooded her. Too much emotion colliding together inside her at once. 

“Alright. Before you have to go. Tell me one good thing that happened today?” Mum asked.

The image of her father’s steady presence immediately came to mind. His calm voice and careful hold on her arm. She wanted to tell her that he had a kind face. Instead she swallowed it all down.

“My feather went the highest…before I sicked up my guts.”

“That’s fantastic! You remembered the wrist movement?”

“I did.”

“It’s all about the wrists—” her mum lectured.

“And intent—”  Iris finished. 

“And pronunciation,” they said at the same time. 

She could practically feel Mum beaming across the country. “At least with charms,” she said in her scholarly tone. “What do you have tomorrow?”

Iris told her the schedule, grateful to avoid having to say Defense. Mum was going over some more pointers for each class when Hannah stepped back in and cleared her tray, she said nothing but Iris felt the passing of time.

“I know you probably have to go…” Iris said anxiously.

“I’ll talk as long as you want. The others will understand.”

“No,” Iris said, twisting the sheets, her hands trembling. “I think I’ve used the phone for longer than I should and the sleep potion is kicking in.”

“You’ll write me tomorrow? Let me know how you’re feeling?”

“I will.”

“I’m so glad I heard your voice.” 

Iris suddenly felt all of four years old.  “I miss you.”

Warmth bloomed over her chest and she felt the morse code beat over the hollow of her throat. “I miss you too. I’m sending you all my love sweetheart.”

Panic filled her. How could she not tell her?

“Mum—”

“Hmm?”

Lips parted but the words wouldn’t form. “Have a good time,” she finally said barely above a whisper.

“Thank you darling. Sleep well and feel better. I love you across the sky.”

“I love you to the bottom of the sea.”

Sucking in a breath, she made herself pull the phone away from her face. Tears making tracks down her cheeks that she wiped away. Iris placed the device that was no longer connected to her mother down beside her and closed her eyes. 

Apparently she wasn’t much of a Gryffindor. 

Her heart beat out of sync and all the awful feelings from the previous night and earlier that day swamped her in the silence, louder now then before. Would she feel better if her mum was frantically on her way to the castle? The thought of the bewildered panic in her brown eyes, her disbelief that she surely would have at her words all just added to the sickness. 

And him…her father. A stranger. How on earth would he react? While she could imagine at least an impression of Mum’s reaction, someone she knew inside and out, she could hardly fathom him at all. Miraculously through the deluge of thoughts and the tears that wet her pillow, she drifted off before Hannah returned for her phone. 

***

Water rose up her ankles, then her knees and finally it sloshed up her neck. Her face went under last as she gasped out. Darkness. Then a strong arm reached down and pulled her back into the light. Iris jerked awake. Her pyjamas slick with sweat, she became aware of her surroundings. The high stone ceiling, wood beams and pale blue curtains. 

No sooner had she regained control of her breathing then the door creaked. The sound of footsteps on the flagstone made her sink back into the mattress. Then the voices reached her and she froze beneath her tangled sheets. 

“So where exactly is Nev?” Hannah asked.

“Hmm, likely somewhere on the fourth floor,” the steady low voice made her heart leap.  

“Supervising the punishment of youngsters?” Hannah quipped.

“Something like that,” he said, exhaling. “I owe him.”

“Everyone thinks you're all hard edged, except you're really a softie who can hardly stomach giving out punishments.”

“Hmm. You won’t tell anyone will you?”

There was a shared laugh and Iris sunk even further into the bed. Was she listening to her father…flirt? The thought was enough to make her need more of that anti-nausea potion, but she was stuck where she lay in the dark. Something was said quietly that Iris missed and she strained to hear despite her misgivings.

“I suppose it’s hard having to treat him like a student?” Hannah mused. 

“Yeah.”

“He’s practically like your own. I’m sure it makes it strange.”

He sighed. “It is. I’m still learning how to navigate it. Being a teacher and also…whatever I am.”

“Quasi Parent?”

“Something like that.” She could hear the smile in his voice and something ugly twisted inside her. 

“The rumour around here was that he’d gotten off scot free.”

He groaned. “See that’s exactly why I had to give him detention. It would be worse in the long run if he thinks he can get away with anything because of our connection,” he paused, voice lowering enough that she had to strain even more to hear. “I know he didn’t mean it… but I was so bloody irritated. She’s so young— and new to the school. It was awful seeing her so sick.”

“Poor thing. I should check on her.”

“She’s still here?” he asked, alarmed. “I thought it would be an in and out situation.”

Hannah sighed heavily. “If either of you ever checked your phones, you’d know that I can’t come out tonight. There was some other stuff and I told Poppy I’d take care of her.”

“Is she still ill?” he asked, voice edged and more intense. “What’s wrong? Is it what Teddy gave her—”

She made a tutting sound. “I can’t tell you that, you know. But rest easy, Teddy isn’t to blame for all of it,” she gave another dramatic sigh, followed by some clanking. “She’s perfectly fine, she’ll make a full recovery. I promise. Stop giving me that look.”

Iris wasn’t sure what his reply was as they’d moved further away. She curled onto her side, getting as far away from them in the bed as she could. Their conversation settled over her, leaving her hollowed out. 

Her father had an entire life that she knew nothing about. Her stomach cramped when she realised that for all she knew he was with someone, maybe he had another family that hadn’t been mentioned yet? Or did he ‘play the field’ as Annie always accused Simon of? Her stomach dropped further…He couldn’t be married could he? She thought of having a Step Mum, like the wicked ones from her childhood stories, and broke out in a sweat. 

“You’ll tell the others I say hello?” Hannah said, suddenly much closer. 

“Of course,” he replied. “You’ll give the patient my best?”

Silence stretched out. Then footsteps drew even nearer and she shut her eyes, willing herself to look asleep. She heard the curtain draw open and a crack of light reached her even with her eyelids shut and turned away.

“It is uncanny.” 

Her father made a noise of agreement. Silence filled the large wing. 

“You sure you’re alright?” Hannah whispered.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. 

Iris could feel their eyes on her and she twitched involuntarily. After a minute she gave up, feigning the startle of waking. She didn’t turn all the way, afraid he’d be there, and that he wouldn’t be. 

“Hello sleepy head, potion not working well enough?” Hannah asked in a subdued but cheerful tone.

She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. Hannah made a clucking sound, touching her cheek with the back of her hand again. “You’re clammy. Is your stomach still sore?”

“A bit,” she croaked. 

Hannah brushed the hair out of her face. “Let’s get you into a deeper sleep. Sound good?”

Iris nodded and Hannah glanced back. “Sorry my friend is here. I know you’ve met, but I'm unsure if you’ve been introduced properly.”

Before she could respond, his voice cut in. “We were introduced yesterday, reacquainted this afternoon,” Harry said. “Feeling better?”

Iris forced herself to roll towards him, the sight still startling. She stared. He’d shucked his robes, wearing a long white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark slacks. His hair a god awful mess, at least that’s what Annie would say, but Iris thought it suited him. She nodded. Her vocal cords seemed to seize whenever he got too close.

“She appears to have her sense of humour back,” Hannah said, moving about. “Asked me if I thought she would live to attend class tomorrow. Always a good sign.” 

Harry smiled. “A good thing to have in situations like these.”

Hannah flung open the curtain, turning over her shoulder. “I’ll just grab that potion. Professor, you'll keep her company?”

“If she doesn’t mind?” he asked, glancing at her and she forced herself to shake her head. He sunk down into the chair that Isobel had occupied earlier, only a couple feet from her bed. He tilted his head, peering around the darkened room. “I spent more time here than I care to remember.”

“You did?”

His eyes focused on hers. “I had a tendency to get into messes that required sorting by Madam Pomfrey…Hannah’s starting to fill in that role. I think she does it well…even if she’s a bit of a hard arse.”

“I heard that,” Hannah called from beyond the curtain.

Iris’s lip twitched upwards and her dad grinned. She swallowed, breaking eye contact. “Did you ever embarrass yourself in front of the entire school?”

“Fairly regularly I’d say.”

Iris pressed her face into her pillow and sighed. “But did you ever sick up in front of the entire school?”

“No,” he admitted. “My best friend threw up slugs for hours though.”

She forced her vision back in his direction. “That’s disgusting.”

He laughed. A full one and she pressed her face back into the pillow to hide her own smile.

“Yeah...it was.”

“What happened?” she suddenly burned with curiosity, wanting to hear the familiar tale from his perspective. 

Leaning forward in his chair, he told her the story in his steady low voice. Iris closed her eyes. Letting go briefly of what she should or shouldn’t do. She just listened in awe, that her father was telling her a rather odd bedtime story, as if she was much younger. 

“Oh Ronald,” Hannah sighed when the story wrapped up. Iris blinked her eyes open to find her there, hand on her hip and a potion in her free hand. “He means well but Merlin’s sagg—I mean,” she stopped, shaking her head and encouraging Iris to sit up, which she did gingerly.

“Good thing he has Susan to steer him right,” Harry said and Hannah nodded, pressing the potion into Iris’s hand.

Iris forced down the liquid. She wiped her mouth and looked between them. “Whose Susan?”

“Sorry Iris. Ronald is Harry’s best friend, and well he’s become one of mine too…when he’s not irritating me at least. Susan’s been my best friend since Hogwarts and the two of them are now happily married with a family.”

“Ron Weasley,” she said, quietly.

“You’ve read about him?” Harry asked.

She gave a small shrug. That didn’t count as lying did it? 

A comfortable heaviness began to spread through her and she melted back against her pillow, blinking slowly up at her nurse. Her blonde fringe was askew but she looked lovely still. “Are you two together?”

“Who?” Hannah asked, brow furrowing as she took the vile from Iris’s weak grasp. 

Iris lifted a heavy arm and pointed in the direction of her father. Her earlier vexation at the thought of the two of them had floated away, along with the rest of her troubles as sleep beckoned.

The two of them exchanged startled looks before they began to laugh, and laugh.

Iris frowned sleepily. “What’s so funny?” she slurred, already losing consciousness.

“You,” her father said, his words following her into sleep. “Iris Everdeen. You’re quite funny indeed.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Hardest of Hearts

Ale flowed through Hermione’s veins but did little to take the edge off her nerves. Nothing in her had felt settled since she’d watched the Hogwarts express carry away her heart.

She leaned back against the wooden booth letting conversation waft over her. Colin’s arm was around the back and his hand kept playing with the ends of her hair. He was always an affectionate drunk. God she was drunk too. She usually never let herself over indulge, always too terrified that Iris would need her. Even when she was in safe hands, there was a part of her always on alert. A decade out from the war and that feeling still lingered; that at any moment she would need to scoop up her child and flee. Sometimes her daughter would stare up at her with her wide green eyes and she was back shivering in a tent, unsure of their survival, and panic would flood her. Thinking of it now made her stomach slosh and she sucked in a breath, pushing out the memory. 

“You alright?” Colin asked directly into her ear.

She managed to nod, reaching a shaky hand to grasp her glass and bringing it to her lips. That was then she reminded herself. Now she was in a loud pub near the University that she’d attended, visiting with old friends. Her daughter was safe, tucked away at Hogwarts. Not that she wasn’t aware of possible dangers she could run into. Part of the reason she had hardly been able to deal with any of the preparation that summer was the lingering worry that Iris would follow too closely in their footsteps. 

Hermione had comforted herself with the fact that there was no dark lord. A thought that painfully always led back to the worst moment of her life. A cycle that she had warred with all summer. She shook away the thoughts that tried to invade. Iris was perfectly safe. Hermione couldn’t keep her hidden away forever, wrapped in bubble wrap in her desperation to keep her protected. Her daughter was capable and amazing. She would navigate whatever challenges came her way with the determination and the strength she’d possessed since she was a tiny; even if that included throwing up profusely in front of the entire student body.

Their phone call had circulated in her mind all evening. She’d told Colin a sanitised version and he’d done a poor job hiding his laughter. Hermione knew Iris would have steam coming out her ears if she knew. She had never warmed to him. A big reason he’d stayed firmly in the camp of friends only—well, mostly friends.

There was a pause between rounds. The question master shuffled his cards across the room, Michelle and Rachel conspired about how they would beat the table of old men who had nearly outdone them last round. Hermione tipped her head back, taking in Colin’s profile. He was good looking. Brown wavy hair and light blue eyes. Symmetrical features. Lovely teeth, her parents would have approved of. Hygienic—so many men she’d met in university seemed to be allergic to shampoo. He smelled like the cologne he always wore, spicy and musky—nice. 

Although nothing like the forest after it rained. Hermione pushed that last thought down forcibly, refusing to cry at quiz night. More than ten years later and she was still always measuring, comparing; coming up short.

“You can’t have a competition between the living and the dead, only the dead get to be perfect.” Annie had said that to her years before. 

Harry hadn’t been perfect. She was perfectly aware of his flaws even in death, they lived on in their daughter. Frustratingly stubborn, short tempered at times, quick to jump to conclusions, leaping before looking, and much too hard on themselves. More often she was reminded of what she loved most in the same small person; big hearted, compassionate and courageous, a disarming wit that always made her laugh—even when she didn’t want to, a deep kindness that sees the good in people (with a few exceptions).

Iris was her father’s daughter through and through. Tears pressed behind her eyelids and she closed them, digging her fingers into her thighs. She wouldn’t let herself imagine what this week would be like if he was here. Hermione took a steadying breath and Colin’s blue eyes were on her when she opened them, glassy with the haze of alcohol, but warm and bright.

“Too much to drink?” he asked, smiling widely.

Colin never knew what she was thinking; a relief, or a disappointment, depending on her mood. 

She managed to nod. “Something like that.”

***

Hannah gave Iris a clean bill of health with one final dose of potion, and a handful of vials pushed into her school bag. 

“These will help you sleep.” Her hazel eyes assessed her, a hand on her shoulder. “If you need anything, you won’t hesitate to come by? I can heal broken bones, help with headaches and stomach bugs…but I can also just listen. Understand?”

Iris gave a small nod. “Er—sure. Yeah, thanks.”

Hannah patted her arm gently and released her. “It was lovely meeting you Iris, but I hope you don’t need any more assistance with projectile vomiting anytime in the near future.”

Iris couldn’t help but smile as she departed. “That makes two of us.”

***

Victoire waved her over eagerly when she entered the great hall. Iris avoided looking around, aware of the eyeballs swivelling in her direction, a murmur growing as she passed by. She was sure she was the colour of the sliced tomatoes near where she took a seat. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Iris pushed the jug of orange juice further down the table.

“Fine.” Her stomach growled even as she said it. 

Johnny nudged the bacon in her direction. She smiled and added some to her plate. Teddy stared at his, hardly touching the food on it. There was a distinct iciness between him and Victoire that she noted quickly. Victoire seemed intent on ignoring it and chatted about anything and everything while Iris mostly listened, filling her empty stomach. 

The post came, and to her surprise there was a letter from her mum that she opened after only a second of hesitation.

Dear Iris, 

I hope your stomach is all sorted this morning. I thought of so many questions after we got off the phone (I hope you thanked the healer, that was very kind). What are your first impressions of the school? I want to hear all about the people you’re getting to know and how this second day of classes goes for you. Everything is the same back here. All the uni gang says hi, they said they’re still shocked you're not a precocious preschooler anymore, frankly most days I can’t either. 

Hoping you stay vomit free. And please try to stay out of the hospital wing. 

All my love, 

Mum

Iris quickly grabbed a pen from her bag, ignoring the questioning looks from some of the other students and scribbled a note. 

Mum, 

Stomach is all good. Classes to be determined. 

Will write more later and do my due diligence to avoid injury and sickness.

Love and miss you,

Iris

She attached it to the tawny owl who happily ate a piece of bacon from her and took off. Iris was about to follow everyone to potions when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned to find Teddy, looking at her but not meeting her eyes. He immediately dropped his hand and then raked it through his hair.

“Can you talk for a sec?”

Iris glanced over at the others and back to Teddy. “Er—sure.”

Victoire watched cautiously and Iris waved her and the other girls off as they headed to the dungeons. She followed Teddy to a quiet indent in the stone, that with the help of a nearby knight in shining armour, kept them out of the eyeline of the other students milling about.

His face was clouded over and he leaned back against the stone wall. “Look. I’m really sorry about the puking powder.”

“It’s fine,” she replied quietly.

Teddy shuffled his feet, eyes continuing to land closer to her shoulder than her face. “Right. So we’re good?”

“Sure.” She swallowed heavily as a wave of sadness crashed into her. She stared at the boy who’d been loved by her dad his entire life. The unfairness struck her even harder than the night before.

“Cool,” he replied, with a rush of breath. She forced her gaze back to his face which shone with relief. “Can you tell Vic that?”

She arched an eyebrow. “You can’t tell her yourself?”

His curls flashed red, then green, like a haywire Christmas tree. “She’s not talking to me.”

“I’m sure you’ll sort it out.”

He sighed. “Just—can you?”

Iris crossed her arms. “I’m not her secretary.”

At her tone he scowled, mirroring her posture. “I’m not asking much—”

“Considering you made me vomit profusely yesterday. Asking me anything seems a bit much.”

His eyes finally met hers, golden eyes flat. “So— you are upset.”

It took everything not to roll her eyes. “Let’s just say embarrassing myself in front of the entire school wasn't on my to do list.”

The other noise from the corridor seemed muted in the heat of their mutual glower. 

Finally Iris hitched her bag on her shoulder. “I have to get to potions.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” he said, dismissively and her dislike for him took a giant leap upwards. 

She turned and came close to colliding into a wall of black robes. It registered before she even looked up. Her father. Next to him was Professor Longbottom.

“Everything alright you two?” Harry asked, glancing between them.

Iris had to force herself to breathe as she always did at the reality of him. A wave of frustration at the entire mess reared up swiftly and surprised her, but she held to it as she faced her father.

“Peachy,” she replied, already trying to figure out her exit strategy. 

His eyebrows shot up as he exchanged a quick look with his colleague. Her father lifted an arm as if he meant to stop her when she went to dart by, but thought better of it. She used the hesitation to tighten her grip on her bookbag and get away.

“I hope Teddy’s given a proper apology,” he said as she passed. 

She paused, inches away from him. Words lodged in her throat about giving the apology one out of five stars, instead she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Iris stared at the floor, eyes burning uncomfortably. Her anger began to morph into something more dangerous at that moment—tears. 

“The two of us likely need to have another chat don’t we?” he said, when she glanced up he was looking at Teddy, a furrow in his brow. Not her. She was only a stranger after all.  

“I’m late,” she mumbled, using his distraction to slip away.

It took all her willpower not to sprint. Iris recited every potion ingredient she could remember from her reading, refusing to let herself think about anything else. She reached the dungeon, which was draughty, with questionable substance trailing from the ceiling down the stone. Gratitude that she wasn’t sorted into Slytherin coursed through her. 

Even if she was proving to be less honest than she once thought.

Breathless when she finally arrived, her already crushed heart sunk further at the realisation that everyone had already paired off. Victoire shot her an apologetic look beside Isobel. Professor Slughorn in flashy purple robes at the front, barely paid any mind from where he was scribbling on the board, glancing back. “Ah. The missing Gryffindor. Come in, we were just about to get started.”

Most of the desks were full as Iris moved through the row near the back. A blonde girl with a Slytherin badge turned her nose up at her, luckily she was already seated next to a scowling redhead. Nearby was Eileen, her dark hair in a braid, sitting ramrod straight at her desk, the seat beside her empty.

“Do you mind?” Iris asked.

Eileen gave a small shrug and Iris sat down heavily, the weight of the day already exhausting despite the early hour. She began to take notes, borrowing a bit of Eileen’s intense concentration. Iris didn’t have the energy to try and answer any of his questions, even though she knew several answers. Her heart was noticeably less into school than normal.

They were tasked with gathering ingredients for a simple drought that removed warts, one they would brew in pairs under Slughorn’s careful eye. Her mother had said that potions was a bit of a blend between chemistry and biology.  Iris was also reminded of baking in the kitchen at Annie and Rosie’s; best to lay out everything you need and follow the steps in order. Eileen agreed with her method and soon in thick leather gloves they were cutting the porcupine quills to the precise measurements that the textbook required. When Eileen handed her the small box of frog’s eyes, the blonde sneering girl leaned forward, glancing over her shoulder to ensure Professor Slughorn was out of ear shot. 

“Careful Eileen, I doubt she knows what she’s doing.”

Eileen didn’t even blink. “Careful Naomi, your ignorance might show.”

Iris hid a smirk behind a hand and the girl sat back, eyes narrowing. 

“You're setting yourself up for failure,” Naomi said vehemently.

“Better than being a regular failure. Your feather didn’t even move yesterday.” Eileen had replied so quickly and evenly, Iris’s mouth dropped open. Naomi’s face went bright red. 

“Thanks,” she said, once Slughorn had gone by and the girls were ignoring them again.

“No thanks needed. She’s about as intelligent as a blast ended skrewt.”

“Are they all like that?”

Eileen’s brow furrowed. “Not all.” 

Iris’ stomach dropped as Eileen continued to scrape her ingredients carefully into the cauldron. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…”

“That all Slytherins are nasty pieces of work?”

She swallowed, shame burning her cheeks. “Yeah…”

Eileen’s carefully held expression shifted, lips twitching upwards. “Some are.” 

Iris snorted and they both fought smiles as they continued their careful work. “Do you like being in Slytherin?”

She shrugged. “It’s alright. The view under the castle is cool.”

“Have you seen a mermaid?”

She shook her dark hair. “Not yet. I have seen some Grindylows though.”

Once they were done with the ingredients they began to stir, following the instructions closely. 

“My mum married a Muggleborn,” Eileen said, breaking the silence and surprising her. “Most don’t care these days, but people like Naomi will always need to feel superior to someone Mum says.” 

Iris nodded. “I suppose if you have rocks for brains what else are you going to do?” 

The insult slipped out as she finished her turn stirring. Her face heated from the steam and her big mouth, but when she looked at Eileen she had the first proper smile that Iris had seen, which made her dark eyes sparkle.

They both bit back their laughter before refocusing on their stirring. “What’s your deal then? Muggleborn?”

Iris chewed her lip as she stirred clockwise for the fifth time. “It’s….complicated.”

Eileen simply nodded, and before Iris knew it she started talking. Nothing close to the whole story; but that her mum had decided to raise Iris away from the wizarding world after the war. Also that she’d learned about her background at eight when her magic had caused an accident on the climbing gym, breaking a mean boy's arm. Another proper grin overtook Eileen’s face at the anecdote. They continued to chat, both of them holding in laughter when Slughorn passed by again.

“Perfect colour girls. It’s the exact shade of green we want to see!”

The two of them exchanged pleased smiles. Iris could feel Naomi’s glare burning her neck but it only made her smile wider.

“Thank you Professor.”

Professor Slughorn looked from the cauldron to her, doing a double take. Something that had happened with nearly every teacher she’d had.

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?” he asked, eyes shrewd but voice pleasant.

“Iris Everdeen sir.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. Like with the others, at her inconspicuous name, his features relaxed. Her mother hadn’t been wrong, hiding in plain sight worked wonders. “You look familiar, I wonder if I taught either of your parents?”

Before she could think of a response Naomi’s cauldron caught fire.

***

The rest of the afternoon went by much less dramatically. She had nearly fallen asleep during History of Magic, she didn’t care what Mum said—it was utterly mind numbing. And having a ghost for a teacher sounded much more exciting than the reality. 

Fortunately her next class was better and the grey clouds held in their rain as they tramped across the grounds, the smell of burning logs drifting towards them when they approached the edge of the forest. A bonfire rose up and students milled about, one figure towering over the others. Hagrid was like he’d been described in the stories she’d heard growing up; friendly, passionate about magical creatures and a bit clumsy, nearly dropping the bucket of feed they’d be giving to the group of baby mooncalves, who liked the dancing flames almost as much as the full moon. 

His dark eyes had grown wide beneath all his hair when he took note of her. His reaction was a tad more outright than any of her other teachers, staring at her for several moments before turning away and mumbling to himself. Victoire’s faint eyebrows had flown up and Iris had shrugged it off. No matter what she was doing, class or eating in the great hall, her mind turned over everything from the last two days. By the time she and Victoire were sprawled on the sofa in the common room she was itching to dig through her trunk for the book buried within.

A mountain of homework already seemed to face her, so she resigned herself to catching up. Iris tried to concentrate, but every few minutes Victoire would give a rattling sigh.

“You alright?” Iris asked. She swiped some of her blonde hair out of her face and nodded. Iris didn’t miss the way her eyes darted to the other side of the common room where Teddy sat with a group of students in his year, head bowed over his own textbook, face impassive. "You could just go over and talk to him.”

Victoire breathed out forcibly. “No. He was an idiot.”

Iris couldn’t exactly disagree. She continued to copy the defence notes Isobel had let her borrow, her stomach turning at the thought of tomorrow. At the next sigh which caused Isobel, Edith and Melody to also scowl at her, Victoire’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Are you going to forgive him?” Isobel asked, surprising Iris with her candour. 

Victoire’s expression became pinched. “Eventually. He’s used to always getting away with things because—” She stopped and the other girls looked with uncertainty at one another. 

“Anyone have any idea on what charms we’re covering next week?” Melody mumbled, changing the subject.

The conversation moved back towards school, but Iris hardly listened. She excused herself shortly, saying she was tired. When she glanced across the room on her way up to the girls dorm, Teddy wasn’t amongst his friends, nor was he with Victoire.

After a long shower, she breathed out in relief that she was still alone in the dorm. Damp hair semi tamed and piled on her head, she slipped into her cosiest nightgown. She got what she needed out of her trunk and hid away behind the curtains of her four poster bed. Iris pointed her wand at the jam jar and concentrated, after only two attempts a weak flame sprung to life from her wand. 

“Brilliant,” she murmured, smiling despite the weight in her chest. She placed it nearby and spread out what she needed. Hogwarts a History, her notebook and a pen, and finally the photo of her father. Iris flipped to the chapter she had read in a daze of shock; his death and resurrection. 

The story Mum had finally told her in detail only days before matched closely to what was written. Her father had gone into the woods without telling anyone his plan. He was killed in the forest, his body carried out by Hagrid while everyone watched on, Voldemort laughing because he had won. His mission to end the life of the chosen one was complete. A collective sorrow and anger had rippled through the crowd, but Mum said it was more than that, she said it was love that drove her to stand and point her wand at Voldemort. Each student and teacher did the same, stunning him with their shared pain and power. His weakened state was quickly overwhelmed and he collapsed in a heap to the shock of his followers. A friend of her fathers, who remained nameless in the textbook and her mothers recounting, delivered the final curse that put an end to Voldemort.

The rest of the story that wasn’t in the textbook went like this; her father’s body was brought to a room in the castle. Mum had held his hand, cold and lifeless in hers. She said being at the castle was like drowning. Which was why within days she had slipped under the cover of darkness, leaving her school and best friend’s body behind. Along with the life she’d known. She had stayed away, not because anyone had made her. She’d stayed away because of Iris, to keep her safe. 

Like a selkie, Mum had shed her skin as a witch when she’d disappeared into the Muggle world. Iris had fallen in love with those tales when she was much younger. A mermaid that lived off the shores of Scotland. Close enough she might spot one on their visits to the coast. Her mum had always told her countless versions, but they all held a certain sadness.

Though the story in front of her might be the saddest of all. She read on, eyes burning and mind scrambling to process the information. The text said that while his body remained at the castle, a huge ceremony was planned for his imminent burial. Then a miracle occurred; he woke up. 

No one understood how it was possible. Apparently not a single Healer who examined him could understand and there was a box of text about the various theories. Harry Potter waking from the dead was kept under wraps for weeks from the public. The funeral was postponed, much to the confusion of everyone and speculation soon spread. Tests were conducted, there were fears that the dark lord had reincarnated through him, or that something equally sinister was afoot. The book contained little detail. At some point it was determined it was really Harry Potter—that he had returned from the dead. The boy, now a man, had survived death twice.

The wizarding community celebrated, his return to life heralded now as a national holiday. All of which her mother would have known if she had ventured back into the magical world at all in those early months or even years. Iris stared at the book in her lap. A recent photo showed her father at Hogwarts on the covered bridge. Arms crossed, eyes staring into the distance, looking resigned. Underneath the caption said that it was taken at the ten year anniversary of the battle in 2008. 

She brushed the photo with her thumb. There was a blurb of where he was now; no mention of a wife or family, just that he’d become a professor at Hogwarts, and that he still consulted with the Auror department. Reading on, the text covered a little bit more of the aftermath of the war, the rebuilding of Hogwarts. The major players of the war, where they were at the ten year mark. Finally the name jumped out—Hermione Granger.

Ms Granger was instrumental in bringing down the Dark Lord. A Muggleborn, sorted into Gryffindor, she was one of the top students at Hogwarts School. She began attending the same year as Mr Potter and Mr Weasley. The three of them earned the nickname the Golden Trio. In the summer of 1997 she fled with Mr Potter and Mr Weasley in order to find the Horcruxes and destroy them. “I owe everything to her,” Mr Potter is quoted as saying. Winner of Merlin Order First Class twice over for her bravery during the second wizarding war. Ms Granger’s whereabouts are currently unknown. She disappeared shortly after the battle. An intensive search took place and tips continue to come into the Ministry. 

Iris slammed the book shut. She wiped the tears that had fallen, pulling her notebook closer.

After a steadying breath she opened her notebook and began to write under the heading: Reasons to owl Mum

-She’ll be cross that I’ve waited this long.

-She deserves to know

-Even if it’s going to change absolutely everything.

-I have no clue what to do. She would know better than me.

-She thinks he’s dead. Which is awful.

-If Mum knew something this big and she hid it from me…I’d be angry. 

Iris rubbed her face and sighed. On the next page she made the reasons not to tell her:

-Because I don’t know how to say it.

-Doing it in person feels better than writing it. I can’t walk back to Edinburgh. The next time I’ll see her in person is December. Do I wait?!?

-How do you write this in a letter? Do I trick her into coming and then tell her? ….that seems dramatic. 

-This will implode our lives as we’ve known them…

Iris paused, stomach heaving. Everything would change, but how? She knew her mother loved her father, she’d told Iris that since she was small. But did he feel the same way? 

Iris frowned at the notebook and kept writing.

-I know nothing about him. He’s a stranger.

-Maybe he has some other family that wasn’t mentioned. 

-I don’t know if he even wants a child…

More tears blurred her vision. That was all she’d wanted growing up, her dad. An impossible dream that she’d had when she was small—that he would come back to them somehow. When Rosie’s husband Roger died, she’d begun to understand that death meant never coming back. Except he had. Her wish had come true, and all she felt was fear. Iris sucked in a breath.

- What if he doesn’t want me?  

Iris discarded the list, pulling up her knees and pressing her forehead to the hard bone. She felt like Alice, drowning in her own tears. Finding out her father was alive was like falling down a rabbit hole where nothing made sense. She pictured him. His hair nearly as unmanageable as Mums, the same green eyes that greeted her whenever she looked in the mirror. She wanted to be near him, wanted to talk to him, and to ask him a million things. To know him. Yet as soon as she told him, or mum, she couldn’t be sure what would happen next—a thought that left her paralyzed with anxiety.

The clatter of footsteps and the sound of the door creaking made her put out the flame, shoving the evidence under her pillow, just in time as Victoire tugged at her curtain. 

“Sleeping already?”

“Just reading,” she replied, keeping her voice even.

Her head poked through appearing to float in the red fabric, she grinned down before taking note of her expression. “Oh. Sorry…”

Iris shook her head, wiping at her face. “No—it was a sad book.”

“Which one?”

“Er—” she pulled the copy of Hogwarts a History. “The chapter on the war.”

A partial truth at least.

Victoire sobered. “Oh. Yeah…it’s rather sad reading isn’t it?”

She nodded, shoving it back with the notebook. “I don’t know that much about it.”

“It always makes the grown ups all distant when it comes up,” she said quietly. “Do you want to borrow something else to read? I have the Gillyweed sisters comic?”

“Maybe tomorrow? I’m still knackered from all the vomiting.”

Rosy lips twitching, Victoire nodded. “Sleep well.”

“Sleep well.”

Iris listened to the others getting ready for bed, staring up at the ceiling. Temple throbbing lightly as a headache came on. She knew she could take the potion Hannah had given her, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave her bed even as the room grew quiet and dark.

She let her mind drift to the list under her pillow. Running through the information she did have about her father; he was apparently a good teacher, was friends with Hannah, and judging from how often she saw them together, also Professor Longbottom. There were also the stories from her childhood—that he had saved Mum from a troll when they were the age she was now. That he stood by his friends and wasn’t afraid of anything. 

But what if she was missing something? 

With only the sound of Edith’s soft snores filling the room it hit her like a bolt of lightning. She sat up, groping for her wand. 

“Lumos,” she whispered, finding her notebook and beginning to write.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Accidental Curses

The knock on Harry’s quarters came ten minutes behind schedule. “Come in,” he called, scribbling out the last note for his lesson plan.

His godson slunk into the room, hair a subdued blue instead of its usual golden colour. Head hung low and hands shoved in his pockets, he made his way over to his usual spot by the stone fireplace. “Not having the best day?”

Teddy grunted, lowering himself with a thud into the cushy leather armchair.

Harry made quick work of filing away the rest of his work, stretching as he stood from the large desk. 

“Butterbeer?” he asked.

Teddy shrugged in response, arms crossed and the floor appearing to fascinate him. Fancying one himself, Harry pulled two from the desk drawer he’d enchanted into a mini icebox. He sunk down on the matching sofa across from him and leaned forward to hand him his bottle.

“Thanks,” Teddy mumbled.

“Cheers,” he replied, taking a swig and Teddy followed suit. Harry braced his arms on his legs, studying the twelve year old. “So…tell me about it.”

Teddy released a long sigh. “She won’t talk to me.” Harry watched him carefully, his golden eyes finally met his. “Vic.”

“Ah.” Harry took another sip of butterbeer. “I’m sure that’s hard.” Teddy only nodded, peeling at the label. “I am curious though, is that related to the tail end of the apology I caught earlier?”

His cheeks flushed, and his hair suddenly matched before returning to golden blonde.

“I guess.” Harry waited, holding his gaze on Teddy who was still pink and sitting down lower in the chair. “I told her I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Victoire, or Iris?”

“Both.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I told her I’m sorry after breakfast.”

“I’m assuming you’re talking about Iris?” Teddy nodded. “And that made her angry?”

“No…” he sighed again, all of him gloomy. “I—I asked her to tell Vic to talk to me.”

Harry hummed, sipping his drink. A distant memory of youth coming to him. “She’s not an owl Teddy.”

He snorted. “She said something like that.”

A smile tugged at Harry’s lips until he remembered the owl he had received from Remus only days before. 

“Does Vic know about your Gran?”

At the mention of his grandmother’s stay at St Mungo, Teddy’s grip tightened on his bottle, head tipping downwards as he shook it.

His voice hoarse when he finally spoke again. “I’ve barely had a chance to speak to her since we got to school…at least alone.”

“Because she’s been making friends?”

Teddy shrugged. “I mean…she seems to enjoy spending time with everyone but me,” he said, sounding sullen. “She—she won’t even listen to me. I told her I’m sorry— that it was an accident yesterday…but she doesn’t want to hear it.”

“I’m curious Teddy…why does Victoire need the apology?”

His godson swiped at his face which flushed further. “I tried to apologise to her too! I know I cocked it up—”

“Language,” he said, biting back a smile at Teddy’s eye roll, muttering something about him and Uncle Ron under his breath. 

Teddy sat back, arms crossed once again. Harry reached over and placed a hand on his knee which was moving up and down with his agitation.

“I know this is all hard Teddy. With your Gran—” He stopped. Andromeda’s sickness was affecting them all, but she had filled in as Teddy’s mother since he was born. The gravity of it for him would be huge. Harry squeezed his knee, and his heart clenched when he noticed the unshed tears in his godson’s eyes. “It’s a lot all at once. A new school year, coping with everything at home…then Victoire seems to have less time for you.” A tear slipped down Teddy’s cheek as he nodded. “Does it feel like you need Vic but she’s too busy with her new friends?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice so much younger. 

“It also probably makes it hard for you to like her new friends?”

Teddy gave a small nod, then his brow furrowed. “I dunno…I liked her enough on the train.”

“Who?”

“Iris,” he huffed. “She seemed cool. But now Vic only wants to hang out with her and Isobel.”

“So you’re frustrated Victoire has been paying more attention to her than you?”

Teddy groaned, swiping his face. “Well it sounds bad when you say it like that.”

Harry grinned. “It makes sense. Just—maybe try to understand where she’s coming from. Or both of them.”

His godson’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean?”

“Vic’s new, she wants to meet people in her year, who will be in class with her. She sees you mess up, and yes she could be more understanding, but she feels protective of her new friend,” Harry said carefully, taking another long sip. “Then there’s Iris. I know it was an accident, but she’s brand new to Hogwarts and magic—”

“She’s not a Muggleborn,” Teddy mumbled, shrugging his thin shoulders at Harry’s surprise. “Her mum’s a witch.”

He nodded. “Right. Still. That was a lot for the first day of classes.”

“Yeah…”

“Also you never know what else people have going on, right?”

A flash of guilt passed over Teddy’s face. “I know,” he replied quietly. “So what do I do?”

“What do you reckon the next right thing is?”

He grimaced. “Apologising…properly.”

“That’s a start,” Harry said, leaning back against the sofa’s cushion.

“Wait for Vic to cool off,” he muttered.

Harry bit back a smile. “She does have the Weasley temper, quick, but usually short lived.” Teddy finally smiled. 

He was relieved to see some of the tension melt off of his godson and his eyes held more of their usual brightness. “You still want to fly this weekend?” 

“Of course,” Harry said, polishing off the rest of his butterbeer and smiling over the rim. “What else are godfather’s for?”

***

Iris worried there was still dirt behind her ears, just like it was stuck under her fingernails. Herbology was proving to be sweaty and messy, and while she liked Professor Longbottom, and working with Eileen and Calvin, Iris was certain that it was not her calling in life. Approaching the great hall flanked by Victoire and Isobel, she knew she had an even bigger challenge ahead of her—Defense class. She was lost in thought when her name was called. She spun on her heels to find Teddy, hair suddenly pink as he made eye contact with her. 

“Can I talk with you?”

Iris tucked her bag closer. “About?”

“Yesterday,” he said, fidgeting on the spot though he kept his gaze locked on hers.

She glanced at the others. “Save me a seat?”

Victoire nodded, staring at Teddy before Isobel finally dragged her away by the elbow. Teddy gestured towards the end of the corridor and Iris followed reluctantly.

“I’m sorry about yesterday…and the day before,” he said, getting right to the point.

Iris assessed the boy in front of her. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his shoulders tense. She finally gave a small nod.

“Okay. Cool,” Teddy said, nodding awkwardly. “You have defence after this yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Cool,” he repeated before silence settled over them.  

“Okay then,” Iris said, turning back towards the hall. Stomach rumbling even with the coils of anxiety tightening with each passing minute.

“Iris?”

She glanced back, his entire face had gone pink like his hair. “He likes when people ask genuine questions. If you want a good mark…you just have to be curious and try.”

“Oh,” she swallowed, looking at the boy who knew more about her father than she ever would. “Thanks.”

He nodded stiffly and she forced her unsteady legs towards the smell of food, her appetite suddenly gone.

***

Lunch went by in a daze. A mix of anticipation and dread competed with each other in Iris’s stomach. Better than vomit, but the sensation was closer than she would like to the other day. Victoire continued to ignore Teddy at the table and Iris was almost starting to feel bad for him. She had her own problems to focus on though. The others in her years seemed to be bursting with excitement on the walk up the spiral staircase. She nodded along to the conversation, her body there, but mind focused on her plan. 

Of course she would tell Mum about him, except first—she would study him for herself. It would buy her time and maybe, just maybe, she’d have a clearer picture of who he was before she blew up all of their lives. One thing she was already certain of; being Harry Potter's daughter would be, as her mum predicted, a big deal. 

She could already sense the curiosity and awe he drew from her peers, which was on full display when they entered his classroom. The first two rows were already taken. Reluctantly Victoire led the way to the third row. This suited Iris. Being too close to him still brought a host of strange feelings. As the rest of the class settled in, she took her time to observe the room, to see what clues it held about the man who taught in it. All of their desks faced towards the front, where a podium stood next to a large desk. A giant skeleton of some kind of bird or reptile hung from the tall ceiling. 

Large windows let in bright light, summer not quite over and hovering over the castle. The room was warmer than the dungeons and Professor Bins class which had felt like an ice box. Pillows in purple and burgundy were piled near the back. Behind the podium, there was a blank chalk board in an old wooden frame that looked as if it had been there for centuries. Hogwarts was antiquated in delightful and sometimes jarring ways, even without the magic. 

His presence prickled at her before she could even turn to see. A collective wave of whispers went through the class as he approached the front. He appeared at ease, a knit jumper worn casually under his robes. Hair on end, he stood at the podium and smiled at them.

“Welcome back,” he said warmly. “I trust you’ve all had time to do the reading?”

A murmur of agreement, with some sheepish ducks of heads and his grin only widened. “Well then we’re ready to talk more about the principles of defence.” With a wave of his wand chalk flew through the air and suspended over the blackboard. “Anyone have any thoughts about what you read?”

Iris sat quietly, eyes glued to her professor and long lost father. She watched as he encouraged those who dared to raise their hand. Generous even when the answers were clearly wrong. She was reminded of watching Mum when she disappeared into her research, surfacing when she made a breakthrough on some ancient family or location, the sheer delight that would make her glow. Iris had to force herself to keep up with her notes, so mesmerising was it that he stood there, brighter than the sun. Filled with life. An unexplained miracle she struggled to believe was real. 

“What is dark magic?” he asked, folding his arms and leaning back against his desk.

A Ravenclaw girl with two plaits shot up her hand. “Unforgivable curses.”

He nodded. “Of course. What else?”

Behind her a cool voice replied. “Dark creatures.”

Victoire stiffened next to Iris, and she glanced over her shoulder. Naomi sat back smugly, next to her friend Meredith the question answerer.

When she looked again at her father, he wore a thoughtful frown. “That’s a bit more open to interpretation.” He paused, eyes sweeping across the room. “In my experience, wizards can be just as harmful to one another, if not more so than these creatures who get labelled as dark. 

“Even Vampires?” Calvin asked, alarmed.

His smile grew. “Yes…even vampires. Maybe one day I’ll tell you about the time I spent in Transylvania.” 

A wave of excited whispers went through the room and he shook his head.

“Alright enough about blood sucking creatures…what else?”

A timid hand went up in front of her. Another Ravenclaw. “Blood Magic?”

He nodded, pushing up his glasses. “Another complex one…but yes it can definitely cross over into dark arts.”

“Of course it’s dark magic,” a boy behind her interjected. “It’s what they use in sacrifices and all sorts of dark stuff.”

“Is a sacrifice inherently bad?”

Silence fell. Iris held the necklace at her neck, her other hand rose slowly.

His gaze fell on her and it took a moment to make her lips move.

“No…it—it depends on the context…and your intention.”

“What’s exactly good about a human sacrifice?” A dry voice behind her sneered.

She turned to see Naomi’s eyes narrowed.

“To protect someone,” Iris said quickly. “Blood magic…it’s not bad if it’s connected to love.”

“Says who?” she retorted.

“Ms Everdeen is correct.” His voice made her turn around. He wasn’t looking at Naomi but at her. “I wouldn’t be standing in front of you today without it.”

An even deeper silence came over the class. Iris swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. His green eyes finally moved on from hers to sweep across the room.

“That’s the thing with good and evil. Light and dark.  It’s not always so simple. Intention is at the root of all magic and in this line of magic intention matters. A lot.” He pushed off the desk and moved up the rows of students. “In an ideal world there would be no need to defend yourself, or have to make difficult decisions to protect the people you love. Sadly we don’t live in such  a world and you do need to be equipped to deal with dark magic if you find yourself faced with it.”

His eyes moved across all of them as he stood at the opposite end of the class, forcing them to turn back and also look at each other. He went on carefully.

“This class won’t be easy. Not only is the magic complex, it can be physically demanding  and emotionally draining. I’m mindful you're a generation that is growing up in the shadow of a war, that’s not something I take lightly. Many of you have heard stories and read accounts of students, not much older than you, fighting for their lives and for those of their classmates.”

Iris glanced at Victoire, whose eyes had gone misty. He made his way back to the front and faced them.

“I want to say that what happened will never happen again. Except I know that one dark wizard being defeated isn’t the end of all evil. We will be mindful in this class to keep a dialogue about the sorts of prejudice and beliefs that allow that sort of evil to flourish. A desire for power over others will always be at the root of those who want to use magic to harm.”

He surveyed them all again, bracing his hands on the podium.

“The magical world is still rebuilding itself all these years later and it’s up to you to help determine its future. To focus on our intentions on those things that matter most. Things like friendship and bravery,” he looked out the window,  his expression hard to read before turning back. “Love, and doing what is right…even when it’s not easy.”

No one said a word for a long beat. His face was serious before his lips turned up. 

“My office hours are always open for those with questions.” He clapped his hands together. “Right. Well, I’m going to start us with some exciting stuff now that you get to pull out your wands.” When everyone stayed still, he lifted an eyebrow. “Er—now would be good.”

A tither of noise went through the students, clatter rising as everyone brought their wands out. 

“Super useful spell if you ever get lost in the wilderness, or need to be rescued from the clutches of the giant squid...you know if you can’t manage to stun it and you aren’t pulled to the depths...how to send up a distress signal.”

By the end of class all of them were laughing as they learned to shoot red sparks, then green, high up into the air.

Harry jogged to the front of the room after he’d signalled for them to lower their wands and he spoke as they began to pack up. “Now I know the reading is boring, and you can usually get away with skimming or ignoring entire sections. But please read up on shield charms. That will be all you live and breathe the next month or two, aside from our guest lecturers I’m bringing in so you can get a break from me.”

Iris shoved her notebook into her bag turning to Victoire. “Is he going somewhere?”

She gave a small shrug, lips parting before a smug voice cut in.

“Going to miss your boyfriend?” 

Iris looked back to see Naomi with an equally smug smile. 

“Shut up,” she replied darkly, body tensing. 

Naomi’s blonde ponytail swung as she tilted her head innocently. “Hit a sore spot?” Iris didn’t answer, swallowing her growing rage. “Oh look…I have!” She cooed. “She’s turning all pink.”

“What are you going on about?” Victoire hissed. 

“I’m just stating the obvious…no father. It makes total sense.”

Pain seared in her chest, racing outwards as her eyes closed. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Victoire replied hotly.

“Hmm it’s a well known fact that those without fathers often look for them in—” The pain intensified, white hot like fire before it burns. “Ow!”

“Naomi! Your face!” Meredith gasped.

Her eyes opened, the rush of heat breaking, leaving her there shivering. It took her a moment to come back to herself and when her vision cleared, her mouth dropped open at the sight before her. Naomi’s perfect face was now bubbling like the top of a cauldron. Several large boils, similar to pox swelling larger by the second. 

“What did you do!” Meredith yelled, turning on them. 

“She didn’t do anything!” Victoire pushed Iris back behind her. 

Iris stared in horror. Naomi’s face again reminded her of that terrifying film she regretted watching with the little girl whose head had spun around. Naomi whimpered in pain, bending over her desk and trying to hide herself. Suddenly she was seeing Liam’s fingers as they released one by one. Shame and guilt filled her in a sickeningly familiar way. 

“What’s going on here?”

Iris tore her eyes from Naomi, only to see him standing there. The very last person she would want to witness her freakishness.

“She put some kind of curse on Naomi!” Meredith cried, pointing at Iris. 

“She didn’t even lift her wand— or say a single word!” Victoire said, speaking for her as she remained frozen under her father’s stare. “You were being a nasty little troll and now you look like one too, it’s probably just your own face showing its true colour—”

Harry turned sharply to Victoire who was incandescent with rage. “Vic—Ms Weasley. I have to dock marks for that, but I want the full story before I do,” he said calmly, his attention moved to Naomi. “Ms. Stone please escort Ms Beckett to the Hospital Wing. Tell the Healer I’ll be along shortly.”

Iris couldn’t bear to lift her head again. The weight of her classmates eyes nearly as heavy as the shame.

“Iris.” Victoire tugged at her arm, but she remained still, staring at her black mary jane’s. “Uncle Harry, that girl is absolutely horrid, she—”

“Vic. I think I need to hear this from Iris. Why don’t you wait for her just outside there?”

Iris didn’t see what happened next, only felt the squeeze of her arm before she was gone from her side. The heat of her cheeks made her finally move a hand to touch them, certain she would have matching moulted skin. 

“I take it I missed something important?” he asked gently, when the last of the clattering stopped and the room held only them. She chewed on her bottom lip and shrugged.

He let out a sigh. “I believe Victoire, your wand is tucked into your bag…and while you appear to be quite brilliant, would it be fair to say you haven’t mastered wandless magic?”

Iris swallowed, finally forcing her eyes to his. It made the heaviness worse but she managed to nod. 

“Has that ever happened to you before?” he asked, when she frowned, his eyebrows lifted.  “Have you ever done magic without meaning to?”

Again she felt the wind, Liam’s scream echoing in her mind. She sucked in a breath. “A boy. When I was eight. I made him fall off the climbing gym…with magic.” 

“It was an accident,” she blurted, when he didn’t say anything. 

He nodded. “Hmmm.” He pushed up his glasses as he leaned against the desk to face her. “Did he provoke you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. 

“Would it be fair to assume you were also provoked by Ms Beckett?”

She nodded as the awful feeling seemed to move from her stomach, crawling up her neck and making her eyes burn hotly with it.

“I think that’s all I need to know,” he said quietly. Her head jerked upwards to find him studying her closely. A look that reminded her of Mum when she was searching her face to get a read on whatever emotion she was hiding. “Things like that are beyond your control, or well at least when you're young. It will get easier. I promise.”

“It—it will?”

He gave a small nod, lips pulling up the tiniest bit. “Something similar happened to me once…I nearly blew up my aunt.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded again. “Caused me a bit of trouble, but years later I stand by the fact that she shouldn’t have said such awful things to me.  You and Ms Beckett are both young so I'll hold my own judgement for the time being.” Iris swallowed and he tugged at his hair with a sigh. “I had hoped it would be different with her…but I’ve taught her older brother Nicholas…so I think I can imagine what might have been said.”

Iris knew from potions that she had some awful views, and didn't correct him. He stared towards the window, his hair an awful mess when he pulled his hand away.

He gave her a small smile when he looked back at her. “I think Vic is waiting for you. I should probably make sure Hannah was able to make Ms Beckett’s face boil free.”

He pushed off from the desk, moving towards the front of the room. Iris steadied herself and began to pack the last of her things, all too aware that she was alone with her father for a few more fleeting moments. Before she could think of what to say on her way out, he called over his shoulder as he stuffed some things into a small briefcase. 

“You won’t be docked any marks. Actually… I meant to assign you ten for your comment on blood magic, but you took me by surprise since that wasn’t in the assigned reading.”

Iris squeezed her book bag tightly. “Oh…I read about it in Hogwarts a History.” 

She ignored the guilt of the omission, which was all the context she’d also received from her mum. He stilled, before he turned to look at her once more. 

“I take it you like to read?” he asked. 

“It would be a sin in my household not to,” she said without thinking, before she added gingerly. “My mum works in a bookshop.”

A glimmer of a smile passed over his lips and he gestured towards the door, and she led the way with him following a few steps behind. Victoire was pacing near the staircase when they came out. She stopped, looking at Harry with wide eyes.

He sighed. “I’m only docking you five for the troll comment.”

She let out a huff. “Well you should dock her a hundred for being absolutely vile and saying—”

Iris all but leapt on Victoire, dragging her towards the stairs  as she called out over her shoulder.  “Sorry, we have to get going!” 

She didn’t dare look back.

***

Dear Mum,

As promised a more detailed note about my first days at Hogwarts. First was a bit of a write off with all the vomiting, but I did like Herbology and Charms. The girls in my year are lovely, you’d like them I think. There’s Victoire, Isobel, Edith and Melody. Victoire and Isobel are who I’ve spent the most time with. I met them on the train. I’m writing this from my dorm. I love looking out the window at the lake and the forest. I was so relieved to be sorted into Gryffindor…the hat was rather ominous and I had a moment where I swore it was going to put me in Slytherin. Which would be awful as I’d be in the dungeons which are horrid. I’m partnered with a girl named Eileen from there in two classes and I like her. Not a huge fan of the others. 

You lied. History of Magic is even more boring than advertised, even more so than listening to Simon go on and on about Radiohead. Transfiguration is brutally hard but interesting. Charms was my favourite and potions does have some strange similarity to the science kit Annie and Rosie got me for my ninth birthday. Herbology is good but weird, I had to sing to a plant. Defence is interesting. 

Iris paused, heaving out a sigh. Already feeling like a monster for what she left out.

We got to meet some of the magical creatures with Hagrid and I got to feed a baby moon calf which was adorable and reminded me of a llama. Did you ever see one? We learn to fly next week. I’m trying not to be nervous that I’ll make a fool out of myself…but I guess I got that out of the way. I’m still a bit overwhelmed at all there is to learn. I know you’ll tell me the challenge is fun. Maybe I’ll feel better once I actually feel like I have a handle on everything.

That was about as close to the truth as she was going to get. She pressed the pen to paper and pushed out the guilt. 

I do miss you. And Annie and Rosie. And Matilda. Even Simon, but don’t tell him…it would go to his head. How’s the shop? Is the toad-like man still coming in every Tuesday to ask you about the book on leprechauns that doesn’t exist? 

Also, I want to know more about you and Dad. I should have asked before I left but I didn’t. You kept saying it was complicated. What does that mean? I’m nearly twelve — I want to understand. What should I know about him? How do I tell you…

Iris sighed and violently scratched it out. Ink was so much fussier. She would have to start over. Next go around she simply wrote at the end.

I love you across the sky. 

Your dutiful daughter that you like best,

Iris

PS I want to know more about you and Dad.

She rolled it up before she could second guess, stuffing the letter in her book bag to send off before breakfast tomorrow. 

Iris glanced at the list she’d made. Every small detail she could note, crammed into the margins. The picture of her father wasn’t much clearer, but it was a start. Talking to him one on one seemed to prove the most insightful, yet was also the trickiest to go about. She heaved another long sigh as she fell back on her pillow and rubbed at her face. One month. That was what she’d decided. October first she’d tell her mum. Hopefully she’d have a clearer picture of what would come next by then. 

After changing into her cotton pyjama bottoms and fuzzy jumper, Iris made her way back to the common room which was still mostly packed with students unwinding. There was a loud game of snap going on that Iris side stepped, a jittery nervous feeling came over her whenever she noted the hulking seventh and sixth year students that she now shared a home with. Relief filled her when she spotted Isobel, Edith and Melody crowded around the fireplace studying. 

Iris sunk down on the floor, stretching out her tired legs. She tilted her head towards Isobel who had a small smirk on her lips.

“What?” Iris asked.

She gestured with her head, dark plait swinging and Iris looked past her. Tucked into the corner where two wingback armchairs pushed together, Teddy had his head bowed down and Victoire’s hand patted his arm gently, voices too quiet to hear. She made eye contact with Isobel and inexplicably the two of them dissolved into giggles, the kind that made little sense.

“What’s so funny?” Edith’s eyes narrowed in her petite and fairy-like face, looking between them, Melody startling from her absorption of her Defence textbook.

“Nothing,” Iris managed to squeak out before another round of laughter shook them. The other two Gryffindor girls stared at them like they’d lost their minds. Eventually they settled down and Iris cracked her charms textbook, lighter than she’d been earlier.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Quidditch and Libraries

Hermione chewed on her lip, folding and refolding the letter in front of her. A great barn owl had delivered the news from her daughter that morning. She hoped the neighbours weren’t taking note of the sudden barrage of birds of prey coming and going from her kitchen window. Although there were more important things at hand. 

Her stomach summersalted at Iris’s question, or really, demand. Her daughter’s curiosity normally delighted her, but how did she explain the entire mess to an eleven year old? 

Even if she was eleven going on thirty six, as Annie often joked. All of it still felt too complicated to distil into a letter. Iris had always been precocious and observant, always taking in  the world around her. Now she wanted a fuller picture of her father, and Hermione knew Iris wouldn’t stop until she was satisfied. She pressed down on the screen of her phone which lit up with a grainy image of Iris from two years ago, so much more childlike, wild hair in plaits, and beaming in her highland dancing regalia. 

The time read quarter to nine, Iris would be off to her classes and Hermione still had a giant stack of files to go through before she traded off with Simon that afternoon. She sighed, rubbing her temples. This conversation would be so much better to have in person. Maybe she would buy Iris a phone after all. Except she wasn’t sure where one acquired a magical one. Her chest tightened at the thought of having to go back to Diagon Alley. She could barely manage the perfunctory trips to Ellington Square, where she still wore a glamour out of fear, scurrying in and out of the post as quickly as possible. Hermione knew she’d just have to get over it. She’d started at least three letters to Ron, not sending a single one. 

When she did return to the wizarding world, it was him more than anyone she owed an explanation to. Years had passed before the consequences of her actions had fully sunk it. At the time it had been such blinding grief, and then fear for Iris’s safety that had clouded her thinking. Over time she began to understand that Ron had lost two brothers in one swoop. Then she had left him too. All of it led back to the worst thing; Harry’s death. Something she still didn’t know how to live with. Iris’s questioning and desire to know about her father and their relationship made it clear that she couldn’t continue to avoid the past—the grief that she’d never been able to outrun.

Iris deserved to know whatever she could tell her. She owed her daughter that. For hiding, for taking her away from the world that she rightfully belonged to, the one connected to her father, and those who’d also known and loved him. Summoning pen, paper, and her courage, Hermione began to write.

***

Heavy clouds hung low on the day of their first flying lesson. Iris had been anticipating this day with equal parts dread and excitement. Unlike her mum she wasn’t afraid of heights. She loved the adrenaline of looking over the side of a tall building, or the thrill at the top of a roller coaster before you went down. Flying promised her these things. At least she assumed it would, but the constant chatter about Quidditch teams, broom models and everything else around her, made her keenly aware of her lack of experience. 

Edith who was a Muggleborn seemed equally as uncertain. Everyone else in their year had grown up with the sport in some capacity. Something that made Iris’s stomach turn uneasily, a pang of frustration went through her that she had missed out. Isobel stiffened next to her as the pitch came into view. She supposed only her and Edith had no experience, but from what she’d heard from Isobel, they should consider themselves lucky.

One of the new bits of information she’d learned about her new friend last night—she was rather traumatised from flying with her cousins as a kid. Another reason she was exhausted was that the five of them had been up late. It was the first morning she was tired, not from anxiety, but from having fun. At least the first in a good while. Her worries hadn’t disappeared by any means. But her dorm mates were simply proving to be a good distraction. When they stepped onto the bright green field, she was relieved to note it was the Hufflepuff’s learning alongside them and not the Slytherin’s.  Judging from the hushed excitement as the teacher Madam Hooch had them line up alongside a row of brooms, most of the students were eager for the break from academics that morning. 

Except for Isobel who was grim next to her.

“It won’t change into a noodle this time,” Iris whispered.

Isobel gave Iris her mock severe look that made them both dissolve into laughter. Madam Hooch’s whistle drew the attention of the murmuring students.

“Let’s start with the rules for this lesson,” Madam Hooch began. 

Iris shivered against the wind that had picked up as she concentrated on the teacher’s catlike eyes while she explained the expectations, followed by the basics of flying. 

Then she demonstrated the movement, calling out the word ‘up’ in a commanding voice. The broom shot into her hand. “Alright, now remember to focus on your intention. It can sense if you don’t want to fly.”

A few students glanced around nervously. Isobel’s grim expression moved back into place and Iris forced herself to look at her own broom, laying motionless. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach that Victoire already had her broom in her hand the second Madam Hooch had given them the go ahead. She looked at the broom and raised her hand, clearing her mind of everything except the thought of flying. 

“Up!”

The wood knocked into the soft skin of her palm and made her mouth open in surprise. Victoire grinned and Iris returned it. Unable to hide her delight at the rush that went through her from holding the broom.

“Are you sure you’ve never ridden one before?” Isobel said, dark eyes round and huge.

Iris gave a small nod. “Positive.”

After a long few minutes all the students had brooms in their hands. Madam Hooch blew her whistle again and she barked out instructions for how to sit on the broom. Mounting it, reminded her faintly of the few riding lessons she’d done years before, the same muscles flexing as they practised hovering over the grass. 

Madam Hooch ran the lessons like a naval officer. Each part of the breakdown of what they needed to know, given its due time and swiftly followed by hands-on experience and then on to the next part. 

She quickly partnered with Victoire, so they could toss the quaffed to each other. She was the only one of her friends who seemed eager to practise more than a few feet off the ground. Iris envied Victoire’s easy grace. Like everything else she did, she made it look effortless. However, as the hour passed, Iris found her confidence. She caught nearly every ball Victoire tossed her way and her ease moving in the air grew. 

Near the end of the lesson they were finally given permission to play a round of Quidditch, with a few adjustments such as cushioned bludgers and a slower snitch. They would also be ending at the first team to a hundred, or the snitch being caught.

Isobel joined the few Hufflepuff’s who’d also opted out of the game, immediately getting her sketch pad from her satchel and promptly ignoring them. 

Iris couldn’t help but grin. Isobel hadn’t warmed to being on a broom apparently. 

“Everdeen. Seeker.”

Madam Hooch’s declaration snapped her back to attention. The teacher had already continued down the line and she could only gape at her.

“That’s amazing! You do have the build,” Victoire said eagerly under her breath. 

Throat tight, she blinked down at the broom. Unsure what to think about the fact that her first thought was if he would be proud of her. Or if she would prove to not have any talent. She forced the thought away as she rose into the air with her team. As soon as the whistle blew, Iris found herself with only one thing on her mind; get the snitch.

A bird's eye view was what her instincts told her and she began to climb higher than ever. Her breath caught at the sparkle of the lake, Hogwarts rising above it. She couldn’t help turning to look at the tower where her father’s classroom resided. Right as she wondered if he was in there, a glint of gold made her heart race. 

There was no thought as she zoomed downwards. Arm outstretched, she wobbled as she let go of the handle. The air swirled around her, her one hand on the handle holding on for dear life as she clamped her legs down to keep herself from falling. Her stomach flew up like a haywire lift, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the fact that she was upside down. 

This fact took precedence at first over the feel of the cold round object clutched in her fist. Finally she got her bearings and held her hand to her face, crushed wings peaked between her fingers and despite being the wrong direction vertically, laughter bubbled up her throat when it sank in. Astonishment rose inside her. The feeling wasn’t unlike when she’d climbed Scafell with Mum last summer, it had seemed impossible until she did it. Even with the blood rushing to her head, the cheers from her team carried over the wind. She was trying to figure out how to hold onto the snitch and manoeuvre right-side up when a shriek caused her to stop. Her stupid plaits blocked her vision, so she didn’t see it coming. 

Although she certainly felt when the wind was knocked from her lungs and she began to freefall.

***

“If it isn’t my best patient,” Hannah said, when Victoire walked her in. “No vomiting this time?”

“I fell off my broom,” Iris sighed, wincing when she moved her arm too quickly. Madam Hooch had caught her fall in time but she’d still tumbled to the ground and the cushioning hadn’t stopped the injury from the collision.

“Well you were driven off by that idiot,” Victoire muttered. 

“Calvin’s not an idiot,” Iris said as Hannah helped her up on the cot. “He just lost control…and crashed into me.”

Hannah shook her head. “Not the first sports injury I’ve seen and it won’t be the last. Let me take a look at that arm.” Iris held in a groan when she ran her fingers up the skin, a bruise already blooming. “Fractured. As I thought.”

“Will it take long?” Iris asked.

“Not long, but you’ll likely miss the beginning of class. I also recommend taking it easy with your arm. What do you have next?”

“Potions.”

Hannah clicked her tongue. “No stirring and chopping for you. I’ll write you a note.” Her stomach plummeted at the thought of falling more behind. “You know most students don’t look like I've told them the world is ending when they have to sit out class.”

“Do you want me to wait?” Victoire asked, eyes flitting from Iris to Hannah.

“I’ll take good care of Miss Everdeen,” she said, gesturing for Iris to lay back on the cot. 

“I’m not going to keel over right?”

Hannah gave a snort. “I should hope not, or I’d be a rather poor Healer…killing my perfectly healthy students.”

Victoire bit back a smile. “Okay. I’ll tell Slughorn.”

“Tell Eileen I’m sorry,” Iris called after her, guilt pressing in. Victoire nodded, gathering her bag and leaving with a final wave. Iris tried not to feel dejected about having to miss another class.

Hannah moved her wand and slowly warmth spread up and within seconds she could move it with no pain. 

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go?” 

She shrugged. “Maybe you can observe, but I’d rather you rest.”

“Here?”

“Or your dorm,” she said, lifting her brows. “I won’t turn down your company though.” Hannah frowned, inspecting her arm. “Let me get some salve. You're going to bruise like a peach.”

Iris stared up at the ceiling. She wondered how fast the news of her fall had spread. Never mind worrying about the reputation of being Harry Potter’s secret daughter, she was drawing plenty of attention to herself by her own bad luck.

“So asides from having to see me again so soon, how have you been?” Hannah asked.

She blinked, focusing on the Healer who hovered above her. “Er—Alright.”

“You’re quite the conversationalist.”

She shot her a disgruntled look but smiled when she saw Hannah’s amused expression. 

“Just making my usual rounds of embarrassing myself,” she added. “How are you?”

Hannah’s grin widened, she slathered some thick paste on her arm that smelled of mint and left her skin tingling. “Grand. I’ll be heading up to Norway for a mini holiday at the end of the month so can’t complain.”

“Isn’t Professor Longbottom going there too?”

Her hands stilled at her wrists. “Yes, he is.”

All at once it hit her. “Oh my god…he’s your—”

“Husband,” Hannah finished, letting go of her wrist. She sucked in a cheek, making her large dimple momentarily disappear before she released a breath. “You caught me. We try not to advertise it.”

“Oh.”

Hannah pulled up a chair, folding her arms.  “Students are quite the nosy buggers,” she said dryly.

Iris’s cheeks warmed but she returned Hannah’s smile who leaned forward. 

“So now I’m going to pry…are you enjoying school?” Hannah asked.

“Yes, it’s a lot to get used to but I—it’s good.”

“Do you have a favourite class?”

“Charms...and also Defence.”

“Ah. Harry’s fantastic. All the students end up adoring him.” Iris made a non-committal sound in the back of her throat and Hannah’s grin widened. “According to a few students he’s not bad to look at either.”

Iris blanched and Hannah laughed.

“Alright, alright, I was only joking—don’t sick up again.” Iris swiped at her face, relieved she could move her arm freely but cringing at the memory of the other day. “I’m sorry did I say something wrong?” Hannah asked.

“No…” When she turned, Hannah was looking at her with concern and Iris released a sigh. The story from class spilled out before she could stop it… like vomit. With some omissions of course. 

“Ah. I didn’t mean to poke,” Hannah said, patting her hand. “He’s wonderful and it’s normal to be curious about people. It’s natural with Harry’s…history.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “They thought he was dead…”

“Yes,” she said simply. 

“Were you there?” she asked quietly.

Hannah nodded. Iris turned back towards the ceiling, the pressure behind her eyes making her skull ache. 

“It was a long time ago Iris,” Hannah said carefully. “I don’t mind answering questions. I know it must be strange to learn about the war so late.”

She released a shuddered breath. There were a million questions she wanted to ask Hannah. Mum had given her a pretty thorough run down, but there was so much neither of them knew. How had they discovered he was still alive? Why hadn’t they been able to find Mum and let her know. Had he even looked for her? 

More than anything she wanted to know what his life was like outside of Hogwarts. If like Hannah and Professor Longbottom, he was married, or if he had other children. A question she’d been too afraid to ask Victoire.

“Did—did you know him from school?” she asked, twisting the sheet beneath her hands.

“A bit. I got to know him better once I started dating my husband. They were in the same house at school. We all grew closer after the war as well.”

Iris thought of her Mum and tilted her head away again, willing herself not to cry as she draped her better arm over her face.

“There’s a few books in the library,” Hannah said, Iris could feel her eyes on her but didn’t move. “I know it’s probably a lot to learn about all at once.”

She steadied herself before she faced her again. 

“Hannah?” She hummed and Iris held on to a shred of courage. “Could I…could I use your phone?” Her forehead creased. “Not now! I—I just was hoping to call Mum again—” 

“Of course. Just give me a heads up and we’ll arrange it,” Hannah  cut in, beginning to stand. She looked down at Iris with a thoughtful expression. “You know my offer stands for tea and a listening ear. If you need it.”

“You mean if I humiliate myself again?”

Hannah’s head titled, a smile in her eyes. “Not a necessary requirement.”

***

A battle had waged inside her about what to do about class. Risk falling behind, or deal with her curiosity. Curiosity won out. Iris tucked the note from Hannah in her pocket ,and after calling out a final thanks and goodbye she made her way to the library. Her and Victoire had studied there the other day, and she assumed it would be quieter at this time of the afternoon.

She felt the piercing stare of the severe librarian, another adult who had done a double take when they saw her the first time. As she had thought there were far fewer students. Iris weaved her way between the tall shelves.

“Did you get the note?”

Iris wedged herself between the shelf at the sound of the sharp voice. 

“No. Bloody git wouldn’t sign it,” another deep male voice muttered.

“Who’d you ask?”

“Potter.”

The first boy groaned. “Are you mental? You know he’s a Muggle lover.”

Her entire body tensed as she held her breath.

“His class is the most realistic reason we'd need it!” 

A tense silence followed but she didn’t dare move. 

She heard a long sigh. “Slughorn,” he muttered, lowering his voice bitterly. “I’ve spent seven years sucking up to the tosser. We’ll have more of a chance with him.”

Footsteps moved closer and she pressed her body as far back as she could.

“Do we really need it?” 

A tall blonde boy came into view, his aquiline nose and furrowed brow over blue eyes strangely familiar. He was swiftly followed by a stockier boy with short cropped dark hair. His blue eyes fell on her and the subtle turn of his lips and Slytherin badge made it slot into place; Naomi’s brother.

“What do we have here?”

Fear curdled her stomach but she straightened her spine, holding tight to her book bag. 

The dark haired boy looked at her menacingly. “A first year by the looks of it.”

“A lion,” the blonde said, cool eyes assessing. “What’s your name?”

Her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, bravery waning at the set of his jaw and the gleam in his flat blue eyes. Annie said that the life of a person was in the eyes. His showed no warmth, only the hint of a threat. She dove between the opening between the two boys. Surprise was on her side, but the shorter one caught on, and a meaty hand wrapped tightly around her newly healed arm.

“Not so fast firstie. We asked you a question,” Naomi’s brother said casually, leaning against the bookshelf.

“Let me go,” she said, hating the way her voice trembled.

“You have to answer us first.”

Iris stared up at him, dread filling her. Her arm throbbed where his sidekick dug into the still tender muscle. 

“What’s going on here?” another voice cut in. 

She craned her neck, a boy she vaguely recognized from her own house stood blocking the passage. 

“What’s it to you Mudblood?” he asked, not moving from his position, but Iris noted that his wand was now in his hand.

The boy shook his head in dismay. “Really Nicholas…going after first year? That’s low even for you.”

Nicholas straightened. “Trying to figure out if she’s the one responsible for Naomi’s face nearly melting in Defense.”

Iris was sure her heart fell into her stomach.

“So you’re what…going to go after her in the library?” 

The Slytherin boys exchanged smirks and careless shrugs. “Maybe. Someone likely needs to teach her a lesson, don’t they?”

“Look if you don’t release her I’ll send a patronus straight to the headmaster. Threatening students is a violation worthy of expulsion if I’m not mistaken. Also throwing around slurs.” 

“For now,” the short boy muttered and Nicholas grinned.

“Let her go, Richard. Now.” 

The boy's wand lifted and Iris stumbled as he forcibly released her, shoving her in the direction of the other Gryffindor.

“You won’t always have a bodyguard. I’d watch your back little lion,” Nicholas said.

The boys' cloaks swept behind them as they continued up the row towards the exit. Iris didn’t breath until they were out of sight. A hand touched her shoulder causing her to leap upwards. 

The boy grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, you alright?”

“Fine,” she mumbled. The trembling of her limbs said otherwise.

“My name’s Matthew, what’s yours?”

“Iris.”

Her eyes met his. A warm amber, like honey. He had a mop of golden hair and freckles on his nose. He was over a foot taller than her and she was at eye level with his prefects badge. 

“I think we might want to report him. I used to think he was just a git—” Matthew paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m starting to think he’s worse than that.” Questions bloomed on her tongue but she was rendered mute. His brows drew together. “Do you want me to take you somewhere?”

“I—er—no. I’m okay.” His concerned look made her sigh. “Really. I am.”

He motioned for her to stay there and she watched as he followed the path of the older boys. Seconds later he made his way back over. “They’re gone.” The knot of tension inside her eased slightly at his words. “Did you actually melt someone’s face?”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “It wasn't melted. And It—it was an accident…”

When she dared meet his eyes, he only looked curious. “Like accidental magic?”

She nodded. 

“Yeah. That’s happened to me too.”

“Really?”

His eyes were far off and he gave a small nod. His lips turned up at the corner. “Well…it was nice meeting you Iris.”

A rush of heat moved up from her chest to her neck and face but she managed to nod. Suddenly overly aware of the state of her hair, wild and untamed having taken out her plaits in the hospital wing. “You too…thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said, before he went back the way he came.

Iris stayed rooted to the spot for longer than she meant to. Maybe she should have Hannah check again for a head injury as her thoughts were sluggish from all that had just happened. Eventually she managed to get a hold of herself and continue the mission she’d set out on. 

There was an entire shelf dedicated to the first and second wizarding wars near the back. Pulse racing again, she traced over the titles. Annie often said the one meant for you would just come, while Mum had a more practical approach; ask the librarian, internet, or someone more knowledgeable than you, if that failed, look at the date published, and Mum said it was okay to judge a book by its title more than its cover. 

Soon enough a few titles jumped out. ‘The Boy Who Lived: How One Boy Conquered Death Twice’ by Oslo Herbit. Then there was a dark emerald book that she inspected called ‘The Man Behind The Glasses: What You Don’t Know About the Man Who Conquered the Dark Lord’ by Rita Skeeter. She snorted at the terrible title, but nevertheless added it to her pile. There were at least three more promising books about the war and its aftermath by the end of her search. Iris glanced over her shoulder while she looked for a place to sit. Her left arm throbbed carrying everything and she was certain this wasn’t what Hannah had meant by rest. She settled at a table by the window, back against the wall so she could see who was nearby, unable to shake the edgy feeling from her earlier encounter. With a steadying breath, she picked up the book with the absurd title and began to read.

“Mr Potter is notoriously private. This reporter has conducted interviews with many close sources to get the truth of the man behind the persona. What I’ve found is a man who has experienced tremendous loss. His parents, role models, friends and of course his long term on and off again lover, Ms Hermione Granger.”

Iris frowned at the passage. The author Rita Skeeter wrote about how her father had never loved again. Albeit in a very dramatic and flowery way. None of it sounded quite right. Guilt nagged at her that she felt so much relief that he appeared to never have married. Not that she wanted him to be a miserable recluse as Skeeter implied throughout the introduction. As she stared at the pile of books she felt overwhelmed. This really would be easier if there were two of her; like the film where each twin took on a different parent.  Except life wasn’t like films, where things were always wrapped up neatly. According to Rosie life was messy and you just had to learn to paint with the muck. Iris still had no idea what she was even dealing with. Let alone what kind of painting would emerge out of the mess. She rubbed her face, shoulders hunched over the table. All she could do for now was keep reading. So she did.

She scribbled down anything that could be relevant. Some information was new, some more familiar. There were a lot of names and events. Too many deaths. 

Rita Skeeter’s book didn’t match up with her Mum’s account, at least not in the way she’d described it to Iris. One passage was about her parents alone in the tent having to huddle naked for warmth which made her slam the book shut in disgust. That was the last thing she wanted to imagine. Mum's most recent ‘age appropriate sex and changing body talk’ was too fresh in her mind—not that Mum had any clue some of the things Iris had stumbled upon while reading discarded Cosmopolitan magazines at Matilda’s house.

Another account of the time in the tent made no mention of any romance between her parents. The cover and title was also much less sensational, the writing dry and cut in terms of facts without any of the elaboration in Skeeters. As the light from the window began bathing everything in gold, she began to skip right to the end of each book. Reading about her father’s death, even with the knowledge that he was alive on the other side of the castle made it hard to breathe. Hogwarts of History had been gentle in its approach. The other books were not. She grew lightheaded from holding her breath, skipping past the passages until when he woke up. Paragraph after paragraph rendered the same conclusion; no one was certain how he’d apparently died and come back three days later. There were only theories and some first hand accounts such as this:

“A true miracle because they were only hours from setting fire to his body before burial! Luckily he didn’t wake up right then!” 

Iris remembered what Mum had said. She’d lasted less than two days before fleeing. One day more and their lives would be completely different. She was lost in that thought when a hand on her shoulder made her launch out of her seat, swirling around she saw a wide eyed Victoire lit up by the fading sun.

“Christ, you scared me,” Iris said, clutching her chest. 

“What are you doing here?” Victoire asked, brow pinching and her blue eyes darting to the pile of books. “You missed supper.”

Her face felt like an inferno when she saw it through Victoire’s eyes. Naomi’s words haunting her. “I—I can explain…”

Victoire’s frown deepened and she took the seat opposite. “I’m listening.”

“I was talking to Hannah—I mean Healer Abbott about the war and I…I had questions, she said the library might have answers.”

Victoire picked up the copy of Skeeter’s book with a shrewd look. “This is rubbish by the way. Uncle Harry wanted to take her to court but Uncle Ron said it wasn’t worth it.”

Relief and confusion mixed inside her. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Er—I dunno,” Iris replied, before sitting back. “Wait..how did you find me?”

Victoire shrugged. “I have my ways.”Iris searched her face, but it was impassive, like a greek statue. After a long pause, she tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. “So you want to know more about Uncle Harry? Or the war?”

Iris hesitated and Victoire’s delicate brows shot up. “The war,” she finally managed, cheeks aflame. She held in a sigh at the uncertain look on her friend’s face. If one more person accused her of fancying her father today she was liable to head straight to the astronomy tower and jump. 

“He—he’s just closely associated I suppose,” she added, when Victoire didn’t reply. 

“He is,” Victoire said quietly. “Your mum didn’t tell you about it?”

“A bit,” Iris swallowed, brushing her thumb over the raised title on the book in front of her. “She’s always been pretty quiet about her life before me.”

“I suppose that makes sense. You said she was Muggle born right?” Iris nodded, chancing a glance at Victoire who was watching her carefully . “They had it pretty hard. Mum will never go into detail…so of course I’ve read what I could get my hands on as well. Though I often wish I hadn’t.”

A small shiver raced up Iris’s spine. Hogwarts a History hadn’t glossed over the treatment of Muggleborns during the war. She gazed at the pile of depressing books in front of her. Nicholas' face filled with contempt, made her palms sweat.

“Are you going to take any out?” Victoire asked, breaking her out of her reverie. 

Iris picked up the more factual boring book by Herbit. “Maybe this one. I want to learn more about how the war ended…and what it’s like now.”

“Well my Dad says it’s loads better, but obviously there’s still people with those beliefs. It hasn’t gone away completely.”

Iris worked hard to steady her voice. “No. I suppose it wouldn’t.”

Her stomach gave a loud growl breaking the heavy silence and causing Victoire to smirk. “Do you think you’ll survive the night without supper?”

She groaned and rested her head on the pile of books, her dad’s face staring back at her alarmingly close. “I don’t see what choice I have.”

Victoire hummed and Iris glared at her through her hair. “Why do you look so happy?”

She only shrugged. “I might know a way to get you fed.”

“Another one of your secrets?” Iris asked, sitting back up. 

Swiftly Victorie stood and began collecting the books. “I might be able to let you in on it.”

Iris didn’t want to show just how intrigued she was, so she focused on sorting the books and opted to grab another one with a comprehensive timeline of both wars.

With a glance over her shoulder, Victoire lowered her voice. “Alright. It’s Teddy. He has his uncle’s invisibility cloak.”

Her stomach twisted, and not with hunger. “Oh. Wow.”

“It’s rather useful,” Victoire said, as they made their way to the front desk. They didn’t speak much as Iris checked out her books with the librarian who continued to look at her strangely during the entire exchange. As they approached the common room, Victoire touched her elbow. “You might want to hide those books from Teddy.”

“Hide them?”

Victoire averted her eyes and nodded. “Just…he doesn’t like to talk about it,” she said quickly. “Or be asked questions.”

“About your Uncle?” Iris asked, glancing down at the book in her arm. 

Victoire gave a nod, shifting on her feet. “Yes that as well, but I meant the war…He’s sensitive about it.” Iris was about to ask what that meant when Victoire leaned closer, voice soft. “His mum was killed at the battle of Hogwarts.”

“Oh.” Iris managed to murmur. “That’s awful.” Her heart lodged in her throat. She swallowed the tight lump when they went through the portrait, knowing all too well the crushing feeling of living without someone who should be there.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight: Observations

Iris wasn’t sure how she made it through the morning. A thick letter from Mum had arrived when she was eating her toast and there was no time before class to get somewhere private. She didn’t dare attempt a read of it in the great hall. As it always was when she wanted something desperately, time passed like molasses. Finally lunch arrived. She shoved a croissant and an apple in her bag, making up an excuse to her friends about needing to send off a letter. As quick as she could without running, she exited the castle.

Sunlight fought through the clouds and warmed her face as she approached the placid lake. She found a patch of grass near the shore and unceremoniously flopped down with her bag.  No other students were in sight and she braved pulling out the letter that had burned a hole in her robe pocket all morning. With shaky fingers she undid the note. 

Dear Iris,

I was so happy to get your letter and hear more about your classes. I’m so proud of you for working so hard to catch up after your rough start. Your note at the end forced me to pause and think where to even begin. If I could go back, I would have never hidden behind the nicknames as I feel that I’ve only caused you confusion between myth and reality. That is my own fault and I’m so sorry Iris. Speaking about him has always been painful, but not saying anything hasn’t lessened it at all.

Guilt surged up in Iris so strongly, her legs would have given out if she wasn’t sitting. She sucked in a breath and continued reading.

The relationship between your father and I was complicated. It also wasn’t. Simply put he was my closest friend. My first real friend that I ever had. I can’t pinpoint exactly when he became the most important person in my life, but it happened without me realising.

Your father was kind hearted, brave and always looked out for others. He also made me laugh, drove me mad with his stubbornness, and I often felt like he was the first person to truly see me and like me exactly as I was. He had a habit of noticing when something was wrong with me. No one else had ever come and looked for me when I hid away, your father did. We occasionally disagreed, but he never made me feel belittled. I respected him and he respected me. The truth is that I miss every single thing about him

I tell you all this so you get a sense of what our relationship was like for most of the seven years he was in my life. When we took off from the Burrow, I was nearly eighteen, and I had no idea how swiftly my life would change forever. You already know most of this story but when Ron left your father and I were strictly friends. This part I’d left out because you’re young and I wanted to wait to explain some of these complications. Such as the fact that I had begun a relationship with Ron that summer. Or well, something akin to one. He liked me, I liked him. It was terribly immature looking back. Harry was dating Ron’s sister Ginny throughout the last half of sixth year. They broke up because of the war to keep her safe. 

Within two months of running and hiding Ron took off in a temper and left. Those weeks and months were hard. We had little food for parts of it, we nearly starved until we began stealing—which I still feel awful about.  O ur tent flooded one day because we were too close to the loche. Snow caved in on us another night. We worked with little progress for weeks, we brushed close to death. In that time things shifted between us. We grew even closer, and I know you know from our other conversations about intimacy what happens when a relationship becomes physical… hence what eventually led to me having you.  

Long story short, we were never officially in a relationship. Ron returned and we didn’t speak of it again. We were too caught up in fighting for our lives to even begin to imagine what would come next. When he died, I couldn’t imagine any future at all. Which is all to say that I’m not sure what would have happened had your father lived. I don’t know if we would have ended up together. I know he would have loved you. Maybe our lives wouldn’t have been straightforward, but we would have figured things out one way, or another. Losing him made me realise that all the things I’d worried about were meaningless compared to the void left by his death. And his death untethered me from life. 

It was discovering that I was going to have you that brought me back to the world. I see so much of him in you, which has always been a gift. 

None of this is easy to write, I imagine it isn’t easy to read but I made a promise; I’ll answer any question you have. I hope this gives you some answers. At Christmas we’ll talk through all of this more. It might be easier than letters, or harder. I’m not sure. I just know that I want to see your face and be there with you when we talk and I can’t wait to hold you in my arms.

Everyone here sends their love and misses you. I’m sending you all the love in my heart. 

Mum

The lake was blurry when she finally looked up. She knew she would be late for class if she didn’t move soon, not that she could bring herself to care at that moment. Iris flopped back on the grass, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Her mind pin balled between all the information contained in the papers strewn around her. 

All of it clearer and somehow more muddled at the same time. 

***

“Guess who I saw the other day?” Hannah asked, smiling coyly across the table. Harry raised his eyebrows, his hands currently occupied with Ron and Susan’s youngest Mabel, who was attempting to grab his glasses. 

“Someone more handsome than Neville?” he deadpanned. She snorted and Neville shook his head, fighting a smile over the rim of his ale. When she didn’t answer Harry sighed. “Who?”

She took a bite of her treacle tart before answering. “My favourite patient.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to have favourites,” Susan teased from the otherside of Harry, leaning forward and wiping the drool from Mabel’s wobbly little chin.

“We all do,” Neville replied seriously. “We just pretend not to.” 

Harry tried to smile, but his mind quickly caught up. “Iris?”

Hannah nodded. His stomach dipped and mind raced. “Don’t worry, Teddy wasn’t involved this time,” she added with amusement, clearly reading his expression. At his pointed look, she tossed a napkin across the table playfully. “She’s fine. Just a bit of a Quidditch mishap.”

“What’s she talking about?” Ron asked, who sat back down. He’d just settled his oldest two in front of the television in their living, having children had finally made him see the merits of it after all. He’d told Harry it was the only thing that made them ‘sit bloody still for more than two seconds.’

“Hannah’s favourite student,” Susan answered. 

Ron turned to the blonde. “As injury prone as your husband?”

“Hey!” Neville protested. “Gardening is dangerous work alright?”

Harry listened to the familiar back and forth. The full delicious home cooked meal he’d just eaten sitting heavy in his stomach. Not that he couldn’t pinpoint why. He always felt a little off at the start of the school year. Although September was always hard, regardless of teaching. His mind jumped back to the student in question. The resemblance to Hermione made it impossible not to notice her. 

Hagrid had commented at supper only days before that his heart had nearly stopped at the sight of her—Harry’s own heart still tightened uncomfortably in her presence. A reminder of everything he would never have. He glanced down at Mabel who gave him a gummy smile, reaching a chubby fist once more for his glasses. Moments like this, with the weight of her in his arms he envied Ron so much. The feeling like being sucker punched. 

Iris was simply another painful reminder of all that wasn’t meant to be.

“Harry?” Susan’s voice startled him back to reality. “Did you want me to take her?”

He looked back down at Mabel with her head covered in wisps of red hair resting against him, eyelashes flush to her chubby cheeks, rosebud mouth ajar and moving like a goldfish. Harry relished being an Uncle to many. A godfather of two, Teddy and Ron and Susan’s oldest, Mia. Still, there was an ache that was directly linked to his biggest loss. 

“I’ve got her,” he said quietly, adjusting Mabel in his arms, which only caused her to stretch and settle further into him. Her weight, a small comfort amidst the weight in his heart.

***

The next morning a pewter sky greeted Harry when he walked out of the castle.  There was only a hint of chill as the month dipped closer to autumn. He took to the air once he drew closer to the lake and spent the next hour flying the grounds and circling Hogsmead. Up in the clouds it was always easier for him to clear his head. He kept an eye on the time and eventually made his way towards the pumpkin patch and disembarked to wait. 

He didn’t have to wait long. 

“Uncle Harry!” Victoire’s melodic voice reached him from afar. Teddy at her side. The two of them were dressed for flying in old Quidditch jumpers and padded trousers. 

“Wasn’t sure if you two were standing me up,” Harry said when they grew closer.

“You know Teddy. He can’t be on time for anything,” she huffed, pulling her blonde hair up and into a large knot on her head.

His godson rolled his eyes. “Yeah whatever.”

“I see you two are back on speaking terms.” Both of them turned pink and he laughed, mounting his broom. “What do you think? Towards Hogsmead, or across the forest?”

After a short lively debate it was decided on the forest, Vctoire eager to spot a unicorn or a centaur. Harry didn’t have the heart to tell her that the odds were incredibly slim.

“You enjoying yourself Ms Weasley?” he called over the wind, when they hovered over the far east side towards the mountains.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! It's every bit as wonderful as I’d hoped.”

“How about you Teddy, ready for tryouts?” Teddy nodded, fidgeting on his broom. “We can go through some drills if you’d like?” 

Relief painted his features and they circled back around to where the Quidditch pitch was, the Ravenclaw team tossing them a quaffle for practice as they departed. 

They both ran through each drill before Victoire dropped out to hover near Harry half way through.

“You’re making lots of new friends I hear?”

She smiled. “I feel lucky with the girls in my year. We have loads of fun.” He returned her smile, eyes back on Teddy. “I could be stuck with horrid Naomi and Meredith.”

Harry hummed noncommittally, glancing at Victoire whose features had darkened more than the heavy clouds above them. “You're still bothered about the other day?”

“Yes,” she muttered, sitting back on her broom. “You’d be too if you’d heard the awful things she was saying.”

“If she said something I need to report to the Headmistress Vic, you should tell me. We have a zero tolerance policy around slurs or derogatory language about blood—”

“It wasn’t her blood status,” Victoire said, crossing her arms. “It was more… personal than that.”

Her words cut through him more than the chill. “You know I need to ask you what was said.”

“She’ll be cross with me if I do,” she said anxiously. “Iris is super private about stuff.”

Harry wiped a hand across his face. “If it’s that bad I need to follow up.”

“I—” Victoire started.

“Oi! You’re not even watching!” Teddy cried.

He sighed, raising his voice to call across the wind. “I need a minute Ted. Do another lap while you wait.”

He shot them both a disgruntled look, but zoomed away toward the other end of the pitch.

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. “Is this something I need to be involved with?”

Victoire deflated. “I don’t think so…I just don’t want her sitting near us. I— Iris would kill me for telling but…she said something awful about her father…I know her feelings were hurt.”

A pang shot through him. He knew that had been true from tears in her eyes and it had nagged at him. 

“How about I come up with a seating plan?” he offered.

“Can you seat her in the corridor? Or better yet in the pile of dung behind the greenhouse?”

He held in a laugh and released her. “How about near the back and opposite corner?”

“Can we have the front row?” she asked, brightening considerably.

“Alright, but the far side. I can’t look like I’m playing favourites.”

“We are though? Right?”

“I’ll never tell,” he said, grinning at her before he called Teddy back to them.

***

“Right. Aim a tad higher,” Harry directed a gangly Ravenclaw boy. 

The classroom was filled with the swirl of magic, excited and exasperated voices. Classes where he didn’t just lecture the students were Harry’s favourite. Walking between the rows, he stopped to assess  their progress and help them grasp the wand work. It was something he relished even years later, the click of understanding and connecting with their magic. His first years were doing their first bit of defensive magic; a basic shield. 

Some faculty had scoffed that it was too advanced for the first term. Harry disagreed. He knew better than most that students should be able to protect themselves. They had to work hard, and he heard more than a few groans as they struggled to produce the more advanced spell. They took turns sending harmless sparks at one another and practised blocking them

Edith came close, Harry stepped in to correct her grip and she produced a fleeting one that had her grinning. He then watched Meredith deflect Naomi’s weak sparks with vigour, but failed to get a shield to hold and she had to keep recasting. Other students struggled to even get any results, but it was still only the first day and Harry had faith they would get there. Without fail over the last four years he had managed to teach all his students how to cast one within the first month.

“I know this is hard everyone, but keep at it. Any progress is good.”

Harry reached the front of the class. The desks had been banished temporarily. Students huddled in their pairs. He glanced over to the far corner. Victoire patted Iris on the shoulder, face shadowed by her curls as she hung her head.

“Everything alright girls?”

Iris remained silent and Victoire looked up at him anxiously. “I think so.”

“Iris?” 

She released a shaky breath. “I can’t do it.”

“You’re getting closer,” Victoire said. 

Iris bit down on her lip and shook her head. 

“Show me,” he said. Her eyes darted to his. “I have full faith in you. Let me see and I’ll try to help.”

She paused, then steadied her wand and after a moment recited the spell. He observed that her wrist movement was perfect, the incantation clear, still, only the tiniest hint of a shimmer appeared and faded in a blink. Iris refused to meet his eyes.

“Hmm. Everything you did looked right,” he said, taking a step closer. “You have excellent movement with your hands.” Her shoulders were hunched. “I wonder if anything is blocking you.”

She frowned and her face lifted. “What do you mean?”

He pointed at her head and her eyes widened causing him to smile.

“What are you thinking about when you perform the charm?”

Iris only fidgeted on the spot, once more studying her feet. 

“You do put too much pressure on yourself,” Victoire chimed in and Iris shot her a look. “It’s true! You twist yourself into knots about getting everything perfect.”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t.”

Victoire only arched an eyebrow and Iris mumbled something under her breath.

Harry placed a hand on each girl's shoulder. “Alright. We aren’t looking  for perfection,” he assured, turning his attention to Iris. “I want you to let go of every thought about getting this right.” He studied her another moment, pushing out a memory of Hermione with an equally exasperated expression. “It might be easier if you close your eyes.”

Iris tilted her head upwards, frown morphing into scepticism, which did little to alleviate the similarities. Harry pushed it back further as he released them. “Obviously that’s not ideal in a real world scenario while defending yourself but it can help filter out distractions…help you tap into your magic. You’ve performed magic without a wand?” She nodded sheepishly. “What feels different about it?”

“I—it just happens.”

“Exactly. It’s an unconscious intent or desire. Often it’s done to protect you, your defences already kicking in well before your of age to use a wand.” Her eyes widened, he loved the moment where he saw the click with his own eyes. With Iris it changed the entire countenance of her face. “Do you have any experiences of that?” he asked, already knowing what her answer would be.

“Yes.”

He lowered himself so he was at her eye level. “I want to take it a step further. Who is the most important person to you?”

She stared at him before grasping the gold chain at her throat. “I—my mum.”

“Right. Think of your Mum. She’s next to you, you want to protect her. Can you tap into that feeling?”

A strange sensation spread through him as he looked at Iris, like he’d been stunned as she nodded. The look of determination on her face went right through him. Her familiarity was no less startling than the first time. Her eyes closed, arm raised. Victoire shot off the sparks and Iris moved her wand through the air, silver shooting out of it that wrapped around where they stood; a full shield charm around them both.

He stared at it, and then back at the small girl who’d conjured it. Her eyes opened and she jerked her arm causing it to vanish, but she’d seen it. She tilted her face up to his, determination giving away to awe, then a radiant smile that hit him in the chest. The desire to pick her up and spin her around, to shout in excitement at her accomplishment seized him. If it had been Victoire or Teddy he might have.  Her smile faded and they stared at one another speechless.

“Merlin’s pants! That was incredible!” Victoire cried, Harry’s attention drew outwards to find the entire class silent and watching.

When he looked back at Iris, her cheeks had gone a deep pink. She seemed to shrink under the scrutiny. It wasn’t his imagination, she was rather tiny. It hit him just how young she was to have cast something so powerful.

He coughed, clearing his tight throat. “I agree with Ms Weasley. Twenty points to Gryffindor. That…that has to be the strongest shield I’ve ever seen a first year produce within the first lesson.”

Iris stood a bit taller, cheeks only flushing further, but looking distinctly pleased. More memories invaded as he took her in, how many times had he seen a similar expression on another face?

Harry swallowed his sadness and managed a smile. “Brilliant work Ms Everdeen.”

***

Iris tucked her jacket tighter around her, she’d thrown her robes over top but was still chilled. Despite the clear sky it was getting colder each day. As she stared down at the Quidditch pitch and her friends chattered around her, she lost herself in the facts that were now lodged in her brain as well as her notebook. The project she’d set out for herself consumed most of her thoughts these days. All the information she’d garnered from overheard conversation, observation and reading were like worry stones that she went over and over. 

A few of the facts she’d learned, at least the ones she ruminated on most were the following; her father had never married, he also didn’t have any other children, and beyond that it was hard to find much else due to him being notoriously private. Information on his life was sparse. From what she had found in the library, it mostly covered some of the tales she already knew from Mum. 

However, Iris had done her best to observe him first hand whenever possible. Some of the things she’d catalogued were his expressions, such as how he pinched his nose when he was frustrated. A habit she’d noticed when she saw him having a tense conversation with another Professor, and from when he’d docked marks on a rowdy group of boys outside the great hall. Mostly though he didn’t seem to take himself too seriously. Despite the legacy he carried, he was quick to smile and joke with those around him. He was also quick to put students at ease in defence class. Still, there was an air of intensity about him at other times that she couldn’t help notice. She supposed it would be impossible not to with the life he’d had.

Outside of what she’d read and seen directly, all the other information had come from Victoire. Top of which was that he flew regularly—often with Teddy. Jealousy still thrummed through her if she thought about it too much. 

She also knew he was a good friend of Hannah’s and Professor Longbottom’s, along with being super close with all of Victories family, who were like his own. A passing comment from Teddy added his love for treacle tart to her growing list of facts. He’d also had a grumpy cat, something she learned from an angry scar on Teddy’s arm that had failed to heal even years later. Despite her best efforts, the information she truly wanted eluded her. How did one find out how someone felt about having children without asking directly? 

She also had no way to know if he missed Mum the way she missed him. She hadn’t devised a way to even risk asking about her, or the brightest witch, as she was known in the textbook— even to Victoire. The deceitfulness was simply too outright for her comfort, and she was sure she wouldn’t be able to bring up the subject without immediately giving herself away.

Thinking of her Mum made her stomach twist. As  their phone call loomed, her internal battle on what to do only grew. Did she hold out until October, or simply spill the truth that bubbled up her throat more each day? Doing it when she could hear her voice felt less odd than trying to put it in a letter. Either way it had to be her Mum that she broke the news to. She didn’t dare tell him first.

A jostling at her side drew Iris’s attention back to the present. 

“Sorry!” Isobel said, rustling around with the papers on her lap. 

“S’okay,” she replied, forcing a smile. 

“Are you alright?” Isobel asked, dark eyes searching. 

Iris did her best to school her face from whatever it was doing. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Are they starting yet?” Edith seated in front of her asked, craning to see. 

“Soon,” Victoire replied, a pair of strange binoculars in her hands.

“Mind if we join?” The voice behind her nearly made her fall into Isobel. 

“Of course!” Victoire said, footsteps came around and then took a seat directly in front of Iris and next to Victoire and Edith, who stared wide eyed as the two Professors and school Healer joined them. Iris stayed huddled next to Isobel who had also gone silent. None of them were quite as outgoing as Victoire.

“Hi Iris,” Hannah said, her dimples on full display and cheeks flushed from the cold. She looked fashionable in a muggle style coat, Iris found it strange to see her without her Healer robes.

“Hi,” she said back. 

Victoire set to work introducing them all to Hannah before they quieted as the try outs started. Iris couldn’t see much without binoculars, and sitting so close to her father in a casual setting made her unsure what to do with herself. Unable to see and wanting a distraction, she reached into her bag and drew out her latest library check out.

Familial Magic: the ties that bind us by Gifford Teller.

A little on the nose for the moment, but the subject had sparked her curiosity. Not that she could focus all that well at that moment. Whenever she looked up, it was his dark messy hair she saw out of the corner of her eyes. He would either be intently watching the field, his gaze on Teddy, or he was laughing at something the others said. 

Iris’s own hearing felt muffled with the wind and her own thoughts that pressed in like she was being squeezed by the giant squid. 

“Some light reading?”

She tore her eyes from the page that she’d read twice over, to see Hannah casually leaning over. Iris shrugged. “I suppose so.”

After a curious look she held up the book and Hannah lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting.” She turned towards Isobel. “How about you?”

Isobel looked down sheepishly before showing her sketch. 

“Oh wow!” Hannah said, leaning closer. Isobel had drawn a lifelike portrait of a dark cat curled by the fireplace.

“It’s Brigid. Iris’s kitten.”

“You captured her perfectly,” Iris said, fingering the corner of the page. 

“That’s an adorable name.”

“After St Brigid. Right?” Isobel asked. 

She nodded, smiling at the thought of her little wisp of a cat. “The goddess actually. She had cooler powers.”

“Iris is a goddess as well, isn’t she?” Hannah asked, sitting back. 

“Yes, Greek,” Iris replied, meeting Hannah’s gaze.  “Mum thought about naming me Brigid since I was born the day before Inblock, which is her day in Ireland, but apparently her heart had been set on Iris for months.”

“Well it’s a good name. Do you know what it means?”

“Goddess of sea and sky,” she said,  “And rainbows. Mum said she liked that she represents new beginnings. It’s also a flower name which… which she—she likes…they symbolise hope and valour,” she finished awkwardly, having nearly given away that it was a family tradition on her father’s side.

“Suits you just fine I think,” Hannah said, with a wink. Iris flushed and she noticed that her father had tilted his head towards them. “Your Mum sounds like an interesting person, she knows an awful lot,” Hannah continued and Iris twitched in her seat. 

“She researches mythology for work,” she said carefully, aware of each word she said.  “She’s also working on a doctorate in history. There’s not much she doesn’t know.” 

“You take after her?” Iris startled and Hannah pointed at the book. “Research.”

“Er—yeah. Right, yeah.”

Hannah gave her a rueful smile and shook her head. “How about you Isobel, how did you get your name?” 

Isobel told them about her great grandmother then there was a hush as tryouts went into full force. Harry was focused, elbows on his knees as he bent forward as far as possible, his eyes glued to Teddy who streaked through the air as a scarlet blur. When he faced off with the Gryffindor keeper, Victoire had her hands in her mouth and Harry was practically crouched in anticipation.

It was hard to tell who cheered louder when he scored. 

The mood was happy and light, which made Iris feel all the more awful for the knots in her stomach. As the tryouts began to wind down, Victoire, Edith and Melody ran off to the loo, but Iris stayed frozen to the bench, pressed against Isobel for warmth.

“So I heard you're quite the natural.” Her father’s voice had the immediate effect of making her head snap up.

Iris shifted, finding it hard to meet the green of his eyes directly. “Er…I dunno.”

“You caught the snitch!” Isobel chimed in.

“Yeah…before I was knocked out of the air.”

“I have it on good authority that wasn’t your fault,” Harry replied. “Victoire isn’t one to mince words.” Iris lifted her eyes to his and he was smiling. “Did you like flying?” he asked, when she didn’t respond.

“Yes,” she said, holding tightly to the book on her lap. “It was…unlike anything else.”

“You’d never flown before?” Professor Longbottom asked with disbelief. 

“No,” she said, hesitating before lowering her voice, as if she might overhear all the way from Edinburgh.  “Mum doesn’t like heights.”

He tilted his head. “You don’t mind them though?”

She wasn’t about to tell him she took after him so she only nodded instead.The whistle blew indicating that tryouts had wrapped up for the afternoon. 

“You should join us sometime,” he said, stretching and standing. “Teddy and Vic. We fly on Sundays.”

“Oh—I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Her father shook his head. “Nonsense. Isobel, you're of course welcome to join as well.”

“Thanks but I like to stay on the ground,” she replied. 

“Hear, hear,” Professor Longbottom added.

“Will you be at tryouts next year?” Hannah asked Iris.

She chewed on her bottom lip, closing the heavy book. “I doubt it.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

Iris shrugged, face warming despite the cold wind at the attention of the three adults.  “I—I’m behind everyone else.”

Hannah and Harry exchanged looks. “There’s plenty of time to learn,” he reassured her. Iris swallowed, any words she could muster vanished as the other girls returned with a sweaty but pleased looking Teddy. 

His attention and warmth now went directly towards his godson. He ruffled Teddy’s damp hair and pulled him in for a hug, murmuring something that Iris didn’t catch that caused Teddy’s smile to grow even brighter. She hated herself for the sick feeling in her stomach. Never had she wanted to trade places with someone more. 

“You alright?” Hannah asked. 

Iris met her hazel eyes and immediately looked back down, not trusting herself to speak. She nodded. Everyone seemed ready to get out of the cold and have lunch. Iris’s own appetite was lost, her stomach too full of emotion. She grabbed her small purple bag, another repurposing from Mum. The beads had mostly fallen off, and the two of them had cross stitched it with tiny flowers. She shoved the book in forcibly and it accommodated it easily. 

Iris rather wished it would swallow her up too. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: September Nineteenth

“And I also understood: Grief is a private thing. God, is it a private thing.”
― Elizabeth Strout, Lucy by the Sea

Hermione was wide awake—had been for hours. At some point in the night she’d become a year older, and had started yet another decade without him.

Ageing was a gift—she knew this better than most. She would give anything to know what Harry would be like now. Birthdays were always a reminder of what had been lost. Which was likely the reason she’d always tried so hard to make them memorable for her daughter. Hermione didn’t want to take any of it for granted.  So she worked to be grateful for what she had, for Iris, and the life they shared together. Even though that felt like it was slipping by too quickly. Hermione glanced at the photo next to her bed of Iris at eight months old. Only a solitary tooth poking out from her gums, tiny nose scrunched as she mugged for the camera.

She swore Iris had just been a baby in her arms with her wispy curls, and large beautiful eyes. Then she’d been a stubborn toddler, strong willed with wild hair, tromping around in her favourite wellies. Then a curious little girl with a big heart and bright laugh. Now it felt like she’d blinked to have those versions replaced with the eleven year old she had seen off on the train. Still stubborn, curious and big hearted, with wild hair and green eyes that took her breath away. Hermione’s heart was already heavier without her today. She felt selfish missing her so desperately. For the first time in years they wouldn’t be spending her birthday going to their favourite café together, or spending the afternoon exploring the city, or the riverside at Dean Park, their park Iris had always called it. 

She knew from Iris’s near daily letters that school was going well. That she had made friends and loved (most) of her classes. All of it a relief, though it did little to relieve the ache of missing her. Hermione absently rubbed her hand over her heart, still focused on the photo. She hated that Hogwarts was so isolated. Shouldn’t parents at least get monthly visits like they did at the Muggle schools?

At her irritated sigh, the body next to her stirred. Hermione startled, lost in thought she had almost forgotten he was there. Blue eyes blinked open and a slow smile spread across his face. 

“Morning.”

“Morning,” she managed, pulling the covers over herself.

Her birthday plans with friends the night before had spiralled. The loneliness leading her here. Guilt intruded, even though it shouldn’t. He placed a hand, heavy and warm over her abdomen.

“Fancy breakfast birthday girl?”

Hermione breathed out. This was her life. Not the one she’d longed for, but hers all the same. She returned his smile. “Sounds lovely.”

***

The day was bright, even with the sun back behind the heavy clouds, a nearly permanent fixture in the Edinburgh sky. Despite the strange mix of feelings this day brought and Iris being gone, Hermione was enjoying herself. Seeing Iris’s traditional birthday order of blueberry crepes on the menu had made her heart stutter, but overall she was happy to be in a place filled with so many memories of her favourite person, and to be laughing and engaged with the world. Many of the same faces from last night had joined them, all of them a bit worse for wear. Their group sat under a striped awning, the bustle of the weekend crowds that filed Stockbridge filtering by. 

“Welcome to your thirties, your hangovers are about to get a thousand times worse, ” said Margo, clinking her glass of mimosa.

She’d laughed commiseratingly. Her temple had been throbbing when she woke up, and she’d vowed that she would learn how to brew a hangover potion. Seeing Iris’s brand new textbook had made her crack open some of her long neglected advanced texts from her own school days. She’d already spent several evenings pouring over and inhaling the knowledge that had once been at the centre of her life. Thoughts of magic were swiftly carried away with the conversation and delicious food as she savoured her eggs florentine. 

They were just squaring the bill when her phone rang. Hermione dug around in her bag, expecting to see Annie’s familiar number only to see the same one from two weeks before. She shot up out of her seat, fumbling to answer.

“Hello?”

“Mum?” 

She breathed out in relief. Colin peered up in confusion and she mouthed Iris’s name. He nodded, indicating that he would pay and she was too eager to hear her daughter to argue with him.

“Hi sweetheart!” she said, moving away from the table with an apologetic wave.

“Happy Birthday!” 

Hermione smiled, turning the corner into a cobblestone alley. “Thanks love. Are you doing well? No more vomiting?” 

“Completely vomit free.”

“Glad to hear.” She leaned her back against the cool brick, shivering through her cardigan. “I don’t know how long you have but tell me everything.”

Iris paused. “I’ve already written everything to you.”

Hermione’s smile widened at the familiar tone, closing her eyes and picturing her daughter’s petulant expression. “I want to hear it in your voice.”

After a deep sight, Iris told her everything again, but now Hermione could jump in with questions. She listened raptly to the details of her classes, more stories of her friends. Hermione’s cheeks ached from smiling, grateful her daughter was finding people to connect with in the new world she was a part of. Pride and grief went through her when she described in a wavering voice, how she was the first in her defence class to perform a full shielding spell. 

“We watched the try outs and Teddy made the team so Victoire has already started planning how we’ll dress up for the first game. Against Slytherin.” The last bit said with disdain that nearly distracted her from the name. 

“Teddy—Teddy Lupin?”

Iris released a breath. “Er—yeah.”

Suddenly she wasn’t in Stockbridge, but the warm living room at Shell Cottage. 

“Oh.”

“Do…do you know him,” Iris asked. 

“No. I mean—I know his parents. I—” she faltered and then forced herself to straighten. No more omissions. “Love. I’m sorry but I hadn’t thought of it. Your father was his godfather. Teddy’s father was a good friend of your grandfather James.”

An unusual heaviness seemed to settle through the invisible connection. 

“Love?” she finally asked, her full stomach suddenly tightening at Iris’s silence.

“I’m here,” she said softly, there was another long pause. “Are you having a good birthday?” 

She relaxed back against the bricks. “Yes, it’s been good so far.”

“Any plans?”

“Nothing too exciting. Just finished breakfast with some old friends, and we went out last night.”

“Wow. you're becoming a right party animal Mum.”

“Hardly,” she said, with a laugh.

“I’m glad you aren’t letting old age hold you back,” she deadpanned.

Hermione snorted. “Can I always count on you for your honesty, can’t I?” 

Like an invisible weight, the heavy silence descended again. Was their connection weak? 

“Iris?” 

Iris cleared her throat. “Yeah, sorry. Are you seeing Annie and Rosie?”

“Later for supper,” she confirmed, a shadow appeared in the already darkened alleyway. Colin blocked out the bit of sun shining through.

He shot her a questioning look, Iris’s voice nearly made her jump. “Mum?”

“Sorry sweetheart, I'm here.”

“Do you have to go?” The anxiety in her voice was palpable.

“No. I’ll talk as long as you like,” she assured her. She met Colin’s questioning gazed and mouthed an apology. He simply shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I—I wanted to talk to you about something. I—” the tone in her voice, instantly made her straighten.

“What is it love?”

A horn beeped loudly and made her jump. 

“What was that?” Iris asked anxiously.

“Just a taxi I believe,” she replied, craning her neck towards the street.

All she heard was Iris’s breathing for a moment. “Where are you?” 

“Around the corner from The Pantry.”

“Are you alone?”  

“No, Colin, Rachel and Margo joined me.”

A different kind of silence fell over them, one that had become more familiar as Iris grew out of childhood and into her adolescence. 

“You took him to our place?” she asked, sounding wounded.

Hermione held in a sigh. “They asked where I wanted to go and Margo hadn't been.”

“Were you out with him last night?” the tightness in her voice cut through the line.

Her stomach dipped before she realised Iris hadn’t meant it like that. Of course she didn’t know exactly what had happened. Hermione hummed. “Yes, all the uni gang went out.”

“Is he with you now?”

She swallowed the guilt and settled on the truth. “He’s going to walk me home.”

Her eyes darted back to Colin, who was checking his own phone. A fancy new iphone he was often glued to. 

“Are you going to date him?” asking that, her voice sounded years younger.

An image of Iris came to her, as she’d been at all of four going on five. The first time she’d introduced Colin. Her tiny body hiding behind Hermione’s legs, unusually shy and reluctant. Hermione rubbed her temple. She had no intention of lying to her, not that she knew. 

“I’m not sure Iris,” she said softly, she pushed off the wall and moved further into the alley. “I promise if anything changes I’ll let you know.” Iris sniffed and she bit down on her lip. “Would that be so bad?”

The line went silent, until she heard a hiccuped breath. A straight giveaway that Iris was crying. 

She cupped the phone, wishing she could hold her. “Sweet girl, you’ll always be first in everything for me. Always.”

“It’s not that…” she whispered. 

“What is it?”

Iris released a shuddered breath. “Nothing. I—I’m sorry Mum. Will you give my love to Annie and Rosie?”

“Of course.”

“I should go,” she said quietly. “I love you. Hope you have a good birthday.”

Hermione’s chest was tight. “It’s better having heard your voice. I can stay on the line if you want me to.”

“No…it’s alright. I should give the phone back anyways.”

She nodded, turning and glancing back towards Colin still staring at his own phone. “Alright love. Please tell your friend that I adore the drawing of you and Brigid, I’ve hung it near the register at the shop.”

“I will,” Iris’s voice was shaking and Hermione’s heart only grew tighter.

Hermione tilted her head up to the cloudy sky that was visible through the narrow space between the old sandstone buildings. “I love you across the sky.”

“I love you to the bottom of the sea,” Iris replied. “Bye Mummy.”

Tears threatened to fall at the rare use of the word she’d been called until recently. “Bye my love.”

Only when the line disconnected did she breathe in, cursing the physical distance between them. 

A hand on her back made her whirl around. Colin stood there, eyebrows raised.

“Everything alright?”

Hermione sucked in a breath, using the heel of her hand to catch the tears that had gathered. “Yes, fine.”

He nodded, moving his hand to the small of her back. She let him guide them out of the alley towards their friends. 

“How’s the squirt?”

She managed to smile, imagining Iris’s scrunched angry face at the nickname she despised. “She’s good.”

Hermione hoped with everything that was true. The pauses and dips in her mood over the phone was something she’d likely be analysing for days.

***

“Oh no! Why the long face?” Hannah’s voice made Iris nearly jump out of her chair. Iris wiped at her eyes furiously. Cheeks heating in embarrassment. 

Hannah crouched down in front of her. She wasn’t in her usual Healing robes, but a flowing navy skirt and pink blouse. Apparently it was her day off but she’d come up to the hospital wing to let Iris use her phone, an act of kindness that only made her want to cry harder. Maybe she shouldn’t have called, it only hurt more talking to her and not having had the courage to follow through on telling her the truth. The adrenaline of it, still causing her to shake. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hannah asked gently, conjuring a tissue and passing it to Iris. 

“I—it’s stupid,” Iris mumbled, wiping at her nose.

“Well it has you upset…so I don’t think it can be that stupid.”

She released a shuddered breath. “My mum—she—she’s—” Iris closed her eyes as she forced the words out. “I think she’s going to get a boyfriend.”

“And that bothers you,” Hannah said, not framing it as a question but Iris nodded anyway. “What about it bothers you?”

Everything. 

“I don’t know. I—” She balled the tissue that Hannah had placed in her hands. “She’s never had one before.”

“Change is hard, isn’t it?” Iris nodded, her throat too tight. “You’ve had a lot this last little while?” She could only nod again as she began to cry harder. Hannah patted her knee. “It’s okay to feel all of what you’re feeling.”

She didn’t say anything more and Iris tried to pull herself back together.  “I want her to be happy but I—” 

She squeezed her eyes shut again. All of it was heavy. She hated having to lie.

“Of course you do,” Hannah murmured, handing her a fresh napkin. “I’m sure there are layers to this.” Iris cringed and Hannah gave her knee another gentle pat. “You don’t have to tell me any if you don’t want to either…but my door is always open.”

Iris roughly wiped her wet cheeks. “Why are you so nice to me?”

Hannah gave a small nod, fighting a smile. “Well. First of all, you're quite funny to talk to.” Her dimples grew deeper and Iris’s own lips pulled up despite herself. “Also when I was at Hogwarts my Mum got ill and I had good friends…but often I’d wanted a grown up to talk to—especially after she passed.” 

Her eyes blurred. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It’s painful but you do learn to live with it,” she said, face softening. “I’ve gathered, maybe you know something about that?”

Iris nodded, biting down on her lip. Unsure how to feel now that she no longer fit into the category as someone who’d lost a parent. Hannah smoothed out her blue swishy skirt as she straightened, giving Iris a knowing grin. “Alright. I do have a stash of chocolate. It doesn’t fix all problems, but it doesn’t hurt to try it on this.”

***

It was warmer the further south Harry flew, though not by much. He made this journey alone every year. Grief, among other things, was made up of small rituals. 

He touched down amongst the towering trees, the brook babbling in the distance and a lake he’d nearly drowned in years before somewhere close by. He wasn’t sure why he came to this place in particular. As he moved through the ancient trees he wondered if he was searching for when it had all started to come apart. Even with the painful memories, Harry felt closer to Hermione in the woods. Anything that inspired awe made him feel more connected to her. 

This also happened when he stepped foot in any bookshop, particularly a second hand one. The smell of old paper one he would always associate to her memory. A whole host of them, from first year when she’d dumped a dust filled tome onto the table to tell him and Ron about Nicholas Flammel, to sixth year when they’d spent countless hours in the library together. Or how he used to watch her sitting on the red sofa, curled around any number of ancient books, searching for answers.

There was also St Lucia day, the candlelight ceremony at her grandmother’s church that he’d attended in the early years. He’d clung to the idea that he would catch sight of her. This hope had of course been shattered years before. Harry had yet to return, unable to face the pews filled with spectators that weren’t her. Who would never be her. The memories of that time made it hard to breathe and he forced himself to keep walking. Not that it hadn’t been on his mind all week. Remus’s letter had given him a lot of food for thought about the upcoming mission. He was still debating if he had it in him to join. His heart hadn’t been in it since the one that had broken him so thoroughly. 

Except he knew the importance of fighting. They would never rid the world of evil, but they could ensure the rest of those bastards were caught.

Harry sat down on a worn log, breathing in the fresh air. He wondered when peace would come. Would it be easier if he did go? He wasn’t sure what to believe about the idea of closure. If it really existed, or if it was only an idea people used to comfort themselves. No answers came to him sitting there, or when he continued his walk through the forest, or later at his solitary lunch in a pub near the Peak District. 

He resigned himself to getting through the rest of the day and apparated just outside of Edinburgh, then flew the rest of the way up north. His frayed mind was actually able to relax, the need to focus on not hitting any birds forced him to be present. The light was weak when he returned to the castle, windswept and exhausted. He was already regretting his plans for supper with everyone at Hannah and Neville’s. Socialising was about the last thing he felt like doing as he trudged back towards his living quarters. He resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t get out of it without causing a fuss and hopped in the shower. 

Harry had just finished when a series of frantic knocks on his door came one after another. He threw on a fresh t-shirt and jeans and answered mid knock, causing Teddy to nearly fall into him.

“Merlin Teddy. What is it?” 

He glanced behind Teddy to see Victoire and Iris standing together. Victoire practically bounced on the balls of her feet and Iris stared down at the stone floor.

“You're seeing everyone, yeah?” Teddy asked. 

His eyes flew back to Teddy. “Er—yeah.”

Teddy grinned. “Cool. Hannah invited us to come too.”

“You know you aren’t supposed to leave the school grounds,” he said with a sigh.

“We won’t! It’s technically on the grounds,” Teddy immediately argued back. 

“Technically it’s out of bounds for students.”

“Details, details,” Teddy said with a wave of his hand before lowering his voice. “Who's going to tell?”

Harry stared down at his godson, gaze darting back to the two girls. “We haven’t asked Victoire or Iris’s parents.”

Victoire rolled her eyes. “You know they won’t care.”

Iris chewed on her lip, not looking up. 

“Please Uncle Harry? I want to see Mabel!” Victoire pleaded, bringing her clasped hands under her chin.

He ran a hand through the damp strands of his hair. “I don’t know…”

Victoire was most likely right about Bill and Fleur, who may be joining for all he knew. Iris’s Mum on the other hand…

An awkward beat of silence passed before Iris cleared her throat. “I—I don’t have to come.” 

“Iris—” Victoire started but she shook her head

“No,” she replied, shoving her hands into her jean pockets.  “I told you it wasn’t a good idea,” she scuffed her trainers. “I’ve got a giant potions essay I haven’t finished anyways.” She gave a tight smile and ignored Victoire’s protest. 

Only a few steps down the corridor, Harry surprised himself. “Iris?” She turned, looking even more shocked. “Do you like treacle tart?”

Her eyes widened. “Er—yeah.”

“Good. Susan’s is delicious.” He turned back to Teddy. “Let me just grab my robes. You have the cloak?”

Teddy gave him the familiar smile he’d been giving since he was only a foot high; the one where Harry had given in to his demand and he was far too pleased about it. He’d never been good at denying him much.

Harry nodded. “Right. Then we’re all set.”

***

Iris stared up at the sky which was still lit, sun low as the day bled away. Huddled against Teddy’s back, with Victoire behind her, she did her best to stay balanced. When they drew closer to the edge of the forbidden forest, past Hagrid’s small hut, her father signalled to Teddy that he could remove the cloak. The air was cooler but welcomed after being squished between the others. Anxiety still swirled inside her at what she had agreed to. She glanced at Victoire who talked animatedly with Teddy and held in a sigh, she was unfairly persuasive. 

She had met her at the hospital wing earlier. Hannah mentioned the supper, extending an invite to Iris who’d immediately said no. But noting Iris' low mood the rest of the afternoon Victoire remained determined to get her to come along and eventually succeeded. That and the curiosity burning inside her winning out over self preservation. It was too hard to pass on the chance to observe her father outside the walls of the school.

She didn’t keep up with the conversation, preferring to stare up at the towering trees. This was the closest she’d come to the out of bounds forest, her father led them to a path that snaked through the woods. In the thicket of evergreens she could feel the hum of what could only be magic. Rosie had once told her that trees spoke to one another beneath the ground. She wondered if perhaps all trees had a bit of magic in them. A spark seemed to jump up her arm, aware at once that her father was now walking beside her. She glanced at him, his eyes were shadowed but the set of his face showed concern.

“Are you sure your Mum won’t mind?” 

“No. She won’t,” she said quickly, holding in a grimace.

Guilt like anxiety was a constant companion of hers these days, and she carried it with her wherever she went. 

Soon a small stone cottage came into view. A babbling stream separated it from the path, but a rickety little bridge created a passageway. Nestled in the forest, it reminded her of something from the fairytales she’d loved when she was younger. As much as she adored the city, she had always harboured a desire to live in one just like it, set on the edge of the forest, or the sea. Rays of weakened sunlight filtered through the trees, basking it in a warm golden glow enhanced by the large glass windows that also spilled out their light. 

“Are you coming?” Victoire called. Iris hadn’t realised she’d stopped and quickly jogged to catch up. “It’s lovely isn’t it?” 

“It’s splendid,” Iris replied and Victoire grinned. 

They made their way to the wooden door which swung open before they could knock. Hannah stood there, casual in Muggle jeans, the same pink blouse from that morning, and hair swept up in a fancy plait. 

“Look, it's the whole crew!”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth did a blur of tiny figures surge past her. 

“Uncle Harry!” they screeched in high pitch voices.

Iris watched gobsmacked as two red headed girls attached themselves to her father’s legs. His grin lit up his entire face. “If it isn’t Smiley and Bubbles!”

The shorter one shook her head, placing her hand on her hips. “No, no silly. That’s not our names.”

Harry put a hand to his chin. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” they cried.

“Hmm…how about Pips and…Sunshine?”

“No!” Their glee mounted as he continued to pretend to mull it over before he smacked his forehead.

“Ah. I remember now. Mia and Cora.”

“Yes!” they practically screamed, causing several birds nearby to take off into the last bit of light. “You always forget,” the smaller one said with a shake of her pigtails.

“He’s just pretending,” the older one corrected.

“No. Cora’s right. His memory is atrocious,” Teddy said, ruffling her hair and moving into the house. Victoire was greeted next and practically carried the taller one, Mia, who had jumped on her into the house.

“Who’s this?” Cora asked, she wore bright yellow tights under a violet dress. Her wide blue eyes set within a round freckled face stared deeply at Iris.

“My name’s Iris,” she told her.

Cora tilted her head, not breaking eye contact or even blinking. “Where do you come from?”

“Er—Edinburgh?” she said, glancing up at her father who grinned.

“Where’s that?” Cora asked, undaunted by Iris’s hesitation. 

Harry scooped her up. “Let’s pause the great inquisition and move inside. What do you think?”

Hannah put an arm around Iris as she came through. “Welcome. I’m so glad you came.”

Harry and Cora took off to another room and Hannah led her to the kitchen, like the outside there was stone everywhere. Drying herbs took up the far wall and there were a series of bright copper pots hanging near the stove. Professor Longbottom stood with a red headed woman near a wooden countertop. 

“Iris, this is my best friend Susan, she’s the mother of the adorable terrors,” Hannah said.

Susan stared at her for a beat before she smiled which crinkled her blue eyes set within a round face, nearly identical to Cora. Her ginger hair pulled up in a knot and like Hannah she was dressed casually in Muggle clothing. 

“So lovely to meet you,” she said warmly. 

“You too,” Iris murmured. 

“You know my husband.”

Professor Longbottom grinned. “Lo, Iris.”

Hannah pressed on her arm and began to guide her out of the room. “Now you can meet the goof she’s married to,” Hannah teased. Susan rolled her eyes but wiped her hands and waved her wand in the direction of the stove top where several pots bubbled.

Hannah gave her a mini tour, what stood out most to Iris was the plants. The small cottage was practically bursting with them. Even in the bathroom there were several tropical looking plants hanging down from the ceiling. The tour ended in the living room. Everyone else was sprawled around the squashy sofas, Victoire and Mia on the floor surrounded by dolls. 

The little girls took up most of the attention of the room’s inhabitants.  Even Teddy was currently busy brushing out the straggly hair of a doll under Cora’s assessing gaze. A red headed man was seated near the fire. Her father next to him, a chubby baby on his lap. Silence fell and Iris fidgeted under the scrutiny she could feel across the room.

Finally the red headed man blew out a breath. “Cor…you weren’t kidding.”

Harry elbowed him and gave a curt shake of his head. He stood, the baby still in his arms. “Iris, I want you to meet my good friend Ron Weasley. I think you said you’d heard of him. And more importantly, this one here is Mabel.”

Ron stood slowly. Mumbling something under his breath she didn’t catch. He moved towards her, his blue gaze searching. His throat bobbed and he reached out a hand. “It’s um…it’s nice to meet you Iris.”

“Pleasure,” she said, doing her own observation. He was older but he was like how Mum had described him. Tall, long nose, face covered in freckles. 

The silence was cut by a loud shriek of delight from Mabel. Harry beamed down at the baby and Iris’s heart felt too tight inside her. Ron let out a breath, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry…you just look like someone else.”

Iris swallowed and Harry bounced Mabel, shooting Ron a disgruntled look. 

“Where are my manners,” Hannah tutted, saving her from having to think of an answer. “Let’s get you something to drink.”

***

Before Iris knew it she was roped into the fray. Cora handed her an equally ragged hair doll that she was to brush. In the blunt honest way of children she mentioned that her hair looked a bit like the dolls and Iris laughed, even though the remark was rather cutting. The two tiny girls  were entertaining and hogged most of the attention, which suited Iris, who had little desire to be the focus. She learned loads about them as they were eager to let her know each and every thought they had. She learned that Mia was seven, liked to read and  was terrified of garden gnomes but adored unicorns. Cora was three and loved her dolls, and she was most afraid of spiders and she mentioned several times she would not be eating the green beans that were cooking.

Iris was also peppered with the odd question. Including what she was afraid of to which she’d frozen, her childhood fears of thunderstorms and sleeping alone seemed ridiculous in light of the constant state of stress she was under now.  There were also the nightmares that she hadn’t outgrown. Luckily they accepted the answer about thunderstorms. Most of their questions had to do with where she lived. Mia went wide eyed when she explained that she lived above a bookshop.

“Flourish and Blotts!” she exclaimed. 

Iris shook her head. “No. It’s a Muggle bookshop.”

“Who’s your mummy and daddy?” Cora asked rather pointendly. 

Iris was once again saved from answering by dinner being served. 

While the girls continued to distract him, Iris used every opportunity she could to observe her father. He spent a lot of the time before supper in conversation with Ron, they spoke in low voices that she didn’t overhear much of. They were interrupted frequently by Mia and Cora, and it was seeing her father interact with them that revealed more than she could have ever known from the books written of him, or seeing him teach.

Like she’d felt at the Quidditch tryouts, a sickening jealousy bloomed in her gut. He was everything she would have wanted when she was Mia and Cora’s age. He listened to them patiently, giving them all of his focus when they asked for it. He made them laugh, and the two of them clearly adored him and he them. 

Iris felt a bit like she was watching an exhibit of what her life could have been like if only things were fair. 

Her stomach remained tight and uncomfortable throughout supper. She ate the delicious food but hardly tasted it. Iris did her best to keep a smile on her face, posing for a photo that Susan took, laughing along with the others when Cora made the green beans on her plate zoom across the room without lifting a finger. Her mind couldn’t let go of what it would be like if he knew the truth. How would he treat her then? She also kept imagining what it would be like if she had a different sort of life, one where her mum had never left. She knew there was no going back. The window when she had been like Mia and Cora had firmly closed behind her.

As the meal continued on, Iris found herself growing more and more quiet. Another emotion began to intrude and did little to make her stomach feel any less terrible. Instead she broke out in a sweat. The urge to scream and scream at the unfairness shutting her throat up tight. She only managed a few bites of treacle tart. She couldn’t tell if it was as delicious as he’d promised, her body pin pricked and on edge. Finally as the dishes were cleared away, she excused herself and headed for the bathroom, then immediately changed her mind and went out the front door into the night air. 

The last of the sun was gone, an indigo sky stretching across the treetops. Outside it was easier to breathe. Iris had always found her anger easier to manage alone…at least until she’d cooled off enough to open up to her Mum. The person she most wanted to see at that moment, and who felt even further away then she was. She sat down on the stone steps, the coolness seeping in through her jeans. Iris  closed her eyes and focused on the sound of the stream that was now hidden by the darkness. She didn’t turn at the creak of the door, expecting to tell Victoire she simply needed a moment. 

“Everything alright?” Iris jerked her head at the unexpected voice. Her father stood there, hands in his pockets. He didn’t have Mabel in his arms anymore, or any little girls clinging to his legs. 

She nodded, forcing her face back towards the dark woods. “Just…needed to clear my head.”

He hummed. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Sure.”

He sank down on the same step but with a good sized gap.

“I heard you had a rough day.”

Her eyes shot to his, his profile visible in the light shining from the windows. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, eyes meeting hers. “Vic said you were having a hard time.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m fine .”

“I understand,” he said, slowly and deliberately. A sigh escaped him. “Frankly I’ve not been having the best day either,” he added, rubbing his face.

“You haven’t?” 

“No,” he said simply, the quiet stretched between them for several minutes before he added. “I just try to remind myself that it passes.”

Iris pulled her legs up, resting her chins on her knees. “What if…what if you don’t know if it will…or how it will turn out?”

“None of us ever really know how things will turn out,” he said, before giving her a small smile.  “Not very helpful, but it’s true.” He gazed back towards the depths of the forest. “I’m trying to remember that myself… that we can only do the best we can.”

“Easier said than done,” she mumbled.

He grinned. “Exactly… It’s more about finding the small things that do help.”

“Like what?”

Her father shrugged. “It’s different for everyone.”

“What about for you then?” she asked, hardly believing what she was saying.

Luckily he was still smiling, though it softened at the corners, gaze seemingly fixated somewhere she couldn’t follow. 

“Everyone in there,” he finally said. “My loved ones who aren’t here…I—” he stopped and shook his head. “My work keeps me busy too. Flying also helps.” His attention turned back to her. “What about you Ms Everdeen? What helps when you’re having a hard time.”

Stomach clenching, she forced out a breath.  “My Mum.”

“You're close with her.”

She nodded. “It’s always just been the two of us.”

“What's bothering you…is it about her?”

She hugged her knees closer. “Kind of…it’s…complicated.” He nodded knowingly, looking down at his bottle of butterbeer and pressing his lips together. “Vic told you…didn’t she.”

He took a sip and nodded. “She said you were having a hard time with your Mum getting a boyfriend.”

“He’s not her boyfriend,” she said hotly.

His eyebrows shot up and he made a gesture of surrender. “I believe you.” 

She huffed. “He’s not,” she repeated. Then groaned and pressed her face into her knees.

She could hear the rustle of his jeans but he didn’t move closer, and she didn’t look up. His voice was lower when he spoke.

“Do you trust your Mum?”

Her head flew up and she stared at him. “Yes.”

“Do you think she would make a decision without telling you?”

“Er—no. Yes. No. I don’t know,” she sighed, miserable at not having an answer. “I—I’ve never been far away like this and everything just feels...strange.”

“Is it the whole boyfriend that’s bothering you? Or something else?”

“Everything.” She hung her head again and banged it lightly against the hard bone of her knee. 

“So you’ve met him?”

She gave a grunt. “Yes.” 

“Is he not nice?” he asked cautiously.

“No. He’s too…boring to not be nice,” she mumbled into the material of her jeans.

Iris heard the smile in his voice. “Well boring people can not be nice.”

She sighed, turning her face to look at him sideways. “He’s beige.”

He frowned. “Like the colour?”

“Yeah…not his skin…although I guess it’s also sort of a light beige…but it’s his entire personality. If he was a condiment he’d be mayonnaise.”

He choked on his butterbeer. “Mayonnaise?”

“Yes. Fine in small doses but would be off putting to have too much.”

He laughed properly. “I didn’t know a person could be mayonnaise…”

“They can,” she stated, scrunching her face. “He also calls me squirt because I’m short. I’ve always been small for my age.” Iris felt the simmering irritation bubble up from within her. “I loathe it and he knows it, but he still does it. Since I was five.”

Harry nodded. “So he’s been around awhile?”

Iris lifted a shoulder half heartedly. “She went to Uni with him…when I was little. Annie said he’s been sniffing around since then.”

“Sniffing around?”

Iris shrugged again and grimaced. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Who’s Annie?” he asked, resting his elbows on his own legs and leaning forward.

“Oh. I guess she’s like my Grandmother? I don’t have any real ones…or er—blood related ones,” she said rather awkwardly. 

He nodded and Iris found herself talking without meaning to. “Annie and Rosie—that’s Annie’s sister, they took us in…or Mum…she was pregnant. I don’t know. I wasn’t really there for that part. Mum always told me she was like a stray in need of tending and Annie and Rosie have big hearts that don’t know how to not try and help…so they gave us a place to live and helped Mum with me.”

She rambled, unable to stop, her face growing hot despite the cool air.

“They sound nice,” he said, turning to smile at her. “And not the beige kind.”

Iris’s lips pulled up. “Rosie is all the pastels and Annie’s something wild, like bright fuchsia, or aquamarine.”

He looked at her curiously. “So this colour theory…is that your own creation?”

“My friend and I made it up in primary school.”

“What are you?”

“Purple....” she hesitated, his sincerity worn plainly made her want to tell him every single thing about her life. “I—Mum says I’m her rainbow.”

He smiled softly. “What colour is your Mum then?”

“Hmm. She has some gold but also pink, lilac, or maybe periwinkle… but Matilda said Mum’s more like a sunset, a whole host of them at once and so brilliant when she’s going on about something, you just kind of stare and watch.” Her cheeks grew even warmer but he only smiled with equal warmth. 

“She sounds wonderful.” He took another sip of his drink and placed it down. “Much too good to settle for Beige.”

“Exactly.”

Iris watched her father, he was still leaning forward, and staring at the shadowed forest. She thought dark green suited him. Like the depths of the forest, or an emerald sea. Mysterious. Calm, but powerful too. His eyes once again met hers, startling her out of her thoughts.

“I think you’ll figure it out, Iris. Whatever you're looking for.”

She swallowed thickly, tearing her gaze from his. Aware of the sameness of their shade and their connection to her, which felt so palpable, she worried about him knowing just from looking at her face. Unsure if she would rather that be the case. It would at least take the decision out of her hands. 

The truth lodged in her throat, sharp and painful. She wanted to tell him then, her lips numb and sticking together. “I—”

The creak of the door made them both startle. The pitter patter of footsteps moved towards them and light spilled out illuminating Cora in gold. She immediately threw herself at him and he caught her easily. The moment between them vanishing, her words slinking back down her throat and resting uneasily in her stomach.

“Are you coming back inside?” Cora demanded.

“Soon moonbeam.” 

She grinned, before turning to Iris. “Do you have a nickname too?”

Iris cleared her tight throat before managing to reply. “No. Not really.” 

She stared critically, large blue eyes boring into her. “Your shirt has orange on it. You could be a fox…or a pumpkin!”

“I’ll think about it,” Iris said hesitantly.

“I think you’re right Cora. She looks like she could make a good pumpkin. Except her colour is purple…or sometimes the entire rainbow, apparently.”

“Hmm. We will have to think it over,” Cora replied, seriously.

Harry nodded solemnly, giving way to a grin when Cora marched back inside.

“Do you want children?” she blurted out. He sat back and only then did she become aware of what she’d said out loud. She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry…I—I didn’t mean to—I know that’s way too personal. Mum always said I need to be more careful when I ask questions. I—I’m sorry—”

He touched her shoulder lightly before putting his hand back in his lap. “It’s okay.”

Silence descended, broken only by the rattle of wind that had begun to pick up. Right as she began to berate herself for ruining their conversation, while also grateful she hadn’t spilled the truth instead, he emitted a deep sigh.

“I don’t really have a simple answer to that question.” Her heart sank faster than a stone. He paused, shifting his gaze outwards to the tall dark trees. “We can never be sure how things will turn out…can we?” 

“No,” she whispered. 

He turned back to her and smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We should probably get inside… before Cora sends reinforcements.”

***

The rest of the night passed swiftly. Before she knew it both Cora and Mia were hugging her goodbye, asking when she’d be back. She looked helplessly at her father who only grinned. 

“Maybe Iris will visit at Christmas,” Victoire said and the little girls agreed readily. Her heart raced, glancing back at Harry who was saying goodbye to Susan. 

She couldn’t even begin to fathom Christmas. 

With a final round of goodbyes their small group tromped through the dark. Iris found herself shivering violently under her jumper, no match for the night air. A warmth washed over her moments later, and in the dim light of her wand. She noted that her father was close by and moving his own wand over the three of them. 

“Better?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she murmured. “Loads.”

It was past curfew when they returned. He walked them all the way to their dorm and they removed the cloak. The coast clear, Teddy and Victoire hugged him. She shuffled her feet, insides twisting when he simply nodded in her direction with a tired smile. He bid them goodnight, standing there until the portrait swung shut behind them. 

“How was it?” Isobel asked, in bed but awake with her sketchpad on her lap. Iris hummed noncommittally as Victoire launched into a recap of the evening. 

She went to the bathroom to get ready, not sure how to speak about that night. She’d just begun to wash her face when Victoire came in, now in her baby blue pyjamas. Blue was definitely her colour, she was sure Matilda would agree.

“The grown ups were talking about you,” she whispered, eyes lit with curiosity.

Iris’s stomach heaved. “What?”

“Oh not like that,” she said in a rush, biting down on her lip. “I—I overheard Auntie Susan and Hannah in the kitchen.”

“Overheard?”

Victoire sighed. “Right. Fine. I eavesdropped…happy?”

“No.”

She snorted. “They were talking about the fact that you look like someone.”

Iris froze, her hip bumping into the sink as she nearly lost her balance.

“What?”

Victoire shrugged, moving towards the sink next to her. “A friend of theirs. Or I guess more of Uncle Ron and Uncle Harry’s.”

Iris said nothing, forcing her hands to move as she brought the towel to dry her face and using the time to school her expression. “Huh,” she mumbled into the fabric. “Odd.”

“I thought so. Except I think they’re right. You do look a bit like her.”

She swallowed heavily, terror seizing her. When she lowered the towel Victoire was busy washing her own face, no accusing glare directed her way. 

“There’s photos of her at my parents wedding…but she’s also in our textbook,” Victoire said easily, not seeming alarmed like Iris. “Her name’s Hermione Granger. Did you read about her?”

“Er—yeah. I did.”

“It’s tragic really,” she sighed sadly.  

Nodding was the only response she could manage. Another person to lie directly to, simply too heavy to bear.

Victoire continued to wash her face and Iris caught sight of herself in the mirror. Mum had said she was herself, yet at that moment it was hard to see past the features they shared. 

“Isn’t Mabel the cutest baby ever?” Victoire sighed, happily this time.

A breath she didn’t realise she’d held escaped. Iris remembered the way the baby had smiled widely, her tiny teeth showing when Iris’s father had blown a raspberry on her soft squishy belly. 

She nodded. “Yeah, she is.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: The Leap

"Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith."

― Margaret Shepard

Iris didn’t see her father outside of defence class over the next week. He smiled warmly in their general direction as he always did, except she saw little of him elsewhere. He was often scarce at meal times and Iris didn’t often catch sight of him in the corridors. She wanted to ask Victoire where he went when he was gone, but she could never find the right way to bring it up. 

Her list of observations and further questions had only grown. Their talk on the steps of the cottage had made one thing clear— her father was as wonderful as her mum had always said he was.

She found herself daydreaming when she should be studying, about what it would be like to have grown up with him. Mia and Cora had provided ample fodder for these imaginings. A father who picked her up and carried her on his shoulders. Someone other than Mum to go to when she needed reassurance. Birthdays, celebrations, someone to make a father’s day card for. Holidays at the seaside. Her imagination ran wild, while her heart ached thinking of his laughter and the silly side she’d only seen a glimpse of, unexpected like the sun on a cloudy day. It had been most apparent when he’d teased and hugged the little ones in his arms at the cottage. Which had not been so dissimilar from the easy jokes and smiles he shared with Teddy and Vicotire. 

Iris felt some of the rays, and had felt closer to the warmth in a few fleeting moments. Yet none of it was enough anymore. 

But her heart seized whenever she thought of what came next. She hated how desperately she wanted his love. The feeling only grew heavier and more painful with each passing day. No matter how many facts or observations she learned or made, she couldn’t be certain how he would feel about all of it…about her . 

In her lowest moments she imagined the window for him to love her in the way Mum did was lost. She no longer imagined him outright rejecting her, Mum’s letter and what she’d seen of the sort of person he was already disproving that theory, but the thought of dutiful kindness, or any hesitation, cut nearly as deep. She tossed and turned falling asleep each night at how to go about everything. How did she get herself out of this situation when it felt so overwhelming? 

She had started at least a dozen letters to her mum before setting them a blaze with her wand. At least until she nearly set fire to her four poster bed. Now she mostly kept her thoughts inside her head. Her friends hadn’t missed her low moods and so Iris started to work harder to compensate as the days passed; smiling brightly between classes, chatting at meals and always finishing her homework early. There didn’t seem to be any other choice except to continue going through the motions. Every time she lingered after his class, the awful feeling would seize her and propel her to leave before she could say something she would regret. Determined to still talk to her mother first. 

Not that her letters were helping matters. While they were mostly the same old, same old. Iris couldn’t help reading into what wasn’t being said between words. Mum wrote of the shop, a project with school, her research, Rosie and Annie, the usual things. Never straying into anything else and Iris filled in the blanks—which she assumed were likely filled with boring beige.

A part of her treacherous heart held onto the hope that once she told her parents, that maybe, just maybe they would end up together. Since she was small, the fantasy of having her father back had been her deepest desire. In that dream, she had a mum and a dad who lived together, who loved each other and her. A family like Matilda’s, full and loud. With people to spare. Two was really such a delicate number. Her fear of being orphaned had only grown stronger as she got older, fueled by the nightmares she still suffered. Another dark thought followed her around like a black cloud. Bloody Colin and how he would bloody ruin everything. She found it easier to be angry with him than acknowledge she still had no clue how her father felt, or if the idea of being a family was even a possibility.

***

After another sleepless night, Iris found herself on autopilot. One of those upsetting scenarios that had kept her awake, the one where Mum would write to her about an engagement to Colin, currently distracted her. She should have been focusing on keeping her shield charm up, but that thought had been particularly hard to shake.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Victoire asked as Iris winced at the spark of red that hit the thin skin of her wrist. 

“I’m fine,” she replied, rubbing the spot. 

The clap near the front made her head whip around. Her father stood, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he surveyed them all.

“Wonderful work class. Remember the reading for next week—” The clamour of students getting ready to leave nearly drowned out the rest. He gave a rueful shake of his head before continuing. “You’ve made excellent progress, while we veer into exploring other aspects of defence please keep practising. Right. You’re ready for the weekend and I’ll stop talking.”

She moved slowly, still in a fog from lack of sleep. When she glanced back up the other girls were already towards the door. Victoire had mentioned needing to run to the library and Iris had declined, hoping to rest in the common room with her short break. Her father was still at the front, leaning over his desk and reading a scroll. She couldn’t see his face but his shoulders were tense and he sighed loudly enough that it reached her. The last group of students left and she grew hyper aware that they were alone. Questions built up like a torrent of river water and she bit down hard on her lip, pulling her book bag tighter to her chest, thinking of her Mum and forcing herself to leave before the dam could break. 

The corridor was blissfully empty as she began her slow descent down the stairwell, past the stained glass windows that created a pattern of coloured light. Her foot had just reached the bottom step when she heard a voice that made her heart sink. 

“Were you staying after class to talk to your boyfriend?”

Her fist clenched, instinctually reaching for her wand but it was too late. Naomi had hers pointed directly at her. Meredith smiled, twirling hers lazily in her fingers. 

“You know you’re going to pay for what you did right?”

“I didn’t do anything,” she said as calmly as she could. “It was an accident.”

“I don’t care what it was you dirty blooded bastard—”

Iris pulled out her wand but Meredith was too quick, a flash of red soared towards her only to freeze in front of her face. A shimmering light hovered there. She stared wide eyed, heartbeat drumming so loudly in her ears that she jumped in shock at the weight of a hand on her shoulder. Her head tilted up, already knowing it was him. 

The shimmering shield dropped but his hand stayed planted on her shoulder. 

“Ms Stone and Ms Beckett. Report to the Headmistresses office.”

“But—”

“Now,” he said  firmly. “I’ll be along shortly and I expect you to be there already. If not, I'll extend your detentions even further.”

Only once the two of them disappeared up the corridor did the shield drop. Iris didn’t register her own shaking until he swiftly guided her into the open door next to the stairs. An unused and cluttered classroom from what she could tell.

His eyes searched hers. “Was that the first time she’s threatened you?”

Iris swallowed and could only nod, not sure how to even begin with what Nicholas had said. He swiped a hand across his face and mumbled something that sounded like a swear.

He looked at her again. His lips parted but a rattling across from them made him stop. Before either of them could react, the large wooden cupboard tucked into the corner burst open. Iris blinked and her mind lagged behind what her eyes could take in. A figure had appeared on the floor, crumpled in a heap only feet from them. Iris registered the familiar brown curls. The rest was simply too awful to take in. 

“Look away!” he commanded.

His firm grip pulled her behind him. Iris squeezed her eyes shut but it was too late. She’d know her anywhere; warm brown eyes vacant and unseeing, her pale face—devoid of any life. She could still see it behind the darkness of her eyes and she whimpered, wanting to cry out—the sound lodged in her throat. Iris felt the pulse of his magic and the power of it. She covered her face with her hands. There was a ringing in her ears, despite the deafening silence that fell. Only the sound of her harsh breathing that matched her fathers filled the room. 

The warmth of his hand on her arm made her open her eyes again. He didn’t speak and slowly she turned towards him. His expression was unlike anything she’d ever seen. The sturdy composed presence she’d grown used to replaced with a dark haunted one.  His eyes were distant when they finally met hers. They stared at one another in the deafening silence.

“I’m so sorry you saw that,” he said hoarsely, his arm dropped from her elbow.

“I—she—she…I don’t…understand…” Iris choked out, looking at the space on the stone floor where her mum had lain, there but gone.  

His outline was blurry when she stared back up at him. He appeared older and worn in the afternoon light. 

“It was a boggart,” he answered, voice strained. “They take the form of the thing you fear most.” Iris couldn’t form a single word, he was no longer looking at her. “I—there’s a reason I don’t teach that class.” She blinked back tears. His eyes flashed to hers and only pain reflected in the green that matched hers. “Do you need to speak to someone?” 

She shook her head, the rest of her body trembled violently, knees knocking together with the force. His hand reached for her arm before carding through his hair instead and she watched his expression shutter to nothing. “I’ll tell Professor McGonagall you’re excused.”

She nodded numbly, still unable to speak. He seemed to look right through her as he nodded his head absently. Slowly he moved towards the cupboard, now a small rattling iron box. He turned to face her, like the first time she’d met him she saw the sadness plainly in his eyes. Deep, deep like a dark green sea. Before she could process that fact, all the emotion receded. 

 “You’ll be alright to get to your dorm?” His voice had flattened and she swallowed the giant lump in her throat.

“Yes,” she finally managed to whisper. 

He breathed out, a sound that rattled deep in his chest, not unlike the box in his arms. Without a backwards glance he left, his robes snapping behind him. 

Iris wasn’t sure how she made the trek back to her dorm without getting lost or catching her foot on any trick stairs. Only once she was lying on her bed in her silent and empty dorm did all of it fully sink in; her father’s worst nightmare was the same as hers. 

She gasped and then the tears came, a flood that could drown her.

***

“Iris?”

Victoire’s voice broke through the fog of despair she’d been in all afternoon. Somehow she had drifted into a fitful sleep anyways, her father’s haunted eyes followed. Worse was remembering her mother’s face. Still, far too still. All the brilliance in her eyes dulled as she stared at Iris from the floor. The moment had been a blink but the image had managed to burn itself behind her eyelids. She began to choke on another sob at the memory. The curtain pulled back, letting in weak evening light. She covered her puffy eyes and curled onto her side with a groan. 

“What happened? Why weren’t you in class? Are you crying?” Victoire asked, sounding afraid. Iris could only shake her head at the rapid fire questions. “What’s this?”

Iris turned, she watched as Victoire held up the photo Mum had sent her. She froze as the disbelief played out on Victoire’s delicate features.

“Iris?” she whispered. “Why do you have this?”

“I—“ Tears clogged her throat. “I can explain—”

“Why do you have this?” she repeated, more alarmed than before, holding the photo tightly as if Iris may snatch it back.

She stared at her closest friend at Hogwarts, then at the photograph clutched in her hand. 

Finally, the truth stuttered out of her. “Mum—mum gave it to me.”

“Your mum?”

“Yes, she’s in it,” she replied, her eyes once more filling with tears. “Both my parents are.”

Victoire stood still, looking every bit the perfect statue, her voice hard as marble when she spoke. 

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“It’s not possible,” she said, crossing her arms which trembled, a crack in her façade.

Iris sighed. “It’s true Vic. All of it.”

Her blue eyes were like a storm. “How?”

She swiped at her face and fell back against her pillow. “I didn’t exactly ask Mum the details.”

Victoire made a huffing sound. “That—that’s not what I meant!”

Iris didn’t reply, pressing the heel of her hands into her eyeballs to attempt to stem her tears. 

“You’re not making this up…are you?” Victoire finally whispered. When Iris pulled her hands from her face, Victoire was staring at the photo. Her eyes met hers. “You look like her.”

“I know,” she whispered. 

“Merlin’s ghost,” Victoire murmured, sinking on the bed, eyes wider than an owls. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, irritation creeping into her tone and brow creasing. “You—you lied.”

“I’m sorry,” Iris said, her own voice cracking. “I didn’t want to.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because…because I didn’t know what to do.”

Victoire sprung off the bed. “He doesn’t know!” She shook her head. “Of course he doesn’t! Why doesn’t he?”

“I—”

“How could your Mum keep this from him!” she said, whirling around from where she’d begun to pace. 

“Victoire—”

“He would have wanted to know about you!”

“She thought he was dead!” Iris cried, sitting up. Victoire stopped mid stride and they stared at one another.

“But…he came back.”

Iris sighed, swiping her wet cheeks. “She didn’t know that.”

Victoire nearly fell over before she caught one of the wooden posts. Iris moved over and she joined her on the bed, both of them lying back wordlessly. After a stretch of silence Iris told the story as best she could. The warmth of Victoire’s arm pressed against hers and speaking to the indifferent ceiling helped.

“Bloody hell,” Victoire murmured when she finished.

“Yeah…it’s a lot.”

“No wonder you’ve been stressed…I thought you were just weirdly uptight about your marks.” Iris hummed. “Well there’s only one solution,” Victoire said, angling her face towards hers. “You have to tell him.”

She sighed. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” 

“Did you miss the part about needing to tell my Mum first?” she said, not hiding her sarcasm. “Because that’s rather important.”

She shook her blonde hair. “But he’s right here! Owl your Mum and have her come here now and—”

“Vic—this will implode our lives,” she said quietly.

Victoire was unfettered, arms crossed over her chest. “Good! It seems like you’ve all been miserable without each other.” 

Iris swiped a hand across her face and groaned. “You don’t understand.”

“Enlighten me then.”

She turned her head sharply, nearly knocking their skulls together. “What do you think is going to happen at school when everyone knows I’m Harry Potter's daughter?”

The colour disappeared from her cheeks and she swallowed. “Teddy manages…”

She shook her head. “Teddy isn’t a…isn’t a secret.” Iris pushed her heels into her eye sockets again, not wanting to keep crying. “My entire life will change,” she breathed out. “It—it’s terrifying…Mum didn’t contact McGonagall to give me a chance to settle in first.” She clutched her necklace. “Not that we ever expected he was alive—or well I wouldn’t be in this situation would I?”

Iris bit down on her lip, unable to voice all over the other things she feared. 

“I still think you should tell him,” Victoire said softly. 

“I will.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. I just need to…figure things out.”

“Like what?” Iris remained silent and Victoire sighed. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Her heart was beating so fast it hurt. Victoire’s hand wrapped around hers and transferred the photograph. Iris held it tightly, its edges now bent. Slowly she brought it up to look at it again and her eyes locked on her father’s grin before shifting to her mum, clutching her stomach in the way she only did when she laughed hard and freely. Something she didn’t do enough. He didn’t look away from her for even a second of the loop. The last puzzle piece she hadn’t yet written or acknowledged, so plainly obvious it stole her breath. He missed Mum. A sob tore through her, remembering what she’d seen. Mum. Lifeless, her laugh forever silenced. That’s what he thought was real, and she’d had the power to take that away, but hadn’t. 

“Oh Iris,” Victoire said, her own voice thick with tears. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I should tell him,” she said, pressing the photo over her heart. 

“That’s a good idea,” Victoire replied, patting her wrist gently. “You’ll see…he’ll know what to do.”

Iris swallowed the giant lump in her throat. She hoped that was true.

***

Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith. A quote she’d heard before, probably Annie, who was never shy about imparting her wisdom. Iris wanted to have faith now, but as she rushed through the corridor with Victoire all she felt was fear. They’d passed the other girls on their way out the dorm, who stared at their tear stained cheeks. 

“We’ll explain later,” Victoire had promised, dragging Iris by the hand towards the leap that would change the world as she knew it.

She was grateful for her empty stomach when they approached the door of his headquarters. 

“Do you want to knock?”

Iris shook her head, covering her face. Victoire knocked loudly, making Iris jump. 

They waited and her lungs seized in the quiet. Victoire knocked again. And again. And again. Loud and insistent—like the rhythm of Iris’ heart. 

“Uncle Harry!” she called, but was met only with silence. “Supper’s over…where would he be?”

Iris rubbed her temple. “I have no idea.” Victoire made a strange squealing sound. “What—”

“I know!” she practically shouted. Before Iris could question it, she was dragged along like a riptide down the hallway, and had no choice but to sprint, or risk falling over her mary janes—in the midst of everything neither of them had changed out of their uniforms. 

Soon they were back at the portrait of the fat lady. 

“Buttercup!” Victoire shouted.

The fat lady raised an eyebrow, appearing to judge their disjointed appearances, but she swung open revealing a much more full common room. Victoire dashed over to the corner and Teddy frowned up in confusion as Victoire breathlessly asked if she could see his map.

“Why?”

She groaned. “I just do!”

He crossed his arms and did a double take when Iris approached.

“You look terrible…”

“We need to use it, we need to speak with Uncle Harry,” Victoire cut in, and he sighed, tugging her with a thin arm and making her sit next to him. 

“You won’t find him on the map.”

“What do you mean?” Victoire exclaimed.

Teddy’s frown deepened as he glanced between them. “He left.”

“Left?” Iris breathed.

He nodded. “Yeah…he said goodbye at supper. Dad was there…he had to leave on a mission earlier than planned.”

Iris tried to speak but the pounding in her chest made her lightheaded. Victoire stared at her anxiously, then back at Teddy.

“Did he say when he’d be back?’

Teddy glanced around, removing his wand from his pocket and a buzz went up around them.

“No. You know what it’s like,” Teddy sighed.

Victoire nodded limply, falling back against the armrest. Iris remained where she was, her temple beginning to throb even more violently. 

“What—what’s it like…” 

Teddy met her eyes. A flicker of anguish passed over his features before they hardened into an unreadable mask. “It’s dangerous.”

She swallowed. “Dangerous?”

He swiped a hand across his face. His gaze returned to her, probing. Eventually he released a breath. “Yeah. We never know for sure if he’ll come back.”

Her legs finally gave out, but she caught herself on the edge of the sofa and used it to keep herself upright.

“What did you need to tell him?” Teddy’s voice seemed to come from far away. “You’re acting weird. Both of you…more than normal.”

“Oh,” Victoire said, eyes darting to hers. Tears pressed violently against her eyes but Iris managed to shake her head.

Please. No. 

Her silent message was received. Victoire pulled her full lips into a tight line. “Nothing…we just wanted to ask about class next week.”

Teddy raised an eyebrow before finally nodding. “Right. Well…he said to say goodbye to you,” he told Victoire. 

Iris didn’t hear another word over the roaring in her ears. Her chance to tell him had vanished, maybe to never appear again. 

***

Iris sighed into the darkness. Even having Prongs in her arms and the warmth of Victoire next to her in bed, hadn't stopped her trembling. Her body was wrung out like a wet sponge, but still sleep wouldn’t come. Images from the day intruding whenever she closed her eyes. Her mum with her vacant eyes and frozen expression.The heartbreak on her father’s face.

Finally harnessing her bravery to tell someone and the dead end that she’d run headlong into.

She cleared her throat, which was raw from crying. Something she’d been doing for hours once they’d reach the safety of their dorm. Victoire had told the other girls that she’d seen a Boggart, hence why she was so upset. Isobel and Melody had shared expressions of horror which Edith joined once they explained what that was.

“What did you see?” Melody had asked, hugging her middle. “I found one when I was little…I still have nightmares of its terrible fangs.”

Iris had only shook her head. Some things were simply too awful to describe to others.

What caused her newest wave of tears was the confession she’d just received from Victoire when Iris prodded more about what Teddy had said. The word danger echoing through her. Victoire told her something nearly as awful as the moment with the boggart.

“He—he nearly died on one a few years back.” Iris frowned in confusion, turning to see her in the blue flames that floated above them. Victoire’s face twisted into a grimace. “Again. Or—Not like the time during the war.” 

She went on to explain that he’d been gravely injured while in Estonia tracking escaped death eaters.

“I don’t know much more…I was pretty young when it happened but I remember visiting him at St Mungo’s while he recovered.”

Iris swiped at her cheeks. “Why does he keep working as an Auror—he’s a teacher now…”

Victoire shrugged, jostling her slightly. “I don’t know. Mum thinks he’s addicted to the work.”

“Addicted?”

She nodded slowly. “She said he doesn’t know how to stop being Harry Potter,” Victoire whispered. “At least she said that to Aunt Susan and Auntie Ginny once. They were talking about how he hasn’t been able to move on. At least from what I remember. I—I didn’t hear all of it since Dominique gave away my hiding spot.”

Iris didn't know how to respond. 

Hours passed and it had to be past midnight. 

“You should talk to your Mum,” Victoire told her as the two of them lay adrift on the bed. She was relieved to have Victoire there, except she didn’t know how to respond. Telling Mum now seemed like a cruel joke. 

“When he gets back,” Iris finally murmured, rubbing at her face. When she tilted to look at Victoire her eyes wet with tears made hers spring anew.

“Are you sure?” Victoire asked. “Maybe we can tell McGonagall. She can tell your Mum.”

“Will he come back? From his mission?” 

Victoire pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t think he can. Teddy said they were headed straight out by Portkey. We won’t hear from them until they return.”

“How long is he usually gone?” she asked, gripping tighter to her lovie.

“I’m not sure. Teddy has a better idea probably. I think sometimes it’s only a few weeks…but I know he’s also been gone for months before.”

“Months?” 

Victoire patted her arm. “I’m sure it won’t be that long…”

Iris swallowed. Staring up at the blue flame,  again she could only hope that was true. Any other scenario was simply too awful to bear.

***

Iris flinched when Isobel brought the brush to her cheek. 

“Sorry,” Isobel said with a giggle. It’s likely cold!”

She smiled weakly. “It’s fine.”

Isobel’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Are you sure you’re up to it? I can stay in…we'd actually have the common room to ourselves for once. We could do some more drawing?”

Her eyelids fluttered closed and she shook her head. “No. We should go.” 

Isobel continued her brush strokes and Iris forced herself to stay still. Lately it felt like she could never settle her body, itching to get out of her own skin.

“Me next!” Victoire said giddily, sitting down and Isobel huffed about making her mess up. 

She kept her eyes shut, letting the noise of the common room wash over her. Since she’d found out that her father had left for an indefinite period, she’d struggled to act normal. The secret she’d been carrying, finally being so close to being put down, had only grown heavier. Nearly every night one of her old nightmares would wake her. Last night water filled her lungs in the darkness of sleep. Except now there was a desperation not to breathe, but to cry out. To tell the truth. Not that she could do that anymore.  He was gone. And Mum was still none the wiser. 

“There,” Isobel said quietly. “What do you think?”

Eyes blinking open she was faced with her own reflection looking back. A tiny lion took up the apple of her cheek. She glanced at Isobel, who wore a hopeful expression. One of the first real smiles she’d felt in ages pulled at her lips. 

“Perfect.”

***

The heavy black clouds hovering over the Quidditch Pitch were not a deterrent for the crowds. Nearly the entire school had turned out. Iris held tight to Victoire and Isobel as they pushed through the crush of students, Melody and Edith close behind. She peered anxiously up at the sky—a storm was brewing. 

The old anxiety tugged at her chest. The boom of thunder and crack of lightning still sent a shiver through her. Although she no longer had to hide in her Mum’s bed when the occasional storm passed over. Not that she even had that option now.

“Iris!” 

Hannah waved from above them in the stands. Professor Longbottom at her side. Iris smiled and returned the wave. Happy to see her familiar face, back from her holiday. She hadn’t seen her since the evening at their cottage, a thought that immediately made her despondent as it led right back to her father.

The sudden shock of his departure had made it impossible to prepare herself for this feeling; missing him. 

In many ways she’d spent her entire life missing him. Except now she knew exactly what she was missing. Not an abstract figure, but someone who made her smile and believe in herself. Class was nowhere near as engaging without him, just a fill in teacher overseeing them as they followed along with the readings. From what Iris had gathered his departure was earlier than intended, the worry of which would eat her alive if she let it.

Whistles blew and the crowd grew louder as the two teams filed onto the emerald green pitch. Victoire was an enthusiastic cheerleader, her shouts of joy and encouragement swirling around Iris. She couldn’t completely shake the heavy feeling that trailed her, but as the game progressed it was impossible not to get swept up in the madness. Halfway through the match, Gryffindor was up by twenty, nowhere near enough to make up for the difference if the snitch was caught, but Teddy had managed his first goal. Iris’s ears were still ringing from Victoire’s scream of joy. The sound seemed to open up the heavens as water began to pour from the sky. Not long after there was the echo of thunder that still made her jump despite being nearly drowned out by the cries of both houses vying for dominance. 

“Oh my god!” Isobel cried out, surprising Iris who quickly followed her pointed finger. Up in the sky a blur of scarlett and green raced downwards at tremendous speed. 

She took Isobel’s offered omnioculars. It was the boy from the library. Well two of them. Matthew for Gryffindor, his dark gold hair coming into focus and Nicholas for Slytherin. Her body tensed as they got closer and closer to the ground, neither stopping. Then a blinding flash. The omnioculars clattered to the floor as she covered her face with her arms. A collective scream erupted at the unexpected light. Like a camera flash, for a second everything was suspended. When her hands dropped down and the spots in her vision cleared, her mouth fell open at the sight.

Matthew sprawled on the green grass. Unmoving. Even at a distance the angle of his arm was unnatural. Sickness rose swiftly in her throat as figures raced onto the field. She recognized the bright pink muggle raincoat as Hannah. 

When she ripped her eyes from the terrible scene she saw Nicholas, arm raised in the air triumphantly. Anger joined the swirl of fear and anxiety. The boisterous crowd had grown silent, although the wind rushed to fill the absence of noise, whipping around them at a near howl. She turned towards Victoire, who had gone white under her sparkly face paint. Eyes roaming the sky, Iris followed her gaze and saw the entire Gryffindor team hovering at a respectful distance focused on their fallen teammate.

He was levitated off the field and the once animated voice of the commenter, now subdued, urged everyone to quickly make their way back inside. 

“Ten points in the lead, Slytherin takes the game,” the Hufflepuff finished flatly. The voice of the Headmistress followed, urging everyone back inside.

Numbly Iris stood with everyone else, filing out of the stands. Once back on the soggy grass, Victoire came to a sudden stop causing Iris to stumble.

“What—”

“Teddy,” Victoire whispered before she began to sprint towards the changing rooms. Isobel and Iris exchanged startled looks and then they raced after her blonde hair that waved like a flag in the wind.

A pale Professor Longbottom stood near the entryway. His kind brown eyes fell to them, he attempted a smile but it was more of a grimace.

“Girls…you should head in…the storm’s only going to get worse.”

Victoire ignored him, darting past swifter than a niffler.

Isobel halted and Iris hesitated. “I—” her voice caught. “Is—is he alright?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “He’s hurt but he’ll be okay. Hannah and Poppy will take good care of him.” His warm eyes fell on hers again, a sheen to them. “I know there will be no deterring Ms Weasley…but can I persuade you two to head in?” 

Iris stared up at her teacher. Also her father’s close friend. A question nearly tripped out of her mouth. Did he know anything about when he’d return? All of this awfulness stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Numbness gave a way to despair.

“Everything will shake out okay,” he said softly. “ You two should go in and get warm. I’ll walk with you.”

At that moment the door banged open causing Isoble to cling to her arm. A sea of green poured out. Several members of the team looked uncertain, shoulders tense and one dark haired girl had blood shot eyes. Then there was the boy leading the way at the front, smiling like the cat who got the canary—at least that’s what Annie would have said.

Iris’s stomach turned when his eyes locked on hers. “Enjoyed the game little lion?”

His grin widened until his gaze flickered to Professor Longbottom, a hard set to his face that she’d never seen before. Nicholas’s pale eyebrows lifted, but his grin only faltered a moment until he moved along with his pack of friends, who were singing a song of victory.

Her professor shook his head once they were far enough ahead. “Stay clear of those ones,” he muttered. “I don’t trust ‘em.”

Iris nodded. “Me neither,” she said, her hands beginning to tremble and she shoved them in her robes and allowed Professor Longbottom to lead them back to the castle.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: The Lightning Strike

What if this storm ends?
And I don't see you
As you are now
Ever again

 

-Snow Patrol

The common room had the atmosphere of a funeral. Iris’s stomach was too cramped with worry to eat any of the food that had been brought up from the kitchens. Her and Isobel had wedged themselves in one of the cushy armchairs close to the fire. It was no use. Her body continued to shake. The windows reflected the darkness outside, thunder rumbling in the distance. Isobel’s head was pressed heavily against her shoulder and Brigid had taken up residence on her lap. A fuzzy soft comfort to both of them, although images of Matthew falling to the ground kept invading her thoughts. She wished for the hundredth time that day that her father was there. 

Johnny, who was seated on the floor, jumped up, making Iris swivel around to see the members of the quidditch team finally stumble through the portrait. Teddy and Victoire were not among them. 

“Where are they?” Isobel asked.

Johnny muttered, running a hand through his tight curls. “Come on.”

Isobel looked at her and shrugged, carefully placing Brigid on the ground before stretching upwards and yawning. Iris forced herself out of the comfortable seat and followed them.

The boys dorm was nearly a mirror of theirs, only messier and minus one bed. Johnny swiftly headed towards a trunk, murmuring a spell and then rummaging around. Iris moved close, the nightstand had a picture of a cluster of people. One of whom was Teddy and the other her father, there was another man with a scarred face, and an older woman with her arm wrapped around Teddy’s shoulder. Next to it was a framed photo of a woman. Iris watched as she stuck out her tongue, then grinned at the camera. She had purple hair and the same smile as Teddy. 

“What is that?” Isobel asked. Iris tore her eyes from the photo to see Johnny clutching a parchment of paper.

He glanced between them. His normally carefree expression serious. “Promise not to tell?”

Her and Isobel traded uneasy looks but nodded. Johnny pointed his wand at the paper. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Iris stopped breathing at the familiar words from her childhood stories. The name Prongs scrolled across and she thought of her own fawn tucked under her pillow. 

His dark brows drew together as he studied the intricate maps. Iris looked over his shoulder, her eyes adjusting then finding themselves as little dots hovering in the dorm. 

“Alright, they’re not far.” He paused, turning quickly back to the trunk and reaching in. He pulled out the silky material she’d seen only two weeks before. 

“Is that a…” Isobel said.

“An invisibility cloak,” Johnny said. “Yeah. It’s wicked isn’t it?”

Iris touched her grandfather’s cloak and nodded. He shoving the map in his pocket, his face suddenly grimacing.

“What?” Isobel asked.

“I just—I hope they aren’t kissing,” he said with distaste.

“Ew!” Isobel shrieked, elbowing him. “They wouldn’t!”

Iris wrinkled her nose. Kissing outside of films or novels seemed strange. She couldn’t exactly imagine why anyone would get any enjoyment out of it. Johnny and Isobel jostled, glaring at each other in the way Iris had mostly only ever seen between siblings. There was a minor panic when the door handle turned and he threw the cloak over Isobel and Iris just in the knick of time. 

Once his dormmate moved towards the toilet, he slowly and carefully herded them downstairs. After he ensured none of the prefects were paying attention, he opened the portrait and they slipped out. Coast clear he hopped under the cloak. The three of them painstakingly made their way to the next tower, narrowly dodging Peeves who was pouring some foul smelling liquid into the mouth of one the knights and cackling. The storm continued to rage, battering the thick stone walls. A flash of lightning made her tighten her grip on Johnny who led the way. Judging from the equally tight hold that Isobel had on her, she was likely also freaked out by the dark castle, made more eerie in shadow. Not to mention the booms of thunder that seemed to rattle her bones. Iris couldn’t help but feel the echo of fear from when she was small.

As they rounded the corner and emerged at the top, they were surrounded by windows that showed nothing but swirling darkness, rain lashing. Teddy and Victoire stood in the middle of the circular room. Iris was drawn to the frantic movement Teddy made as he paced back and forth, his hair a fiery red. It took her a moment to register what Victoire was saying. Her beautiful face tear-stained and anguished.

“You have to promise,” she said, voice shaking. “I promised her.”

He tugged at his hair before he whirled back around. 

“This is insane! How can you believe any of this?” Johnny shuffled nervously and went to pull off the cloak but Iris caught his wrist. Her insides twisting at Teddy’s next question. “What if she’s a liar?’ 

Victoire shook her head, hair sticking to her cheeks. 

“Teddy, she has a photograph...she also has his eyes!”

Teddy didn’t reply, his chest heaving. “It doesn’t make any sense…people always make up lies about him.  Maybe…maybe her Mum is mad.”

Johnny and Isobel were stiff as boards on either side of her, but they were what kept her upright at the next words shouted by Victoire.

“She’s not some random witch! Her mum’s Hermione Granger for Merlin sake!”

“You don’t know that! She could be an imposter!” 

“Why would she do that? Better yet…how! Iris looks like her too, Aunt Susan said—”

“I don’t care what she said!” he cut in, turning away from Victoire. “She’s dead. That’s what my dad says. Uncle Harry knows that too.”

“But she’s not,” Victoire said, so quietly that Iris nearly missed it over the pounding in her head.

Teddy’s breathing was uneven, matching the pattern of the storm. “Why didn’t she say anything then!”

“I don’t know…” Victoire sighed, rubbing her forehead. “She—she’s afraid.”

His golden eyes narrowed. “Of what?”

She stepped closer and tugged at Teddy’s jersey. “Look…put yourself in her shoes.”  

Only the wind filled the space, choosing that moment to lash even more violently. Teddy swiped a hand across his face. He turned and Iris could no longer see his expression, nor could she breathe.

“If I found out my mum was alive…” he shook his head. “The last thing I would do is hide it,” he said with full bitterness. 

Thunder boomed above them and she burst from the invisibility cloak. Iris didn’t give a backwards glance as she raced away from all of them. 

“Iris!” Isobel cried. She ran, not caring about being caught. Legs and lungs burning when she skidded in front of the portrait.

“Buttercup,” she panted, clutching her chest.

“Oh dear, you look a fright—”

“Buttercup!” she yelled.

With a gasp the portrait swung open and she propelled herself at full speed into the common room and up the staircase.

Edith stood in her pyjamas. “Iris—”

She ignored her and slammed the door closed.

***

Iris felt a bit like a ghost, not trusting that she wouldn’t blink in and out of sight. A strange feeling as she went about her day to day life. She spoke in class when called upon. She went through the motions. There and not.

The others tried to engage, but Iris grew adept at keeping her routine so filled with reading and homework that she never had to look up from her text. Victoire had burst in not long after she’d shut the curtain to her four poster bed. Never had she been more grateful to know a locking spell for curtains and a silencing charm. Studying her charms textbook so intensely had paid off in spades as she worked to avoid what had been her closest friends at school. The only thing that nagged at her was Isobel, whose large brown eyes often trailed her out of the room. Iris didn’t have any words to explain why it all hurt so much. That she didn't blame her. She just couldn’t handle her knowing.

As for Teddy, he appeared as keen to avoid her as she was him. His words had sliced deep and the wound was one she prodded at intervals during the day and as she fell asleep, crying into her pillow.There was one person she talked to. Or rather two. She couldn’t exactly avoid Eileen and Calvin. interacting with them was less of a challenge, the distance of being in three different houses helped immensely. Eileen had only raised an eyebrow in potions when Victoire had attempted to speak with her the first day of classes after the astronomy tower and Iris had continued chopping beetles without looking up. 

The next day in Herbology when some of the girls in Hufflepuff whispered behind their hands, having noticed the rift in Gryffindor house. Eileen had shot daggers at them until they stopped. She’d also told Naomi to watch it when she bumped into Iris at the beginning of class. Calvin on the other hand remained blissfully ignorant and cheerful when they potted Gurdyroot side by side. He had finally stopped apologising about ramming into her. She didn’t mind his mindless chatter, nodding and offering words of encouragement to keep him talking, grateful he didn’t ask any prying questions. 

“Yeah…Mum thinks it’s all pretty strange. She wishes I could text, or call her. Finds letters to be a bit archaic,” Calvin went on. 

Iris nodded in sympathy. She rather agreed. Lately her homesickness for Edinburgh had grown worse. Not only for Mum. But also for Annie and Rosie. Matilda too. She wished desperately that she could simply call up her oldest friend and talk like they used to. They’d exchanged a few letters aided by Mum, but Iris hated how superficial she had to be. She remembered that Mum had warned her of this; how belonging to both worlds divided you, whether you wanted it to or not. 

Calvin was complaining about how long owls took when Eileen tilted her head curiously. “They have phones now that work here. Some people refuse to adapt. But more and more are.”

“Does your family have one?” Calvin asked.

Eileen nodded. “My Dad. His Dad was Muggleborn.”

Iris was about to ask if she had one too, when a pain went through her finger. She hissed, pulling out a gloved hand. A blade of glass stuck out of the thick hide. 

“Christ!” Calvin exclaimed at the same time that Eileen murmured “Merlin.”

Professor Longbottom appeared quickly and inspected her hand. “Only nicked you,” he said, holding up her finger to the light. A small droplet of blood traced down towards her palm. 

The glass clattered to the floor and he instructed Eileen to be careful and clean it up.  Iris’s face heated as she became aware of the stares. She avoided looking over at Victoire. But she didn’t miss the smirk on Naomi’s pouty lips.

“Does she need to go to the hospital wing?” Calvin asked nervously.

Their professor shook his head. “Nothing a quick charm can’t fix.” Warmth quickly spread throughout her finger, as the cut instantly knit itself back together. Professor Longbottom’s eyes crinkled when they met hers. “Like it never happened.”

***

There was a murmur of excitement when she arrived at the Defense classroom. Her heart took a giant bounding leap upwards before crashing back down. Her father was nowhere in sight. Instead there was a man and woman standing at the front with Professor Longbottom. He had been filling in since the calendar had changed, his lectures consisted mostly of entertaining stories, self-deprecating jokes and the occasional silent reading. 

She took her new seat at the far back corner. Her interest in the class had taken a steady dive and she preferred looking out the window at the tops of the trees. Although today felt different, curiosity pushed through the fog she’d been under lately as she eyed the front.

“Alright. I have something more exciting than just me today,” Professor Longbottom told them, grinning. “My good friends Luna and Rolf have been kind enough to offer to come in and discuss a few magical creatures. Particularly ones that you may need to learn some spells to defend yourself against.”

A murmur of excitement went through the classroom. Iris finally noticed the bulky items near the back covered in white sheets. One of which started to rock back and forth. The woman had large blue eyes that didn’t seem to blink. Her blonde hair was pulled in an elaborate twist. Iris couldn’t help but think she resembled some of the celtic goddesses Mum had read to her about. Her outfit of flowy lavender robes and large amethyst pendant around her neck only added to this likeness.

The room grew hushed as she surveyed them, her voice soft and melodic when she finally spoke. 

“I’m so pleased to meet all of you. Magical creatures are a passion for both myself and my husband. I’d discussed with Harry awhile back about introducing some of you to creatures that may otherwise install some fear. The thing that’s important to remember, they are just doing what's in their nature.”

Rolf, who stood a whole head taller than his wife, nodded in agreement. “Many of them have long been misunderstood, or feared. We won’t bring out some of the more dangerous ones out today,” he said, exchanging a grin with Professor Longbottom. “But we have a few young species that we thought you’d like to get a glimpse of.”

Iris sat up a bit straighter as Luna moved towards the first bulky cloth covered object. What she revealed was a tank, with only seaweed visible in the murky water. “You’ll get a chance later to look more closely, there’s a grindylow in here somewhere, he’s rather shy though.”

The next white sheet revealed the rocking to be a cage with one blue Cornish pixie. Professor Longbottom eyed it with caution and took a step back. 

For the next bit of class they reviewed where they were likely to run into these two creatures. Iris glanced out towards the Black Lake and shuddered at the thought of being pulled down into the depths by a webbed hand. 

Luna moved towards the back, the class again stilling in anticipation for what the mystery creature could be. With a flick of her wand, the sheet flew off to reveal a small white lizard. Only once she heard the audible gasp of her classmates and she stood up to peer closer did Iris put it together.

Not a lizard. A Dragon. 

Rolf explained it was a Tien Lung, otherwise known as a Celestial dragon. Iris couldn’t stop staring. Even from a distance it was fascinating—a myth come to life. Professor Longbottom invited them to take turns row by row, to come up and see each creature. Open time in class like this had become something she dreaded. She sunk into her seat and focused on what was happening out her window.

“Alright there Ms Everdeen?” 

The deep voice of Professor Longbottom startled her. She nodded and he smiled. “Hannah was asking about you. Said she hasn’t seen you in ages…which means you’ve continued to stay out of the hospital wing.”

Iris was trying to think of a reply when Luna approached. Professor Longbottom placed an arm on her shoulder. “Luna, this is Iris Everdeen. First in her year to perform a shield charm, Harry tells me.”

Her stomach cramped at the mention of her father, but Luna’s eyes fell to hers and Iris couldn’t break her gaze. Just as she began to feel nervous at her transparent stare, she spoke in her distinctive voice.

“When would your birthday be?”

“Er—” She swallowed her confusion. “January 31st.”

She nodded as if that explained things. “A water bearer, but of the air as well.” Iris looked to Professor Longbottom, who didn’t appear to understand anymore than she did what that meant. “Have you no interest in dragons?”

Iris fidgeted under the attention. “I—I do.”

Luna offered a pale hand to her. “Come.”

Not seeing a way out of it, she took the offer and allowed the petite witch to lead her to the front. Trepidation at having to be near the other Gryffindors gave way to excitement as they approached the dragon. A hint of smoke lingered in the air and tickled Iris’s nose.  

“Have you been checked for Nargles?” Luna asked her.

Iris whipped back around. “Nargles?”

She nodded serenely. “They like to mess around with your mind. Make it hard to think clearly.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, some are more susceptible than others.”

Iris hummed awkwardly and hoped no one was listening. Luna brought her closer, telling her more about the dragon in her soft voice.  Iris was able to block out all the other students milling about, her focus on the small perfect creature in front of her. The colour of cream, but up close its scales shimmered when it turned its head towards them, yellow eyes seeming to look right into her soul.

“I’m sure I’ve seen your face in a dream.” Iris glanced over her shoulder, unable to mask her confusion. Luna only continued to gaze at her thoughtfully before giving a small shake of her head.  “All in good time I suppose.” Luna touched her hand lightly. “Don’t be afraid to touch.” 

Iris followed her movements, forefinger brushing against the smooth scales, reminding her of a seashell. A vibrant iridescent sheen more apparent with its movement and more delicate than she would have expected. 

Luna nodded encouragingly.  “That’s it, it likes to be pet near its ears.” A smile tugged at Iris’s lips as the dragon closed its eyes, reminding her of Bridget. Suddenly it sneezed, shooting out a small flame. She pulled back, the warmth tickling her palm. 

“Careful not to get burnt,” Luna said, airily. 

***

Iris would need to learn a more powerful cleaning charm, that is if she was ever going to get all this dirt off of her. If anyone had told her last month that she would be spending extra time in the greenhouse, she would have told them to get their head checked. Now she found herself spending two evenings a week in the muggy glass building, potting extra plants and trimming leaves. Iris hadn’t found herself able to say no when Professor Longbottom asked their table to do extra credit. 

Calvin had an excuse about too much homework, which had caused her and Eileen to exchange knowing looks. When Eileen agreed first, Iris had followed suit. It’s not as if she had much else to do and it served as the perfect cover up for her lack of social life. Besides, the green houses were rather peaceful. Opposite of the frigid temperatures outside, steamy and teaming with life. Currently she had her arms buried in a pile of dirt as she sifted through for bits of shiny rock from a niffler who’d managed to sneak into the greenhouse yesterday. Eileen worked beside her, perfect ponytail wilted in the heat. A smudge of dirt on her cheek. Muggle music drifted from the connected greenhouse where Professor Longbottom was busy doing other plant related things.

“Is he listening to Madonna?” Eileen asked, bewildered.

Iris paused and stilled. “Yes he is.”

“He’s played this song two times already,” Eileen murmured.

She wasn’t sure why, but suddenly Eileen was giggling and so was she, which soon turned to fits that they couldn’t stop. The movement made her ribs ache, like a muscle that hadn’t been exercised in ages. As if summoned by their discussion on his music taste Professor Longbottom appeared with a questioning look that broke into a smile at the sight of the two of them. 

“Everything alright girls?”

They nodded. Iris didn’t trust herself to speak as she worked to hold it in.

He clapped his dirt stained hands. “Right. I think that’s everything then. See you Thursday?”

“Yes, sir,” Eileen managed to mumble, already cleaning her hands and grabbing her bag. With a quick nod to Iris, she departed while Iris was still catching her breath. She began to pack her own bag as Professor Longbottom rummaged around at one of the far tables. 

“Do you need me to walk you back up?” he asked.

She turned towards his voice, she glanced at the dark sky through the glass. His offer was tempting, but she didn’t want to risk running into Vic or Teddy while with him.  “Oh. No, I’m alright.” 

“You’re sure?”

She nodded, hoisting up her bag.  “You listen to Muggle music?”

The question surprised her and him, judging by the way his eyebrows shot up. “Yeah. Har—I mean Professor Potter got me onto it.”

Iris’s heart dipped into her stomach. “Oh?”

He smiled, tilting his head. “You a big music fan?” Iris nodded.  “Not just car jingles?”

“No,” she replied, a real smile emerging. He grinned back before re-focusing on the large fern in front of him. Before she could stop it, her mouth opened. “Have you heard from him?”

He turned towards her, an uncertain look on his face before it clicked.

“No. Unfortunately in his line of work it tends to be quite hush hush.” 

Iris stared at her shoes. Annoyed that she’d even asked as hot tears built up behind her eyelids. When she looked up he was watching her carefully. 

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough. He…he doesn’t go for as long as he used to now. With teaching and all that,” he said in a reassuring voice.

Iris could only nod, holding tight to her bag and moving towards the door.

“Iris?”

She looked over her shoulder. “You should visit Hannah.” At her wide eyed expression, he grinned. “I’m sure she’ll have some chocolate saved for you in her office.”

Iris smiled softly. “I will.”

***

Hermione’s head felt light. The wine had gone straight to her on an empty stomach, which growled with the smell of the roast finishing in the oven. She watched as Annie meticulously shuffled her worn cards, and her apprehension grew. Her desperation for answers (and the wine) had made her susceptible. Annie handed her the deck which was soft from use. She cut them as instructed, then swallowed before picking the centre left pile. Rosie leaned forward eagerly, both sisters excited that she was indulging them in their spiritual matters, a rarity for her. She could never shake the association with Professor Trelawney.

Not that Annie resembled her old teacher. Instead of a put on ‘I can see the great beyond expression’, her gently wrinkled face was focused as she placed cards in a series of crosses in front of her.

“Interesting,” she finally murmured. 

Hermione’s stomach did a flip. “What is?”

“The Death Card.”

Any appetite she’d had vanished. “Wait—”

At her panic, Rosie touched her arm gently. “It rarely means literal death.”

She forced herself to breathe. Shoulders still tense thinking about the intention Annie had asked her to set at the beginning; she hadn’t been able to resist asking about Iris, and their future moving forward.

“What does it mean here?” Hermione finally asked. 

“It can mean a lot of things,” Annie answered vaguely. At her annoyed look, she bit back a smile. “It does imply an ending. Sometimes closure. But see, it’s reversed.”

“And what does that mean?”

Annie’s smile widened. “Well, reversals can be opposites. Often it can also imply you are resisting change. Although I’m unsure with the other cards in the pile. There can be change, letting go of something from the past. It can also reveal things you don’t expect.”

Her stomach didn’t feel much better at that information. “What do you think that means with Iris?” As soon as she’d asked, she felt annoyed with herself for taking any of this seriously. She supposed desperation made one do silly things. 

With a furrowed brow Annie consulted the cards again. “I’m not sure yet.” She pointed to another card, someone carrying an armload of swords. “There’s deceit. And burden.” 

Hermione glanced at the cards. None of this was making her feel better.

Rosie squeezed her hand that still covered hers. “It will be okay.”

“There’s some tough cards here,” Annie said, brow furrowing as her eyes wandered over them.

“What is that one?” Hermione asked, indicating the card with a noose.

“Hanged man. She’s stuck. But she’ll see clearly soon.” Annie brushed over the card tenderly. 

She sat back, fighting the sudden urge to rush to Hogwarts. An instinct she’d battled since September first.

“I don’t know if I want to do this,” she whispered.

Annie’s blue eyes snapped to hers.

“It will be okay. Look. The Sun appears soon.” 

Hermione followed her finger to a brighter card. 

“There’s also a knight of wands in here, he’s a good one to have on your side, see?” Hermione blinked back tears. Annie’s voice grew gentler. “She’ll have someone to look after her. Even if it’s herself. There’s lots of strength against any darkness.” She paused, exchanging a look with Rosie. “Have you talked to her lately?”

Instinctually she clutched her locket. “She writes most days.”

Rosie smiled cheekily. “Is she ruling the school?”

A huff of laughter escaped her. “I think she’s doing alright.”

She didn’t know how to articulate her unwavering anxiety about her only child. Her school letters had grown noticeably shorter and more infrequent. She told herself Iris was busy with her new life, still she worried.  She rubbed her temples, eyeing the cards. It often felt like she’d been worried in some form about a Potter since she was eleven herself.

“I still don’t understand what kind of school doesn’t let you visit,” Annie grumbled, picking up the cards and beginning to shuffle again. 

Rosie shook her head. “Hush now, she’ll be home soon enough.”

The guilt for lying to the closest thing she had to family outside of Iris landed as it always did, with a thud in her chest. It also reminded her of everything she’d put off. She told herself she would send the letters that needed to be sent. No later than next month. She ignored the fact that she’d repeated this mantra to herself since September.

“Now let’s look at your future,” Annie said, offering her the cards once more. At her hesitation, her eyes softened. “Unless you want me to stop.”

Sod it. Hermione sighed and repeated the process, her mind now on the other big decisions she had to make. This time Annie only drew three cards. Her eyebrows immediately shot up into her greying blonde fringe.

Hermione glanced at the cards and the first thing she noticed was the nudity and snorted. “I’ll dance naked under the moon?”

Annie smirked. “Maybe. It’s the Lovers.”

Rosie made a high pitch sound, wine spilling onto the table. Hermione flushed, which was a good distraction since she came close to pulling out her wand to clean up the mess. She’d been using it more since Iris had received her Hogwarts letter. Baby steps and all that.

“So do you have something to tell us?” Annie asked. 

Hermione got up and retrieved a cloth to wipe the spill, ignoring the question until the silence grew unbearable. “Not really.”

The two sisters continued to stare with their piercing blue eyes. 

She sighed, crossing her arms.  “Colin asked me out.”

“Again?” Rosie asked. 

“He’s back in town.”

“And you plan on dating him?” Annie asked in a casual tone that Hermione knew was anything but. 

She refilled her wine before answering. “I don’t know.”

“Well it seems like a simple yes or no,” Annie countered.

Hermione sat back at the table. “You know things are never simple.” 

“Plenty of single mums date,” Rosie said thoughtfully, before brightening. “I mean look at Sarah! And Olivia adores him.”

She took a generous sip of wine. 

Rosie and Annie exchanged wordless glances. “Janie?”

“I know,” she said, finally. “It’s just hard.”

Both sisters reached for her at the same time.

“We want you to be happy, that’s all,” Rosie said softly, running a thumb over her hand. 

“I am happy.” Neither of them appeared convinced and she touched the locket again.  “I just miss her. And….and I’m not sure she wants me to date him.”

“She’s got a good read of people,” Annie said, releasing her and taking a swig of wine.

“Annie!” Rosie scolded, before shaking her head. “That’s important, of course.” She leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “Iris is also used to having you all to herself. But it’s okay to think about what you.”

Hermione bit down hard on her lip, the taste of copper mixing with the merlot. What she wanted was impossible. 

“How about what he brings to the table?” Annie asked, Rosie glaring at her. 

She swirled her glass, considering the question. “He’s nice. Smart.” It was hard not to associate Colin with university, that was their biggest connection after all. She enjoyed talking about history and myths with him. She was certain Annie would like him, if she ever gave him the chance. Or rather if Hermione ever brought him around. 

She took another sip, thinking of his other good qualities. His easy going nature, his kindness to strangers. His bum was also rather nice too, but she’d need to down an entire bottle of wine to admit that out loud. 

“I like talking to him. We have fun when we go out.  And he’s not putting any pressure on me and has always understood that Iris comes first,” she finished. 

Annie nodded thoughtfully. Then she pointed at the Lovers card. “But does he make your heart race?”

“I’m not a teenager,” Hermione mumbled, crossing her arms again before realising she was in the exact pose Iris took when she was cross and she straightened, clearing her throat. “Besides, that doesn’t matter. Lust isn’t the same as love.”

“Well…” Rosie started, fidgeting with her wedding band she never took off. “They are rather connected.”

“Indeed,” Annie said, before she downed the rest of her wine as the timer for the roast went off. She made her way to the threshold of the dining room. “It’s not worth it if there aren’t any butterflies,” she added before disappearing to tend to their dinner.

Hermione had no response. She pressed the cool glass of her wine against her warm cheek. 

“Are you seeing him soon?” Rosie asked.

“This weekend,” she replied quietly. “Halloween actually.” 

Something she hadn’t realised when she’d agreed to the date. She had debated most of the week if she should cancel. 

She met Rosie’s eyes, who looked at her with her trademark kindness. Part of her wished she could tell her everything. The significance of the day. About the person who made up the other half of the girl they all loved so much. The world she’d run from. To tell them who and what she really was.

Instead she placed her glass back down on the table and changed the subject.

***

The weather had decided that sunshine wasn’t in the cards anymore. It was the second week of torrential rain. None of which helped Iris’s mood. She missed her solitary walks around the grounds. It had helped stretch out the time she had to spend in the Gryffindor Common room. 

She was once again in the green house, which at least brought her a little closer to being outside without being drenched. Today they’d been asked to trim back the maturing shrivelfigs. Music drifted from the other side as she worked side by side with Eileen. Mostly older stuff that Iris vaguely recognized. She had thought about asking Professor Longbottom if he could play Florence and the Machine or the Cranberries, but hadn’t worked up the nerve. 

As she sniped the delicate leaves, her mind wandered to the newest half finished letter she’d started. It was getting harder and harder to hide her unhappiness to her mother. She tried, but despite her best efforts, her letters home kept growing shorter. She used the time to compose several in her mind, none of which she would ever dare send. Such as the one currently composing itself as she worked;

Dear Mum,

I’ve managed to ruin everything. Dad’s alive, although maybe not for long. Sorry for not telling you when I should have. Also I’m not speaking to any of my friends. Secrets have been eating me alive for months and I think I’m developing an ulcer, like the one Rosie had a few years ago. Do you know if they have potions for that? Or any spells to fix being a horrible daughter? 

Well, hope the weather is at least better in Edinburgh.

Love, Iris.

“You alright?”

Eileen’s voice jerked her out of her reverie. “Er—” She glanced down at her hands that were paused on a single green leaf. “What?”

“You just made a sound…”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Eileen shrugged and continued to trim her plant, which was much further along than Iris’s. She shook her head and refocused on her task. Soon enough Eileen finished, and with a quick goodbye, slipped out into the darkness. 

Eventually Iris managed to snip the last snarled branch back and set about gathering her things. She waved to Professor Longbottom and let herself out of the warm oasis. Freezing rain lashed at her face as she took off towards the castle. She was passing the last of the greenhouses when she nearly tripped and she realised something was holding her leg. Heart beating she looked down to find Eileen crouched in a bush, dark eyes just visible with the light of the greenhouse. She was about to ask her what the hell she was doing when Eileen all but pulled her into the bushes. Wet grass soaked into her robes, causing her to shiver but what actually made her blood go cold was the sound of a familiar voice.

“He’ll be gone soon. He always leaves by six.”

Muffled by the glass, it was still obvious. Nicholas. She stared at Eileen who looked as terrified as she felt. A quieter voice said something she couldn’t catch to which Nicholas laughed. Iris strained to hear the rest, but her own heartbeat was too loud. 

There was a bang and Eileen gripped her. Together they huddled on the earth and held their breath as several cloaks swept past them in the dark. She counted back from a hundred in her head, then she pulled at Eileen and without a word they ran towards the castle. When they stopped at the deserted entrance, Eileen was bent over panting and Iris fell against the cold stonewall catching her breath. 

“We have to tell someone,” Iris said in a rush.

“Tell them what exactly?” Eileen replied, paler than Iris had ever seen her.

“That they’re up to something.”

“What are they up to?”

“I don’t know,” Iris whispered, temple throbbing. “But it can’t be good.”

Eileen wrapped her cloak tighter. “Not sure I want to be involved. I—I stay away from them. Always.”

Iris frowned. “Have you heard anything?”

Eileen started and stopped before replying. “No. Not exactly…I just know they are the kind that give our house a bad name.”

That information only fueled Iris’s anxiety. “We should still warn the headmaster,” she said urgently, stepping closer to Eileen. “They want something. I think from the Greenhouse.”

She looked at Iris sceptically. “But what would we say?”

At that moment a pang went through her for Victoire, who would have already dragged her to the Headmistresses office, or with Teddy’s help they could have the cloak and a map. This only led to thoughts about her father, which made her stomach tighten even further. 

Her shoulder’s deflated, Eileen was right; they had nothing to go on. 

Eileen gave a sad shrug. “I’m sure if they are doing something bad…they’ll get caught. Nicholas seems smarter than Naomi, but with an even bigger ego. Hubris says he’ll make a mess of whatever he’s trying.”

“I suppose,” Iris replied quietly. “Well, if you hear something…let me know. I’ll do the same.”

She nodded, smoothing out her dark hair that had fallen in her face from running. “I will.”

***

“I was starting to think I would never see you again,” Hannah said, smiling as she opened the door. “You aren’t injured are you?” 

Iris shook her head. Her grin widened, showing off her dimples. “Well, that’s good. Come on. I’ll put on the kettle.”

She followed Hannah in the cosy office connected to the hospital wing. Hannah fussed with a tea tray and Iris curled up in the armchair near the fire which quickly warmed her. 

Hannah appeared to love plants nearly as much as her husband. Like their cottage they were everywhere in the small room. A mixture of oranges and pink blossoms perfumed the air and made the ache in her chest flare thinking of Annie and Rosie’s garden and her longing for Edinburgh. Iris took the steamy mug of tea and Hannah plopped down in the armchair across, smiling over her own mug. 

“So…you’re keeping well?” She blew on her mug, the lie on the tip of her tongue. Instead she shrugged. “That well?”

Iris chewed on her bottom lip, ducking her gaze. Eyes landing on a new framed photo on her desk of Hannah with Professor Longbottom near a great blue sea.

“Did you have a nice holiday?” Iris asked.

“Absolutely splendid. Have you been to Norway?”

“No…Mum always wanted to take me…but we haven’t managed yet.”

“You’ll have to get around to it. It’s spectacular.” She tilted her head, surveying Iris over her tea. “I do have ulterior motives for asking you here.”

Her stomach dropped. “Oh?”

Hannah placed the mug down. “I had a visitor a few days back…quite distraught.” Iris was speechless, staring at Hannah who gazed at her unwaveringly. “A friend of yours. She’s worried.”

Heat rushed up her neck and she pressed her lips together. Victoire popped into her mind and the now familiar throb passed through her. 

Hannah’s face softened as she leaned in. “Should I be worried for you?”

“No.”

Her face creased in a thoughtful frown. “Isobel seemed to think I should be.”

Iris stilled. “Isobel talked to you?”

“Yes…she was quite anxious to make sure you’re alright.”

Guilt pooled low, then panic swept it away. “Did—did she tell you?”

“Tell me?” she asked, brows drawn up.

A heavy sigh left her. From the sheer confusion etched on Hannah’s face there was no way she knew the truth. It still shocked Iris that between the four other Gryffindors knowledge of her deepest secret that it hadn’t spread around the entire school by now. A shiver went down her spine any time she thought of it. Mum’s words about being careful with her story echoing in her mind even now.  

“I don’t ask this to upset you Iris,” she said softly, hazel eyes sweeping over her. 

Iris curled her legs tighter, clutching her mug to her chest. “I’m not.”

“You look sadder than the first day I saw you,” she said, her lips flicked up but her eyes shone with concern. “And you were covered in your own sick that day.”

Iris leaned her head against the cushioned seat. “I’m fine,” she said on an exhale. “Just…just homesick I suppose.”

The truth of her words surprised even herself. Iris had never been this homesick, let alone for both her parents at once. Hannah gave her the same assessing look, her keen healer eyes assessing before she seemed satisfied enough with her answer. She took a sip of tea. “Alright then.”

Iris took a long sip. She felt Hannah’s lingering gaze. Part of her wanted to confess what she’d overheard in the greenhouse. Yet she couldn’t think of where to begin. It felt as if she started to tell her one thing, the entire tapestry of secrets would unravel. She wasn’t sure she could handle another fallout. 

At her continued silence. Hannah gave a small sigh. “Alright no more probing. I promise.” Iris met her eyes and a small smile bloomed on her lips. “Now…are you excited for the Halloween feast?”

***

Rain drummed against the windowpane. Iris tried to focus on her reading for Defense, but it felt pointless. On the other side of the common room Teddy played a game of exploding snap, grinning ear to ear as he beat Johnny. Victoire and Isobel sat near and Iris avoided looking in their direction. They’d all been laughing together merrily at the feast, even glimpsing them had made her stomach knot. Anger had mostly faded to sadness. Yet she remained steadfast in her isolation. Unable to bear their knowledge, or the stabbing feeling of betrayal. Iris wasn’t sure when it would ever stop hurting. She supposed maybe if her father came back. 

A tap to her shoulder made her whirl around. Matthew stood there, hands sheepishly shoved in his pockets. “Sorry…but there’s someone at the portrait for you.” She blinked up at him and he frowned. “Do you want me to tell them to leave?”

“Who is it?” she asked, hating the squeak in her voice.

“Says her name is Eileen.”

At the name Iris shot up out of her seat, the heavy book slipping from her lap. 

“Oh. Thanks.”

He shrugged with a small smile. The now faint scar from the match pulled at his cheek. “No problem.”

She dashed past him to the portrait, the corridor immediately chilling her. Late October made the stone like ice without the warmth of the common room fireplace and rugs.

Eileen was there like he’d said. Pacing and hands wringing. 

“Eileen?”

She stopped, brown eyes wide when they met hers. 

“What is it?” Iris asked, moving towards her. 

“Are you alone?’

She looked over her shoulder. “Er—yeah…”

“I know what they’re doing,” she said in a rush.

“What—” Iris started before freezing. “Oh.”

Eileen nodded, her arms trembled and folded over her chest. 

“Should we get a professor?” Iris whispered, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. 

Eileen gave a small hesitant nod. Iris’s mind darted to Matthew as she backed up toward the portrait. “I’ll go get a prefect to come with us.” 

“No!” Eileen made a face, and shook her head. “I mean—I think we should just go fast. Straight to the Headmistress…it’s not far.”

“What if we get caught?” 

She pursed her lips. “Aren’t you supposed to be a Gryffindor?”

Iris huffed. “Fine. Come on.”

Eileen wasted no time sprinting up the corridor, her robes flapping. Iris stayed just behind, watching the swing of her dark ponytail, heart beating frantically. She nearly tripped over her own feet as Eileen skidded to a halt causing her to bump into her back. 

“What is it?” Iris whispered.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little lion.”

Iris froze, everything seeming to stop at that moment. She locked eyes with Eileen who remained completely still. Finally Iris turned. Nicholas stood there, an easy smile on his lips, flanked by two boys. There was no thought, only instinct as she reached for her wand and cast the shield. The white shimmering around her and Eileen. 

“Eileen Run! Get help!”

Nicholas only began to laugh, the sound distorted through the shield. Iris glanced back at Eileen who was smiling. A familiar smile, but one she’d never seen on her face. A tall figure emerged from the other end of the corridor, a dark robe obscuring their identity.

There was no time to process any of it. Then there was nothing.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve: The Truth

Iris groaned, her cheek pressed against something cold and hard.  The world was sideways when she cracked open an eye. Voices spoke, but her ears were ringing. After a moment everything rushed back to her. She could barely move, but her eyes roamed the room. It was low lit, she saw the feet of several people. When she glanced further, she saw a door. A small figure huddled next to it. Her sight adjusted and that’s when she noted that it was Naomi. Blonde hair in a falling out ponytail, wearing robes that she swam in.

“Ah, the little lion’s awake.”

She tilted her head. Nicholas stood over her with the same smile as before. Not unlike the one from the Quidditch match—triumphant.

It took her a moment to find her voice. “Where’s Eileen?”

He looked over towards the door. “She had to change,” he replied, eyes dancing with amusement when they fell back to hers. 

Iris’s brain swam, but when she turned towards Naomi, she looked anywhere other than at her. “She—she was Naomi.”

“Hmm, a clever one.”

Iris tried to move again, struggling against an invisible restraint, which only made Nicholas smile more widely.

“You don’t have your wand this time. Or someone to come rescue you.” She swallowed the bile in her throat. Something must have flashed across her face because Nicholas gave a small shake of his head. “The stupid git didn’t even realise the bogart wasn’t trained on him.”

Her heart dropped, and he grinned over his shoulder to the others. “Lucky for us. We’ve come up with a much better plan for you because of it.”

“He’ll find you,” Iris said, trusting it even without any proof. 

Nicholas shrugged. “He might. If others don’t get to him first,” he replied with amusement. “Heard he got called away earlier than expected.”

She didn’t know her heart could drop any lower, but it did. Without another word, he left her on the floor and began talking in a low voice to another boy. Tall and wearing a cloak. She vaguely recognised him from Ravenclaw. There were four that she could see, not including Naomi, who remained silent and pale across from her. She refused to look up still and anger surged up alongside her fear. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there. A bit of relief trickled in as she noted the stone walls, and desks crammed in the back. She was certain they hadn’t left Hogwarts. Several brooms leaned against a wall near an open window that let in splatters of rain. Frigid Scottish air passed over her face and made her shiver. 

“Naomi. Please,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

At her plea, she finally met her gaze. Her expression baleful and uncertain. A sharp contrast to how she usually appeared. Naomi’s mouth opened and then snapped shut when Nicholas marched back over. 

“You really think Naomi will help you? After what you did to her face?” Iris could only look to Naomi, who shrunk further down. “Besides. If you need someone to fight for you. Naomi is the last person you should pick.”

Iris frowned up at Nicholas, but he was already distracted by something another boy was holding. 

“Are you going to do it?” Naomi finally asked him, voice weak.

Nicholas rubbed his chin. “Ah. Sadly plans have changed.” He turned back to the short boy Iris remembered from the library.

“You have it right?”

“What about the potion—” Naomi started. 

“Best to keep your mouth shut Noams.”

Naomi awkwardly began to stand. “You promised.”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Something more important came up. We’ll get an actual Mudblood for that.”

Iris’s stomach cramped, the question escaping her. “For what?”

He waved it off. “Not your concern little lion.”

“Nicholas, what are you doing?”  Naomi whispered.

“Enough,” he said loudly. 

“You aren’t going to hurt her? Like badly?”

“I said enough,” he said, slashing his wand in the air and silencing her. “Maxen. Potion. Now,” a boy with red hair stumbled over. 

Nicholas turned back to her. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.” Iris shuffled back, bumping against stone. “Hard way it is,” he said, waving over to Maxen.

Iris buried her head, but strong hands grabbed at her face. She used the only defence she had.

“Ow!” Maxen cried, voice a full octave higher than she expected. “She bit me!”

Nicholas chuckled. “She’s not a Mudblood. I wouldn’t worry.”

There was a shuffling of feet, and Iris kept her head buried against her chest.

“We’ll have to do this another way,” Nicholas said. “Imperious.” 

The word itself didn’t register until her hand was moving of its own accord, her mind here and gone. She drank down the potion, a strange metallic taste coating her mouth. As quick as the feeling started it passed. Hands once again immobile at her side.

Maxen rubbed his wrist, glaring at her. Nicholas smirked. “You have five minutes until the potion kicks in—if you want to practise the other one. Just keep it short.”

Iris went rigid as she stared at the end of Maxen’s wand that he’d drawn out quickly, a nasty grin on his lips. His hand quivered, but then he was saying it. 

“Crucio.”

Iris barely registered what happened next, even as things seemed to move in slow motion. Naomi's face twisted in a scream, but no sound came out, then the spell reached Iris. There was a flash of light, a sharp pain in her chest. Agonising, like a thousand knives. Then it was over. Her own scream, that she hadn’t been conscious of, was quickly drowned out by Maxen who released a guttural sound. Iris blinked her eyes open to see him splayed on the ground, the other boys rushing around him. 

“What did she do?” The tall one yelled. 

The world began to dissolve around Iris. The boys swarmed off in the distance. She felt another gust of wind on her face, the breeze seeming to carry her as she floated up and away from her body. The last thing she saw other than the night sky was Naomi’s terror stricken face.

***

As soon as he returned to his quarters, Harry dropped his bag onto the sofa. Not for the first time did he miss Crookshanks, who’d always greeted him when coming home. Every bone in his body ached and he longed for a hot shower. Which is what he did next, staying under the warm steam for ages until he’d washed every last bit of the safe house off of him. The showers there never got hot enough, even with magic. Estonia was just bloody cold in October and it seeped into you. 

Clean and dressed, he slunk into his chair by the fire with an ale. Harry had no motivation to rush to catch the end of the Halloween feast. No matter how delicious the food promised to be, the day always put him in a dark mood. The last thing he wanted was to deal with any chaos or noise. He sent off a patronus to Ron and Neville as he’d promised. Neville returned the message first, with an offer to come around for a drink after supper.

Harry sighed and looked down at the bottle he’d already polished off. He supposed drinking in the company of others made it more social and less sad. And tonight wasn’t one he wanted to face sober. After a while, when he grew tired of trying to avoid thinking of anything related to work or what day it was, he forced himself up. 

Supper would be long over by now. He shrugged on a jumper and took the floo. The torrential rain outside diminished any appeal of a walk. When he emerged in the cosy sitting room, Hannah was seated on the sofa with a glass of wine. She offered him a sheepish smile.Their last conversation came flooding back. Not that he hadn’t thought about what she’d said repeatedly while killing endless hours under dreary conditions.

“Pudding?” she said, peeling herself from the sofa. A slight hesitation in her step. “Or alcohol?”

“Both,” he said, returning her smile. 

As if summoned, Neville appeared in the doorway, a glass in each hand. 

“Good to see you in one piece,” he said with a grin, moving forward to slap him in a brotherly fashion on the back and pass him the drink. Neville gestured for him to sit.

“Everyone’s limbs have been accounted for,” Harry said, sitting in the armchair across from them. 

“Progress?” Neville asked. He only shrugged, wincing at the strength of Neville’s homebrew. He mostly tried to stay away from the hard stuff. Today was an exception. 

He knew in the coming days he’d be able to tell his close friend more. That as many of them feared. The newly banded Death Eaters known as X, were recruiting at Hogwarts. Maybe Neville read something of it in his expression as his lips pressed together grimly.

“It never feels like enough gets done. Or quickly,” Harry finally said. 

Neville lifted his drink in solidarity and drank. “True that.”

Hannah shifted, pulling at her sleeves. “Harry…”

Harry sank back in his seat.  “It’s alright Hannah,” he looked down at his drink, rubbing the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“I never should have brought it up,” Hannah said in a rush, face solemn. “Susan feels awful too.”

He raised a hand. “No need.”

It had been childish of him, storming off after the last supper with his friends before he’d been called away. Susan had pointed out the similarities between Hermione and Iris. Harry knew his entire face had gone red during the conversation. Hannah blurting out that maybe Hermione was alive, that Iris could be—

The possibility hurt too much. Hermione would never do that. Which was worse, because that hadn’t even been what they were saying. They were implying that Hermione had moved on without all of them. A child with a stranger, a new life. That she didn’t care about any of them. Sitting there, he’d felt like he was made of glass—that everyone could see right through him. Harry had never found the words to describe what had happened between them on the run, so he hadn’t told a soul. 

He’d left the table without another word. Because what actually caused him the most pain was the impossibility of it all. The others hadn’t witnessed what he had. There hadn’t been a body, but at the time it had felt close enough to it. Only Ron understood the finality, that they couldn’t bring her back.

“I never asked her, by the way. Iris.” At Hannah’s voice, he forced his gaze back up. He nodded tersely, biting back a grimace at the idea of dragging an innocent child into anything.

Neville glanced between them and Harry released a breath. 

“Good. I rather you didn’t involve her.”

An unusually awkward silence fell over them. Harry hated that he couldn’t act normal when it came to Hermione, even now. 

He sat further back in the chair. “So what have I missed?” Harry asked them, tone lighter than he felt.

Neville cleared his throat and began to tell him about a Quidditch match that had gone sideways. His body tensed as they recounted the events. He wished he hadn’t missed Teddy’s first game, especially with how it had gone. Though he was unable to turn his Auror brain off either. He’d bet every last gallon he owned that Nicholas and his cronies were involved somehow, he was sure X had made contact with at least one of them. 

The re-telling was nearly done when Neville was cut off by a wisp of silver that morphed into a cat. McGonagall's crisp voice filled the room. “Longbottom—there’s been an incident. The North Tower. Come quickly.”

Within a second another came from Pomfrey asking Hannah to come immediately. 

The three of them stared at one another for a beat, before they were up and scrambling through the floo.

***

Harry had no clue what would greet them at the North Tower. Whatever it was he hadn’t expected the chaos of several students strewn around the room. Or McGonagall in her housecoat, consulting with a pale Slughorn and pyjama-clad Flitwick. An open window let in a breeze, several brooms were askew below it. He recognized the Gryffindor prefects who were being escorted out by a solemn Trelawney, a few with visible injuries. 

“What the bloody hell happened?” Neville whispered to him.

McGonagall spun around. “Potter, you’re back.”

He moved towards her. “Has Remus been called?”

His old teacher nodded. “They're sending a team over, Filius has ensured those who are responsible won’t be moving of their own accord.” She hesitated, touching her cheek, eyes uncharacteristically welling up. “A student is missing.”

“Who?”

He seemed to know the name before it was even said. “Iris Everdeen.”

His heart stopped. “How long?”

Neville had joined them, eyes on the students frozen in place. 

“A student reported her missing from the Common Room. Likely at least an hour,” she looked towards the window. “Although it could have been longer.”

Harry glanced at the Slytherins. Nicholas watched him without his usual smirk, but his eyes gleamed. Further over was his sister who appeared so much frailer as she wept silently.

“Get them into separate rooms.” He turned to Slughorn. “Truth telling serum?”

Slughorn nodded hesitantly. “Isn’t that frowned upon…with the Ministry?”

Harry swiped at his face. He was right. Yet he couldn’t get himself to care, they were minors and wouldn’t be serving time either way. “A child’s life is at risk,” he said finally.

Slughorn and Flitwick began to cart the boys off one at a time. The second Nicholas was gone Naomi began to slap the stone. Mouth opening and closing as she pointed towards the window.

Harry frowned. “Did you silence them?”

McGonagall shook her head, moving towards the young girl.

She undid the silencing charm and Naomi gasped.

“She—she’s outside!” 

“Where?” Harry demanded. 

“The window ledge,” she whispered hoarsely.

Harry ran over, climbing the frame and peered out into the dark rainy night. He didn’t see what he was expecting, no sign of Iris holding on for dear life. Instead there was a small moses basket on a thin ledge. He eyed the drop and his stomach swooped. Carefully he levitated the basket into his arms. A knitted striped jumper that he’d seen before filled it, but buried within was a tiny baby. She blinked up and he knew it was her. 

Naomi was still crying when he manoeuvred back through the window, hiccuping words that made little sense to McGonagall who had an arm around her thin shoulders.

“It’s her,” Harry stated.

McGonagall nodded. “Longbottom, Potter. Take them to the hospital wing.”

Harry didn’t wait, taking her from the basket and cradling the baby against his chest. He moved quickly, but with caution through the darkened halls. His mind went into overdrive.

What could have possibly have led to this? How much had he missed while he was gone?

He glanced down at the featherlight weight in his arms as he approached the oak doors to the hospital wing. Dark hair that swirled at the back, a bit of curl near her seashell ears, large eyes turned his way. Harry had some experience with babies. Being a godfather and uncle had ensured that. Still, he was unprepared for the strange sensation that flooded him when the navy bleary eyes locked on his before blinking shut. She must have been aged back to a newborn. They’d ensured she was as defenceless as possible. The thought caused anger to surge through him. He emerged into the hospital wing, noting that several beds were already filled as he moved further in.

A frazzled Hannah appeared from behind a curtain. She stared at him for a long moment before racing to him. “A baby?”

“Iris,” he managed. 

Neville appeared behind him, a shaking Naomi at his side. 

“Merlin,” Hannah muttered. “One moment,” she directed to Harry. She took Naomi’s arm and led her to a bed. Neville rubbed his face, looking at Harry with disbelief.

“This was not how I imagined tonight going,” he murmured.

Harry could only shake his head. His attention was drawn back to the baby, Iris, who scrunched her tiny body. A small fist emerged from the jumper wrapped around her. Gently he touched her hand. Immediately her tiny fingers latched onto one of his. 

It felt like an electrical current, up his arm and straight to his chest. He continued to stare at her as her eyelashes fluttered and she began to fall asleep against him.

“I’ll take her.”

His head shot up at Hannah’s voice, stomach dipping. He held tighter to Iris, whose iron grip hadn’t let up even as she slept. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, Neville wasn’t with him anymore. He’d been unable to focus on anything else but Iris’s face.

Hannah reached out her arms. “Slughorn had the counter potion. Apparently the seventh years have been learning how to make de-aging potion.”

He grimaced and nodded, but didn’t let go.

“Harry?”

He swallowed and with all of his will power forced himself to carefully slide the bundled up Iris to Hannah.

“It’ll be alright. She’ll be back to herself soon.”

He nodded. Ignoring the empty pit that was his stomach. A million questions surfaced, but all he could do was watch Hannah walk away with Iris. When they disappeared behind one of the blue curtains, he hung his head. He stood for longer than he should have. He wanted to follow her, but he wasn’t a parent. There were rules about things like that. 

Harry forced himself to leave, he didn’t get far. He paced the corridor, hands on his head. Anger seared his vision. As a teacher he should be back with the others, figuring out the logistics of contacting parents, the ministry, investigating what had happened. At the moment Harry didn’t trust himself to be professional. Instead he stood outside the heavy oak door struggling to take in a breath. Iris flashed in his mind. Hannah said she would be fine. He had to believe that. The thought of having to tell Iris’s Mum any differently made his stomach do an involuntary heave. 

A tap on his back made him whirl around. An empty corridor greeted him and he raised his wand, adrenaline surging once again.

“Uncle Harry,” a voice hissed. He turned his head sharply and Victoire’s face emerged from thin air. The cloak fell away revealing the rest of Victoire, her blue eyes red rimmed. Teddy stood behind face pinched with worry. “Did you find her? Is she alright? What happened?”

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. “She’s going to be okay.”

Her entire body sagged and she let out a small sob. Teddy patted her back awkwardly, shifting on his feet.

“What are you two doing out? The school’s on lockdown—”

“We needed to make sure she wasn’t hurt,” Victoire said tearily, swiping at her face.

Teddy nodded. “The map. We alerted McGonagall…those boys had her in a room and we weren’t sure…”

Harry swallowed the bile in his throat and Victoire began to tremble. 

“We got her in time. Thanks to you both.”

She shook her head. “It’s all my fault,” Victoire said, hiccuping with the force of her tears. “I drove her away. She would never have gone off alone if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t ruined everything.”

He frowned, looking between them. “Did I miss something?”

Teddy’s golden eyes met his. “Yeah…you did.”

His lips parted but Victoire was shoving something into his hands.“Can you give this to her?”

Harry stared down. A small knitted fawn was cupped in his palm, the fabric worn and well loved. 

“It’s her lovie. I—I think she’ll want it,” she whispered.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “I’ll walk you two back.”

They moved in silence and he hugged them both at the portrait. His mind was still occupied with the hospital wing and he made his way back, heart in his throat as he smoothed a thumb over one of the beaded eyes of the deer. Poppy greeted him with a tired smile when he came back in.  Harry ducked his face from Naomi who lay curled in one of the beds, ashen and dishevelled, appearing like the tiny child she was. 

What the hell had happened? He asked himself again. 

Harry sucked in a breath when he went towards the far curtain. The last one before Hannah’s office. There was no way to knock, so he pulled back the curtain just enough and kept his eyes downcast.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes,” Hannah said faintly. When he looked up, she stood over Iris who was no longer a tiny baby. Instead she looked closer to Cora's age. She hardly took up any of the bed and her body swam beneath the much larger hospital gown. “The potions working. She should be back to herself within the hour.”

Iris’s eyes were closed but fluttering, lungs taking in air. He desperately wanted to take her hand in his, yet he remained where he was, unsure what one did in a situation like this.

“She’ll be okay, Harry.”

He tore his gaze from her to Hannah. Still dressed in jeans and a jumper with her Healer robes hastily thrown over. 

“What did they do?” he asked, voice raw.

Her mouth flattened. Fury flashing over her face and his heart sped up.

“An attempted cruciatus.”

A far away scream echoed in his mind. The terrible sound that had never left him. His hands tightened around the stuffed animal. He took a deep breath feeling the flair of his magic. 

“I don’t know what happened. Another boy was hit with the spell as well. I’m not sure we’ll know until they’ve all been interviewed.”

He stared down at his hands which shook and he made his way closer. He looked at the girl who’d embedded herself in his psyche. Her face popping into his mind without prompting. A reminder of what he missed most. Holding in a breath, he carefully placed the stuffed animal with its rightful owner. 

“They did it before…before the other spell…I’m not sure what would have happened if they hadn’t,” Hannah told him, she shook her head and moved some of the hair off Iris’s cheek. “She’s starting to stir which is a good sign.”

He cleared his throat. “Is her Mum coming?” 

“Poppy said she'll be contacted in the morning. She’s not in any danger and will likely sleep most of the night anyways…don’t need to give her any more of a fright in the night.” Harry nodded and Hannah turned towards him. “Do you want to keep her company?”

“Sure,” he said quietly.

Hannah patted his arm, swiftly heading to where she kept the potions near the back. Harry sank into the chair, scrubbing his face with his hands. Exhaustion seeped in now that the crisis had passed. Not that he would be liable to get much sleep that night. He wasn’t sure when he would pry himself from the chair. Hannah and Poppy would take care of her, he knew that, and yet it still ate at him. Harry watched her breathing, delicate features relaxed in sleep. So slowly, it was almost impossible to tell until it happened, he watched her get older. A surreal experience, although in his experience with Teddy and Ron’s girls it often seemed like you blinked and they were different. 

He noticed the freckles on the bridge of her nose had faded since September. A memory from long ago came to him, Hermione nearly the same age in Iris’s place, the resemblance only growing as Iris transformed back to the version he’d first met. He didn’t think it over, simply touched his hand to hers, letting her know he was there. A shiver ran up his arm as he brushed his thumb along her wrist, feeling the flutter of her pulse. Her hands were so much tinier than he would have thought, even at eleven. 

He sighed. She should have a parent with her. No child should be left on their own after what she’d gone through. Harry settled himself further into his seat, already knowing he would stay—a poor substitute until her Mum arrived.

***

Pain was what came to Iris first, seeping into her awareness as she floated towards consciousness. The world around her was a blur when she managed to lift her heavy eyelids. She blinked up at the high ceiling until a face came into her line of vision. Messy jet black hair and glasses were clear even with the lack of lighting. Her lips tried to form words but all she managed was a groan.

“Iris,” he said quietly. “I’ll get Hannah.”

There was shuffling and the warmth that had been on her arm disappeared. Iris fought her way out of the fog inside her. She began to shake as if her body was experiencing the aftershock of an earthquake. She winced at the pain shooting through her legs, like the worst pins and needles of her life.

“Oh, it’s good to see your eyes open. Let’s take away some of that pain.”

A bitter liquid was at her lips and she felt Hannah’s cool hand on her chin, tipping it back. Another warm larger hand on her arm, kept the panic at bay.

Within seconds she felt a cooling as the numbness settled through her. Heartbeat slowing and eyes growing heavy again. “I’m just going to gather a few things, unfortunately there’s more potions to get in you before you drift back off,” Hannah said calmly, Iris tried to nod but all of her was slow. There was more light now, faint and coming from the otherside of the bed. Iris finally managed to turn her head. He was there; worse for wear, hair sticking up each way and dark circles stood out in the lamplight. But there.

“You’re here?” she asked, her voice nearly mute with her sandpaper tongue.

He nodded, lips flicking up the tiniest bit. “I am.”

“What…what happened?” 

The smile faded and his hand squeezed her arm that still loosely held her wrist. “We aren’t sure yet, Iris. We’ll know more soon. Professor Longbottom and some of the others are taking care of it.”

She took in a breath but it took some effort. Her chest still had a restricted feeling as if she’d been binded around her ribcage. 

He watched her carefully, leaning forward. “Someone thought you would want this,” he said quietly, and that’s when Iris noticed Prongs tucked in near her elbow. 

Iris stared at her old lovie and her father picked it up and placed it in her hand holding it there. “Does this one have a name?” His eyes met hers once again.

She swallowed and gave a small nod.

“Should I try and guess?” he asked lightly when she didn’t reply.

Another tremor went through her, she felt the edge of the cliff in her mind. His face grew more concerned and she sucked in a breath. No more hiding. She’d made a promise.

“Prongs,” she said faintly. “His name is Prongs.”

He went completely still. His eyes flashed between the lovie and her, widening behind his glasses. Tears she hadn’t realised were there, sprang to the surface. She’d begun the fall and she felt too weak and tired to brace for impact.

He remained silent and she closed her eyes, unable to watch. “I—I’m sorry…I didn’t tell you. Before.”

“You…” She blinked her eyes open, blurred with tears. He stared at her shell shocked. “What?”

“My mum…she told me the stories about a magic school. Some were her stories and others—well, she told me they were part of me because—because they were a part of you.”

His hold on her tightened and then loosened, as he fell back against his seat. 

“Your Mum?”

Iris forced herself to speak over the lump in her throat, she went to touch the necklace and only then became aware of its absence.

“My—my necklace,” she said, struggling to sit up. All of it too much at once and desperation for her Mum shot through her. “I need it,” she said, voice cutting in and out.

Her father looked as if she’d started speaking in pig latin. “What?”

“Mum made it for me. I—I have her picture. To show you…to show you I’m not lying.”

“Iris,” he said, leaning forward, eyes searching hers. “I need to know if you’re saying…what I think you are.”

Iris pressed her hand over her heart, in the hollow space of her collarbone where her Mum’s love had been kept close. 

“Yes,” she said, weakly as she lost her battle with her tears. “I—I’m sorry—”

A loud bang broke the quiet bubble between them. Her father was immediately on his feet with his wand drawn. Raised voices reached them, and Iris knew one of them better than any other in the world. 

“What the bloody hell happened?” Hannah asked, coming through the other curtain. Iris continued to look at her father who stood stock still. His eyes focused on her and before any of them could move, she appeared, drenched from head to toe. 

Her mother whirled in like a hurricane. Pale arms bare in a red dress that clung to her, no coat. Mud splattered her black tights, curls darkened and flattened by the rain.  Her frantic eyes locked on Iris and she made a small sound. Then before Iris knew it she was in her mother’s arms which were ice cold. She breathed in the smell of her perfume and also the word she’d long ago taught Iris—petrichor. 

She felt her ragged breathing near her forehead and then her face was being cradled in familiar hands. Big brown eyes scanned every inch of her.

“You’re okay? Love—where’s your necklace? I—it—” she shook her head, dropping more kisses across her face the way she had when Iris had been much smaller. 

A sob began to build up in her throat. “Mummy…” 

Mum tucked some of the mess of her hair behind her ear and then held her close. “I’m here love, I’m here. I—” Mum was also crying and Iris gripped her as best she could, arms still limp and hard to move.

“Hermione…” 

Mum froze. Slowly, she lifted her head towards his voice.

Her father had stepped forward. Comprehension now mixed with shock as he stared at them. Iris looked between her parents as best she could from her mother’s embrace. Both of them wore mirrored slack jawed expressions. 

Every time Iris had tried to imagine what came next it had only been a blank expanse, the great unknown that lay below the jump; never in her wildest dreams had she imagined this: 

Like a shot Mum was up, one arm pushed Iris behind her. The other drew her wand, which she directed right at her father’s chest.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen: The Bomb

"They asked 'do you love her to death?' 

I said speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life."

-Mahmoud Darwish

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes from Hermione’s. The deep brown he remembered flashing with fury. He managed to swallow while his mind attempted to catch up with the series of events preceding this. 

“Hermione…” he tried again, unable to form any other word. 

“No,” she said, her tone nothing like the one she’d used with Iris. “How—how dare you impersonate him.”

“I’m not—”

“No—” she cried, her arm trembling but she gripped her wand tightly. 

Harry forced himself to look towards Hannah who just stared wide eyed at the scene. He looked back at Hermione, rage radiated off of her. 

“Explain. Now,” she demanded.

A memory of a flock of birds came to him as he stared down her wand. Her anger then paled in comparison to now. Harry was certain if she did cast any spell it would be far more egregious. 

“Mum—”

His eyes locked on Iris’s. Only then did it sink in that hers were the exact same shade of green as his.

“Don’t look at her! You have no right!” she cried, louder than before. 

“It’s him,” Iris croaked, face twisting in anguish. “Mum—you have to listen to us.”

Hermione faltered. Wand still pointed directly at him. She sucked in a breath then shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

“Iris is right, Hermione,” Hannah started but Hermione only shook her head again with more emphasis. 

“No. I watched him die,” she said resolutely, eyes pained. “I stayed at his side, I—”

“Mum.” Iris said, pulling at her, tone pleading. “It’s the truth.” Harry could only look between the two of them, mind still trying to grasp what he was seeing.

Iris’s statement only made her expression darken. “What have you told her?” she whispered, eyes narrowed. “Did—Did you hurt her? Is that why she’s here?”

Her words made him grimace. Eyes flashing  back to Iris, cheeks streaked with tears as she watched them helplessly. 

“I—” He took a step forward.

“Don’t move,” she said sharply, arm raised with more intent. 

Harry stared at a loss for how this was happening. His brain then finally formed a coherent sentence. 

“I did…come back,” he managed to say. 

“You’re lying,” she said, her voice wavering between hot and cold. 

“He’s not lying, Mum. It’s in Hogwarts a History!” Iris said, wiping at her face with distress and beginning to cry harder. “I—I wanted to tell you,” she exhaled, a sob making her shoulders heave. “I’m so—so—sorry.”

Hermione wavered again, her wand hand fully shaking as she glanced back at Iris then at him. He shook his head, holding up his hands as he took a fraction of a step closer. 

“Hermione I—” he stared into her eyes that began to morph from anger to confusion. “Friends tell each other things, remember?” he said, moving again another inch closer, slowly as if approaching a cornered centaur.

Her chin trembled. “How—how do you know about that?”

“Because I was there,” he said quietly, not breaking her gaze. “Halloween. You…you were injured. Again in December and I—”

His own eyes burned, like the whiskey they had drunk. The memory of their kiss pressed in. His lips parted in disbelief that he was talking about that time with her—to her.

His hand grazed her elbow, the connection sparking inside him. His breath caught. She was there. Not a figment of his imagination. 

Her eyes were impossibly wide, face damp from rain and her tears that had begun anew. “You’re…you?”

“I am,” he said, throat constricting. He felt out of his body but wholly in it. Every nerve attuned to the fact that she was flesh and blood, whole and breathing in front of him.

Her wand dropped, clattering to the floor and echoing in the silence. She looked between his hand on her elbow and his face.

For a long moment it felt like the entire world had gone still. 

After an eternity, a strangled sob left her and before he could blink she’d thrown herself at him. He wrapped his arms around her, muscle memory taking over despite the surrealness. She smelt like rain, but underneath it was utterly familiar. He inhaled and was flooded by more memories. As far back as eleven years old, deep in the depths of the castle when she’d hugged him for the first time. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. She shook in his arms, her breathing laboured and uneven, and it occurred to him then that she must have run there—at least partially. 

She fisted the material of his shirt in her hands and he held her tightly, dimly aware that he was keeping her upright. Although he didn’t know how they hadn’t collapsed into a heap on the stone floor, as his own body trembled with the enormity of what was happening. When he finally lifted his head he saw Iris with her knees pulled up to her chin. Hannah had moved to the otherside of the bed and was rubbing her back. His daughter, she was his daughter. All of it was too much to take in as he stared at her with Hermione in his arms. 

At some point Hermione pulled her face from where it had been buried in his chest. Her hand reached up slowly and came to his cheek, thumb brushing across the scruff that he hadn’t shaved during his mission. Her eyes were blown wide as they searched his, bright with tears. Nothing like the flat lifelessness from his nightmares. He held her face, feeling the soft skin and tracing a tear from her cheek down her slender neck. His lips parted but only a noise of disbelief escaped as they drank each other in. 

“I think we all need a moment don’t we?” Hannah’s voice penetrated the fog of his mind. 

Hemione finally tore her eyes from his and looked back at Iris. Another soft sob leaving her at the sight of Iris folded over herself on the small bed. 

“Oh love,” she whispered. She held tight to him and he felt the tension go through her. He moved his hands to her waist, afraid to let her go, unsure if she could stand. Also convinced that if he stopped touching her, she would disappear.

“Right. Both of you should have a seat,” Hannah said. When neither of them moved, she cleared her throat. “I need to get another potion for Iris.”

The mention of their daughter pulled their attention. Hannah looked at them expectantly. They stared at one another again for a long beat, then like school children they obeyed. 

Harry held tight to Hermione, supporting her until she could slip into the chair closest to Iris and on autopilot he pulled over another, angling it closer, his legs pressed against hers. 

“Clearly this is a…surprise—to everyone,” Hannah went on carefully. “One thing at a time is likely best. I’ll get her next potion but I think a calming drought might also be beneficial…perhaps for all of us.”

Hermione leaned closer to the bed, brow furrowed as she touched the chestnut curls spilling over Iris’s arm. 

“I’ll be back with those quick,” Hannah said. She disappeared and Harry sat back in his seat, eyes moving between mother and daughter. 

“Love?” Hermione whispered. Iris made a distressed sound, not lifting her head.

“Are you in pain?” he asked and Hermione sucked in a breath.

Iris’s head moved, tangled curls spilling around her. Hermione turned to him dazed. He couldn’t form a single thought, his eyes unsure where to settle. She looked so much like he remembered, yet different. Face matured in a way that was hard to pinpoint. She simply continued to stare back.

Iris made a muffled sound and her eyes darted back to their child curled up on the bed. “Love, can you look at me?” she asked quietly.

Iris released a shuddered breath, then peered up through the curtain of her hair, face red and soaked with tears. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Hermione whispered. She started to sit up, all of her shaking but she hardly seemed to notice. Harry’s hand shot out and assisted her as she scooted onto the bed and pulled Iris into her arms. Harry watched the scene, speechless at the sight of the two of them. 

Hermione’s eyes met his— face as expressive as he remembered. Fear, confusion and shock intermingled together and likely matched his. He reached out and brushed against her knee, which shot a spark through his entire body. He now noticed the rip in her tights that went all the way up to where the fabric of her red dress covered it, mud speckled a dizzying pattern up her calves and thighs, her soaked flats having been slipped off. It hit him again that she had made her way there with no coat and in the rain. The material was still damp beneath his hand. He shook himself and pulled out his wand, muttering a quick drying and heating charm before he repaired the hole.

“I—” she started and shook her head. Staring at him. “You’re alive.”

“You’re alive,” he said, with a shake of his head.

They continued to watch one another with matching disbelief. Eventually she looked back down at Iris who hadn’t moved from where she was burrowed into her. Silence stretched out between the three of them, only the sound of Iris’s sniffles and the rain lashing the glass outside filling the large space.

Hannah came back before he could fathom where to begin. She handed him a vile of blue liquid. Harry knocked back the unpleasant potion and felt the release of tension in his shoulders, it wasn't a miracle, but it took the edge off his racing heart and mind.

“How did you get here?” he finally managed.

Hermione had finished her drink, handing the vile back to Hannah after coaxing Iris to drink hers. “I apparated to Hogsmead…and I ran…”

“Through the gate?” Hannah asked.

“Hagrid was coming back from the pub. I—I think I scared him half to death but he got me through. I didn’t stick around to thank him.”

He nearly smiled at the mental image before it faltered. “Did McGonagall owl you?”

She shook her head. Iris had finally lifted her face and Hermione wiped some of the tears from her cheeks. “Iris’s locket. It—it alerted mine that she was—she was in…”

Iris sucked in a breath, voice raspy. “My necklace?” 

Hermione nodded. “It does more than send our code,” she said quietly. Iris’s eyes went huge and he looked between them utterly lost.

“Code?” Hannah asked, clearly not following either.

Hermione shook her head. “I used magic to connect them. So we—we could tell each other I love you each night. Taping out morse code. I also made it so that I’d be alerted if someone harmed her with magic.”

He swallowed with difficulty, anger rising despite the swirl of other emotion at the thought of earlier. Everything else had nearly wiped it from him, but Iris had been hurt, and it could have been much worse.

“It protected her,” he said, hoarsely. He glanced at Hannah who seemed to have reached the same conclusion. 

Hermione nodded, holding Iris tighter. “I had a book on protective spells…I’ve done a few over the years—just in case.”

His heart caught on that word; years. Years and years that had gone by, with a family he hadn’t known existed. A family he hadn’t known he needed to protect. If he’d been standing it would have knocked him flat. 

“How long have you known?” Hermione asked, her brows drawn together. Her eyes moved between him and Iris. He wasn’t sure who she was addressing.

Harry looked to Iris who’s head hung low. “Only a few seconds before you,” he managed to say, trying to make sense of it to himself. 

Hermione straightened, running a hand down Iris’s back. “Love?”

Her voice hitched. “Since I saw him.”

He rubbed a hand across his face, mind flashing to the first time he’d seen Iris outside the Great Hall. Before either of them could speak a door opened. Voices carried, several of them. Hermione paled further and Hannah was up and moving fast. She sealed off their area with another curtain and a wave of her wand caused the chorus to diminish. Judging from the angry tone of one male voice he’d overheard, he assumed it was Naomi and Nicholas’s father. He’d also caught McGonagall's familiar cadence. Harry tensed in his seat before forcing himself up. 

He stopped at the feel of Hermione’s hand as he moved past her. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered, squeezing her fingers gently. Briefly marvelling at the familiar feeling of her hand in his before he moved towards where Hannah had gone.

***

Iris watched him disappear again, her stomach spasming. She sank further into her mum.

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” Mum said quietly, and fresh tears joined the old ones as Iris nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For not—for not telling you.”

“You would have when you could,” she said, cupping her cheek gently.

This only made Iris cry harder. “No. I—I knew and I didn’t tell you, or him.”

“You just met him love, it’s understandable.”

Guilt wracked her. “Mum—”

Her father was back and the guilt only intensified. He would have to be cross with for keeping everything a secret. She had doomed their relationship before it could even begin and the thought made her cry harder. Mum rubbed her back, and pressed a kiss to her head. She would love her anyways, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t also be angry once she knew the truth. He sat back down in the chair that Mum had been in, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him directly. A slightly more frazzled Hannah followed, then the Headmistress who stared at her Mum like she was seeing someone come back from the dead. Which Iris supposed was true to all of them.

“Ms Granger…it’s really you.”

“Hello Professor,” she said weakly.

“Well, this is…unexpected.”

“That’s one word for it,” Hannah said, blowing out a breath that fluttered her bangs. Her eyes zeroed back on Iris.  “Now. I need to get Iris here more potion so she can rest.”

Hermione nodded, getting up. “Don’t go,” Iris whispered, holding tight to her. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, and Iris relaxed a fraction. The other adults were speaking quietly and Iris struggled to keep up, her head fuzzy.

“I’ll speak with both of you at a better time. Mr Lupin will grab a statement from Iris, but that can wait,” the Headmistress said, addressing her father.

“Are they in custody?” he asked.

“The students, yes.”

He looked mutinous before he schooled his face and gave a sharp nod.

“As you’re well aware of, that is only the first step,” The Headmistress sighed.

Iris tried to continue to follow the conversation but Hannah pushed another potion into her hand, and at her Mum’s urging she drank it down. 

Mum held her and Iris closed her eyes. She should have told her first thing. It was so much better having her there, what had she been thinking? That first night in the hospital wing, she could have had this. The floating feeling took over, as if she was slipping underwater. She became absorbed into her pillow, hardly aware of Mum tucking her in. Her voice hummed a familiar lullaby. She blinked up and the last thing she saw was both her parents' faces that seemed to shimmer in the faint light before she went under.  

***

Hermione continued to hold her daughter’s hand even when her grip slackened, keenly aware of Harry’s presence less than a foot from her. Something her mind could scarcely comprehend. At any moment it felt like she would awake from a dream, and the reality of his absence would slam into her once more. Her entire body shivered, breath catching at the possibility. As if sensing her thoughts, his hand came to her knee. The weighted touch, his touch, that she’d only felt in dreams, caused her to look towards him. Emerald green eyes looked back. He was really here. 

Every part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms. To feel every inch of him, and confirm what her mind was telling her was impossible. Her gaze swung back down to Iris, her green eyes hidden. Then back to him. Like a pendulum of a clock, unable to not move back and forth. The two most beautiful parts of her life that could never coexist, now both within arms reach. 

“Well…” Professor McGonagall said, bringing Hermione out of her spinning mind. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

Harry swiped at his face, breaking the moment further. “I…I have no idea.”

“As Headmistress I should inform you about the events of this evening,” she said, glancing between them. “Except it’s hard to get past—all the rest.”

“I still don’t understand…” Hermione looked at Harry, alive in front of her, cheeks flushed and breathing. Breathing! Pain flashed across his face, eyes on hers again. He didn’t appear to have an answer either.

“You’ve been in Edinburgh the whole time?” Hannah asked. Hermione forced herself to nod. 

Harry buried his face in his hands. Her stomach sank. “How…” she couldn’t form the words, images she spent years keeping at bay threatened even as she looked at him. The movement of his shoulders, proof of life, the only thing keeping her from breaking apart.

“This is a lot. For both of you,” Hannah added gently. 

Harry’s head shot up, lips pressed into a line and eyes searching hers. 

“It’s also well past midnight,” Professor McGonagall said, pressing a hand to her forehead, eyes closing briefly. “I’ll need to speak with you both tomorrow about the situation, and likely more I imagine?” 

They nodded and Hermione suddenly felt like she was back at school, despite the rise and fall of her daughter’s breath under her hand, still holding her, unable to bring herself to move. 

“I’ll leave you with Ms Abbot then.”

With a final scan of all of them, she departed. Once the heavy oak door closed, Hannah shook her head. 

“I honestly don’t know what to say.” She placed her hands on her hips. “But you both have had quite the shock. Not to mention stress. You’ll want to rest. Hermione I can make you a bed at my place—”

“No,” she said, louder than she intended. She stared down at Iris as her heart raced. “I—I’ll stay here.”

“Me too,” he added quickly. 

Hannah surveyed them. “You certainly can’t stay in that outfit.” 

Before Hermione could protest, Hannah swiftly moved out of sight. She felt Harry’s eyes on her as he moved closer. With a final kiss to Iris’s forehead, she forced herself to move and turned to get off the bed. Harry caught her when she stumbled on numb legs. His hands were warm, steadying her. No words came to her then as she tilted her face towards his. Some of the fog of shock had lifted enough that she could take in his features more clearly, see the way the years had changed him. He looked so much the same, though of course he’d aged. His glasses were different too. She swore he was even taller then she remembered. Arms more defined and shoulders broader. A small scar near his cheekbone that she couldn’t help touching delicately. 

The biggest difference was the depths of his eyes. Pain shone visibly in the dark green and made it impossible to breathe. His hands had moved down, over her waist to pull her closer and she pressed into his hold. 

“This will be more comfortable. You can change in my office.”

Hannah’s voice broke the spell and she nearly fell over, startled by the intrusion. Harry’s grip tightened and then loosened, allowing her to turn and face Hannah. If she found their embrace strange she didn’t show it. Only gesturing for her to follow. Wordlessly she did. Heart stuttering at the loss of contact. She couldn’t stop herself from looking back; half expecting him to vanish. But he remained standing there with his haunted eyes, watching her go. 

***

As if sensing her mum’s absence Iris began to stir, face scrunched and a small whimper escaped her lips. Harry closed the gap between them. 

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. 

He moved some of the hair that had fallen into her closed eyes. She made a small sound but didn’t wake. Harry kept his hand on her forehead, and slowly her expression began to slacken once again. She was his child. A thought that made his heart slam into his ribcage each time it hit him; He was someone’s father. Staring at her, he tried to process the events of the last two months. Really the last twelve years. None of it made sense. They’d been so sure—

“This won’t do,” Hannah said, he turned to find them back. Hermione had changed from her dress to dark joggers and a matching cotton jumper. His stomach did the same swoop it had been doing since he’d laid eyes on her. Memories and photographs hadn’t done her justice, it was so different to see first hand how beautiful she was. 

Before he could blink the chairs near him transformed into a long, wide and cushy grey sofa bed. 

“I hope you two will rest. It’s nearing half past one and she’ll need you tomorrow.” They looked at one another, then nodded numbly. Hannah waved her wand over Iris, it glowed blue and she seemed satisfied. “If she wakes, this potion will help her go back under, though she should be fine until morning.”

Hermione gave a grim nod, moving unsteadily towards them. She ran a hand over Iris’s forehead, brow furrowed in concern. 

“She’s okay. We’ll explain everything tomorrow,” Hannah said, in her reassuring firm way. “Should be right as rain by Sunday.”

She sucked on her bottom lip, not looking away from their daughter. Harry thanked Hannah who headed towards her office and offered him one final wan smile.

Together they watched the steady rise and fall of Iris’s chest, thankfully peacefully asleep once again. Her hand on his wrist caused him to look at her face, now shadowed with Hannah having dimmed the light further, but her wide eyes shone with tears. He couldn’t help the reflex to pull her closer. Her hand came between them, palm pressed over his heart. 

“You—you were gone,” she said, voice shaking.

He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry. 

“No—I’m sorry—I left—” 

Swiftly the tears drowned out the rest of her words.  Harry wasn’t sure there were any for their situation. 

Eventually he guided her over to the sofa bed, collapsing and bringing her into his lap which she didn’t protest. His hand touched the ends of her curls, all of it familiar, yet impossible to believe. 

Her voice was faint when she finally spoke. “How did it happen?”

He stilled his movements on her back, meeting her gaze. “We still don’t know.”

At her confused look, he sighed. “I don’t remember much.” His mind jumped back to the chaos of those first few weeks.  “I woke up three days after the battle...the beginning was a blur and I—I didn’t fully understand what had happened at first.”

“What did happen? When you woke up.”

“Well, from what I gather…everyone kind of panicked. No one knew what to do. I…I was out of it for the first few days. When I had my faculties back, I was,” he sighed. “They locked me away in one of the towers.”

Her brow furrowed. “Locked away?”

He nodded. “I—it took a lot to convince them it was really me and not—” She sucked in a breath. “It’s worse than it sounds.” The lie was clearly not lost on her as she gripped his shoulder. His gaze dropped. “Once they confirmed it was me, they let me out,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I wanted to see you…” 

An understatement. She was all he had cared about. Her name had been the first word he’d formed when he’d been able to speak. 

He ran his hand up her arm. “Ron told me you left. The day before.”

A small sob escaped her. “They were going to bury you…and I—” 

He moved his hand to her face as she shuddered in his lap. “I know,” he said softly. “I’d have felt the same. If it was you.”

Hermione nodded and he pressed his lips to her hairline as she collapsed against his chest. Unsure what to say. He’d never had to live with the image of her death as she had. Not that his imagination hadn’t attempted to fill in the gaps. Silence enveloped them, both lost in the memories of loss.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Ron tried to find you.”She tilted her head towards him. “I joined when I finally could.” Guilt flashed in her eyes. He held her closer, needing to feel her as he went on. “We tried everything. Articles in the paper. We sent hundreds of Patronuses and owls that were supposed to be able to find anyone…and nothing ever came back from you. There was a task force for a while…years actually.”

“I hid from him. From everyone.” She sucked in a breath. “I found a spell that made it so no messages could come through…I changed my identity and I—I avoided the papers. Really, the Magical world entirely. I couldn’t stand seeing the coverage of your…once I knew I was going to have Iris, my decision became permanent.”

He looked to their daughter, silver in the moonlight. Her voice was thin when she continued. “I couldn’t be a part of that world anymore. Not without you.” He turned back to her, eyes filled with tears.  “I didn’t think she would be safe…if people knew.”

His heart sank at the truth of her statement. Tonight hadn’t exactly disproved that. The next breath she released was more of a yawn and he felt his own exhaustion more clearly than ever. He hadn’t exactly slept deeply, or restfully during his mission. He never did. 

Harry looked over at Iris again. “When was she born?”

“January 31st,” she replied quietly.

Despite his brain feeling like mush, he did the maths. “Shell Cottage.”

She nodded weakly, chewing on her lip. 

“Are you angry?” she whispered.

“I…I don’t know what I am.” He squeezed her fingers, releasing a sigh of his own. “I missed it.” He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as it settled over him. He couldn’t help thinking of the tiny baby he’d briefly cradled in his arms. “Her life. When she was born...her childhood. All of it.”

Hermione’s head tilted down, her tears splashing onto her jumper. “I just wanted you.” He touched her chin and her brown eyes shone in the moonlight. “All I wanted was you to be there. But I couldn’t—you were gone.”

His own tears returned and he wasn’t sure who clung to the other with more force. At some point they shifted. Hermione remained in his arms but they lay curled together. Not unlike how they’d slept in the narrow cot in the tent. 

She fell asleep just before he did. Her breathing, uneven and faint. Skin soft beneath his hands. His bleary eyes took in her familiar features again in the dark.  As he began to drift off, his last thought was that if it was a dream; he hoped to never wake up.

***

Iris gasped. Eyes too heavy to lift and heart pounding in her chest as she tried to breathe. Panic ricocheted through her, she reached out blindly and collided with solid warmth.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe.” 

Finally her eyes snapped open—it was him. The room was still wrapped in darkness, but she could see the outline of her father’s form. Last night came back in a rush as the dream of running from danger dissipated and what actually happened returned. 

“Mu—” she tried and failed to get the word out. 

“She’s here.” he replied, as his hand came to her forehead. “She’s just in the toilet. She’ll be right back.”

Iris’s lips trembled and tears dripped into her ears, except she could do nothing but stare up at him. 

His thumb brushed against her hairline. “There’s some potion for you. Let’s see if that helps.”

Carefully he lifted her up so that she was supported by her pillow and before she knew it a cup was at her lip. The potion cooled every bit of her as it made its way to her stomach. 

Her eyes began to adjust to the dark and looking up at him all the guilt flooded her again. “I—I’m sorry.” she said, tears clogging her throat. 

His brow furrowed. “What are you sorry for?”

“Everything.” Iris hiccuped, breathing strained as panic, guilt and exhaustion battled within her. “I—I made it all bad.”

“Made what bad?”

“Everything,” she repeated.

“You're losing me,” he said, smoothing her brow with his hand again. “I promise. It’s all okay.”

Iris shook her head. Everything was growing fuzzy, but she had to tell him.

“No,” she moaned. “It’s all my fault. For—for not telling.”

“What?”

She only shook her head again, trying to get the words out as she felt herself pulled back under. “I didn’t tell you…and now. Now it’s all—it’s all wrecked .”

His weight shifted on the bed, face growing more concerned above her. 

“You didn’t wreck anything,” he said gently.

“Mum—she…mum tried to hex you.”

He hummed. “She did.”

“That—that’s not how it was supposed to go,” she said with a sob, her eyelids growing heavy and all of her floated despite how weighed down she was.

***

Harry stared at his daughter. Her eyelids fluttered madly, skin clammy beneath his hand. 

“How was it supposed to go?” he asked quietly after a minute. Unsure if she was still awake.

She didn’t reply for a long moment before her face twisted. “Not…not like that.”

He wasn’t sure what to say and continued to stroke the wispy flyaways that were plastered to her forehead. Harry was certain she was asleep until her eyes opened, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“You’ll…you’ll not like me now,” she said faintly.

Hand stilling, he blinked down at her.

“Not like you?”

Iris nodded, her eyes closing again. “I kept mum…a secret and you, you missed her. She missed you…now she’s with stupid Colin, and it’s all wrecked.” 

Her voice had become thin; it took him a moment to take in what she’d said. Her breathing grew deeper and he studied her face, so pale it appeared to glow in the predawn blue. Her confession landed like a punch to the solar plexus. Their conversation about her Mum from the steps of Hannah and Neville’s cottage coming back to him; her distress about a new boyfriend. Iris's distress only further twisted the sickening feeling. He took her small hand in his. 

“I could never not like you,” he whispered into the silence. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen: Halo

Hermione shivered as she made her way through the hospital wing. She’d forgotten how draughty and cold the castle was. She blinked in surprise to find Harry perched on Iris’s bed, his eyes shot to hers, weary and as exhausted as she felt. Waking up, she could hardly believe it was his heartbeat she felt against her cheek. Shock still hovered over them like another presence in the room.

He held an empty vial in his hand and she moved quickly towards Iris. “She woke up?”

“Just for a minute,” he replied, looking back at their daughter.

“Is she in pain?"

He paused and she felt sick. “I don’t think so. Just…bad dreams.”

She moved to the other side of Iris. Her daughter’s face was relaxed in sleep, but there was a sheen of perspiration on her brow, hair tangled and damp like she’d been for a swim.

“Will you tell me what you know?” she asked.

Harry swiped a hand across his jaw, then nodded. His hand moved back to Iris’s hand, and he held her thin wrist delicately. “I was at Neville and Hannah’s—”

“Neville and Hannah’s?”

“They’re married.”

“Oh.”

He smiled weakly. “Neville teaches Herbology. They have a cottage on the school grounds. I’d just returned from a mission, and I was catching up with them when we got the Patronus. We all came as quickly as we could. A few prefects and teachers were already there, so was McGonagall. They were in an empty room at the top of the North tower.”

Her heart picked up at the look on his face.

“I wasn’t sure at first what had happened. There’d been fighting amongst the older students, that was clear,” he paused, she was surprised to still read him so well.

“Please just tell me,” she whispered.

“She was missing.”

She couldn’t breathe and he stared at Iris, eyes glassy. “Naomi, a girl her age, eventually told us that she was outside the window.” Hermione pictured the tower, and her heart plummeted. “I couldn’t see her at first. And then I found her, Except—” He swiped at this face. “She was…”

“What?”

 He sucked in a breath. “A baby.” She sat back, sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “They’d given her a de-aging potion,” he said softly.

She shook her head. “Why?”

“I don’t know all the details yet. But I—” he pressed his lips together, face rigid. “I have a feeling it was so they could have an easier time flying her out of the school.” Her lips parted and his hand reached over Iris for hers. “I don’t know why…yet. But those boys. The ones that were apprehended. It’s likely they're involved with some not great people.”

Eyes burning, she looked at Iris. “How old was she?”

“I’m not sure. I doubt much older than a newborn. She was so tiny,” he said, voice catching. “I—I picked her up and took her to Hannah. She said—she said she won’t remember. At least not any details.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. The image of what he’d described was still too surreal. Not that she hadn’t imagined Harry holding Iris as a baby all those years ago.

“Is it still…like it was?” she finally asked.

He sighed. “It’s not like during the war. But there are still death eaters and other nutters out there. Some students have worried me recently. The hatred didn’t all disappear when he died.”

Hermione nodded numbly. Not that she hadn’t suspected that to be the case. After all it had been part of her logic for staying away this long. His hand brushing against her wrist only made her tears more relentless at the mistake that had proven to be.

His gaze dropped to their daughter. “I…I couldn’t leave her.”

Letting go of Iris, Hermione swiped at her wet cheeks. “Did you know?” His face creased in confusion. “That she—that she’s yours…”

“I didn’t think that was a possibility,” he replied hoarsely. “She told me. When she woke up…you showed up a few seconds later.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Cheeks warm thinking of the scene she’d caused. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He squeezed her hand before releasing it.

He stood, stretching, then grimaced again.

“What?”

“There’s more.” At his tone, she stiffened. Harry circled to her side of the bed, and he took her hands in his. “Remember. She’s fine, alright?” She stopped breathing but nodded anyway. “They attempted a Cruciatus.”

Harry had wrapped her in his arms before she could process that she was crying again.

“Your necklace. I think—well, it looks like it protected her,” he told her, speaking into the side of her neck as she clung to him.

“Was she in pain?”

His hold tightened. “I don’t know. But the curse wouldn’t have worked the way it was supposed to.”

He continued to hold her next to Iris’s bed as the sky lightened. She could scarcely believe the dawn had arrived, and he was still there, not vanishing like so many of the lovely dreams she’d had over the years. She clung tighter than she should, the panic in her chest not releasing at the thought of him fading with the night. The sound of footsteps reached them. Hannah appeared and Hermione reluctantly stepped out of his embrace, missing his warmth instantly.

Hannah’s eagle eyes spotted the vial. “She woke up.”

Harry nodded. “Briefly.”

She went over to Iris, efficiently moving her wand over her prone form.

“She’s healing well and should stay asleep for the next little while.” Her attention returned to them. “Which is why now is the perfect time to get the two of you looking more like human beings than inferi.”

Harry went to argue but Hannah held up a hand. “Iris needs two functioning parents.”

His mouth clamped shut. Hannah turned towards her. “You’ll probably feel better after a shower.” Hermione’s eyes flicked to Iris. Hannah touched her elbow, warmth and order in her tone. “Trust me. She’ll be taken care of and won’t wake until you return. This day is going to be long. I gather the two of you didn’t sleep much.”

She looked at Harry. She knew that the dark circles under her eyes likely rivalled his.

Hannah smiled. “It’s up to you. It’s a quick walk to Harry’s, or a floo to mine.”

Her words took a moment to permeate.

“Harry’s?” She glanced in his direction, and he looked at her wide eyed. “You live…here.”

He hesitated, cheeks flushing. “I’m a Professor.”

“You’re an Auror,” she countered with the shake of her head.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, his flush deepening. “Er—both, actually.” Hermione simply stared. “I teach defence,” he added hastily.

Once more she looked between her daughter and Harry. “I—you—”

His shoulders released with his sigh. “I’m her teacher.”

She felt faint and could do little more than blink up at him.

“I guess that settles it. Harry’s is closer. Do you want to walk her over?” Hannah asked brightly.

***

Despite the disillusionment charm, his eyes continued to drift over to where she was; inches from him as they strolled the halls of Hogwarts. Something he never thought would happen again. This early on a Saturday the students were far and few between, which was a relief. Not that any of them gave a passing glance as they blended with the stone walls.

“How long have you been teaching?”

Her question nearly made him trip on the last step of the spiral staircase. She grabbed his arm, and he was relieved when she didn’t let go.

“This is my fifth year.”

“But you’re still an Auror?”

“Yeah. I—there’s cases I’ve been on for ages. I’ve worked it out with McGonagall that others can fill in.”

She was quiet the rest of the way to his quarters. Hermione released him when he stopped. He murmured the password, touching the door handle and pushing it open, breathing out in relief that his small sitting room and office were tidy enough.

He removed the charm, and he could see her properly. Her eyes swept over his space. Harry glanced around, seeing it with a fresh perspective. The room wasn’t too dissimilar from the Gryffindor common room. Smaller, but still spacious, with a large red sofa and matching armchairs near the fireplace. His desk and shelves were tucked along the back. Touches, here and there, that made it his; the knit blanket from Mrs Weasley, glassware he’d brought back from Germany, various framed photographs dotted along the mantle and bookshelf. A map of the constellations took up most of the wall. Hermione moved towards the frame. He followed, watching her delicate fingers find Sirius.

Harry reached for her, then dropped his arm. She turned, tears in her eyes, but smiling. “It’s lovely.”

He managed to return her smile before it faltered. “The bathroom. It’s in the bedroom. I mean—” He internally cursed himself for being so bloody awkward. “What I meant is that it’s through the bedroom.”

She nodded, looking away quickly. He rubbed a hand across his face and began to walk towards the door. “I’ll grab you a towel,” he said over his shoulder. He summoned one from his closet and she was in the doorway when he turned back, eyes trained on his large bed, the midnight blue covers still tucked in.

Weak sunlight streamed through the heavy curtains, highlighting her face. His mouth was dry when he finally spoke. “It’s er—here.”

He forced his body into motion, flicking on the lanterns adorning the white walls with his wand, which caused the tiles to gleam.

“Thanks.”

She was right at his side, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“No trouble,” he murmured. She smiled and her eyes were golden in the light, he swallowed down every thought trying to ram its way into his mind. “I’ll go wait with Iris—Unless you want me to stay…” She bit down on her lip. “Er—in the sitting room,” he added hastily, face warming uncomfortably. “But I should probably go. In case she wakes up.” She nodded. “Right then.”

Harry turned on his heels and left, loathing himself entirely.

***

Hermione stayed under the warm water longer than she should. She’d forgotten how well—magical, magical showers were. She lingered, scrubbing away any hidden dirt that had been missed in the cleaning spell the night before. At least twice she’d bailed on her desperation to get to Iris, trekking through the path that skirted the forbidden forest. She stood for a long while after, wrapped in a towel in Harry’s bedroom. Some of the reality of not seeing her best friend for twelve years hit her then. Her mind felt like it was working both faster and slower. Hair dripping down her back, she shivered at the dawning that Harry had an entire life she knew nothing about.

On the dresser were several picture frames. Carefully she lifted one that was taken outside the Burrow. The sun hung low and those in the picture squinted at whoever the photographer was. She spotted Harry immediately. His jet-black hair sticking out amongst the sea of redheads. Her breathing stopped as she noticed the small girl he was holding. She had fine red hair, her small face hidden in Harry’s shoulder. Her stomach roiled, noticing Ginny in the shot. Only one over from Harry and grinning brightly into the camera. Beautiful as ever.

He would have mentioned a daughter. If he was married. Those things would have come up by now. Wouldn’t they? Then she remembered that she’d said nothing about Colin—not that there was much to say. They were hardly official. Ill at ease, she forced herself to put the photograph back. There were more. His parents' wedding. A toddler photo of Harry on a broom she’d seen years before. The three of them after the second task, sopping wet but smiling as they shivered in their towels.

A reminder that she was standing there undressed and that her daughter was in the hospital wing, hopefully still peacefully asleep. She did her best not to dwell on the possibilities. Instead, she shoved them down as she got dressed in the clean clothing Hannah had pushed in her arms as they departed the hospital wing; another comfortable jumper and jeans that were a few inches two long. She rolled up the cuffs before remembering her wand and hemming them instantly. With a final lingering glance at Harry’s room, she performed the disillusionment and left.

To her relief Iris was still fast asleep. Harry slumped in the chair next to her bed, awake but glazed over. He stirred when she came into the room and gingerly got up.

“Your turn?” she asked.

His lazy lopsided smile made her stomach summersault in a long-forgotten way. “Don’t want to risk Hannah’s wrath. Which is to say, she’s about to force food on you. Better to grin and bear it.”

She returned his smile. “Noted.”

As soon as they switched places, like Harry predicted, a tray was thrust upon her. Hermione chewed on her toast and observed Iris, whose colour had returned to her cheeks. She breathed a little easier. Hannah hadn’t been wrong about the shower and food either. She did feel more human.

The morning stretched on. Harry returned, hair damp and sticking up each way as he approached Iris. A memory of running her hands through the soft strands came to her, how it had been even longer when she had cut it for him on a rainy November night. He caught her staring, and she looked back towards their daughter.

He spoke quietly to Hannah before approaching her. “Remus will be here soon.”

“He recovered,” she said, voice catching.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, took a while. But he heads our team now.”

Hermione had approximately a thousand questions she wanted to ask. Most of which weren’t about his work but faced with him and the surrealness of it all, she could hardly fathom where to begin.

She didn’t have to as Iris stirred. Hermione leaned over and brushed her soft cheek. Green eyes blearily opened and met hers.

“Mum?”

“Good morning,” she said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Disgusting,” she croaked.

Hermione swept a hand over her tangled curls. “Worse than the vomit?” Iris groaned, then winced. “You’re not in pain?” she asked as calmly as she could.

Iris shook her head, her eyes landing on Harry and widening.

Harry touched her ankle lightly. Hermione watched the two of them observe one another with her heart in her throat.

“How’s my favourite patient feeling?” Hermione looked over to see Hannah holding a glass of water and a green vile.

Harry stepped back, allowing her to pass and answering for Iris. “Disgusting. Apparently.”

Hannah raised a brow, turning to Iris. “Is that so?”

Iris nodded sheepishly. Hannah placed a glass in her small hands. “Drink up. It will help.”

Iris followed instructions, gulping down the water and then potion that followed.

“Better?” Hannah asked.

Her face scrunched up as she handed back each vile.

“What’s that face for?” Hermione asked her.

“I think… my bladder might explode,” she said, groggily.

Her eyes went to Harry who along with Hannah was biting back a smile. She smoothed the hair off of Iris’s face. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

***

Iris was already sick of the hospital wing. Other than her excursion to the toilet, she’d been stuck in bed, which was unlikely to change for most of the day. Dutifully she ate the porridge and stewed berries Hannah brought her, aware of her mum’s worried gaze. She tried to hide it, but Iris knew better. Annie always said Mum’s face was an open book.

She tried not to make it obvious that she was studying them, this strange new species, a pair of parents. Between mouthfuls of oats, she stole glances. The sight of them side by side, still startling, as if she’d woken up into another universe. It was her father that she still found hard to read. He seemed distracted. His leg moved up and down, and he fiddled with his watch. Though at one point her mum leaned into him and said something quietly. He smiled, and he looked at her like she was the sun. And Mum. She looked back with the same light in her face.

Iris swallowed. Guilt crushing her chest in the way it had since September.

“Iris?”

She nearly jumped at his voice. Mum’s brow was furrowed.

“What?” Iris asked, aware she’d missed something.

Other voices and footsteps reached them. A light sort of panic entered her as thoughts of last night came back. A touch to her hand, forced her eyes to meet his. “My friend Remus would like to speak with you. Would that be alright?”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles and some of the panic softened. Iris nodded. He smiled and squeezed her hand before getting up. He was back by the time Mum had taken his place. A weary looking man with salt and pepper hair followed behind him. He had kind golden eyes that crinkled when he smiled.

“It’s nice to meet you Ms Everdeen. I’ve heard lots about you.” Iris frowned, looking at her dad and back at Remus who only smiled wider. “Teddy spoke highly of you.”

A flush spread across her cheeks. That was why he looked familiar; he was Teddy’s dad. She picked at the sheets and Mum rubbed her back reassuringly.

His gaze landed on her mum. “Ms Granger. I’m so glad to see you.”

Mum smiled, eyes glassy. “Me too.”

“I could hardly believe the briefing I got,” he said, taking the seat that her father had occupied.

“I don’t think any of us quite believe it,” she said, as she stared at Harry.

Remus glanced between them, then at Iris. “You certainly look like both your parents.” He smiled warmly. “I see your grandmother in you too.”

“Really?” she asked, curiosity seeping in at the thought of the grandmother she knew little about.

He nodded. “You’re eyes. But I’d say it’s something else. She was a force. I have a feeling you’re much the same.”

Iris heard her mum sniffle, and she felt her own eyes burn. Briefly she glanced over to her father who was seated on her other side. He looked out the window stoically.

Remus apologetically turned the conversation to the night before. He asked if she would be okay to put a strange device that looked startingly like a halo on her head, saying that it would provide a clearer picture of her memories for them to analyse later. Iris looked to her Mum for reassurance and at her nod, she did to.

Iris did her best to start from the beginning. Her father had stood as she talked but didn’t pace. Iris felt there was an unnaturalness in his stillness when she began to speak about one of the worst things she’d ever seen.

“After class….Naomi pulled her wand but then—”

Iris froze. She hadn’t asked him what he wanted her to call him yet. Tears already pressed behind her eyelids as she tripped over her sentences.

“It rattled. The cupboard and then…” she bit down on her lip. “It was Mum. But she—she—”

“It was a boggart,” her father cut in, voice flat.

Mum’s grip tightened at the unspoken words.

Remus nodded grimly. He offered Iris a glass of water and then she continued. By the end of her story, Mum had joined her on the bed and Iris buried herself into the comfort of her embrace when she told them about the trick to get her to leave the dorm, waking up in the room, seeing Naomi there, the potion she’d been forced to drink as her body moved without her control, the pain and the boy screaming, then the world going dark.

“Imperious,” her mum whispered. Iris peeked up to see Remus nodding and she heard her father mutter a swear word.

“Isn’t that…an unforgivable, and the other one too?”

Her mother nodded, holding her closer.

“He made you take a potion. According to witness statements. A de-aging potion,” Remus told her.

Iris recoiled. “Why?”

She felt warmth on her knee, and she met her father’s gaze, his voice low. “We think there was a plan to take you out of the castle.”

Nicholas' words came back to her. “They knew you were my…my dad.”

He locked eyes with Mum. The two of them seemed to be conducting a side private conversation she wasn’t privy to. After a moment he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Iris looked over at her Mum, whose brows knotted with worry.

“Thank you, Ms Everdeen. That’s all for now,” Remus said gently. He removed the Halo thing from her head, and Iris couldn’t help but touch the spot where it had hovered seconds before.

“Will you catch them? The bad people?” she asked Remus.

“We’re working on it,” he said, eyes flicking to her father. “Harry. I’d like a quick word.”

Mum held her close as the two of them left and Iris let herself melt further into the comforting embrace. Hannah appeared not long after, another potion in her hand.

“I don’t want to keep sleeping,” Iris sighed.

Hannah handed her the potion anyways. “Good thing this isn’t going to put you to sleep.”

“It’s not?”

“Next one will, which will have to wait since you have some more visitors.”

Before she could ask who, her father was back, Victoire and Isobel shyly followed with wide eyes. She sat up and Mum moved off the bed but stayed at her side.

“Hi,” Victoire said in a small voice.

“Hi,” Iris replied.

“You must be Fleur and Bill’s daughter,” Mum said, smiling warmly.

“I’m Victoire, this is Isobel,” she replied with a nod, cheeks turning pink.

Mum turned to Isobel. “Iris sent me your drawing; I absolutely loved it.” Isobel smiled shyly. “It’s so nice to meet you both. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Iris twisted the sheet between her fingers. She had left out the fact that she hadn’t been speaking to her closest friends at Hogwarts for most of the last month.

“Sorry girls. I have to borrow Hermione,” her father said apologetically. He had moved towards the bed and took Mum’s hand in his. He squeezed Iris’s arm gently. “Won’t be long.”

The two of them disappeared behind the blue curtains and Hannah began to follow, calling over her shoulder. “Not too long now. This one needs her beauty rest soon.”

Iris fidgeted where she sat. Unsure where to begin. She went to speak but Victoire burst into tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said, with a sob. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have told Teddy. It wasn’t mine to tell.”

“I—it’s okay,” she replied, looking between them. Isobel patted Victoire’s back, shooting Iris a helpless grimace.

“She’s been like this for weeks,” Isobel mumbled.

“Are you really alright?” Victoire asked, through tears. “They—they didn’t hurt you?”

Iris shook her head. “No. Not really. I—” she swallowed. “Help came in time.”

“That was Teddy’s idea,” Isobel said quietly, continuing to rub Victoire’s back. “When you didn’t return. Vic was panicking and he brought out the map.”

She looked between them, her own eyes burning at the sadness on both their faces. “Thank you,” she said, twisting the sheet again. “I—I’m not sure what would have happened if you—if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I should have noticed earlier, if I hadn’t hurt you…you’d have not gone off alone.”

Iris sighed. “I wasn’t alone…I—it’s a long story.”

“We’ve missed you,” Isobel said, slowly approaching.

“I missed you too,” she replied, her throat tight. “I’m sorry…for being so angry.”

“You had every right.”

Victorie nodded, following.

“You were right Vic,” Iris said, voice cracking.  “I should have told them. Both of them. Straight away.”

She wasn’t sure who made the first move, but the two of them wrapped themselves around Iris. A giant puddle of tears and limbs on the small cot which quickly turned to laughter.

***

Hannah’s office was warmer than the hospital wing. Hermione was tempted by the fire and cosy chair to curl up and shut her eyes, but the conversation with Remus quickly shot her with adrenaline.

“My flat?”

He nodded. “We’ll have to keep an eye on it for now.”

Remus’s gaze shifted to Harry who sat rigid in the chair next to her. “I’ve already spoken with Harry. I don’t think you should return tonight.”

Before she could speak, Hannah interjected. “You can stay with me and Neville. We have a guest bedroom.”

“It’s just a precaution,” Remus said kindly. “This group. Well, we don’t want to take any chances.”

Harry stiffened even further and didn’t lift his eyes from the floor.

“We assumed you’d want to grab a few things. It should only be for a night, or two. At least until we know if we have to relocate you.” The words instantly straightened her spine. Their flat was the only home they’d had for years. Plus she’d have to think of the shop, and what to tell Annie and Rosie. “It’s not likely to be the case,” he reassured her. “We just don’t want to take any risks until there’s more information,” he started to stand. “Our colleague Stella will be by shortly to bring you there and back.”

Harry looked ready to argue. She closed the small distance and brought his hand to her lap. “You’ll stay with her?”

His lips parted, then shut and he nodded. “Of course.”

The weight of the uncertainty didn’t lift. What helped was having him there. She couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving Iris behind with anyone else.

***

“So…are they in love?” Victoire asked from the end of the bed where she was sprawled with a bag of floating licorice that they’d been passing back and forth.

Iris bit down on her lip. “I don’t know.”

“They looked in love,” Isobel said, tucked in next to Iris.

“They did,” Victoire agreed.

“How do you know if someone’s in love?” Iris asked.

Victoire shrugged. “You just do.”

“It’s a quality,” Isobel explained, brushing Iris’s hair for her. “Like a painting. It’s more than what you see, but what you feel when you see it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense Isobel,” Iris said, fighting a smile.

She just shrugged, starting to French braid Iris’s now clean hair, thanks to Victoire’s charm work.

“Wait. Does she still have that boyfriend you were upset about?” Victoire said, sitting up and dropping the bag of sweets onto the bed.

Her stomach dropped. “Er—I dunno.”

Victoire frowned. “Well, I suppose she’ll break up with him now.”

“Why?”

Her blonde brows shot up. “Because…her true love came back to life.”

“Oh! It’s like one of those stories! Like a fairytale,” Isobel exclaimed., accidently tugging too hard.

Iris winced then paused as her words sunk in. “Really?”

“Uh huh. Or like a film,” Isobel replied eagerly, waving the brush around. “Like Princess Bride! Or like how Titanic should have ended!”

“Everyone dies in that one,” Iris mumbled. Mum had finally let her watch the film last year. She’d liked it enough, even if Mum had cried loads.

“Imagine if he’d come back to life! Or if she only thought he’d frozen on that door. That’s what this is like.”

“Frozen?” Victoire said, looking between them as if they were mad.

Isobel began a convoluted summary of the film and Iris sunk back into her pillow, hair now properly off her face. Were they right? Iris had been observing her parents and it was hard to deny there was some kind of connection there; like the stories and films she’d adored when she was small. Where true love always wins.

“Then she tells him, you jump, I jump remember?” Isobel was saying as Victoire hung onto each word. “Then they’re together when it sinks and well… maybe the rest is better if you just watch it.”

“We should! Maybe over the holidays. You’ll both have to come over!” Victoire then frowned. “But we don’t have a tele thing. Teddy does though, do you think he’d like it?”

Isobel turned to her, dark eyes sparkling. “Absolutely not.”

“Maybe the drawing scene,” Iris said dryly, Isobel dissolved into laughter and she followed.

“What’s so funny?” Victoire demanded. Iris only shook her head, unable to take in any air. She’d forgotten what it was like to have a sore stomach for the right reasons. Victoire shot them a disgruntled look that only caused them to giggle harder. 

“That’s a good sign you’re feeling better.” Hannah’s voice made her head shoot up towards the other side of the room. She looked on with amusement, but there was a potion in her hands. Iris deflated at what that signalled.

“Do they have to leave?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Hannah replied, coming over and handing her the vial of purple potion.

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Isobel promised, slinging an arm around her and hugging her.

“She’ll be released by then.”

Isobel and Victorie reluctantly moved off the bed.  “That makes it sound like I’m in prison,” Iris muttered, before drinking the bitter liquid.

“A nice one, I hope.” Hannah said, arching an eyebrow.

Iris handed back the empty vial. “The nicest.”

Despite attempting to hide her smile, her dimples showed. Her parents appeared from around the curtain. Her father’s hand pressed to her Mum’s back. Victoire and Isobel both looked at her with shared expressions of barely repressed glee. Iris didn’t have time to tell them to cut it out before Mum was at her side.

“I was just about to tell her the good news,” Hannah said to her parents.

“What news?” Iris asked.

Mum cupped her cheeks. “How does a change of scenery sound?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen: Call My Name

Iris may still be in bed, but at least she was out of the hospital wing. She also appreciated being able to look out the window to the dark green of the forest, even if it was blurred by the sheets of rain. There was comfort in hearing it ping against the cottage roof. Inside the room felt a bit like being outdoors. Like the rest of Hannah and Professor Longbottom’s cottage the guest room was filled with plants; strung from the ceiling, and on each available surface, save for the bed and armchair.

She was supposed to be sleeping, but her mind was going too fast despite the potion Hannah had given her, creating a strange sort of haze of adrenaline. Mum had kissed her goodbye not long ago. She had to return to their flat to grab some of their things while everything got sorted out, her parents had told her they needed to take extra precautions. With Hannah flitting back and forth from the hospital wing, her father would stay with her. Apparently other injured and sick students needed her attention as an outbreak of dragon pox was going through the school,  and Iris assumed with her luck that she would come down with it next. She was over feeling like rubbish, and wanted to return to some kind of normalcy, but she still felt a deep unease about what that would look like.

If she wasn’t so anxious, she might laugh at the thought she’d had at the start of the school year about trying to fit in. Although the notion of that had been tossed out the window long ago. Really it had gone to hell in a handbasket as Annie often said, the second she’d laid eyes on her very much alive father. Her heart still felt too tight when she thought of him. He didn’t seem angry. He’d been the one who’d taken her through the floo to Hannah’s, wrapped in a blanket as if she weighed nothing. Unlike when she’d been sicking her guts up, this time she’d been keenly aware that her father was carrying her. 

Once she’d been settled in the guest bedroom, Mum had peppered kisses on her face, promising to be back soon. Anxiety had flooded her as she’d watched her parents leave the room, but her father had promised he’d be back soon.

She squeezed prongs, his well-worn body soft in her hands. “Do you know what I should do?”

The lovie didn’t answer. She’d long stopped being able to hear what he had to say.

“Do they normally give good advice?”

She startled, head shooting up. Her father leaned in the doorway, a small smile on his face.

“Not really,” she replied. He came into the room, ducking beneath a plant with long spiralling leaves to sit in the chair next to her bed.

“A sickle for your thoughts?” he asked. Iris stared at the stuffed dear, worrying one of its antlers between her fingers. “Do you remember what you said last night?”

He leaned forward, elbows on the mattress. She shook her head, already dreading what she possibly could have said.

“You sounded pretty anxious…about not having told us,” he said, seeming to weigh his words. “I thought it was worth repeating what I told you last night; I’m not angry. Neither is your Mum.”

Embarrassingly tears stung her eyes as she hung her head.  “I—I just feel…” she started, throat constricted. “Terrible. For lying.” She forced her gaze to meet his and it was hard to breathe. “For keeping it from you. Both of you. I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have done that.”

Iris bit down on her lip, willing herself not to burst into tears.

“I think I understand,” he replied.

She sat back hard against her pillow. “You do?”

He gave a small nod. “I imagine it was pretty overwhelming.”

She nodded. A tear slipping down her cheek that she hastily wiped.

“I wanted—” her voice caught, more tears escaping before she could stop them. The warmth of his hand enveloped hers.

“What did you want?”

Iris sucked in a breath. “I wanted to…to get to know you…on my own, first.”

His lips turned up at the corner. “Make sure I pass?”

Cheeks warm, she continued to wipe at them with the back of her free hand. “I mean yeah…a bit.” Looking directly at his face, she told him the truth. “You were even better than I thought.”

His eyes widened behind his glasses and his smile grew. “Yeah?”

She nodded shyly, looking down at his hand that held hers.

“Just…I wanted you to like me too.” He frowned and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Not because you had to.”

“Because I had to?”

“I—I didn’t want you to like me because I’m your daughter…and that’s what you're supposed to do. I just wanted you to like me, well, for me.”

His eyes searched hers. “Not liking you would be impossible. You know that right?”

Embarrassingly, her only response was to cry even more. His words, ones she hadn’t realised how badly she needed until she heard them. He stood up and for a panic stricken moment she thought he would leave, but he only scooted onto the bed. His arm went around her shoulder and brought her closer. After a moment of quiet shock, she let herself cling to him.

He touched her chin so they were looking at one another. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. And I wouldn’t change one single hair on your head.”

Iris choked on a sob, burying her face into his shoulder and he continued to hold her, a warm hand moving up and down her spine.

“If it helps. I feel like an idiot for not seeing it,” he said quietly to the top of her head. “You have my eyes.”

Iris nodded against him. “Mum said people don’t always see…what’s right in front of them.”

She could hear and feel the rumble of his chuckle. “Wise one, your mum.” He brushed back some of her hair that had fallen from her plait. “All the signs were there. I missed them, Iris. And I’m sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry?” she asked, shaking her head.

His eyes held the sadness she’d noticed when meeting him.

“That I missed so much of your life.” Iris could only look at him in surprise. He smiled, but sorrow lurked in the corners of it. “If I’m being honest…I’m struggling with that.”

“You are?”

He nodded. “I was the one who took you back to the hospital wing after…”  His voice was strained and her stomach flipped. “You were so small. You held my finger and I—”  A heavy sigh left him.  “Some part of me must have known—should have known.”

She didn’t know what to say, pressing her face back to his chest. He was so much more solid and less soft than Mum, but she felt the same safety.

“I—I always wanted a dad,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

His sweeping motion on her back paused. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

She tilted her face to his. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

At her sceptical look, he smiled softly. “I promise.”

He kissed the top of her head and Iris leaned back into him. Sleep began to pull at her again, but she fought it.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked into his shirt.

“Anything.”

She swallowed her anxiety. “What…what should I call you.”

“Hmm. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled.

He took her hand in his again. “Whatever makes you comfortable. You can call me Harry if you’d like, or—” He paused and her heart raced as she looked up at him, his face pensive and…nervous?  “Dad,” he finished, softly. “But…only if you want to.”

“I do,” she whispered. He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. Heart lighter than it had been in months.

***

Hermione came back to find Neville and Hannah’s cottage quiet. She shook off the bit of rain from the short walk she’d taken through Hogsmeade. The Auror who’d accompanied her, Stella, had left her in the village. The earnest blonde with the Geordie accent had won her over immediately. She’d been good company and the two of them had made small talk outside of Zonko’s for longer than she’d planned before parting. Hermione allowed herself only a quick stroll down the familiar cobbled street before beelining for the Three Broomsticks to floo back to where Harry and Iris were.

The smell of the pub and smiling at Rosmerta had given her a strange jolt, slipping back into her old life so suddenly made it feel like time lost all meaning. Not that the barmaid had known who she was. She’d used a glamour of course, having no clue how she planned to approach her return to the Magical World. One thing she knew, it wasn’t an if anymore, but a when.

Sighing to herself, she shrugged off her coat and removed her muddy boots. She grabbed the knapsack from her pocket and resized it, rummaging through her things and pulling out a book of Celtic myths she’d grabbed for Iris. They’d given her plenty of time at her flat. A team of Aurors had cleared out as her and Stella came in. A wide-eyed Seamus Finnegan had hugged her with enthusiasm, talking a million miles a minute before Stella sent him on his way with an easy laugh and an eye roll.

All of it as it had been the same as she’d left it the day before, save for the hum of magic that lingered from whatever work the team had been doing. When faced with her things, she’d found it incomprehensibly strange. Her flat was tidy as always, apart from Iris’s room, which she normally didn’t touch out of respect for her daughter’s privacy. That afternoon however she’d stood in the doorway, secretly hoping to find some clue about why her daughter had taken to hiding things from her. It looked the same; floral wallpaper, now tacked over with posters, and the same pink rug and twin gold framed bed, a crumpled jumper at the foot of it. The teetering stack of books on her nightstand, and the beaded eyes of an assortment of stuffed animals revealed nothing.

She’d felt outside herself walking through the rest of the flat, hardly breathing in her bedroom as she’d shoved various items of clothing into her bag. Her perfume still sat on her vanity and the heels she’d decided against at the last minute were lined up near her closet. A small mercy that she’d opted for flats considering her unexpected long-distance sprint. She’d left to meet Colin at the pub, completely unaware that the world as she knew it would be turned on its head.

Hermione now pulled out the mobile from the coat pocket as she hung it up near the fireplace. It had only occurred to her as she went to leave her flat and couldn’t find her mobile, that she’d left it behind at the pub. There had been little thinking when her necklace had alerted her of Iris’s peril. Wandless, she had desperately sprinted back to her flat before apparating to Hogsmead and running the rest of the way. Embarrassed, she’d requested another quick stop, which Stella was kind about. The two of them made their way across Edinburgh and soon Hermione had found herself outside Colin’s flat, Stella idly keeping watch under disollument while she knocked frantically.

Colin for his part had looked absolutely bewildered when he answered. Hermione had tried to act normal as she apologised for sprinting away without a backwards glance the night before. Another strangeness to wrap her mind around, how had that only been the night before? He’d handed over the mobile asking when he would see her again. Guilt encroached looking at his open face. He’d never been anything but honest and kind, while she’d always kept the biggest parts of herself hidden or tucked away. Hermione had sucked in a breath. Telling him quickly that something had come up with Iris—she interrupted his question with an apology. She didn’t have time then to explain, but she made herself at least make one thing clear. “I’m so sorry Colin…I—I can’t give you what you want.”

He gaped at her and she whispered another quick sorry, buffing a kiss against his cheek in her normal fashion, and swallowing the terrible feeling of disappointing him before rushing away. 

Her mind was set. Even if nothing happened with Harry, she didn’t have it in her to be with anyone else. At least not right now.  

As she moved towards the room Iris was staying in, she tossed the mobile in her knapsack, not that it had a signal here. Her temple throbbed. The intensity of the day and lack of sleep had more than caught up with her.

The sight that greeted her when she gently pushed open the door to the guest bedroom, made her nearly drop the knapsack with a thud. Iris was fast asleep, using Harry as a pillow, who sat on top of the covers. Eyes closed and glasses in his lap, long legs crossed over each other and an arm slung around their daughter. She tried to pull herself from the scene and found that she couldn’t. All of it still felt too much like a dream. A dream that was too good to be true.

As if sensing her gaze, Harry’s eyes blinked open and locked on hers. They stared at one another for a long moment. Harry began to shift, and Hermione shook her head, gesturing silently that she would leave. With an ease that astounded her, he slipped Iris out of his arms and tucked her in without her even stirring. He was sleep rumpled, hair sticking each way as he put his glasses back on and smiled at her. An image that had lived tucked away in her heart for so many years.

His hand grazed her hip. “Tea?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and allowed him to lead her towards the kitchen. Hannah had already given her a perfunctory tour before she’d left insisting that they all help themselves to anything they needed.

“How did it go?” he asked, letting go of her hand and busying himself with the kettle.

“There was a team of Aurors at my flat,” she replied tiredly. “But good.”

He nodded sympathetically, pulling down two ceramic mugs.

“Seamus also told me he used to be your partner.”

Harry turned towards her, smiling wryly. “He was. A wild and exasperating time.”

He continued to prepare the tea and Hermione found she couldn’t stop watching his movements. The familiarity of the ritual overwhelmed her. She never thought he would make her a cup of tea again.

Tears pricked at her eyelids and all she wanted to do was press her face against the expanse of his back, but she forced herself to stay in place.

“Do you still take milk in your tea?”

His question broke the reverie and she managed to nod.

“Yes please.”

Harry’s hands dwarfed the tiny teaspoon as he stirred it in. She worked to compose herself, plastering on a smile when he turned. She accepted the mug gratefully, pressing it over her heart and focusing on its warmth.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He leaned back against the counter, cradling his own mug.

“How is she?” Hermione asked, already fighting the urge to go and check on Iris.

“She’s alright. No pain.”

She exhaled but her breath caught at the crease in Harry’s brow. “What is it?”

“We talked…before she fell back asleep.”

“Oh?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I er—I asked a bit more about why she hadn’t told us.”

She clutched her mug tighter. “Did she say why?”

He nodded, gesturing towards the living room. She followed, mind and heart racing. Harry sat down on the floral print sofa. Hermione hesitated only a second before taking a seat next to him. Harry placed his mug on the coffee table and turned towards her, his knee bumping against hers.

“She told me she wanted to know me first.”

“Really?” Hermione digested what he said, chewing on her bottom lip. 

He tugged at his hair, sighing as he leaned back. “She also mentioned being worried…” he breathed out before meeting her eyes. “She was worried I wouldn’t like her.”

His words made her also sit back heavily. “Why on earth would she think that?”

“No idea.” He swiped a hand across his face. “From what I can tell she was just worried about all of it in general.”

“She’s a bit of an overthinker,” Hermione conceded. “She has a tendency to bottle things up until they explode all over.” Harry nodded solemnly and she felt her lips twitch involuntarily. “She got more than just your eyes.”

His eyes widened but a flicker of a smile appeared. “Thanks,” he replied dryly.

Hermione leaned her head back, enjoying far too much the feel of his arm pressed against hers.  “She got a lot of other things from you too,” she told him quietly. “I’ve always seen you in her. Since she was small.” Harry stilled and she tilted her face towards his, which was pensive and staring upwards. His hand moved to her knee, and she released the warm mug to place hers on top. “It makes sense…that she would want to know for herself. She can be quite single minded when she’s focused on figuring things out.”

His eyes slid to hers. “The part of her that’s like you?”

She huffed out a laugh despite the weight in her chest.

“I suppose.”

“Along with everything else,” he added. He shook his head. “Merlin. I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together myself.” He reached forward and took a swig of tea before sighing. “Thankfully she got your intelligence.”

She snorted into her mug, and he smiled before sobering and she felt the tightness return. “I—it’s not the first thing someone would think of.”

“No,” he replied. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

The sadness on his face reminded her of their earlier discussion with Iris. The Boggart. She bit down hard on her lip.  “Was there a reason...” he frowned, and she swallowed before continuing. “A reason you thought I was…that I had…”

He stared down into his mug, lips pressing into a line. “A few.”

Hermione forced herself not to fill in the silence. Simply squeezing his hand still resting on her jean clad knee.

He eventually sighed. “We weren’t sure for a long time. Part of it was that you hadn’t come back or sent a note. Nothing. We couldn’t make sense of the fact that you wouldn’t have come back, if you could. We never thought you would have missed the news. It was…it was everywhere for a long while.”

Her vision blurred. Angry tears mixed in with despair. Not looking back had cost all of them so much.

“Then—” he cut off and her chest ached at the look on his face.

“What?”

His jaw set. “People started taking responsibility for your disappearance.”

Hermione could do little more than breathe out. Harry simply shook his head, a bitter edge to his voice. “Most of them were nutters…As Ron called them. Rightfully so. But others…” Harry’s eyes left hers, trained now on the picture window. Dark was already falling, along with the heavy sheets of rain that obscured any view. “I didn’t know what to believe. For a long time,” he said hoarsely.

His thumb traced over her palm as the patter of rain filled the silence. “Then there was Dolohov.” Her chest tightened even further. She could swear that she felt her now faded scar burn faintly. “He escaped after the battle. A lot of death eaters did, some of them formed a group that called themselves X. We had tracked them through Estonia. There was a raid. He was there and we duelled.”

Hermione all but stopped breathing. Harry grimaced, still looking out the window and holding tight to her hand, now tracing across her wrist. “He taunted me with it. Said he could prove it.” She stared in shock, and he finally looked at her. “Your necklace. The gold one. From your parents.”

Her tea clattered to the ground. Harry ignored it, reaching for her other hand and bringing them both to his chest. His heartbeat was strong and fast.

“I killed him, Hermione.  I wanted him dead. For what he did in fifth year and…for what he was telling me. He also wanted to kill me. Almost did.”

“Harry…”

His face was pale, and his throat bobbed. “For a long while after, I’d wish he had,” he said, voice hollow.  “Your necklace. Seamus found it in his pocket. Like some kind of…token.” Stopping her tears was useless, he continued to hold her hands and she let them fall down her face and drip to her collarbone. “I started teaching once I recovered,” he whispered hoarsely.  “I didn’t have it in me after that to stay on the force. Not the way I did before.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

He nodded absently. “Ron and I…we stopped looking after that.

The truth was she hadn’t thought much about the repercussions of leaving. With Harry being dead, the world she’d left behind had receded in her mind. In the early days with Iris, she often felt like it had been one long dream. Even if the scars on her body and the green eyes of her daughter were tangible proof that it wasn’t.

She had forced herself not to look back for so many reasons. There had however always been one thing that consistently pulled at her conscious, which he had just brought back to her mind.

A fresh wave of tears poured down her cheek. “I—I haven’t been able to think about Ron. Without…without feeling like a terrible person.” 

“Why didn’t you reach out to him?” he asked quietly.

“I…the longer I stayed away…the harder it became, to find my way back. I worked so— hard, to build a life for Iris. Where she was safe and—” his hold had loosened and she swiped at her face. “I didn’t trust the magical world. Not for letting you die. I was so angry too. I—there was a bitterness I couldn’t escape. That there hadn’t been a better—a better way.”

He pressed the back of the hand he still held to his cheek. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into his lap and kiss him. To feel the realness of him under her body and get lost in the feeling. A shiver went through her that he mistook for cold, summoning a blanket and draping it over her legs.

“I understand,” he finally said softly. “I think he will too.”

“None of it was Ron’s fault. I knew deep down…that he would be there. I—I didn’t want to burden him either. He was dealing with your death and Fred’s…Neither of us really could cope before I left.  I—it just felt easier. To leave. I’ve tried to write to him. Especially since Iris started school…I just, I haven’t managed.”

Harry nodded, eyes moving back towards the window. His lips pressed into a line and her stomach dropped. “What is it?”

His eyes shifted back to hers. “He did take it hard.”

Hermione didn’t know why it surprised her, how well she still knew his face. She touched his cheek. “Tell me.”

He covered her hand with his. “After the incident. With Dolohov. I was in hospital for weeks. I—waking up and having to tell him….it was awful. It was one of the only times I’ve seen him cry.”

She had no words, only tears and she was grateful when he made the decision for her, pulling her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck and held tight as the guilt tore through her.

“How—how is he?” she asked against his shoulder.

“Good,” he replied quietly and some of the knots in her stomach released.

Harry gently loosened his hold and stood quickly. “Hold on.” He was back swiftly, waving his wand at the spilled tea and sitting back down, leg pressed against hers. “Here.” In her hands was a photograph. Her eyes widened at what she saw. Ron; older and grinning at the camera. What drew her eye was the little girl hanging onto his neck and another in his lap. Both with bright red hair and making silly faces.

“Those two goofs are Mia and Cora.”

It took her a moment to notice the woman in the photo, she darted out of frame and then reappeared with a playful smile on her face. “Is that…”

“Yeah. It is.”

It had been years, but Susan Bones looked exactly the same.

“Susan…and Ron?”

He nodded and she could do little more than stare. He took the pile from her and flipped through before handing her another. A small baby, also with flaming red hair. “Mabel,” he told her. She’ll be one in March.”

“She’s lovely.”

She glanced at Harry, and it was a relief to see him smiling again. “She is.” Her gaze fell back on the photos, and she carefully started going through. “Susan always has her camera out.”

She scanned the photos and froze when she saw an unexpected familiar face. Hermione glanced at Harry who also looked taken aback.

“Right,” he said, studying the photograph. Ron’s two oldest were animated and laughing, Victoire and who she assumed was Teddy, all of them in this very room. What stood out was Iris seated on the sofa, offering a shy smile to the camera before turning back to the littlest red headed girl.

“She was here?”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Er—yeah. She was.”

She flipped to the next photo. Iris was visible in the background talking to Victoire. Harry took up most of the frame with a smiling Mabel in his arms. Hermione looked between the two of them. Iris at one point glanced towards Harry, an uncertain furrow to her brow.

“When—”

“Last month. Your birthday.”

She couldn’t hide her disbelief as Harry explained that Iris had accompanied Victoire and Teddy to a dinner hosted here.

“You know I asked her if her mum would mind.”

She released a breath. “I don’t. Obviously. I just—it’s so strange.”

“It is.”

There was only one more photo containing Iris at the table with everyone. A smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes and Hermione’s heart felt impossibly heavy at the sight. Her daughter had certainly not had a normal start to her time at Hogwarts holding onto such a large secret. Harry scrubbed his face in his hands, and she bit down on her lip, flipping through the rest of the photos. There was one of Harry with Ron’s three children who hung off him and seemed to burst with glee.

“You’re close with them,” she said, unsure why her throat was so tight.

“I am…I try to see them whenever I get the chance.” He touched the edge of the photo. “I’m Mia’s godfather. Part of the duty.”

His attempt to lighten the mood, only served to remind her of all that she didn’t know.

“Who’s her godmother?” she asked, in what she hoped was an equally light tone.

He paused, eyes meeting hers. “Ginny.”

The name hung between them. He watched her intently and she flushed under his scrutiny.

“Why?” he asked, and she swallowed her trepidation.

“You two…” His brow furrowed and she looked back down. “You’re not...or were you…together?”

He stilled. “No. I mean…people assumed in the press.”

She chanced a glance back at him, his gaze unyielding. “Oh.”

“Did…did you think I was?”

“I thought maybe…at some point, that you would have.”

Harry looked taken aback. “Why would you think that?”

Hermione shrugged, tugging at her cardigan sleeve. Her petty jealousy from before his death…or apparent death, sitting strangely in her chest.

“She’s married,” he said, hesitating a moment. “To Malfoy.”

The photo fell from her hands. “No.

“Yes.”

“No.”

He was up again, heading towards a stuffed bookshelf. He scanned and came back with a leather album, flipping through it in front of her before handing it over. Hermione gasped. There were several people sitting around outside, near the sea. Ginny was there, laughing and her red hair caught in the wind. Except she was on the lap of none other than Draco Malfoy.

Hermione wasn’t sure what was stranger, seeing him with Ginny, or seeing him sporting a Muggle bathing costume and sunglasses.

She finally looked up at Harry who grinned. “I know. It’s weird.” Her lips parted but she couldn’t think of how to respond. “Your reaction is about the same as the rest of the Weasleys…well, except for a bit more rage on Ron’s end.”

“How did he not explode?”

His grin widened. “He came pretty close. Not sure I’ve ever seen him turn that shade of red before.”

A shocked laugh left her and the album dropped to her lap. “I can imagine.”

“Yeah…it wasn’t pretty. He’s over it now. Mostly.”

She felt it suddenly. The enormity of what she’d missed. It had been hard to think of anything outside of Iris and Harry but now, glancing down at the photographs on her lap and the coffee table, evidence of all the memories that were long gone. Weddings, holidays, the birth of children, and any number of casual dinners like the one Iris had attended. His hand took hers and as his thumb rubbed over her knuckles it hit her. He wasn’t married. There was no ring. She felt dizzy about the fact that there might be nothing standing between them. Not death, or another person. Her eyes lifted to his, which didn’t help the sensation at the depth of green she found.

The roar of the fire pulled his attention and her gaze followed. A tall figure emerged, brushing himself off. Neville looked up and wore a disbelieving smile.

“The rumours are true.”

She stared at him, pulling herself out of the previous moment and smiling. “Apparently.”

Harry stood offering her a hand. Neville approached and after a beat, she stepped forward and hugged one of her oldest friends. Even taller than she remembered and smelling of the steadiness of earth. Tears quickly prickled at her eyes thinking of the last time she’d seen him. 

“It’s good to see you,” he murmured.

She nodded against him. “Likewise.”

“She’s wonderful by the way.” Hermione tilted her head and he was smiling warmly. “Puts up with my unconventional assignments.”

“Are you the one who made her sing to a plant?”

Harry coughed, covering a laugh and Neville nodded sheepishly. “Guilty. She’s got a lovely voice by the way.”

She shook her head. The strange connections only doing her head in more.

Neville released her and clasped Harry on the shoulder. “I’m going to start on supper.”

“Oh. Right. I told Hannah I’d make pizza,” Harry replied.

“Don’t worry about that—”

He shook his head. “No. I will. I promised Iris.” 

His determination made her already erratic heart skip a beat. She squeezed his arm. “Go on. I’ll check on her.”

***

Iris still felt as if she was in a fog. She had awoken to her mum laying next to her instead of her dad. Iris hadn’t wanted to stay in bed despite the fuzzy feeling in her head. Luckily Mum had agreed. Iris trailed her into the sitting room and plopped down on the sofa eyeing all the photos spread over the coffee table.

“What’s all this?”

“Your father was just updating me on some of our friends.” Iris looked at her sceptically. Her Mum only smiled before leaning over and handing her a photo. “I also saw this.”

Iris took hold of the photograph, wincing at the evidence of her deception.

“Dad told you about that?”

Mum paused briefly before nodding. Gently she brushed a curl out of Iris’s face. “He did.

Iris bit down on her lip, glancing back at the photo of her and Cora on that exact couch. “I almost told him then. We…we talked and I wanted to but I—” she swallowed. “I—I also wanted to know him better…before I said anything…and I thought I should tell you first.” She pulled up her legs and rested her chin on her knees. Mum rubbed her back and Iris leaned into her, releasing her breath. “But then on the phone I could never…never get the words out, and I didn’t know how to write it all down.” When Iris dared meet her eyes, she saw that they were curious, not angry. “I promised myself I would tell you by the end of September. But then—then he had to leave and I—” Iris sighed. “Everything was going wrong, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

“I’m not sure I’m surprised. When I think about it.” Her eyes widened. Mum smiled softly. “You’ve always been miss independent.”

Iris flushed and Mum only looked more amused. “Remember when I lost you?”

“Which time?”

Mum laughed with a hint of exacerbation. “Exactly.”

Iris couldn’t help smiling ruefully. Her disappearing acts when she was small were now remembered mostly with amusement. She stared down at the photo from that September night and the reality sobered up her good mood. Dad would never know her at Cora’s age, or Mabel’s. He said that made him sad and Iris found the thought heavy.

“What is it love?”

She shrugged. Unsure how to articulate the strange mix of feelings.

Mum wrapped an arm around her. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Iris met her Mum’s eyes. “But it’s good. Having him.”

Mum’s face softened. “It is.”

“He’s even better than you said.”

She hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Iris let herself settle further against her mum, she was no longer able to fit on her lap in the way she once had but she ignored this. Although she rather wished she could shrink back down, like Alice, which she supposed she had without knowing it. Not that it was the same thing. If only they could turn back the clock and have had him before now, their lives would be so much better. 

Iris rested her head on her mother’s chest. Rain continued to lash at the window, night had fallen obscuring any view. Mum smelled faintly like him with the citrus smell of soap on her skin. Iris tilted her face up to study her. Her eyes were focused on the darkness outside, but Iris knew her mind wasn’t in the room. She could always tell when Mum disappeared into herself.

“Are you…are you going to be together?” she asked faintly, surprising herself almost as much as her mother, who gazed back down at her in a daze.

Only the sound of the rain and crackle of the fire filled the room for a long moment. She was about to press again when she finally sighed. “I don’t know Iris.”

Iris chewed on her lip. “Because of Colin?”

Mum’s brows drew together. “Colin?”

“You're with him now,” Iris replied, hating the lump forming in her throat.

She sat back against the couch cushion, eyebrows even further up her forehead. “Where did you get that idea?”

Iris crossed her arms. “You…I know when you keep things from me. I’m not a little kid anymore.” Mum looked ready to argue and Iris felt an unexpected surge of anger. “You kept the truth about who dad was a secret,” she countered. “If you’d told me earlier maybe we would have found him when I was eight. You know I’d have made you buy me a book about him at some point.” Just as swiftly her anger was doused out at the pain that flashed across Mum’s face. “I—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it—”

She shook her head, releasing a shuddered breath. “No. You’re right,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have kept that from you for so long.”

Iris released a shaky breath of her own, eyes burning. “I had no right to say that—with what I—I did to you—”

She took her face in her hands. “You’re allowed to be upset. This whole thing is hard and unfair.” Mum let out a breath. “I’m not seeing Colin. Not like that. He’s certainly not my boyfriend. I promised you I would tell you if things changed, and I meant that.”

Tears streaked down her cheeks before she could stop them, and Mum wiped them away with her thumbs.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me about your father?”

Iris shrugged weakly. “A bit.” Mum winced and Iris felt another wave of guilt. “Does…Dad…does he have a girlfriend or something?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh.”

A bit of hope sparked inside her. She was still trying to think of how to follow up on all of it when the sound of the floo drew their attention.

Hannah stepped out, brushing herself off. Her face brightened seeing them huddled on her sofa.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, shrugging off her robes. “Hungry?”

Before she could reply her dad came through the door from the kitchen. His cheek streaked with flour and made his way towards them.

He ducked down to speak to Iris. “I wanted to ask you if there’s any toppings you can’t tolerate?”

“Anchovies,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

His lips pulled up. “Noted.”

“And tomatoes,” she added.

“Sauce?”

She shook her head. “No, just fresh ones.”

He grinned wider. “I can work with that.”

Iris felt a bubble of happiness in her chest that was liable to burst. She had a dad. One who cared if she liked things.

The adults around her began to talk and before she knew it Mum had hustled her off to shower. 

When she got out a delicious smell wafted from the kitchen. Now clean and in fresh pyjamas, Iris sat around the ancient wooden table in the dining room. Dad sat next to her, mum on her other side. Her happiness was a sharp contrast from last time, where she had been filled with worry and trying not to stare at him. 

Her appetite returned with a vengeance, and she forced herself not to cram the warm pizza into her mouth.

“Where did you learn to make this?” Mum asked, after her first bite. “It’s delicious.”

He cleared his throat. “Italy.” Her parents looked at one another over her head. “A friend of Andromeda has a villa.”

“Have you two travelled much?” Hannah asked Mum.

“Mostly around the United Kingdom,” she replied.

“And Paris,” Iris added.

“And Paris,” Mum said, smiling. 

That trip was one she still remembered clearly even though she’d only been three. Mum kept promising they’d go back, but that had yet to happen. The conversation on travel continued. Iris could only blink at all the places her father had been in the last few years. Hannah and Neville apparently were avid travellers as well. She couldn’t help but glance at her Mum. They’d often talked about all the places they would go someday. But there was always something. Mum’s schooling, or Iris’s, the shop. Not to mention money—something she knew from eavesdropping.

The roaring sound of the floo made the conversation halt. Hannah and Neville exchanged confused looks.

“Were you expecting someone?” Dad asked, already starting to stand with his wand out.

Neville’s frown quickly morphed into something else. “Oh shit.”

Before anyone could say anything else the man she’d met last month strode into the room, giving an exasperated sigh.

“Oi. game already started,” Ron said loudly. “You wouldn’t believe it. Hooper already took a bludger to the head.”

At the dead silence of the room, his smile faded. His eyes darted around before landing on Mum. He stared, his freckles standing out further as his face drained of all colour.

“Bloody hell.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen: Stories

No one said anything for what felt like a century. Harry could only watch as Ron’s eyes bugged out. Eventually he tore his gaze from Hermione, catching on Iris and staggering back.

“Ron,” he managed, stepping forward. “We can explain.”

“I—she—you—” he broke off frantically.

“I know,” he said, his own voice shaking. “It’s a shock.”

Ron’s lips parted but no sound came out. Harry glanced over at Hermione who had a hand on Iris, whose green eyes darted between the three of them.

He pushed out a breath. “It was for us as well.”

The silence stretched again, and Ron blinked at Hermione in a daze. “You’re not dead.” Tears had begun to stream down her cheeks, and she shook her head. “How…how is this possible?”

Harry grimaced. Guilt swiftly rearing up for the secret he’d kept all these years from his best friend.

Hermione started to stand. “It’s my fault. I—”

Hannah cleared her throat. The three of them turned towards her. She not so subtly shifted her head towards Iris, who was still watching the scene.

He nodded at Hannah who swiftly stood up. “Iris, have you ever played gobstones?”

Iris hesitated. “Er—no.”

“Perfect. We’ll teach you,” Hannah said brightly, but with no room for negotiations.

Hannah and Neville led her away from the kitchen, leaving the three of them alone for the first time since he’d slipped from the castle during the last battle. Except that wasn’t true. He swiped a hand across his face, as he remembered that he’d technically been dead in their last moments as a trio.

Ron looked as wrecked as he felt. “You have a kid?”

Harry grimaced. Guilt swiftly rearing up for the secret he’d kept all these years from his best friend. Hermione nodded, glancing uncertainly at him and he nodded too.

“How…” he whispered, brow furrowing. Both of them went to speak, but neither seemed to have the right words. Ron shook his head and swore.

“Merlin. Don’t actually answer that,” he mumbled.

“I can explain,” Hermione finally said tearfully.

“I bloody hope so! We looked everywhere for you!” 

She flinched. Ron’s face was bright pink and he looked between them.

“You didn’t tell him you had a child together? Just…sent her off to Hogwarts?” Hermione bit down on her lip. Ron swivelled his head. “Wait. You didn’t know right…you can’t have known. That’s impossible. You’d have lost your mind.”

“No,” Harry said hoarsely. “I didn’t.”

He turned back to Hermione sharply. “Why wouldn’t you tell him that?”

“Ron—” Harry cut in as Hermione pressed her hands to her eyes. “She thought I was dead.”

He blanched. “What?”

A heavy sigh left Harry. “She didn’t see the articles.”

Ron’s face twitched as he shook his head. “It was bloody everywhere! How would you not see?”

The silence stayed heavy. Harry could do little other than gaze at Hermione who slowly removed her hands from her eyes, face pale.

“I left the magic world. I —I didn’t see it. Any of it.”

Her words caused him to stagger further back, bumping into the countertop.

“You didn’t know?” Ron whispered hoarsely.

Hermione shook her head, shoulders caving in.

“We thought you were dead,” he repeated vacantly.

“I know,” she said, voice anguished. “I’m so sorry.”

Ron’s brow furrowed as he turned towards him. “The necklace…”

Harry’s voice was rough when he finally replied. “He lied. Obviously.”

“Fuck,” Ron muttered, rubbing his face.

Even thinking about her being dead made his stomach heave and instinctively he closed the gap between them and touched her elbow. Her misty eyes met his and he squeezed gently.

Ron’s groan broke the moment. “Susan was right…how is she always bloody right?”

Harry turned enough to look at Ron. “Susan?”

He gave a nod, disbelief in his voice. “She said you were in love with her.”

Harry was struck dumb, then heat shot up his neck. He didn’t know how to reply, feeling like he may as well be standing there naked. 

Ron gave a chuckle, but there was no humour in it. “I told her you wouldn’t keep something like that from me.”

Harry tried to form an apology, his head spinning.

“I should have told you.” Hermione said quickly, and he looked to her, but she was watching Ron, though her own cheeks were bright pink. “I should never have left. Not without telling you…and I should have told you why I needed to leave instead of vanishing like that.”

The fight seemed to leave Ron as he sunk further against the counter. “Was it something I did?”

She shook her head. “No. I almost wrote. So many times. It just… became harder and harder to come back. Especially with Iris. I—I worried about her safety in the magic world.” She looked at Harry, heartache breaking across her face. “If people knew she was Harry’s.”

His heart thumped hard against his ribs at her words. Thinking of it all. That she was right. 

“Yeah,” Ron mumbled, and Harry finally tore his gaze back towards Ron who released a long breath. “You know I missed you right? All the time.”

Hermione gave a nod, wiping at her wet cheeks. “I missed you too.”

Ron pushed off the counter, straightening to his full height. It only took him a few steps to be in front of Hermione.

“We’re not complete without you. A lot less smart as well.”

A wet laugh caught in her throat and in a blur, she was hugging him. Harry was still trying to wrap his mind around all of it when her arm shot out and pulled him in.

Ron was right. They hadn’t been complete without her.

***

Iris made a half-hearted attempt to understand the rules that Hannah explained, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from flicking towards the door. All three of them had looked awful when she’d turned back for one last glance. The tension had followed them into the living room despite the attempts at light-heartedness by Hannah and Professor Longbottom—who insisted she call him Neville when not in class.

She moved the small stone and bit back her disgust when she was shot with yet another foul-smelling burst of liquid that she ducked. Hannah had sunk hers and gave a triumphant fist pump when the sound of footsteps made all of them whirl around. Her mum came into the room, tear stained, but less tense than before. Followed by Ron who was flushed and with an air of disbelief still etched on his freckled face. Her dad came through last, his expression serious at first, before his lips turned up when they made eye contact.

“Everything sorted?” Neville asked carefully.

“Apparently having a second friend return from the dead is no less shocking than the first time,” Ron replied.

Harry scratched the back of his head. “I think we’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

Mum nodded in agreement and then strode towards her. She smoothed Iris’s hair and she tilted her face to gaze up at her.

“You sleepy yet?” she asked, Iris shook her head. “You should still rest soon.”

“I’m tired of resting.”

“So, the never doing what you ask thing lasts past seven?” Ron asked.

Mum shot Ron an amused look. “Did you ever listen to your Mum?”

“Good point.” He hesitated and then Harry came closer, clasping him on the shoulder.

“We should probably reintroduce you,” he said, smiling at Iris.

Ron nodded. “Lo Iris.”

“Hi,” she said, quietly. 

His blue eyes settled on her for a long moment before he released a breath. “Merlin. I should have known just by looking at you.”

“I’ve had the same thought,” Harry sighed.

Ron surveyed the gobstones on the coffee table behind her. “This is terrible. Everyone knows wizard chess is far superior.” Hannah threw a stone at Ron, and he rubbed the spot where it hit him. “Oi!”

“You’re just not as good at this game,” Hannah said.

He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, being good at gobstones isn’t anything to brag about.”

Iris smiled shyly. “It’s rather foul.”

He returned her smile. “Of course you’d be smart.” Iris felt her cheeks warm. “Well Cora and Mia will be pleased. They’ve brought you up no less than once a day since September.”

“They have?”

“Maybe they have the sight. They keep insisting you’ll be there at Christmas.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, glancing between her parents with a sheen of shock.

“Susan didn’t predict you at least. Well, not really.”

Now both her parents face flushed scarlet. “Predict?” Iris asked.

He shook his head, biting back a grin. “Never mind that. How about a proper game.”

“Chess?” Hermione asked, appearing eager to change topics as she sat down next to Iris.

Ron took a seat opposite them. “Nah. Maybe a round of exploding snap. Do you have a deck?” he asked Neville, who stood up and rummaged in a drawer. Ron looked back towards her and Mum. “I’d like to hear about the last twelve years of your life. Since I doubt you two want to be dragged to a quidditch match.”

“A quidditch match? Like a professional one?” Iris asked, whipping her head back to where her father was still standing. Teddy had described them and she’d listened on raptly with envy.

“We have season tickets,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes went to Hermione. “Probably too much after today I reckon.”

She and Hannah nodded in agreement. “This girl should be back in bed no later than nine,” Hannah added, with a pointed look directed at Harry and Ron.

It took everything in her not to pout. Dad squeezed her shoulder. “Another time. I promise.”

Iris still found it hard to believe that was true. That any of this could be true. Neville handed Ron the deck of cards which he began to expertly shuffle. Her father took the seat next to her. Iris leaned against his sturdy arm and instantly felt more at ease.

***

Hermione found herself in a daze the rest of the evening. She could still hardly believe she was with Harry, Ron across the table. The sound of her daughter's joyous laughter filling the air as the cards lived up to their name and exploded with sparks.

Eventually Iris yawned which wasn’t missed by herself, or Hannah. They all began to stand up and Ron mentioned heading home. Hermione hugged his tall frame once more. “You’ll all come for supper yeah?” he asked.

She nodded, finally releasing him, annoyed that her eyes were watering again. Ron smiled, squeezing her shoulder before moving over to say goodbye to Harry. Hannah returned with a potion for Iris which became her focus as she sat down next to her on the sofa. Iris grimaced at the taste and Hemione rubbed her back. When she turned to Harry his expression was hard to read as he stared at the diminishing flames. Hannah and Neville quietly said their goodnights, leaving the three of them alone in the living room.

“Are you leaving?” Iris asked in a small voice. Hermione’s head whipped back to her daughter who was also watching Harry. His face softened, the far-off look fading as he went to Iris, crouching down and taking her hands in his.

“I’ll be back first thing.”

“Promise?” she asked quietly.

His lips curved up. “I promise.”

Iris was already beginning to fade, and Harry helped her up. Once standing, she wrapped her thin arms around his torso. The sight of them hugging was enough to take her breath away. Harry mumbled some quiet words into the top of Iris’s head, who nodded, her face buried in his chest. Hermione forced herself to stand. Harry looked at her while holding Iris, a sadness in his eyes that she desperately wanted to erase. None of this was the way it should be.

Iris let go of him reluctantly and Harry brushed some of the hair out of her eyes. “Sleep well, alright?”

She nodded sleepily. Hermione shifted on her feet. She knew it was silly, he would just be across the school grounds, but she didn’t want him to leave either. Ignoring the ache in her chest, she closed the distance, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His eyes were wide beneath his glasses when she pulled back. She wrapped an arm around Iris whose gaze burned against her already warm face.

Harry hesitated, then moved towards the fireplace. “Er—I’ll come back with breakfast.”

“That would be lovely,” Hermione replied. He threw a handful of powder into the fire which sparked to life with an emerald hue.

“Dad?”

Harry turned towards Iris. “Yeah?”

“Just—no orange juice.”

He grinned. “I’ll remember.”

Iris returned his smile, looking sleepy but pleased, and together they watched him disappear into the emerald flames.

Hours later, Iris slept deeply beside her, snuggled against her like she’d done since she was small. Despite the comfortable bed and the patter of rain and Iris’s breathing, Hermione found herself unable to sleep. She stared at the ceiling, head filled with the past twenty four hours. She turned Ron’s words over and over, Harry’s expression. Unsure if she could let herself dream that it might all be true. There was so much to sort out, she could hardly breathe thinking of it all. The weight of her daughter’s body against her, a reminder that it wasn’t just about the two of them. 

The one thing she was sure of was that she already missed the feel of Harry’s arms wrapped around her while falling asleep .

***

Harry tossed and turned in his bed. He regretted not insisting on staying on Hannah and Neville’s sofa. He knew it was ridiculous as the distance was so minimal. Yet it still felt wrong to not be where his family was. A word that he could hardly fathom was a reality. A family of his own.  

His mind was too full to fall asleep, trying to wrap around the fact that the pain he’d lived with for so many years hadn’t been necessary. That she was alive. That he’d missed the beginning of his daughter’s life. The regret, one that was liable to crush him. He’d give anything to have that time back. To know her at any of the ages he’d seen as she lay in the hospital wing bed. 

Then there were Ron’s whispered words near the fireplace. “So are you together then?” Harry had shaken his head, glancing back at Hermione who was encouraging Iris to drink her potion. “Why not?”

His voice had been incredulous, and Harry had cut him a sharp look to keep his voice down. Quickly he moved his wand in his pocket, muffling their conversation.

“She’s with someone else,” he mumbled.

“Like she’s married?” Ron asked, clearly shocked.

“No,” he replied tersely. “A boyfriend.”

Ron was silent for a beat. “So?”

“So?”

“You really think that will matter?” Ron said, shaking his head. “Mate…you came back from the dead. I think that trumps her having a boyfriend.”

Harry hadn’t been able to think of a reply, his heart leaping up into his throat. Ron had just squeezed his shoulder, then departed with another confirmation about supper at his place next weekend.

He’d been replaying those words, and all of his interactions with Hermione since. Was Ron right? Would it really not matter?

***

Iris could hardly look away from the fireplace. She’d woken unexpectedly early feeling a million times better than she had yesterday. Her body no longer felt like she was trudging through sand, and the strange aches and pains had settled down. Finally the roar of the floo caused hope to shoot up inside her and she was up and off the sofa, beelining for her father when he emerged from the emerald flames. She only just stopped herself from launching at him.

He dusted himself off. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Hannah said I don’t have to stay in bed today!”

He grinned. “Excellent news.”

Mum emerged from the kitchen, a mug of tea in hand. The two of them locked eyes, something Iris noticed they did a lot. It was weird.

“Did you bring breakfast?” Iris asked.

He held up a paper sack. “Fried egg sandwiches, a side of sausage,  flapjacks,  fruit and a bottle of pumpkin juice. Hope that’s satisfactory,” he said, nudging her elbow with his.

“Sounds perfect,” Mum replied before Iris could, smiling and gesturing for them to follow.  

There was the bustle of putting out the food and setting the table. Again Iris sat between her parents. The food was delicious and still warm. Everyone laughed at Neville’s recounting an incident with Devil’s snare.

Iris kept looking on either side of her, noting the pink stain on Mum’s cheeks from laughing and her dad’s grin. She couldn’t help chastising herself for waiting. Two parents were much better than one.

***

Hermione’s heart beat erratically in her chest the entire way up to McGonagall’s office. Even under disillusionment, she could practically feel the tension radiation off Harry. They’d dropped Iris off at the Gryffindor common room under the invisibility cloak, which she’d then taken with her and they all promised that they would meet in Harry’s office at lunch. Harry remained quiet on their walk and she didn’t have the capacity at that moment to think about anything except for meeting Remus, who awaited them along with the Headmistress. They approached the office and her anxiety spiked further. Harry’s hand on her back brought her back to herself.

“It’ll be alright,” he said softly. “The worst is over.”

She nodded, wanting to believe him. But deep down she knew there would be nothing simple about what came next.

The decor had changed since she’d last stepped foot inside. Fawkes was long gone, along with many of the strange instruments that had once adorned the room. There was still lots of dark wood, stone and books, but other furniture had been added. An array of portraits remained, Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes and Snape’s flat gaze watched them from the wall. Remus was already there and stood from the armchair, greeting them before Professor McGonnegal encouraged them to have a seat.

There was an offer of tea, Hermione declined, her breakfast already sitting heavy in her stomach. Remus clasped his hands in front of him, grim faced and looked to McGonagall. She appeared to have slept about as well as they had.

“Ms Granger, Mr Potter,” she sighed. “I thought it was important that we speak in more depth about the incident on Friday evening.”

Hermione braced herself, she was desperate to know the entire story, yet dreading it just the same.

Professor McGonagall continued. “The boys in question have all been expelled.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a line. “Will there be other consequences?”

“You know who his father is,” Remus said. Harry’s face hardened and Remus leaned forward. “The good thing is they’re young. They’ll be forced to do the rehabilitation program.  They also were quick to talk because of this.”

“Was it X?” Harry asked.

“Yes. The hunch about Hogwarts was correct. They’ve been recruiting,” Remus said.

Harry swore under his breath, rubbing his face. Hermione looked between the three of them. At her confused expression Remus gave a brief summary of a group of escaped death eaters who have been growing in size.

A feeling of horror floated over her. Already her mind raced with a million questions. “Why Iris?” she managed, the most pressing one spilling from her lips.

Remus hesitated, glancing at Harry who looked equal parts furious and devastated. “We confirmed that they knew Iris’s true identity. That she’s your daughter. And Harry’s.”

“The Boggart?” Harry asked grimly.

“As suspected, yes. Two of the boys were hiding in another cupboard watching. The Boggart was trained on Iris.”

“What happened exactly?” she asked. She remembered Iris's statement, but still didn't understand what that had to do with these boys.

Harry swallowed. “It showed…you. But you were—” Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand, the mental picture now clear. He took a steadying breath. “I thought it was mine.” 

“It makes sense that you would assume given the history,” Remus said, his eyes shifting to hers. “Security measures will stay in place on your flat. We don’t believe the address is known but we won’t be taking any chances. You can return of course, there will be a detail keeping an eye, along with enchantments and wards.”

She was about to bring up her own wards when Harry cut in. “Shouldn’t she stay here?” 

“It’s up to Hermione. Either option is perfectly safe.”

Her body felt numb as she thought about everything. There was a running list of responsibilities; the shop, Annie and Rosie, school. The life that she’d built out of the ashes of her old one. She couldn’t just…not go back. Not again. She would have a better plan this time for leaving, or joining. The path forward was uncertain, which made her even more ill at ease. 

Hermione exhaled. “I should go. I have work tomorrow, and class.”

Harry seemed to deflate in his chair and her heart constricted tightly, at the loosening of his grip on her hand. Tears pressed behind her eyelids and it took a moment for her to realise that Remus had started speaking again.

“We’ll ensure it’s safe. As Harry knows, we’ve been in pursuit of this group for years and this is a huge break. A team is already on their way to Estonia.”

Fear filled whatever space was left, her eyes moving back to Harry.

“Are you leaving?” she asked, too tired to care that her voice was cracking.

His eyes met hers but Remus answered for him. “Harry’s too close to the case now.” Harry released her hand, leaning forward with intention. Remus shook his head. “We can’t risk any compromise.”

Harry only gave a tight nod in response.

“I’ll keep you up to date on any breakthroughs. I’ve already discussed with Minerva you’ll resume your post here. Your presence at the school should ease some of the student’s worries.”

A bit of her own worry eased at thinking of him being there with Iris. Professor McGonaggal seemed to read her mind, giving a small smile before she exchanged a look with Remus.

“There is another matter to discuss,” she said.

Immediately her stomach dropped at her tone.

“What matter?” Harry asked, clearly not having missed it either.

“It appears that there have already been leaks to the press, I received an owl asking for comment this morning. They’ll be running the story in Monday’s post. There was already a small article about an incident at the school with minimal detail.”

“Do we know who leaked it?” Harry asked.

“We don’t have proof, but we assume it was a family member of the boys…since they would be the ones who know about Ms Granger.”

Harry growled in frustration. “That is what’s out? That she’s been found?”

“And Iris. There is mention of Ms Granger having a daughter at Hogwarts.”

All of the things she’d feared about Iris attending school seemed to be happening one by one. Except it was also nothing like she’d imagined, with Harry breathing next to her.

“Do they know she’s mine?” Harry asked darkly.

“We haven’t provided a comment yet, but that was in the letter to Minerva. Iris is protected because she’s a minor…that doesn’t mean it will stop people from speculating.”

“She’s protected?” she asked. “Since when has the prophet cared about protecting minors?”

“Since Mr Potter lobbied for reform,” Professor McGonagall said, a spark of pride flashing across her otherwise serious expression.

Harry flushed, shaking his head. “My solicitor did most of the work,” he mumbled, before looking to Remus. “Is an investigation being done into the leak?”

“Yes, internal affairs is already on it. They’ll likely encourage the two of you to put out a statement at some point.”

All of her insides continued to twist as Harry tugged violently at his hair.

“I know that’s likely the last thing you want to think about, but it’s unfortunately necessary to avoid even more speculation.”

“Is that safe? For either of them?” All of Harry was tense as he leaned forward.

“Iris will be safe at Hogwarts,” The Headmistress replied. “Measures are being taken.”

“And we’ll ensure Hermione is safe as well,” Remus added.

“Will she have a detail?”

“Harry,” she started.

He shook his head. “No. These people are…they aren’t—this shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“No one is taking anything lightly. Yes, I’ve assigned Stella and Dawlish to Hermione for now,” Remus said calmly.

She wanted to push back, but the look of relief on Harry’s face made her swallow the words. There was more back and forth about logistics, her mind buzzed taking it all in, as always, her thoughts flashed to Iris and she dreaded the impact this would have on her.

Harry was already on it. “Won’t it be obvious that Iris is the student in the article?”

“We won’t know until the article, but gossip tends to move quickly in the corridors at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall replied with resignation.

“And the Ministry,” Harry muttered.

“Exactly,” Remus said. “All the more reason to start thinking of a statement. You don’t have to have it prepared by tonight, but I would give it some consideration in the next few days…we may be able to negotiate with the press if we offer them something.”

Her temple throbbed, judging by the look on Harry’s face he was feeling similarly. He muttered something about them being vultures and Remus nodded knowingly.

There was discussion of having another check in mid week and before she knew it everyone was standing. Both Professor McGonagall and Remus made promises to be in touch. With Remus shaking his head wryly and adding that he was sure the two of them had plenty to sort out.

Harry’s eyes met hers. They had barely skimmed the surface of all they needed to discuss. Her already aching head spun at the thought of it all. A quick disillusionment at least saved them from the curious stares of students and she followed Harry’s lead as they left the office. Soon enough they were at the same oak door from yesterday. Harry paused, a hand raking through his hair. She tilted her head towards him, it was still surreal to be able to look directly at him like this. Emerald eyes held hers and Hermione couldn’t move, mesmerised at the sight.

“What are you doing?”

The new, but familiar voice made her jump, knocking into Harry who grabbed hold of her arms. She spun to her right to see Iris emerge from under the invisibility cloak, half her body still hidden.

“What’s the matter?” Iris asked this time, brow furrowed as she looked between them.

“Nothing,” she managed to reply, suddenly out of breath, Iris’s frown deepened.

“You just scared us,” Harry added, releasing her arms.

“Sorry,” Iris mumbled sheepishly, eyes moving to her trainers. She rubbed the cloak between her fingers, falling silent.

Now it was her turn to frown. “What is it sweetheart?”

Iris chewed on her lips “Everyone is staring,” she replied quietly, eyes flicking up to them. “More than with the vomit.”

Guilt flashed across Harry’s face. “Come on,” he said finally. “Let’s have a butterbeer.”

Iris brightened at this offer. Hermione followed her daughter and Harry into his quarters. Iris draped the invisibility cloak over the armrest of the sofa before flinging herself onto its cushy surface.

“What do I say? When people ask me things?” she asked.

Hermione glanced over at Harry who nodded thoughtfully as he fetched three butterbeers from a cabinet under his desk.

“Tell them you can’t talk about it. Auror orders,” he replied as he handed Iris her drink.

Hermione took the one offered to her, his fingers brushing against hers, making her heart jump. She ignored this and sat next to Iris who continued to watch them with her carefully held expression.

“We do need to talk,” Hermione said, placing her hand on Iris’s leg. “There’s a good chance this will end up in the paper.”

Her eyes widened, head whipping towards her father. Harry took a long sip of his butterbeer.

“There’s been rumours of a leak. About your mum. That she’s alive.”

“How did they find out?” Iris asked.

“The less you know the better,” Harry replied.

Iris crossed her arms. “I’m almost twelve!”

Harry stood, crouching in front of Iris, a hand on her shoulder. “Some things are too heavy for twelve year olds.” His eyes moved to Hermione and back to Iris. “I wish we hadn’t had to take on half the things we did by the time we were your age.”

Iris sunk further into the cushion. “You know I’ll just find out anyway.”

His lip twitched upwards. “Of course you will. Still, can you trust us that we’ll tell you what you need to know as it comes up?”

Her face twisted into a sceptical frown, gaze piercing. Hermione sighed, reading the expression all too well.  “I know. My track record isn’t…great.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. She shook her head, pleading silently with him to speak about it later. He nodded and she released a relieved breath.

“Stop talking with your eyes!” Iris said, voice rising. Both of them stared shocked at her outburst.

Harry’s expression was just as incredulous as hers likely was. Suddenly she was laughing, unable to stop as she covered her mouth. Harry’s joining hers instantaneously. Iris glared at both of them.

“It’s not funny,” she muttered.

That only made them laugh harder and eventually her frown cracked, revealing a partial smile. Harry stood from where he’d been laughing on the rug, wiping his face with his sleeve and offering Iris his hand.

“How about we get some fresh air?”

***

The weather had turned sharply so a quick stop to Hannah and Neville’s to grab winter coats was essential. Rain, or snow threatened, but it stayed dry, the last of the golden leaves falling amongst the evergreens. Like the trees Iris transformed before his very eyes. The shy quiet girl with a quick mind proved to be a ball of energy, vivacious and louder than he expected. Listening to her and Hermione it was impossible not to smile.

“Where do you live?” Iris asked, catching him off guard.

“Er—”

“When you aren’t at Hogwarts I mean.”

Hermione watched him closely, curiosity shimmering in her own eyes as she bit back a smile.

“Well, I’m at Hogwarts most of the year as you know. For a long time I lived in London with Remus, Teddy and Andromeda. We created a flat at the back of Grimmauld place.”

A crease formed between Iris’s brows. “So, you lived with Teddy when he was little?”

He nodded. “Until he was eight.” She studied the ground, falling quiet as they walked over the fallen leaves. “My new place is…er—it’s a work in progress.”

Her furrow deepened. “What do you mean?”

“It was my grandparents’ home.”

Hermione let out a gasp. “Potter Manor?”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly at their shocked expressions. “Godric’s Hollow was beyond repair. I…I didn’t feel like being there anyways. When I quit being an Auror full time I finally had time to look at all the properties that went with the deeds buried in the vault.”

“What made you decide on it?” Hermione asked.

“Dunno. It…it had a good feeling about it I suppose.”

She smiled warmly and he couldn’t help but return it.

“Can we see it?” Iris asked.

“Of course. There’s still lots to be done since I only get to work on it in the summers, but it’s come a long way.”

“What’s it like?” she asked, voice climbing in excitement which made him smile even more.

“It was rather dusty at first. And there were lots of repairs needed. But it’s pretty cool. There’s a huge chandelier…big windows that overlook the grounds, gardens that Neville’s helping me bring back from the weeds. A forest borders it too, although nothing like this one,” he gestured towards the trees towering over them. “But it’s still something. There’s six bedrooms…which generally feels a bit obscene.”

He paused as he remembered one of his favourite spots in the spacious house that had always made him think of Hermione.

“There’s also a library.” Both of them sported the same elated look and he laughed. “Probably should have started with that one.”

“Can we go now?” Iris all but demanded.

Hermione sighed. “Iris—”

“Soon. I promise,” he said and her shoulders relaxed. He fell in beside Hermione, Iris moving quickly ahead of them, nearly skipping now.

“Sounds like you’ve kept busy,” she said softly, he turned to her and she smiled, tucking her windswept hair behind her ear. Looking far too beautiful than should be allowed.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, lest he do something stupid. “I found I’m not half bad with a hammer. And a wand.”

Her eyes shone brightly despite the grey sky. He could picture it so easily. The house no longer still and silent. Hermione leaving her books about, bringing her tea and pressing his lips against her neck and breathing in her scent, something he’d been fighting the urge to do since holding her that first night. It was just as easy to imagine Iris exploring the back garden, laughing at the kitchen table, decorating one of the many empty bedrooms to be just for her.

“Look!”

He tore his gaze from Hermione to where Iris stood at the end of the path with a delighted grin. Crested over the hill was smoke rising into the cold air. A few steps further revealed the rows of cottages in the distance.

Iris practically bounced on the balls of her feet. “Can we go to the shrieking shack?” Harry glanced between them. Hermione’s cheeks pink from the cold, grew rosier. “Mum told me stories,” Iris cut in eagerly. “Loads of them. The one where you rescue Padfoot is my favourite.”

He could see the shack over the next hill looking down at the small village. Harry found his chest tight at the thought of his daughter having spent so long only knowing him through stories.

“Sure,” he breathed out. Iris practically radiated glee as she began to jog down the slope towards the village.

On the edge of the nearest street Hermione performed the glamour on all of them. Iris admired herself in the shop windows, clearly delighted by her new hair. All of them a bright blonde, Iris did tell him bluntly that he looked strange without dark hair. Harry could only laugh. Iris took in the town, wide eyed and cheekily grinning over her shoulder as she continued to move much faster than them. The street was nearly empty, it not being a Hogmseade weekend for the students. There was a distinct nip in the air. This didn’t seem to bother Iris as she marched up the small hill ahead of them, nearly at the old building they’d come to see.

Cold wind stung at his neck and cheeks as they went higher. He glanced at Hermione who held herself in a pose so familiar from their time on the hunt that he nearly stumbled. She gave him a curious look and he faltered. The urge to wrap his arm around her gnawing at him more fiercely than the icy wind.

“It’s smaller than I thought,” Iris’s voice floated down to them, and he tore his eyes from her deep brown ones. Iris was focused ahead on the house, a foot up on the rotting post where she balanced as she peered over the beam. The two of them caught up to their daughter who glanced back at them with a solemn face. “They really kept Teddy’s dad there?”

Hermione rubbed Iris’s arm. “I know love, it’s terrible.”

“He had friends that eventually made it bearable,” he said, thinking of his Dad and Sirius. 

Iris looked back at the house. “That’s true.”

He leaned on the fence next to her, setting a hand on her back when she wobbled from her perch. She shot him a small smile. “Will you tell the story?” At his confusion she added. “About rescuing Padfoot.”

Harry glanced at Hermione who was watching them, her brow furrowed. Iris wasn’t deterred by their silence. “Tell it together!”

“Iris…” Hermione started.

“Please,” she said, her face pleading. Harry already knew then he was going to have a hard time saying no to that expression. “I want to hear Dad tell it.”

His eyes moved to the house. A place that he’d come to associate with so many things. The betrayal of his parents, and the hope he’d had for a life with Sirius. Also the night where he’d fallen through time with Hermione.

“Right. Where do you usually start?” he asked, looking over at Hermione who had moved to the other side of Iris. 

“Buckbeak,” she said, a smile in her voice.

He grinned. “A good place to start.”

He was surprised at how easily they fell into the rhythm, much like that night, following the other’s lead. Occasionally Iris interjected with something they’d forgotten, clearly well versed in this story. Or asked questions that made him pause, having to search his memory. Talking about the past, Iris’s arm against his and her enthusiasm were good distractions from the cold. Which is why he almost didn’t notice until Iris’s awed voice cut into the end of the story. 

“It’s snowing!”

She was right. There was only the faintest bit of light still in the sky, and when he gazed upwards, cold flakes fell onto his face.

“We should probably finish this up another time,” Hermione said, brushing the hair off Iris’s face. He nodded, pushing back from the rickety fence which moved precariously when Iris jumped down. 

His arm shot out, which was unneeded as she landed gracefully on her feet. She smiled up at him before moving away, arm wide as she ran to catch snowflakes on her tongue. 

“Shall we?” he asked Hermione. She nodded and they followed Iris down the hill. It was clear enough that he could still see Iris ahead of them, her curls flying behind her. Which was a relief as the worry from their earlier meeting hadn’t subsided. He couldn’t help smiling at her joy, so simple and contagious. He wondered if she’d always been like this, a light. 

“You told her our stories.”

Hermione paused, clearly caught off guard by his statement. He smiled, and she relaxed as they continued to walk slowly towards Hogsmead.

“I tried my best,” she said, watching their daughter. “I—I felt she deserved to have that part of herself. Our memories, that was what I had left of you,” she released a heavy breath which clouded in front of her before floating away. Her eyes were glassy when they met his.

He swallowed. “Did you tell her everything?”

She studied the ground, brows knitted endearingly. “As much as I could. I framed them as stories until recently.” 

“Stories?”

She sighed. “I used our nicknames.”

It took a moment for it to sink in.  “The Boy Who Lived?”

Hermione nodded guiltily.

“It was easier. I—I couldn’t really tell them without some…some distance.”

He managed a nod. A host of feelings surfacing at the information. Yet he understood the feeling. It was likely the same one that had made it nearly impossible for him to talk about her without being stabbed by grief. They continued to follow Iris in silence. Hermione had her arms folded over her chest, curls blowing in the wind and flakes beginning to stick, giving her a white halo. The memory of the last time he’d seen her like that causing adrenaline to go through him. A reckless feeling that had him stopping on the path.

“Hey—”

She turned towards him. The fading light was enough to see the gold of her eyes. His breath caught at how familiar her face had remained, still so much the same as it had been that night in Godric’s Hollow.

Her brows lifted as he found his words caught in his throat.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I am.” Her lips lifted into a bemused smile. He realised then he was likely staring like a mad man. “I just—” he started, harnessing what courage he could as she continued to watch him, head tilting at his strange behaviour. “Are you free?”

This time her brows lifted even higher. “Right now?”

He swiped a hand across his face. “Er—I meant later. This week. To get together…without—” Confusion still shone in her eyes. Harry forced himself to breathe. “What I mean is…would you like to have dinner? With me. We can talk about—about things, just the two of us.”

He bit back a grimace at his stumbling. Her eyes widened, but to his relief she nodded. Every instinct in him wanted to pull her to him. He settled on giving her a small smile. “Great. It’s a date.”

Her returning smile made her glow despite the encroaching darkness. His heart lighter as they kept walking slowly up the path. Sod her stupid boyfriend. Harry knew no one could love her even a fraction of the amount he did. He just had to find a way to tell her that without seeming like a nutter. Before he could gather himself to speak again Iris tromped back over to them, clearly shivering.

“I’m cold,” she said, arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

“I thought you loved snow?” he said as Hermione pulled her between them as they continued towards the village.

“I forget that I prefer looking at it from inside.”

He laughed, placing his arm around her shoulder. “That can be arranged.”

***

Iris could still hardly believe that she’d just spent the day with both her parents. They lingered over dinner, tucked into a small booth at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. Her parents told her more stories from their time at school. Stories that were less factual but much funnier told by her dad. His sense of humour was like hers, and Iris was enjoying herself more than she thought possible. Mum would become flustered  when they disagreed over some of the finer details of the stories she demanded more of, which were almost as entertaining as the stories themselves. He seemed to enjoy this as he didn’t stop smiling all night.

On their way back, the light of her parents' wands guided them. Snow continued to come down and Iris was enchanted despite the tips of her ears and nose becoming numb. There was a quick round of goodbyes and the gathering of Mum’s things at Hannah and Neville’s cottage before they floo’d back. Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace before Harry caught her. Iris raised her eyebrows. She wondered if she should make a list of their interactions. Maybe Victoire and Isobel could help her parcel out what these things meant.

Iris shifted on her feet and her mother quickly moved out of her father’s embrace, standing in front of her. She tucked a curl behind Iris’s ear.

“Do you want me to take you back to your dorm?”

As tempting as it was to spend more time with her Mum, she shook her head. “I can take the cloak.”

“I’ll walk you,” Harry said firmly.

Iris was going to argue that she wasn’t a baby but Mum squeezed her arm. “I’d feel better if he did.”

She conceded with a shrug. Stomach cramping as it hit her that their day together was over.

“When will I see you again?” Really, she wanted to know when it would be the three of them again.

“Soon,” Mum reassured her, glancing over at Dad.

“Next weekend at the latest,” he said, clearing his throat. “We’ll go to Ron and Susan’s.”

Iris nodded and allowed herself to be wrapped up tightly in her mother’s embrace. Tears stung at her eyes as she inhaled the familiar smell, not wanting to let go. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye again.

Hermione kissed the top of her head and cupped Iris's face when she pulled back. “Try not to get into any life-threatening situations if you can help it.”

A smile pulled up despite her heavy heart. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Harry who stood by the fireplace. The air seemed to shift and Iris swallowed.

“Do you have to go?” she asked, her fight to stop from crying beginning to fail.

Mum appeared dazed when she glanced down at her. All at once she seemed to come back to herself and she smoothed Iris’s hair back. “I can’t leave the shop much longer, and like you two I also have class.”

Iris bit down on her lip and Mum pressed a kiss to her hairline. “You’ll have your father with you. And you can owl me anytime.”

“I have a phone. You can call her.”

Iris looked over at her father. “I can?”

He smiled softly. “Anytime.”

Mum nodded and pulled her in for another hug. “Six sleeps,” she whispered. The same phrasing she’d used when Iris was little. Not that they’d ever been apart this long until she went to Hogwarts. Iris held on, nodding against her shoulder before reluctantly letting go. Hermione hefted her purse that Iris knew contained much more than its size. Her father removed his hands from his pockets, taking a step forward then stopping. It was her mum who closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms around his torso and hugging him tightly.

Iris tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help it. Eventually she stepped back.

“We’ll talk soon,” His voice was hoarse and quiet.

Mum smiled softly. “We will.”

He threw some powder, causing the weak flames to turn emerald and roar to life. With one final wave, she stepped in and together they watched her disappear.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen: The True Love

I'll drown my beliefs

To have your babies

Just don't leave
Don't leave

-True Love Waits, Radiohead

Like he’d said he would, her father walked her back to the dorm. They were both quiet. Iris wanted to ask if he would miss Mum too, but a sudden shyness kept her from saying anything. The Fat Lady eyed them as they approached. Iris held tight to the cloak folded under her arm, wondering if she should wear it all the way up to her dorm.

“You’re feeling okay? Did Hannah give you anymore sleep potion?” Her father asked.

 “I have a week’s supply.”

He rubbed a hand across his face as he nodded. “Good. You know you’ll have permission if you need to miss any classes.”

“I don’t want to fall behind,” she said quickly, unsure if she could handle any more idleness.

He smiled. “Of course not. Still, you’ll let me know if you feel off?”

“I will.” Iris glanced around the empty corridor, then without letting herself second guess her actions she hugged him.

His arms wrapped around her, and he squeezed gently. “Sleep well.”

Iris nodded, reluctantly stepping back and taking a deep breath before she gave the password. The Fat Lady continued to watch them, her regal brow furrowed but let her through. Iris looked back at her father, who gave a small wave, before the portrait swung shut behind her. Despite the late hour, a few students lingered in the common room. All eyes moved swiftly towards her. She was about to dart upstairs when she noticed the only student not gaping at her was Teddy, who was tucked in near the darkened window playing a solitary game of chess.

She debated for about two seconds before she drifted over to him, sitting opposite.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, looking up. “You found them I take it?”

“Yeah, thanks by the way,” she said, passing the cloak back to him.

He shrugged, stuffing it behind him. “I don’t mind sharing.” The top of his ears and hair turned pink as he stared at the chessboard. “I’m…I’m sorry by the way.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s weird.”

Teddy nodded, rubbing a hand over his flushed face as they fell silent.

“Do you want to play?” he finally asked.

Despite the exhaustion in her body, she nodded. Unsure if she would be able to settle her mind for sleep. He reset the board and they played in relative silence. After a particularly violent takedown of one of her knights, Teddy smiled ruefully.

“Vic said your parents are totally in love.”

She snorted. That would be the first thing she focused on. Iris knew there was something between them, she just wasn’t sure what, or how to explain it. At Teddy’s raised eyebrows, Iris sighed.

“Maybe…I don’t really know.”

“Well, I always hoped Uncle Harry would find someone cool...he’s er—never really introduced us to any of his girlfriends.” Iris wanted to ask a million questions about that, but bit her tongue. He squinted at the board and commanded a pawn to one of hers. “From the stories I’ve heard…your Mum’s a bit of bad ass.”

A laugh escaped her, and she managed to take out his bishop. “She can be,” she eventually agreed.

They shared a smile before re-focusing on the game. Soon enough Iris found her concentration waning, and when she finally looked around them there was only three other people in the common room. Judging from the looks they were directing their way; it wasn’t hard to imagine what or who they were discussing.

“How does he deal with it?” Iris asked.

Teddy raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“The staring. All of it.”

Teddy scratched his chin. “I suppose you just get used to it.” He moved his knight towards her king. “It was like that when I first got to Hogwarts. Well, maybe not as intense as that.” He gestured towards the group who quickly looked away.

“Really?”

“Being connected to ‘Harry Potter’ makes it inevitable. Not to mention the whole dad being a werewolf.” She nodded, chewing her lip. “Don’t worry. They’ll move on eventually.” He yawned, stretching his thin arms over his head before smiling ruefully. “Checkmate.”

***

The next morning didn’t go much better in terms of people staring, in fact it only got worse. Iris hoped to see her father at breakfast, but he was nowhere in sight. She told herself it was fine, that everything was fine. Except it didn’t feel fine. Everyone whispered, no table more than the Slytherins. She spotted Eileen who’d kept her eyes focused on her cereal. Iris had just managed her first bite of her own when the post arrived. The hum of students, noticeably dipped before roaring back at an even louder volume. Teddy was pale when he passed her a copy of The Daily Prophet.

Hermione Granger alive; Daughter attending Hogwarts.

On the front page was an old photo of her Mum. An old one, as she was clearly a teenager. She wore a gown with her hair twisted off her face, eyes bright with laughter. What was strange was she was on the arm of a man Iris had never seen. He wore a serious expression, dark eyebrows drawn together at the camera. Iris read the byline underneath.

Sources haven’t confirmed who the father is. Professional Quidditch Player Victor Krum has not returned a comment. He was linked romantically to Ms Granger during her time at Hogwarts. The two were reported to have broken up after the Triwizard Tournament. She was also confirmed to have dated pub owner Cormac McLaggen, and former friend Ron Weasley. There was also speculation about her relationship with Wizarding Hero Harry Potter.

There was a photo of the trio, with the two boys having their arms around her. All of them smiling, and no older than sixteen. Iris shoved the paper away, cheeks burning.

“Rubbish,” Victoire murmured. “Don’t pay any attention to it. My mum always says you have to take everything they say with a barrel of salt.”

Iris swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. The eyes of the student body like a physical weight that she continued to try and ignore as she forced down the rest of her cereal. She refused to give any kind of reaction in public, but she made a note to owl mum that night, or maybe use her dad’s phone. Subtly she looked back towards the teacher’s table. He still wasn’t there and for some reason that made everything feel a million times worse.

Breakfast finished up, and Iris forced herself to follow the other Gryffindors to the dungeons. The room drew noticeably silent when she entered, and a chill went through her. Only partially from the glacial temperature, she tucked her robes tighter around herself and forced her feet to keep moving. Iris hesitated when she approached her seat. Eileen was already there and sitting ramrod straight when her dark eyes met hers.

Iris steadied herself, unsure why she felt so odd. She knew it wasn’t Eileen, but Naomi who’d tricked her. With that thought, she looked behind her. Meredith had been moved further back, where she sat alone. Naomi was nowhere in sight, and she hadn’t seen her since everything had gone black in the North Tower.

“They shipped her off to France,” Eileen said quietly.

“Oh.” 

Iris sat down. This was a good thing, she knew that deep down. Except she couldn’t stop picturing how Naomi had cowered in the face of her brother. The awful things he’d said to her as well. Iris had begun to wonder what he must also say to her in private, a thought that made her feel heavy. Eileen started to speak, but Slughorn made his entrance, and she stopped.

It wasn’t until they made it through the lesson and had collected the ingredients that they got a moment to talk. Iris was grateful when Eileen discreetly put up a silencing spell around them, muffling the distracting bustle around them.

“You were hurt,” Eileen said.

Iris hesitated, then shrugged. “A bit.”

Eileen became more focused, chopping the rosemary finely. “I wanted to warn you. They caught me.”

“I heard,” she said, cringing. “I’m sorry. They—they didn’t hurt you, right?”

“Petrified me and hid me behind the sofa,” she said flatly, continuing to chop but with more aggression. “My dormmates didn’t notice until the next morning.”

Nicholas’s words came back to her. “Oh god. I’m sorry.”

Eileen dismissed this with a gloved hand. “It could have been worse.”

“I suppose,” Iris sighed.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Her cheeks warmed, partially from the heat of the potion brewing and also from the unusual sincerity in Eileen’s voice. “Do you know about the Polyjuice?” Iris asked, when she was done stirring.

“Yeah. Apparently, that was a last-minute addition. The tosser told me they were originally going to impersonate one of the other Gryffindors but that I was making their job easier,” her dark brows were furrowed, and her eyes flashed up to hers. “I…I think he read my memories.”

Iris nodded, all too aware of what Nicholas was capable of. “I think there was more,” Iris said carefully. “They talked about—about needing a Muggle born. Naomi was in on it. At least that part.”

Eileen seemed to think this over as she added the rosemary, turning their potion a light blue. “But you’re not a Muggleborn.”

“I’m not, but…it’s complicated.” Iris glanced around; potions was proving to be a good distraction. Most of the class was at least a task behind them and desperately trying to follow the complex instructions. Even with the silencing spell, she spoke in a whisper.

“Nicholas found out who my parents are. Which is why they went after me, at least that was his final motivation…we think.” She had still been puzzled over the part that Naomi had played.

“Your parents?” Eileen asked.

Iris nodded, taking a deep breath and waiting until Eileen was done stirring clockwise and then in reverse. “Hermione Granger is my mum…and my dad is Harry Potter.”

Eileen dropped her wand onto the stone, the clattering luckily silenced as she gaped at her.

“Professor Potter?”

“Er—yeah.”

Her mouth hung open. Under different circumstances it might have been amusing seeing the normally so composed Eileen completely baffled. Iris went on to summarise as best she could what had happened.

Eileen remained silent and still. Their potion all but forgotten, another unusual occurrence for her. She turned towards Iris with a look of concern. “I…I think you should know…that’s not what they're saying. In the dorm.”

“What are they saying?”

***

Harry was on his way back to his quarters when the Patronus from Remus arrived. The message had been short, but his already knotted stomach had only tightened at whatever news he would deliver soon. He made it the rest of the way, shucked his robe. Paced in circles. Finally, he cracked open a butterbeer and sat slumped in front of his fireplace, where he remained until Remus appeared within the hour. He dusted himself off, his eyebrows raised at the sight of Harry in front of him.

“Morning,” Remus said, taking a seat across from him. “You look worse than I feel.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “What did Nicholas say?”

“He’s pleading that he was under the influence of Imperius.”

Harry would have laughed if he was capable. “How? There’s no trace of any members of X being here.”

Remus shrugged. “His father has hired Marguss.”

“Fuck.” Marguss had a reputation for always winning, even for scumbags—which was why they hired him.

“He’ll have to do the rehabilitation. There won’t be an out on that,” Remus said, trying and failing to sound reassuring.

“With parents like his, will it make a difference?” Harry asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not. He’ll have eyes on him now though.” He wasn’t so sure any of it would be enough for Nicholas, and was about to follow up when Remus held up a hand. “One of the other boys has cracked. He’ll get a plea and will have to be protected from retaliation. But it looks like it may lead us to X’s headquarters.”

Harry sat up straighter and Remus shot him a cautious look.

“What?”

“That was where they planned to take Iris,” Remus replied.

“For what?” Harry asked, already feeling ill.

“Unfortunately, that part is less clear. Likely motivated with having leverage over you. You and Hermione would have been prime targets already…you especially after Dolohov.”

Anger surged in him. “They aren’t going to stop. Are they?”

“No. A security detail will still be necessary for the time being. I’ll have Stella update Hermione.”

He sighed, hunching forward, wanting to be the one to discuss all of this with her. To make her understand how careful they would have to be about Iris, her.

“The good news is there will be a raid soon. I can’t say much more.”

Harry gave him a hard stare and Remus shook his head. “You’re too close. I’m sorry Harry. Besides, I think it’s best if you’re a presence at the school. For Iris’s safety.”

He was mollified with that, and they continued to talk about some of the logistics for what happened next. Harry’s frustration fading to exhaustion as it all sunk in. It was barely past lunch and already he was ready for the day to be over, to be closer to seeing Hermione tomorrow. He’d already had to resist the urge to call her several times since last night.

“Harry?”

Remus’s voice drew him back, having lapsed into silence.

“Sorry.”

“Have you given any more thought to your statement?”

He shook his head. “We’re having supper tomorrow. We’ll come up with something.”

A loud frantic set of knocks surprised them both. They exchanged a quick, wary look before Harry was up and opening the door, only to find a sweaty and out of breath Teddy.

“Dad’s here?”

Harry opened the door wider. Teddy ran over and hugged his dad who had already stood.

“You’re wet,” he said warmly, returning his son’s embrace.

“Did some Quidditch drills instead of lunch.”

“Brave,” Remus said, eyeing the drifts of snow from the window.  

Teddy grinned, face still pink. “Only way to be the best.” His exuberance quickly gave away as Remus released him.

 “Everything alright?” Remus asked.

Teddy tugged at his hair, studying his shoes.

“Teddy…” Harry started, before his godson released a breath.

“There’s rumours,” he said quietly, eyes shifting between them. “About Iris and her Mum.”

“What sort of rumours?” Harry asked, his chest tightening.

Teddy looked distinctly uncomfortable. “About who her dad is.” The room grew quiet, and Harry’s unease grew. “Your name has been thrown around,” Teddy added hastily.

“I’d have expected that,” Remus said.

The silence that followed was distinctively heavy. Harry placed a hand on Teddy’s shoulder.

“What else?” Harry asked.

Teddy’s golden eyes swung back to his dad, throat bobbing.

“That her dad is a death eater.”

Harry swore, unease swiftly drowned out by rage.

“Again. I hate to harp on it…but the importance of a statement cannot be understated,” Remus told him.

“Right,” Harry replied, trying to get a hold of himself. “I’ll owl Hermione…I mean text her. Today.”

“Good, that’s a start. Should help the rumour mill die down.”

Guilt mixed in with the rage. He knew it would be hard for Iris, but this was even more of a mess than he’d been able to realise in his shock.

“There’s one more thing.” Remus reached into his pocket and withdrew something gold. 

“Her locket,” Harry said numbly. Remus handed it to him. 

“They found it in the basket. They verified that the spell Hermione used did as we thought.”

He clasped it tightly and gave a nod, not trusting himself to speak.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to class?” Remus said, turning back to Teddy.

Teddy shrugged and Remus sighed. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”

With a wave the two of them left, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. Carefully, he opened the locket. Heart skipping at the photograph of Hermione mid laugh. Younger than she was now, but older than when he’d seen her on the battlefield of Hogwarts. Her hair caught in the wind, eyes sparkling. Vivid and alive. The proof of it in his hands.

 ***

Hermione dashed up the stairs the moment Simon relieved her, nearly stumbling into her sofa in her haste. Her normally clean flat reflected the chaotic nature of her current head space.That morning she had woken up tangled in her sheets. Disoriented and struggling to comprehend why she was alone in her bed. The awful panic had clawed its way up her throat; that maybe it was all a dream. She’d calmed down when she got up and saw the outfit she’d worn to Hogsmead yesterday crumpled on the chair in her bedroom. She was further assured by the text message waiting for her from Hannah inquiring about dinner that weekend on behalf of Susan.

Not that it had lessened the urge to feel Harry’s heartbeat beneath her palm again. She could hardly believe she was going about her day as if the world as she knew it hadn’t been flipped upside down. For the hundredth time she asked herself what she was doing. Harry was alive. And here she was attempting to continue her old life, getting ready for an afternoon and evening of classes. She quickly made her way to her bedroom, switching out of the comfortable clothes she always wore while working in the shop for something a bit more dressed up. She was giving a panel along with another PhD student and didn’t want to show up looking like the mess she felt inside. Something that had consumed her for weeks, now barely registering as important.

She tried to focus on that and failed miserably. There was an ache in her chest that she knew wouldn’t ease unless she returned to Hogwarts. Academic commitments, work and responsibility kept her from doing so. She also had no clue what came next. Her heart fluttered anytime she thought about his invitation to dinner. Yet she wasn’t even sure what it meant. At least she knew where he stood with Iris. That had been perfectly clear. The two of them together was a sight that made her feel like she would burst into tears each time. She loved being with both of them, but her mind kept circling back to the moments they’d shared alone. Her stomach flipped whenever she remembered the feel of his touch. The intensity coming off of him.

But back in her old life, she couldn’t help wondering if she was only seeing what she wanted to see. He hadn’t said anything after Ron’s comment. Not that she had either, too nervous to broach the subject. All of it bringing back long buried memories of their time together on the run, his silence when Ron had returned. Her uncertainty about where she had stood, washed away with his death. Now that he was alive, she felt it creeping back in. What she clung to as she darted around her bedroom was the openness of possibility that had opened with his return, something she never could have fathomed until a few days ago. Still her nerves were frayed. The old insecurity bubbling up inside her as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Hair in disarray, her face tired and faded in the low lighting.

As she did up her blouse, she swallowed the terrible feeling.  Hermione knew she should simply be grateful that he was alive. That Iris now had a father. She refused to let her own heart overshadow the miracle of it all.

*** 

Iris sat in History of Magic; her last class of the day, a day she wanted to end. Not long after Eileen had dropped the bomb on her, she’d heard first hand as a group of older Ravenclaws passed by her. It only got worse from there. After lunch Victoire’s pretty face was warped with rage that a Slytherin had asked her if it was true that Iris was Voldemort’s daughter. To which Victoire’s reply had been a stinging jinx that had landed her detention the rest of the week. 

At least another three students had asked her if Professor Potter was really her dad, to which she’d simply ignored them and stared at her food. Her insides were like soup, hot and sloshing. Isobel tried her best to console her. But it was little use. Iris knew it would be hard to imagine the fallout, yet she hadn’t imagined this. Would people act even stranger when the truth was confirmed? At least she would hopefully never be asked if Voldemort was her father ever again.

Iris didn’t take in a single word that Professor Binns said. His already dead boring lectures, unable to hold the attention of her overtaxed brain. Instead, Iris stared out at the white world outside, which reminded her of the snow globe of Paris that used to sit on her bedside table. She tried to picture being in one. Enclosed and protected from everything in a perfect little world. Except her own reality was more like a snow globe that had fallen into the hands of an overzealous toddler, shaken erratically before being thrown on the floor and shattering.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that it took Isobel elbowing her to look away from the window. Her father stood in the doorway of the classroom. “I need to have Ms Everdeen excused,” he said to Professor Bins, who gave an approximation of a shrug before he continued to drone one.

 “Go,” Isobel whispered.

Iris didn’t need to be told twice. She stood up hastily, leaving her things behind, along with every single pair of eyeballs that trailed her until her father shut the door behind them.

Before she could ask what had happened, he grinned. “You look like I’ve summoned you to the gallows.”

The tense knot in her stomach eased. “I thought something bad had happened.”

His smile faltered. “There’s been a bit too much of that lately hasn’t there?” Iris nodded. “I don’t have class and I thought you might want to be spared from eternal boredom.”

“Really?”

His smile returned. “Have you ever flown in snow?”

***

Harry couldn’t help his pride as Iris flew next to him, handling the snow like a champ. It was cold, but he’d lent her one of his thicker robes that he’d shrunk down, and the flakes had let up enough that by the time they landed in the clearing, it was only the light snow of the kind seen in fairytales that fell around them. This spot near the north mountain had become a favourite of his in his explorations over the last few years. There was a small stream, the blue standing out against the white all around them, not yet frozen.

He shrunk and pocketed their brooms, then beckoned her to follow him towards the meadow. Their boots crunched on the icy ground, and he watched her take in their surroundings, eyes wide.

Harry found it hard not to study her, to let it sink in that she was his child. While her similarity to Hermione was startling, there were parts of her that were undeniably from him. He had never had that experience before, seeing himself in another. At least outside of photographs. It still slammed into him unexpectedly, the surge of familiarity and love that came so easily. Iris gasped, breaking through his thoughts. He smiled at the delight that took over her entire face. As he hoped they’d be, a pack of moon calves huddled together against the cold, still half asleep.

“Do you want to feed them?” he asked.

“Yes!”

Harry instructed her to approach slowly, he dug out some feed from his coat pocket. Iris held out her hand flat, and the smallest among the herd approached bravely, taking the food from her hand, comically wide eyes cautious and sweet.

Iris hadn’t stopped smiling, giggling as the animal nuzzled her palm.

“You like animals?” he asked as the mooncalf drew back and joined its herd.

Iris’s brows drew together. “What kind of monster doesn’t?”

He laughed. “Good point.”

Harry told her what he knew about the creatures that frequented the grounds of Hogwarts as they began to walk along the river. Iris shivered against the wind, and he put up a shield that helped. Walking with her in the Scottish landscape it was impossible not to think about the tent, he smiled at a memory that came to him suddenly.

“Do you want to play a game?”

She peered up, snowflakes stuck to her lashes. “What kind?

“A friend taught it to me…a long time ago. It’s called Friends Tell Each Other Things.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, sceptically.

“It’s pretty simple. We just tell each other things about ourselves, unexpected ones if possible. I…the last time I played was with your Mum.”

“Really?”

He nodded, elbowing her lightly. “See that counts, me telling you that. So now it’s your turn.”

She shot him a bemused look. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“I never said it was a fair game.”

“Fine,” she mumbled, rubbing her chin. “Hmm. When I was little Mum lost me at the fair. And the circus. And the zoo.”

“She lost you three times?” he asked, eyebrows raised. 

Her serious expression dissolved. “Alright. I might have run off. It used to drive Mum mental.”

He laughed and she grinned. He wasn’t sure why he should be surprised to find out she was a bit of a troublemaker. It ran in the family after all.

They went back and forth a few more times. Harry learned that she used to want to be a dancer or a scientist when she grew up (“back when I was young, like five,” she said seriously), that she both loved and hated scary films, which had led to a side conversation about their favourites, and that she could do a backflip, and had done gymnastics before focusing more on dance.

“Wouldn’t the game be better if we just asked each other questions?” Iris asked, before he could think of something else, having discovered she knew a fair amount about his time at school.

“Then it wouldn’t be Friends Tell Each Other Things. It would just be asking friends things.”

She huddled closer, crossing her arms. “I suppose.”

“Is there something you want to ask me?” She hesitated, and he stopped, placing a hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing you can’t ask, you know that?”

She continued to chew her lip. “Mum says…she says she didn’t think you had a girlfriend. Is that true?”

He stared into her green eyes, rendered speechless for several moments before he cleared his throat. “Er—no. I don’t.”

Iris seemed to sag in relief, and he squeezed her shoulder.

“Did you ask your Mum that?”

She nodded, and he felt her begin to tremble. The cold was much sharper now that they’d stopped. His heart beat faster, but he did his best to focus on Iris, this wasn’t hers to figure out for him.

“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her. “We don’t want to miss supper.”

***

Iris sat warm and content on the sofa in her father’s quarters. She had nearly shouted her answer when he’d asked if she wanted to have supper there instead of the great hall. The privacy felt like heaven.

They chatted amicably over soup and sandwiches he’d procured from the kitchens as she’d warmed up by his fireplace. She couldn’t help the happiness that bloomed inside her whenever she made him laugh. Sitting there with him, she didn’t want to leave. Iris was greedy for all the time she’d lost. Having a dad was even better than she’d ever imagined it. Being with him felt like home. She had moved on from eating to wandering around the space, looking at the things in his study, asking him about his travels, and absorbing everything she could. Though, it was the photo of him and Mum that her eyes were drawn to most. They weren’t much older than her, Iris still found that strange as she’d seen so few photographs of her mum when she was young.

“When do we get to see her again?” she asked, touching the frame before looking over her shoulder.

Dad swallowed his soup. “Er—soon.”

“On the weekend?” She plopped back into her seat on the sofa.

“Yes. I’ll also see her tomorrow. To sort out…things.”

“What things?”

He scrubbed a hand across his face. “The papers. We’ll need to make a statement.”

Iris suddenly found it hard to breathe. Harry shifted closer, taking her hand and squeezing.

 “We won't send anything in without talking to you first. Deal?”

Iris tried to nod, some of the panic lessened. Still, she hated this part.

“Are you going to tell people I’m your daughter?”

“I think the truth is probably best. I don’t want to hide that, but ultimately that part is up to you.”

Tears blurred her vision. “I want people to stop saying…saying the other things. And. And I—I don’t want to be a secret.”

He pulled her towards him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I would never want you to be a secret.” Iris didn’t trust herself to speak, her anxiety calming a bit at her father’s words. “I know it’s hard. I won’t pretend the attention and rumours don’t still bother me sometimes. But what others say about you, often says a lot more about them, then about you.”

Iris pulled back enough to wipe her face. “Are you going to our house? On Tuesday?”

He nodded. “We’re having dinner.”

She nearly jolted right off the sofa. “Like a date?”

His cheeks became streaked with red. “Er—”

“Are you going to be together now?”

He hesitated, and Iris felt herself deflate. “Iris, it’s complicated—.”

“Why not?” she said, shaking her head and pacing. “You don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Iris…it doesn’t work like that. Besides your Mum is seeing—"

“No! She’s not!” Iris whirled around and clamped her mouth, suddenly aware that she had shouted at her father, who’d frozen. They stared at one another with similar expressions of shock.

“She…she’s not?”

“No,” Iris replied, sinking back down. “Er—False alarm,” she added sheepishly, self-conscious of her outburst, amongst everything else.

He sat back against the cushion. “Oh.”

Neither of them said anything. Iris focused on the low flames in the fireplace, but kept stealing glances at her father, who looked nearly as discombobulated as he had the first night. Then it came to her, what to say next.

“You know her class is over at seven on Mondays.”

Her words seemed to float right by him before he looked at her.

“What?”

Iris glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “Mum. She’s usually back from class by seven.” She smiled as she saw the meaning sink in on her father’s face. “And she’s always starving, maybe you could bring her some soup.”

 ***

Harry was out of breath from his sprint from Aberhein Alley. Edinburgh didn’t have snow, but it rained, hard and cold. Despite the frigid lashing of water and wind at his face, he was oddly warm all over. Heart working overtime as adrenaline kept him moving to the address he’d memorised days before.

He had soup charmed to fit in his pocket without spilling. A flimsy excuse, and one he’d grasped onto. Iris had been quiet yet seemingly pleased on their walk back to her dorm. He hadn’t hugged her like he’d wanted as they had arrived with the crush of post dinner students. Not that their presence had gone unnoticed. The crowd had parted like the sea, and he watched as Iris steeled herself, ignoring the stares and smiling cheekily one last time over her shoulder before she disappeared into the portrait.

The shop came into view around a corner, surrounded by other sandstone buildings, it was exactly how one would imagine an antique bookshop to look. Gold lettering was printed across the window, which were large and framed in red. He glanced up, the windows were dark above and his nerves spiked. Part of him still struggled to believe that what Iris said could be true. What if she was mistaken or had misunderstood? He felt queasy approaching the door that matched the trim. He had been debating flowers, and had thought better of it. That was far too presumptuous. Not that showing up at her flat unannounced wasn’t inheritably that as well. 

The sign on the door window was flipped to closed, illuminated by the streetlamps that lined the cobblestone. He noticed a light in the back, causing the faintest of glow amongst the old books.

Someone was there.

He knocked and stepped back. Rainwater ran down his neck. He shivered, some of the heat from his walk evaporating with his nerves. A figure emerged, and his disappointment swiftly turned to despair when he noted that it was a man. The man opened the door, music floated in from somewhere. He had freckles and hair a shade of red lighter than Ron. His skin was pale. Was it mayonnaise coloured? 

He was trying to process all of this, struggling to keep his emotions in check when the man frowned. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

There was a beat, where he knew he should say something.

“Simon? Who is it?”

Hermione emerged from a room at the back. Harry stared at her over Simon’s shoulder. The name barely having time to sink in as he was distracted just looking at her. She wore a dark skirt and a white blouse, the end of her curls damp as if she’d also just come back in from the rain.

Her eyes went wide as they landed on him.

“Harry?”

Simon looked between them. “Everything good?” he asked Hermione.

She came closer, eyes never leaving Harry’s. “Yes, never better.”

Harry struggled to keep his smile in check and a powerful surge of happiness went through him when she returned it.

“Alright. Well…I’m heading out,” Simon said, he glanced back at Harry with some uncertainty then went towards the desk and gathered some things, including a large umbrella.

“See you tomorrow,” he said to Hermione, nodding to Harry. He stepped in allowing Simon to pass and close the door behind him, the tinkling of the bell mixing with the faint music.

“Hi,” she said, warmth and some confusion in her voice.                                                            

Harry opened his mouth but found it hard to think, looking at her.

“Hi,” he finally managed.

She came a step closer, brows drawing together. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, feeling it for the first time. “It is.”

Her smiled returned, brighter than before. She reached up and lightly touched his hair.

“You’re soaked.”

His mouth went dry, eyes nearly closing at how good her touch felt. He breathed out the only thing he’d been able to concentrate on since Iris had told him.

“You don’t have a boyfriend.”

She stared up at him. “I don’t.”

Her hand had moved to his shoulder, and he touched her waist. Lightly at first, then her warmth through her thin blouse made it impossible not to wrap his arms around her. His hands splayed across the small of her back, then her face was close and he was kissing her.

Gentle at first, but the second her lips parted under his, he was lost.

She tasted as good as he remembered, her skin soft and perfect under his hands. So much of it was the same. Enough that he might have thought it was a dream of their time in the tent. That was until his back hit the door behind him.

Her eagerness set something off inside him. He was hardly conscious of lifting her, her legs wrapped around him and giving him more access as her skirt slipped up her body.

“I love you,” he said against her lips. “I’ve—I’ve never stopped.”

She stilled, resting her forehead against his. “I’ve always loved you—””

He swallowed the rest of her words. Her skirt had pooled further up her waist, and he bit back a groan when he felt the silk of her underwear. Every part of him felt like it had been set on fire with the need to touch.

The music grew louder as he moved them towards the back of the shop, settling eventually near the giant desk which he set her on, using the leverage to allow his hands to wander aimlessly. Hers were fisted in his hair, but he broke away enough to trail kisses across her neck. The scent of her skin, bringing him straight to the past. Even the shop, with its volumes of worn paper, attached itself to the memory of her. Parchment, honey and something floral. 

Harry pressed further into her; at the soft sound she made his brain nearly blanked at the intensity of his need to have her make it again.

“Upstairs,” she whispered as he sucked on the exposed skin of her throat.

Harry pulled back, staring into her darkened eyes, hair falling into them.

“What?” he asked, dazed.

She kissed him again and he groaned when she pulled back. “Upstairs. The gold door…my bedroom is to the right,” she faltered, her flush deepening and he would have smiled if he wasn’t utterly distracted by how beautiful she was. “I want you—”

Harry didn’t have to be told twice. Swiftly, he moved her from the desk, and she laughed breathlessly as he nearly stumbled on the stairs. Never once letting her go.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen: Afterglow

Hermione ran her hands through Harry’s hair, which was just as soft and unruly as she remembered. “I take it you haven’t had a haircut in a while?”

He smiled sleepily up at her. “Are you offering?”

She snorted. “I think once was enough.”

He moved upwards and kissed her, rolling them over easily so they were reversed, and he had her caged beneath him. “I’m up for it. Although hopefully I’d get to shag you afterwards this time.”

Her eyebrows lifted and he grinned. “I don’t recall you proposing that.”

“I should have,” he murmured, tracing her hip bone where the sheet had slipped down. “I wanted to. Never stopped.”

She reached up, pushing a stray strand from his eyes. “I did too.”

The memory like all of them, felt clearer with him there. The faded bits easier to fill in when she spoke to him and heard his perspective. For years her memories of him had been locked up tight. Now entwined with Harry in her bed, the past had begun to unspool between them over the night.

Harry had gone back to kissing his way down her body, which was sore in the best way. They had eagerly begun to recommit the lines and curves of each other’s bodies to memory. The whispered words, taste of skin and the familiar sounds and cues they’d learned all those years ago during a cold December coming back quickly.

In the snatches of sleep she’d managed, she once again swore that it must be a dream. Then she’d wake to his lips on her, surrounded by the smell and feel of him, making it undeniable in the physical sense. He was here and this was real.

The sky however was lightning bit by bit, the world waking up and intruding on their privacy. Hermione sighed at the reminder as the sun peeked through the curtains, landing on where Harry was currently running his hands down her waist, his hair tousled and soft, impossible for her to resist. She wove her fingers back into the raven strands, smiling at the satisfied sound he made against her stomach.

 “You’re going to be late,” she said, trying to sound convincing. He only hummed in response, the vibration tickling her and making her squirm. She swallowed as his hands moved to the sensitive skin of her thighs. “It’s nearly eight. I’m going to be late,” she said, voice hitching.

“Just close the shop.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, his lips pressing to her hip. “And the students won’t notice their professor missing.”

She felt his smile against her skin. “They’re pretty clever. So probably.”

“McGonagall will likely also get wind of it.”

His shoulders moved in a shrug. “I think she’ll understand.”

Hermione laughed. “I hope she hears nothing about this. At least this exact bit.”

“I’ll try not to spill the details in our monthly meeting.”

She tugged at his hair, and he finally looked up. The sight of him like this, stole the air from her lungs.

“I want to see you,” he said with an intensity that did nothing for her will power. “Again,” he punctuated with another kiss to her stomach. “Tonight.”

“I’m off at five,” she managed.

He nodded, squeezing her legs. “I’ll be there.”

Then his lips were on her, and she lost the battle with her sensibility.

***

Harry couldn’t help and grin as he watched her race around the bedroom in nothing but her skivvies. Hermione threw him an exasperated look over her shoulder. One that he vowed to never take for granted again.

“I’d really rather you not have to explain to a bunch of teenagers why you’re late for class,” she said. 

“I’ll just tell them I had an important package to deliver.”

At her raised eyebrow, he gestured towards the soup container on the nightstand. Long ago eaten after they’d done more important things first. She rolled her eyes, still, her smile was like his, giddy, and disbelieving.

Hermione riffled through her drawers and pulled out a burgundy jumper. Reluctantly he stood from the crumpled sheets of her bed. He liked her bedroom; it reflected her well. The walls were covered in antiquated wallpaper, neat except for the crammed shelves of books. A small vanity with her things and a window that looked out into a narrow Edinburgh Street, weak sunlight strained through the white curtains.

He freshened his clothes and put his clothes from the night before on. She was a whirlwind, clipping her hair up and bending over to grab some kind of makeup from her vanity. He used the moment to wrap his arms around her waist. She straightened and settled against his chest, breathing out. They observed one another through the attached mirror.

“I still can’t believe this is real,” she whispered. He kissed her neck, her eyes fluttered closed for a moment and her voice was more raw when she opened them. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t either,” he replied, squeezing her hip.

“They hooked me up to the floo,” she said softly, her face tilting back towards his. “I’ll connect ours.”

He kissed her forehead. “Good. I plan on taking advantage of that.”

“It’s silly,” she said, with a shake of her head. “I made it twelve years. I can survive a day.”

“Eight-er,” he glanced at his watch and cringed. “Seven and a half hours.”

She pushed back from him with a groan. He leaned against her vanity watching her shimmy into her slacks, luminous in the morning light. A stupid grin overtook his face before he could help it. She noticed his stare and shot him a playful smile before leaving the bedroom, giving him no choice but to follow her.

***

Harry made it to class only ten minutes behind schedule. Hermione had shoved a piece of toast in his hand before kissing him and he forced himself to apparate away from her. He’d then flooed to his quarters from Hogsmead, before shrugging on a robe and sprinting to his classroom. There had been a rush of whispers that died down at his entrance. Harry had simply smiled at his students and jumped straight into the lesson on defensive jinxes.

When the bell rang, and he scrambled to get his affairs in order. Piles of papers that needed to be graded screamed at him, alongside his stomach that was protesting the lack of food. Despite all that, his mind was only partially there. Happiness swelled inside him each time reality washed over him.

There were a million things to sort out; but she was alive. And she loved him.

His next class poured in before he had more than a moment to himself. He was straightening some of his notes for his second years when Teddy came right up to his desk.

“You weren’t at breakfast.”

Harry hummed, handing him a stack of parchment. “Do you mind handing these out Ted?”

Teddy shot him a look that was all Tonks, before taking them and doing as he asked. Harry knew from experience that the third degree was far from over.

Harry began the lesson with little fanfare. They were building on what they had started in first year with their shielding spells. After they did the reading, he got them to divide into pairs. He was grateful to notice that unlike his older students, there was less tension between the Gryffindors and Slytherins in this cohort. He wanted to hold on hope that things could change.

He made his rounds, correcting wand movement and helping troubleshoot, relieved to see that most of them had been practising while he’d been away. Towards the back Teddy and Johnny were doing their best to outdo each other.

Johnny threw up a strong charm, blocking a nasty bat bogey hex directed from Teddy.

He shot a pointed look at Teddy. “Didn’t I say nothing more than a tickling jinx?”

“It’s easier if the stakes are higher.”

Harry sighed, trying to keep his face in teacher mode. Part of Teddy’s reckless streak was on him, he hadn’t exactly discouraged it when he was little. He may have done things differently if he’d known he’d be tasked with teaching him one day.

“Right. If I have to send either of you to Hannah, I’m pleading ignorance.”

Johnny grinned and Teddy starred in his all-knowing way.

“What?” Harry asked.

“You’re smiling. A lot. It’s weird.”

“Why is it weird?”

Teddy only continued to eye him, golden gaze assessing as he tilted his head.

“You normally only smile this much when something’s funny.”

“Well life is pretty funny sometimes; wouldn’t you agree Johnny?”

The shorter boy nodded, curls bouncing. “I’ve always thought so sir.”

He bit back his smile and began to move onto the next pair.  “You’re also wearing the exact same thing from yesterday,” Teddy muttered.

When Harry looked back at him, his arms were crossed, and he had barely contained his shit eating grin. His godson wasn’t apt to miss much. Harry opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He clasped Teddy on the shoulder then continued to the podium so he could assign their homework.

 ***

Sweat dripped down her back as Iris tried to focus on perfecting the leg locking curse, except her mind wouldn’t settle. 

“They’re in love,” Victoire whispered under her breath, after she took Iris’s offered hand to get off the floor cushion. “Zero doubt.”

At Iris’s incredulous expression she gave a dramatic sigh.

“Look at him!”

Iris did as she was told. Her father was currently talking to a boy from Hufflepuff who was struggling with the defensive jinx across the classroom. He looked normal to her. Maybe a bit dishevelled from demonstrating, but there was nothing obvious to signal what Victoire had been harping on about since class started.

“He looks like himself,” Iris finally replied.

Isobel not so discreetly looked over at him as well, the three of them grouped off together. “Yeah…Iris is right. He looks normal.”

Victoire huffed. “You aren’t paying enough attention. He smiled the whole class, like nonstop. Teddy told me it was the same in his period.”

“So?” Isobel asked, rolling her eyes at Iris when Victoire turned to assess her uncle further. Iris did her best to ignore the blonde as she allowed Isobel to practise on her, only one leg locked, but she still fell back onto the large purple cushion. 

“He never smiles that much,” Victoire muttered, when they were all standing again.

Iris’s stomach swooped, she looked over her shoulder and her father had moved onto another group. A couple Ravenclaw girls began whispering and looking in their direction causing Iris to turn quickly.

The attention had waned little, with more articles appearing in the papers with even more speculation. Iris’s solution was to speak as little as possible unless alone with her friends.

Victoire and Isobel stared at her expectantly and she shrugged.

“We still don’t know for sure,” Iris said, regretting that she’d ever mentioned the whole date thing to Victoire.

“Ask!” Victoire practically shouted. Isobel elbowed her for Iris as she was closer. Not that she hadn’t garnered the attention of the students close by. Victoire straightened, cheeks pinking. “Ask,” she repeated more calmly. “You may as well just find out.”

“Ask what exactly?” Victoire gave her a pointed look and Iris wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

Victoire frowned then blanched. “No, not that!”

“I don’t actually want to think about any of that,” Iris said, returning to practising her wand movement and glancing at the textbook opened on the desk closest to them. Not that her concentration wasn’t shot. She had too many thoughts and feelings at once, it was exhausting.

“What about if they are each other's Jack and Rose?” Isobel chimed in.

There was a noticeable dip in the chatter around them and Iris glared at both of them.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” she hissed. Her rebuke had excellent timing as her father approached.

“Any questions before the end of class?” he asked.

Victoire pressed her lips together and Iris would have kicked her if it wouldn’t have been obvious. “No. I don’t think so,” Iris answered for all of them.

“Alright. Also, Iris can I have a word after class? Nothing urgent.”

She nodded, again ignoring the delight on both her friends' faces. Unlike them she wasn’t ready to get all of her hopes up.

After what felt like ages, class ended and Iris lingered packing up her things. She urged Victoire and Isobel to continue to the library without her and ignored the stares from the other students as the classroom emptied out. 

He smiled as she approached his desk once everyone was gone. “How’s your day been?” 

“It’s been fine,” Iris said, settling into the chair across from him. He watched her carefully.

“I know things have been all over the place,” he said, leaning forward. “We came up with a statement. I wanted you to read it before I send it over. ” Her chest tightened and he pulled out a piece of paper, offering it to her with a small smile. “Not sure it will make things…more peaceful. But at least it will be accurate.”

Iris took it from him with shaky fingers. She unrolled it and instantly recognized her mother’s handwriting.

To whom it may concern,

Ms Granger has been living in the Muggle World with her daughter, unaware of the events that took place three days after the battle of Hogwarts. Mr Potter knows his daughter is attending Hogwarts. The two of them ask that people respect the privacy of their family during this time.

She looked up at her dad, who watched her carefully.

“Alright?”

Iris nodded, handing back the paper. “So you brought her the soup?”

Colour painted his cheeks as he stashed the paper in his pocket. “Yeah. We…we talked.”

She stared at him, and his colour deepened.

Iris bit down on her lip, but the question passed anyway. “Are you together?”

He hesitated, scrubbing his face.

She crossed her arms. “Dad…”

A flicker of a smile appeared as he copied her posture. “Iris…” She rolled her eyes, and he released a breath. “Alright. Yes.”

She looked at him, hardly believing it.

“I—I was going to wait to tell you with your mum,” he said, carefully. “But…I think we can agree we don’t need to keep hiding things.”

“Are you going to get married?” she blurted, and his eyes widened.

He huffed out a laugh. “I think I need to check with her first.”

There was undeniable happiness in his face and Iris felt her own spike dangerously as students from the next class filed in. She stood up, grabbing her bag. Instantly aware of the stares of the older students.

He shot her a final smile and nod. Iris left the room, feeling as if she was walking on clouds.

***

Iris’s happiness couldn’t be spoiled. Not even when she went directly to the library and told Victoire and Isobel, who’d squealed so loudly that Madam Pince docked them each five points and sent them on their way. As they exited a group of Slytherin boys passed by, towering over the three of them. One Iris recognised from the Quidditch team knocked into them, causing Iris to bump into Isobel who dropped her textbook. 

“I’d watch your back little lion.”

A wave of dread swept through her, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. They stood rooted to the spot even once the boys continued on. Victoire came out of shock first, face reddening and hand reaching for her wand. Isobel and Iris each grabbed her by the arm and kept moving. They exchanged worried looks only once they were farther down the corridor, luckily teeming with other students, which made Iris feel a tad bit safer. As she sat through Transfiguration Iris thought of her father, he would want to know. Both her parents would. She also knew it would make them worry even more. Iris pushed away the anxiety brewing in her stomach. It was all too easy to imagine her that her Mum would yank her out of school. As stressful as being at Hogwarts had been, Iris hated the thought of not being able to return. 

She didn’t want to be anywhere else.

It was Teddy, who once filled in by Victoire, came up with a plan of their own. 

“If any of those bastards are still at school…the least we can do is keep tabs,” he said to their small group, which had hidden away in the second year boys dormitory after supper. 

Teddy unfurled the parchment, murmuring the enchantment. Iris smiled despite the storm in her stomach at the names of the Marauders. She couldn’t help feeling that they were helping them in all this. Iris bent over the parchment, her finger tracing over the dots floating around the lines of the dungeons. Another idea started to take shape as she watched a familiar name move about. 

“It’s brilliant,” Iris told Teddy, his hair and cheeks glowing pink briefly. “Let’s make a schedule… but I also think we could use some more help.”

***

The day had passed far too slowly for Hermione. She found herself continuously glancing at the ancient clock above the desk only to find the hands in nearly the same spot. When it finally struck five, she shivered with anticipation. She quickly locked up before running upstairs, abandoning the schoolwork she’d been trying to get through. Hermione had just unclipped her hair and dashed into her bedroom, tugging off her jumper when the sound of the floo made her backtrack. Harry stood in her living room, smiling sheepishly, hands full of white take-out boxes.

“I figured you’d be hungry,” he said.

He barely had the words out before she crossed the room and kissed him. 

Dinner abandoned on the coffee table; they made quick work of the rest of their clothing and then they were on the sofa. His hands on her waist, he guided her onto his lap. Both of them groaned in relief when they joined together. Like the night before, there was a haze of dreamlike shock that this was happening. That she was looking into his eyes. That it was him making her feel these things.

Hermione panted against Harry’s shoulder when they finished, sweaty and worn out. The gurgle of her stomach cut through the sound of their breathing, and she felt Harry’s smile on her skin.

“Hungry?”

She hummed, kissing him. “I’ve worked up an appetite.”

He gave her a lopsided grin, and reluctantly she moved from his lap. She threw on his shirt, which she already planned to keep for herself, and he pulled on his boxers before they sprawled back on the sofa to eat. They were apparently both ravenous, as they simply flicked on the tele and devoured the Chinese Harry had picked up. Hermione finished off her fried rice, watching his profile as he used chopsticks to eat from the carton. Her legs were warm in his lap, and she could scarcely believe that she was getting to experience something so normal, with Harry.

He turned towards her. “You okay?”

Her words caught in her throat. Wordlessly, he placed down his carton and pulled her towards him. She wrapped her arms around his torso, relieved at the feel of his skin against hers. 

“I talked to Iris by the way, after class.” 

“Is she alright?”

“Seemed  okay. I know it’s been hard with the attention. I think she hates that bit.”

Hermione smiled, touching Harry’s chin. “Like father, like daughter.”

His lips turned up and he captured hers again. She pulled back first, raking her fingers through his messy strands. 

“Did you show her what we wrote?” He nodded. “She thought it was alright?”

Harry paused. The look on his face instantly made her stomach drop.

“What is it?”

He sighed, taking her hands in his. “She knows. About us.”

She blinked at him. All of it surreal. 

“How did she seem?” she asked finally.

“Happy,” he said with a small smile. “She er—might have been the one to suggest I bring you soup yesterday.”

A hiccup of laughter escaped her. “She did?” His smile grew and she shook her head. “Cheeky.” 

He chuckled, gaze dipping down to their entwined fingers.

“She asked me if we were getting married.” He met her eyes again and she could hardly breathe. “Told her I had to talk to you about that first.”

Her breath hitched. She’d never let herself imagine that, even before…

“There's no rush,” he said, squeezing her hip. A hint of red on his cheeks that only made her heart flutter faster.

“I know,” she whispered, cupping his face.

“What do you want?” He asked as his hand covered hers. 

She gazed into his eyes. “You.” 

His kiss cut off anymore thought and she straddled him again, only a thin bit of cotton between them as his calloused hands wandered under her shirt. After a moment she forced herself to pull back, resting her forehead against his. “What comes next? I mean…where do we even start?”

He stroked the skin of her back causing her to shiver. “There’s not really a guide book on this,” he eventually replied. 

“For when someone comes back to life?”

He hummed. “Maybe you can help me write one.” She bit back a laugh and his eyes were bright with amusement. “What? I’m sure it would sell well.”

“I’m sure it would.” His arms were warm and she sunk into his embrace, pressing her face to his neck, his pulse the most comforting feeling.

“It still feels like a dream. Or a fantasy,” she murmured against his warm skin.

She felt his laughter against her chest. “You feel real.”

She leaned back to meet his eyes. “This is really happening.”

He closed the bit of space, lips soft and urgent against hers. His hands continued to explore her curves, and she bit back a moan when his thumb brushed against her breast. She wanted nothing more than to give into the heat spreading through her. Hermione gripped his shoulders, pulling back a fraction, smiling involuntarily when his lips followed. She stroked the side of his face with her thumbs, making herself vocalise the thought that had been nagging at her all week.

 “I need to come back.” His brow furrowed and she released a breath. “To the magic world.”

His eyes searched hers. “Is that what you want?”

Hermione nodded. “I want to be in the same world as you and Iris.”

His grip on her waist tightened. “I want that to.” They stared at one another for a long moment. “You have a year left of school…”

“Seven months actually,” she said, breathless just thinking of it all. “And there’s the shop…my dissertation.”  Reality had wormed its way back in when she’d returned from Hogwarts, surrounded once again by the life she’d spent twelve years building.

“That’s manageable,” he said quietly.

She gave a nod. “Yes, it’s just. After.”

His furrow deepened and she focused on a faint scar across his collarbone, traced it with her finger when she finally forced out the words. “I don’t have any qualifications in the magic world…”

Harry made a huffing sound, and she looked back up. His eyes were wide and incredulous beneath his glasses. “That’s nonsense. You’re brilliant. Could probably still pass your NEWTS in your sleep.”

Despite herself, her lips turned upwards. “I appreciate the confidence—but I’m not sure of that.”

His thumb brushed along her spine and all she wanted was to get lost in him, to avoid the giant expanse of what came next. She’d become adept at only looking as far ahead as needed. During her pregnancy it had been day by day. After the first few tumultuous weeks as a new mum, she began to track Iris’s progress by the month. Then once Iris and her were both in school, by terms. Her ability to anticipate the future, that had died along with him.

“What was your plan? Before this? Were you…not coming back?” he asked, bringing her back to the moment, suddenly aware of how hard she was holding onto him.

“I don’t know,” she breathed out. “I had hoped I’d figure it out before Iris left for Hogwarts…then I didn’t..”

She swallowed, throat tight at the thought of her daughter's first couple of months of school. So much of her suffering could have been avoided if she’d actually done her due diligence as her mother. She should have known about X, should have read up more on the wizarding world. She’d had years to anticipate Iris’s transition to the Magical world, and she’d squandered it. Worse than anything else, she should have known about Harry before September 1st. Really she would have known about him ages ago if she had simply dared to look back. 

“Did you ever think about not sending her?” he asked, a note of caution in his voice.

A shuddered breath left her. “Sometimes. But then I remembered the letters you told me about.”

He hummed knowingly. “Yeah. They’ll find you. I should ask McGonagall what they do. Might have spared us…this.”

Tears clouded her vision. “I think it’s because it was directed to Iris. Not me.”

“Ah.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m so sorry.”

His brows drew together. “For what?”

“That I didn’t look back.”

He gave a small shake of his head, moving in closer. Their foreheads touched and his eyes fluttered closed. Her heart ached at the pain on his face. As hard as it had all been, she knew it was worse for him, at least in one way that mattered; Iris was nearly done with her childhood and unlike her, he’d missed all of it.

“I have something for you,” she said and his eyes blinked open. That close she could see the tiny flecks of darker green within his irises. Unable to stop herself, she kissed him gently before she began to untangle herself, legs unsteady as he reluctantly released his hold. 

She could feel Harry’s eyes trailing her while she moved towards her bedroom. She came back quickly with the white photo album clutched in her hands, he looked up at her with surprise as she handed it to him.

She sat back down, pressing herself into his side. “It’s the first few years of her life.”

His hands trembled as he opened the satin album. Her eyes went to his face, which looked down in awe at the first photograph. “That was the day she was born.”

Hermione loved that photo, even if she looked a mess. Now seeing it, she could scarcely believe she’d been that young. That they’d let her leave the hospital with Iris, and without a clue what she was doing. Iris had come late, but quickly. An overwhelming experience that she told him about now. Harry listened raptly while she continued to explain each photo. Offering him what she could; her memories. He smiled, though the tears in his eyes eventually made her own fall. She felt a bit like a curator of an exhibit at a gallery, one of their daughter’s life. Harry peppered in questions, and she did her best to answer all of them. Some of her own memories were fuzzier in places than she wanted. Iris’s early years in many ways had receded into a blur of survival. 

One of the last photos was a photo of Iris at two, a pudgy arm wrapped around Annie and Rosie, all three of them laughing in the sisters back garden. Hermione touched the photo. Could almost hear her daughter’s bright laughter at that age. How quick and easily it had come before her gaze landed on Annie’s.

“I’m not sure how I’ll explain it to them.” 

Harry nodded. She’d already told him a bit about the sisters who’d taken her in all those years ago, how close they all were. She wouldn’t exactly be able to keep him a secret forever. 

“Even harder to explain coming back from the dead without magic,” he said. Hermione pressed her fingers to her temple, nodding with a heavy sigh. “Did you give them a lot of details?” 

She shook her head, wiping at the tears on her cheeks.

“We could say it was a misunderstanding. Which is at least half true,” he said, taking her hand in his.

“That’s true.” She released a shaky breath. “We should probably sort some other things first. Before I introduce you.”

“A good idea.” He tilted her face towards his. “Again we don’t have to rush anything. One thing at a time.”

She nodded. Although she felt it all the way to her bones; that she was ready to jump straight in. She wanted absolutely everything with him. A thought equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. 

Hermione tried to focus only on the feelings of her hand in his, the way his thumb brushed gently over her knuckles.

“One thing at a time,” she repeated softly. 

His smile shone through his eyes. “I also think Iris will have opinions on how things should go.”

A laugh caught in her throat. “She will.”

“There is one thing we should plan on our own.” Her eyebrows lifted and his grin widened. “A proper first date.”

“This doesn’t count?”

He squeezed her fingers in his. “I had other plans when I asked you out.”

“You didn’t plan to ravage me after work two days in a row?”

He brought her hand to his lips, breath tickling across her wrist. “Well, I thought about ravishing you. That hasn’t changed.”

Her breath caught as he placed a kiss to the delicate skin. She leaned into him. 

“How about now?”

His lips descended on hers, silencing any more of her questions.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen: Wildest Dreams

The kitchen tile was cold under Harry’s feet, and there was gooseflesh all over his torso as he’d only thrown on his boxers in order to prepare tea. They didn’t have much in the way of time, and judging from the contents of Hermione’s fridge the same was true of food.

He straightened at the sound of her footsteps, peering over his shoulder. “Do you fancy dry cereal, or half an orange?”

She wrapped her arms around herself, eyebrows pinching upwards. “Hmm. I normally get groceries on Tuesday.”

Harry shut the door, and pulled her to him. “Distracted, were you?”

“A little.” His hands slid under the gaping material of her silk bathrobe. “You’re going to be late again if you do that.”

His eyes met hers. “I could just quit.”

She gave a snort of laughter, and he grinned before kissing her. Despite her earlier grumblings about the fact that he wouldn’t let her leave the bed, she gave in easily, her hands threading into his hair and mouth hungrily moving against his. He backed them until she was pressed into the counter of her small kitchen, her skin warm and soft beneath his hands. As her hips moved against him, he bit back a groan. Maybe quitting wasn’t such an over reaction. Or feigning an illness of some sort.

His hand had found its way to her knickers when a loud thump made them both pull back, eye wide and he straightened, about to summon his wand when Hermione turned towards the window, mouth falling open.

A tawny owl with ruffled feathers and a severe expression stared at them expectantly.

“Is that the prophet?” he asked.

She secured her robe as she darted towards the window. A cold burst of air hit him when she opened the glass, the owl gave a little shake of his feathers as she undid the paper attached to his leg before taking off. 

She unrolled the paper, furrow deepening. A note fluttered to the floor and Harry scooped it up. It was addressed to both of them.

Hermione, Harry. I assumed a copy was in order, they only sensationalised it a little bit…there’s also some news. Rather urgent. I’ll be there at noon.

-Remus

He looked back to Hermione who was reading the front page, exasperation written on her face.

“That bad?”

She lowered the paper, eyes meeting his. “It could be worse…but look.”

He came to her side and followed where her finger pointed. Rita Skeeter.

“I can’t believe that woman is still a journalist,” she said, an edge to her voice.

“Not sure if this kind of thing can be called journalism.”

Together they stared at the picture of them, one from Slughorn’s party of all things. Luna fully cropped out. It wasn’t scandalous by any means, but the photo versions of themselves smiled tentatively at the camera before glancing at one another. He didn’t even remember posing for that photo. 

Further down was the photo that had been splashed all over the paper in their fourth year, the one of Hermione flinging her arms around him and had resulted in a myriad of hate mail. According to Skeeter, their long winding romance had been marred by ceaseless tragedy.

Which, in some respects, wasn't incorrect. 

“They don’t name Iris…” She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes scanning the photo again. “But people will know it’s her,” she glanced up towards him. “At school. That group. They must know her name.”

He brought his hand to her low back, rubbing the silky fabric. “We’ll make sure she has more security. You too.” 

“She’ll hate that.”

“I know,” he said, tucking her into his side and kissing the top of her head. “I’ll talk to Remus. And McGonagall…it's not worth taking any risks.”

She nodded, turning into him, face pressing into his chest. He held her tightly, already dreading the hours ahead that he’d be without her. 

***

Iris loathed the dungeons. She huddled in her seat next to Eileen, eager for Slughorn to let them get to it. At least that way they’d warm up with the cauldron bubbling away. Her skin prickled, aware that at least half the students kept looking in her direction. She’d been bracing herself after talking to her father yesterday, but it had been surreal to see her parents' image splashed across the morning papers. Again. Something Teddy had murmured she would likely have to get used to. 

“You want me to get it?” Eileen’s voice startled her. 

“What?”

Eileen rolled her eyes, but there was no bite to her voice. “I’ve got it.”

The energy in the classroom notably changed now that people were out of their seats, bustling to the back cupboard. It also meant they were free to talk. Iris set to readying their station, ignoring the buzz around her. Eileen returned and they set to work, familiar with each other's movements now. They focused on the potion, sharing commiserating looks at the overwhelming scent of fanged geranium that they had to chop precisely. When their potion turned the correct shade of orange she sighed in relief, ready to get on with her day. 

She watched Eileen pack up her things. There was one other thing she’d stewed over since yesterday. 

“Walk with me?” she asked her.

Eileen shot her a curious look, but nodded. She waved off Isobel and Victoire, hanging back until they were the last ones and they made their way into the icy corridor. She directed them up towards another route where they were completely alone and stopped by a giant tapestry of dancing ladies, spinning in circles around a pole draped in flowers.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I mean not really. But they think that group…X. That the boys are involved with them.” Eileen stayed silent, stilling even further. “Have people been saying things in your dorm?”

She shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard. Meredith has taken Naomi’s place in a sense. She’s unpleasant, but seems less focused on…”

At her discomfort, Iris grimaced and finished her thought. “Blood status.”

Eileen only nodded. The two of them stood there as the ladies danced and finally Iris asked what she’d set out for.

“Can I ask…if you hear anything, you’ll tell me.”

Eileen stared past her shoulders at tapestry, then finally nodded again.

Relief flooded Iris. She gave Eileen a small smile. “Thanks.” 

When Eileen didn’t say anything further, Iris hitched up her bag. “Right. See you later.”

She only got a few paces when Eileen’s voice reached her. “Be careful. It’s not worth getting hurt, or worse.”

Iris turned back and swallowed the anxiety rising up her throat. Eileen watched her carefully with her dark eyes before turning back to the busier corridor. On autopilot Iris kept moving forward, she was sure this direction led back to the stairs that would take her to the Gryffindor Common Room. She wanted to check the map before her next class.

Some weak sunlight fought the grey clouds, providing at least some natural light, which was a relief after the dank dungeon. She was lost in her own mind, which was full with absolutely everything. It kept going back to Naomi. She needed to figure out why she’d been in the tower, what Nicholas had told her was supposed to happen. 

Iris was pulled from her thoughts by the sounds of footsteps coming towards her. She stopped short when the voices made their way down. 

“It can’t be true, how does someone miss that kind of thing?” A girls voice said with dismay.

“Well, he was dead for three days,” another voice added. 

“Yeah, three days, not three years!”

Stomach somersaulting, a hot panicky feeling stole over her as they drew closer. She looked around and there was only a suit of armour and a handful of paintings. Then she turned back and saw a door she’d already passed. Faint lettering marked it as a lavatory.

“I’m sure they’re lying…there’s likely way more of a scandal to it then what the papers are saying—”

Iris didn’t give it another thought, she raced towards the door and shut it behind her. She held her breath until the laughter and footsteps continued past. Only then did she sag in relief against the ancient oak which was when the smell of mildew hit her. It was indeed a bathroom. Albeit a rather neglected one judging by the broken sink and the door on one of the stalls dangling precariously. Water coated the floors, reflecting her back to herself. 

Her heart was finally slowing and the cruel words sunk in further. Of course people would still think the worst. She closed her eyes and forced another breath out. She remembered what her father had said—their words reflected them more than they did her or her parents. 

When she finally opened her eyes, her hands flew to her mouth. A girl stood before her, or rather floated. It took a second for her to register that it wasn’t a girl, but the ghost of one, staring moodily behind thick spectacles.

“It’s not polite to stare,” the girl/ghost said icily. Iris opened her mouth, no words coming to her. “Or gawk!”

“I—I’m sorry,” she stuttered. The ghost wore Hogwarts robes and had straight dark hair with a severe fringe. She couldn’t have been much older than Iris. Suddenly it clicked into place.

“Myrtle?” 

Her eyes widened behind her spectacle before narrowing in suspicion.

“Who's asking?”

“Er—Iris,” she replied, awkwardly.

“Iris who?”

Iris found for the first time she didn’t have an answer. Her last name wasn’t attached to anything real. They hadn’t even started talking about that bit, if she would now be a Potter.

Myrtle studied her now, moving closer and making her shiver. “You look familiar.” Throat dry, she tried to swallow, unsure what she would say. Though Myrtle’s unnerving gaze seemed to sweep through her. “Wait a second. You’re related to her, aren’t you? The cat girl?”

Iris frowned, about to argue that she didn’t know any cat people when the story from her childhood came to her. Of course, that had been her mum.

She nodded and Myrtle let out a cackle, stormy expression giving way to glee.

“Wait—” She moved even closer, brushing against Iris’s cheek, causing her to shiver down to her bones. Myrtle’s eyes practically popped behind her glasses.

“So it’s true? The two of them?”

Iris didn’t have an answer, but Myrtle seemed to read it on her face. “The rumour mill has been positively spinning. The fat lady said he was a father, but I didn’t believe it. Not at first.”

She pulled her robes tighter, though it was little use against the bitter cold that seeped into her. Myrtle finally moved towards the sink, playing with the ends of her hair. “Hmm. He never visits me.”

“Er—” Iris paused when Myrtle turned to face her with a pout. All she knew was that she wanted to leave. Now.  “I can…remind him.”

Myrtle looked positively ecstatic. Which was strange on her pinched features. “Would you really? It’s been no fun since he warded his office. And bathroom,” she added, with a tone that turned Iris’s stomach. She managed to hum noncommittally, suppressing a shudder.

She was wondering if she could run out of there without Myrtle following her, when her words gave her pause.

“Wait, you can go anywhere?” Iris asked.

She shrugged her silvery shoulders. “Of course, nearly.”

“Have you noticed anything odd?” 

Her head snapped up. “Why? Are you calling me odd?

“No! I mean er—have you seen anything unusual lately.

Myrtle floated about, not answering right away. “One hears and sees all sorts of things through the pipes. Rumours especially.” She threw Iris a pointed look. 

Irritation washed over her and she glared back. “Right. Thanks. I have to get to class.” She turned and grabbed the handle when Myrtle called out to her.

“I’d avoid the Green Houses if I were you.”

She glanced back. Myrtle was seated crossed legged on the sink closest to her. 

“Why?”

Myrtle gave a shrug, stretching and slinking off the sink. “I just would, especially if I were you.”

Iris didn’t have time to form another question before she watched as Myrtle swan dived into the toilet without a splash.

***

Lunch was well underway when Harry entered the Great Hall. There was a dip in conversation, which quickly built back up as he made his way towards the teachers table. He sat down in his usual seat, glancing around the hall. The knot in his stomach unclenched at the sight of Iris squished between Victoire and Isobel. Her green eyes swung his way and her smile released some of the tension in his body.

“I take it you saw the paper?” Neville asked before taking a bite of his BLT. Harry nodded, filling his own plate with a sandwich and potato salad. “A bit of a blast from the past…seeing you two on the cover.”

He sipped the butterbeer that had appeared before him. “It would be nice if it would be the last time, but I doubt it.”

“It’s only the biggest story, well, of this century at least.” Despite himself, he snorted and Neville grinned.  “At least until the two of you run off and get married.”

Heat shot to his face and he took another long sip of his butterbeer. “No comment.”

Neville laughed, and their conversation turned to easier things, like marking, and if Gryffindor still stood a shot at the Quidditch cup. Neither of them brought up Hermione, Iris or the situation again but that didn’t stop Trelawney cutting in with a cryptic comment about peril in family lines. They ignored her, but anger had surged inside him. It wasn’t like Harry needed the reminder. Remus had dropped by before lunch and he was well aware that the threat to his family wasn’t over.

He only hoped that the planned raid that night would yield results. There was also the knowledge that any one of these students could already have been recruited. There was a poison in the Magical world, one that was also seeping into this generation. He looked at Iris as she stood from the table, gathering her things and talking to Isobel. Her gaze sought his one last time. He flashed her a smile, which she returned, and a fresh wave of determination went through him. As he pushed away from the table and made his way to his classroom, one thought stuck to him. They had to do better.

***

Hermione drummed her fingers on the large mahogany desk. She was trying to focus on the family ancestry report in front of her, one she needed to finish by the end of the week. Instead her mind seemed to be constantly pulled away with worrying and wondering. She knew Iris was safe with Harry, but she knew safety was relative. That there were active threats that could harm her, had tried.

With a shake of her head, she pulled herself back again to the tiny cramped office at the back of the shop, cocooned within with its half hazardous piles of books teetering nearly to the ceiling, the heater making the space warm enough that she’d shed her thick cardigan. 

She massaged her temple and forced herself to get back into the headspace to keep reading about land titles, slowly she got sucked back in, facts and dates taking back over the forefront of her brain. 

So sucked in that she hadn’t footsteps or the door creaking open. 

“So do we get the story at supper tonight?” Her head snapped up to see Annie standing in the doorway, light eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

“What story?” 

Her eyebrows only went up higher. “Sounds like you had a visitor the other night.”

Simon. The traitor. Hermione breathed out, pushing back from the desk and the glare of her computer. Annie raised her hands in defence. “Don’t shoot the messenger. You don’t have to tell me anything, Janie.”

Hermione looked down at the report, chewing on her lip. Days had passed and she had yet to come up with a solution to bridge her two lives. Not without any sacrifices and having to come clean about a lot of things.

“I may have,” she replied, letting out a breath.

Annie gingerly made her way across the small space. She moved a bit slower these days. Her hip gave her trouble, but she wasn’t one to ever fully stop. Hence why she was still doing research and dropping by the shop several days a week. Sitting down in the chair opposite she surveyed Hermione. “Are you happy?” Hermione nodded without having to think, too floored to speak. “Good. That’s all that matters.” She gave her a soft smile. “If that Colin fellow makes you happy, then I’m glad.”

“Oh—” 

She was caught in Annie’s gaze, her brow furrowed. “Janie?”

Hermione sighed. “It’s not Colin.”

Annie looked at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking in Pictish

“It’s not?” She gave a small shake and Annie’s furrow deepened, shock rounding her blue eyes. “Then who?” Only the hum of the computer and the tick of the clock filled the room. Eventually Annie released a quiet sigh. “Is it someone from your past?”

She nodded again, she’d long stopped being shocked at Annie’s ability to know things without her saying a word. “You’re safe?” Annie added, a familiar wariness stealing over. 

“Yes.” She replied quickly, sucking in a breath. “I—you’ll like him. I promise.”

She sat back in her chair, some of the guardeness draining from her frame.

“Should I not tell Rosie?”

“No. That's fine.” All at once it clicked what day it was. She’d nearly forgotten. “I meant to tell you…about tonight. I’m sorry, I can’t come—”

Annie held up a hand. “Don’t apologise. We understand you have a life. We’ve always said to live it up in that lovely young body of yours while you can.”A laugh caught in her throat, relief flooding her at the twinkle in Annie’s eyes as she leaned forward in her chair. “Just don’t leave us two old bats hanging…we want to know who's got you blushing like that.”

Hermione touched her cheeks, sure enough they were warm. Annie crossed her arms, settling in her chair. 

“Will Iris like this one?” she added mischievously.

Her face only grew hotter and she nodded, shuffling her papers. She still had no idea what on earth she would say when the time came to introduce Annie and Rosie to Harry.

***

Iris began to sweat the moment she entered her father’s classroom. Luckily Isobel managed to distract her with the latest additions she’d drawn in her notebook as her classmates began to trickle in, a chorus of voices and hushed laughter. She was admiring a sketch of the whomping willow when Victoire sat down on Iris’s otherside breathless. 

“Anything?” Isobel asked tentatively.

She shook her head. “Johnny has it.”

All of them had been taking their turn studying the map. Aware that people were watching them, Iris whispered a spell, casting from under her desk, it worked and a buzzing wrapped around them, muffling the sounds of the other students.

“Did you tell him about what Myrtle said?”

Victoire was about to reply when a charge seemed to go through the room. Iris didn’t have to look back to know her father was there. With another quick casting, the spell broke to reveal loud whispers and the sound of approaching footfall. She glimpsed his dark hair, even more ruffled than usual as he approached the front. He unpacked his bag, not hurrying to fill in the silence that had fallen. She wondered yet again what he had made of the article, and what came next. When he turned to face them all he was smiling, though Iris noticed it was strained.

“Alright, I thought we could get back to defensive spells.” He studied them, a hint of a furrow in his brow. “But before we jump back into it I think it’s important we touch on some things we discussed in our first class.” A murmur passed like a wave and his lips turned up reassuringly. “I asked you about why we had a need to study defence. Sadly there have been some events at the school recently that only confirm that things like prejudice and hatred don’t stop because a war has ended.”

His words seemed to float across the classroom. He looked down, and Iris knew she wasn’t imagining the strain. She felt an ache in her chest, and wanted to hug him, but knew that would have to wait. 

“As a school we can’t allow this type of belief to take root. There are outside influences trying to infiltrate Hogwarts, even if the papers won’t say it like it is.” Hushed voices started back up but he put up a hand and they fell silent. “This sort of thing isn’t new. The beliefs, or the cover up from people in positions of power.” He paused and pushed up his glasses. “But all of you have a voice to speak up. And I hope you use it.”

No one seemed to breathe, his gaze swept across the room again. “There will be an announcement at supper. I thought it was best to give you a heads up. We as a school community need to be vigilant about these outside threats, how they can infiltrate and pose a risk to you as students.”

At the gasp from one girl in the back, he bit back a grimace. “Again this isn’t said to create fear, only awareness. First years especially will be expected to move around the castle in groups. There will be more patrols by teachers and older students. Please don’t wander the corridors alone.” His eyes flicked towards her and Iris lowered a tad in her seat. “I want to reiterate if you hear anything that makes you uncomfortable, or alarms you. Or you see anything unusual…report it to a teacher immediately. Look out for each other.” 

He let his words hang there as they all sat. 

“Right. Before we get back to the lesson, any questions?”

There was nothing but silence for nearly a minute. Then a murmur went through the room. Iris turned to see a dark haired Hufflepuff with a shaky hand raised. “Yes, Miss King?”

“Are we in danger?” she asked, voice hoarse.

Harry released a breath. “I don’t want you to be afraid, but I do think vigilance is required right now. The teachers are doing extra rounds, and Aurors are working with the school. Hogwarts had its protections as well…and knowledge is also power. Which is why I think it’s important that you are all informed.” There was another pause and his lips quirked up. “And learn the basics of self defence. ”

He glanced around the classroom. “Anything else?”

A voice rang out, also uncertain but much louder.

“Do you really have a kid?”

Iris didn’t get a look at whoever asked the question as she stared down at her desk, heart picking up painfully in her chest.

“Let’s maybe save any more personal questions for now,” he responded patiently. “But yes, I do.”

Her head shot up to see her father looking steady and calm at the front. She was sure people were gawking, she saw Victoire staring them down out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze met her fathers, whose lips turned up quickly before he addressed the class again. “Okay back to defensive spells. Let’s have you in small groups, four or less.”

To her surprise, the rest of the lesson went on as usual. Being up and moving was a good distraction, though Iris couldn't help stealing some glances at her father as he made his way around the classroom. He didn’t seem to let the heaviness of his earlier lecture change how he conducted himself.

It was near the end of class when she felt a warm weight on her shoulder.

“Do you have a minute after class?” 

She turned to find him there. He had shadows under his eyes, but his expression didn’t betray anything else. She nodded and his lips turned up as he released her and moved towards the next group.

Soon enough class came to a close. Sweaty and tired, her classmates began to gather their things. Iris lingered at her desk, moving extra slowly to pack her bag. When she looked up, her father was approaching.

“Victoire. Isobel. Would you wait for Iris outside? I’ll write you notes for being late.”

Her friends murmured their agreement, glancing back at her before filing out with everyone else. 

“What’s going on?” she asked when the door finally shut. “Is everything okay?”

He released a sigh. “Yes, but I wanted to talk to you.” Her stomach wobbled, but he placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “There has been some progress on the case.” A thousand questions pressed in at once which he seemed to read. “I can’t share all of what I know right now, but I promise I’ll always let you know what I can.” Iris swallowed as his face turned a bit more serious. “There is one thing I need from you…I need you to promise me you won’t go anywhere alone.”

“But—”

He gave a shake of his head. “Promise me.” 

Iris could tell there was no use arguing. Plus that morning hadn’t exactly instilled much confidence in wandering the corridors alone. 

“I promise.”

Relief swept across his features and he squeezed her arm reassuringly.

“They’ll be implementing a curfew. The prefects will be walking all first and second years to and from classes starting tomorrow.”

“Why?” 

“As a precaution,” he sighed, his eyes moving to the window behind her. “You and your mum will need to have more security—”

“Dad—”

“It’s just the way it has to be. At least for a while,” he said, sounding tired. “I didn’t want you singled out. But it’s imperative you stick to this. Don’t go out searching for anything—”

“I don’t. It usually finds me,” she grumbled.

His face cracked into a smile. “I know the feeling.” 

Her dark mood lifted slightly and she smiled back. “I think it might be genetic.”

“You may be on to something,” he said, humour lacing his voice. He watched her carefully and looked like he had more to say but the door opened suddenly, the next group of students spilling in. 

He glanced back at the door, reluctantly letting go of her arm. “I’ll walk you to class.”

Before Iris could even ask, he’d left her side and approached Matthew. His golden eyes met hers over her father’s shoulder and she felt her face heat. Her embarrassment hadn’t abated since last week. Matthew nodded at whatever was said and her father wasted no time, ushering her out of the classroom. Amidst their conversation she had forgotten that Victoire and Isobel were waiting. They seemed surprised to see Harry, but only nodded when he said he’d be accompanying them. 

They walked mostly in silence, the corridors sparsely populated with class having started. Not that it stopped some of the stragglers from staring.

“It might be worth coming up with a password between all of you,” he said as they made their way down another staircase.

Victoire and Isobel went wide eyed, but Iris only nodded, the incident with Eileen flashing through her mind. 

When they arrived at transfiguration, she stopped right as the others went in. 

“Dad—” He glanced down, confusion pulling at his brows. “There’s something else…” 

He gently guided her further from the door, the buzzing going up around them. 

“I’m listening.”

She took a deep breath and forced herself to confess some of the events from the last few days. Starting with what the boy had said outside the library, which made his jaw twitch, but she kept going, telling him that they were keeping an eye on the map and then her recent run in with Myrtle who’d cryptically mentioned the greenhouse, which prompted her to tell him about the incident before Halloween. One she had nearly forgotten with all that had come after.

She was out of breath by the end and her father’s expression was serious. “I’m glad you told me,” he said quietly. He seemed to be thinking, a hand raking through his hair. “I’ll let Remus know so they can set up more surveillance in that area and likely they’ll have to interview Myrtle. Iris chewed on her lip, nodding. She knew it was the right thing telling him, but she hated adding more to his plate. His hand came to her shoulder. “Why don’t you come to my office for lunch tomorrow? Maybe your mum can join us.”

Her heart lightened at the suggestion and before she could stop herself, she hugged him tightly. She felt his voice against her cheek. “And remember if you see anything on the map—”

“I’ll tell you,” she finished.

***

Hermione glanced out the bevelled window, the last bit of daylight weak against the surrounding sandstone. Normally she adored her Wednesday class with its view of George Square Gardens and the interesting discussion groups. Instead she found herself distracted and itchy to leave. Margo had noticed something was off immediately as she’d scrambled into the classroom. She’d arched an eyebrow at her while Hermione slid into her seat right as their Professor started speaking. Moments later Margo pushed a piece of paper across the desk. 

You and Colin are over?

Hermione sighed and wrote back. 

Long story

Sure enough on their break Margo turned to her expectantly.

“What happened? You two seemed pretty happy last I saw you.”

This was another part she hadn’t thought through yet. There was more than just Annie and Rosie to navigate, or leave behind. A thought that made her light headed.

“It’s not Colin. It’s me.”

Margo shook her short bob. “Well, that’s a line. No wonder the poor bloke is lost.”

“It’s the truth. I—” Hermione paused, trying to find the right words. “There's some stuff going on. With Iris—”

Margo’s face grew alarmed. “Is she alright?”

“Yes, thankfully. But there was an incident at her school. And I—there’s just a lot going on and I…I reconnected with someone when I was there. From my past.”

Her eyes went wide beneath her stylish frames. “That is an unexpected twist.”

Hermione nodded, face warm and she unwrapped the scarf from her neck. 

“Is that why you’re all dressed up?” she asked, scanning her outfit. Hermione had worn her nicest silk blouse and she crossed her arms self consciously over her chest. Of course she would notice, she was the one who’d intervened years before ‘to bring her into the next century.’ Margo’s eyes lit up. “Do you have a date?”

She didn’t have to answer as Margo gave a delighted laugh. “Oh you totally do. Look at you. You’re blushing like mad.” Hermione glared at her, but Margo’s smile was infectious.  “The nun finally breaks free of the convent,” she mused happily.  

Hermione shook her head, huffing out a breath. “That’s hardly a fair comparison.”

“No. There was that other bloke. What’s his name? The hot book slinger.”

She lowered in her seat, face hot. “Finn.”

“Yeah. There’s been Colin, Finn,  Colin again. And nothing else, unless you’re secretly saucier than you let on.”

Their professor started writing on the board and the voices settled around them. At Margo’s cat-like grin, she rolled her eyes. 

“Shut up,” Hermione murmured half heartedly, but Margo only grew more delighted.

“We’re going to ply you with wine until you spill about this mystery man from your past.”

Hermione ignored her and took notes on autopilot, not contributing to the discussion like she normally would. There was also the growing pit of uncertainty in her stomach. 

What was she doing with her life?

For years her world had revolved around three things; Iris, the shop and academia. Now outside of Iris, she wasn’t certain of anything else. Everything had changed the moment she’d looked up from Iris’s hospital bed to see Harry standing there. The future she’d been building had crumbled like sand, now she didn’t know what she was building. As the minutes ticked by and she tried in vain to concentrate, she couldn’t help but wonder what the shape of her new future would be.

Finally class ended, the last bit of light strained through heavy clouds out the window. Her unease was swiftly pushed away with anticipation. The intensity of her feelings still caught her off guard—how all consuming it felt to have Harry back. At least amongst all the uncertainties, she was sure of him.

Margo nudged her on their way out of the building. “I expect details.”

Hermione hummed noncommittally, pulling her scarf tighter at the blast of frigid air. Her gaze fell to the bottom of the stone steps and her heart leapt at the sight of Harry leaning against a pillar, hands shoved into his pocket and wearing a muggle duffle coat. At that moment his eyes met hers and her erratic heart beat even faster. 

Margo tugged at her sleeve. “That’s him isn’t it.” Hermione didn’t have it in her to lie and simply nodded. Margo huffed a breath, buttoning her faux fur coat. “Alright. I get it. I’ll leave you alone now, but I want details.”

With a squeeze, Margo departed, not so subtly eyeing Harry on her way down the stairs before she disappeared in the other direction. His eyes never left hers and it only took a second for her to come to herself and dart down the steps.

“Hi,” she said, grateful when he closed the few inches between them.

His smile unfurled slowly as his hand came to touch her cheek. She kissed him then. His lips were soft and slightly chapped. When he pulled back, the fire in his eyes made her want to forgo the date and return to her flat. He seemed to read this thought, smiling more broadly.

“We don’t want to lose the last bit of light.”

She raised her eyebrows but allowed him to take her hand in his as they moved along the cobbled street. Hermione had always loved this part of the city. There was still a sense of amazement and shock that Harry was there beside her as she pointed out a few of her favourite bits. The bakery that had the best jam, and the entrance to the now darkened Meadows. She could scarcely believe how the old and the new parts of her life were now together at the same time, which naturally brought her mind back to the best thing that connected them.

“How is she?” 

Harry squeezed her hand. “Alright, I think. She’s promised she’ll stay out of trouble.”

“I wish that was more reassuring,” she sighed.

“Me too.” he said with a laugh. Moments later he guided her towards one of the deserted side streets. Harry glanced over his shoulder and pulled out his wand. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, rubbing her cold hands together. 

“That would ruin the surprise.” She narrowed her eyes, fighting a smile. His arms wrapped around her. “It’s somewhere that’s always made me think of you.”

Her face pressed into his chest as the old familiar sensation of every atom being compressed took hold. When her eyes blinked back open, the first thing she felt was the wind barreling against them. Then she took in the expansive view. Even with the sun nearly set, the scene in front of them was stunning. Dark water lapping against the cliffside, a few stars already visible. It only took a moment to connect it from her memory.

“Isle of Skye?”

He nodded and she could only stare in astonishment. His head bent towards her. 

“I come every autumn,” he said, warm breath ghosting over her cheek. “It made me feel closer to you. Visiting the places we went.”

She burrowed her face into his chest, grateful to feel the rush of air in his lungs through the layers of clothes. They stood there as the last bit of light kissed the sky. The wind was a force, but she couldn’t bring herself to move from her position.

“Let’s walk,” he murmured into her hair, when she began shivering violently. He cast a quick warming charm before taking her arm, and the two of them strolled along the coastal path in the encroaching darkness. Soon they came upon the small village. The colourful buildings were now bathed in blue, but it was still as charming as she remembered. 

“I came here with Iris. A few summers ago. I took her camping actually.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Muggle camping?”

“Yes.” At his sceptical look, she smiled sheepishly. “alright… I cheated a bit and used a few spells.”

A smile tugged at his lips under the glow of the street light. “I thought you swore off camping?”

She leaned further into him. “It made me think of you.”

He pressed a kiss to her head. “We’ll have to take her again. With a magic tent this time.”

She smiled up at him. “I think she’d like that.”

They continued to meander up the street, Harry clearly on a mission. Though one building made her stop in her tracks. “That’s the grocer we took from, isn’t it?”

Harry looked to where she pointed before shooting her a grin. “Don’t worry. I paid it back. All of them, or at least the ones I could remember.”

“You did?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

His smile turned tender. “I promised you I would.” Her body flooded with warmth despite the frigid temperatures. She leaned up and kissed him with a sudden urgency. He chuckled against her lips when they broke for air. “Should we have just gone back to your flat?”

“Maybe.”

His laugh deepened and the surge of joy was all consuming. She had never dreamed that she would get to be this happy. He touched her chin gently. “I wanted to be more romantic and not just shag you senseless.”

“I happen to find shagging very romantic.”

He snorted and then she dissolved into her own laughter. “Alright, let’s have dinner, so we can get to the romantic bit,” he said.

They stayed huddled together against the salty wind as Harry directed them towards a cheerful yellow pub, perched on the edge of the village. 

There wasn’t much of a crowd considering it was the shoulder season, and the smell of sea salt mixed with woodsmoke. It was quaint, and she had to admit—romantic, with exposed beams ceiling, white tablecloths and candles flickering on each table. The hostess seated them by a large window that reflected them back with the sky now a deep indigo. Hermione couldn’t help studying him over the large menu. His eyes met hers, crinkling at the corners.

“It’s not strange is it? Being out together like this?” he asked.

“I mean yes, you’re alive” she said, placing her menu down. “But it’s strange in the best way.”

He lowered his menu, his smile making her stomach summersault.

The waitress was back and took their order of the local specialties and a dram of whiskey each before she was off again. Harry leaned forward.

“Alright if it’s a proper first date, what does one ask?”

“You know I’m not really sure,” she answered, twisting her necklace. “We’ve likely passed all that already.”

He hummed in agreement, she studied his face in the flicker of the flame. She wasn’t sure when it would stop shocking her, his aliveness.

Their drinks arrived and they lifted their glasses to one another. The whiskey was warm on her lips, the heat wrapping around her tongue and down her throat. 

Harry took a sip, an old familiar spark in his eyes. “I suppose we’ve already had a child together. Small talk seems a little silly in retrospect.”

Their smiles turned into disbelieving laughter.

“It’s not normal at all, is it?” she asked.

“No,” he said, but his tone was light, a hint of mischief in the corner of his smile. “I did have an idea.”

“Hmm?”

“How about a round of Friends Tell Each Other Things?” Another laugh escaped her. His grin widened. “I figured the whiskey would help.”

She traced a finger around her glass, stomach already warm from the first sip. “I swore off whiskey after that night, but this seemed to warrant a pass.”

“That was one of the best nights of my life,” he said.

A flush worked its way up her neck. “Mine too. Well, before the hangover,” she added.

“That was pretty bad, yeah.” He took another sip. “I played the game with Iris the other day.”

She sat back in surprise. “Did you tell her it's part of the reason she exists?”

He laughed loudly, covering his mouth. They were definitely the most lively party in the establishment. Sheepishly he shook his head.

“No. I don’t think she needs any other scarring.” He was teasing her, but her heart lurched. A second later his hand shot across the table, enveloping hers. “She’s good though. Really. You’ve raised a fantastic person.” 

A shuddered breath left her. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

His face softened, hand squeezing hers. “If I’d been there...we still would have made mistakes. Plenty of them. I’m sure I’m making some now. No matter what way it unfolds, it’s inevitable.”

She squeezed back. She knew that was true. There was no way to not make mistakes as a parent. Still, it didn’t stop her from imagining the last twelve years of what ifs. 

“Of course. We wish it was different,” he added softly, seeming to read her mind. “But tonight isn’t about that. All of that will be there when we need to look at it, likely tomorrow judging by the way Remus is talking.”

“Is there news?”

She felt the hum of his magic, as the voices around them receded further. “Yes, I can’t talk about it yet. I’ll tell you when I can.” He sighed. “We’ll need to talk more about your security. Iris’s as well. I talked to her today, and they’ll be implementing stronger curfews. I’ve asked her not to go anywhere alone outside of her dorm.”

A shudder went through her and his thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Tomorrow Remus wants to have a meeting. But tonight…tonight I just want to be with you.”

“I want that to,” she murmured and he smiled softly. “So what do you have to tell me?” 

He titled his head, thinking. “Hmmm. I’ve now beaten Lockhart’s record for most charming smile.” There was a beat and then she was dissolving into laughter. “What? You don’t think I earned it.”

“Well, I certainly find it charming. I shouldn’t be surprised others do too.” He made a face and she continued to laugh. “Why do I have the feeling you’ve had no shortage of female attention.”

Harry took a large gulp of his drink and grimaced further. “I try not to pay attention to it if I can help it.”

“So…are you saying you turned down all the beautiful witches throwing themselves at you?” she asked, the whisky already going to her head.

His eyebrows shot up as his cheeks reddened. The waitress came back with some fresh bread and Harry appeared relieved at the distraction. 

He chewed on a piece and finally answered after he swallowed. “Honest answer? I’ve tried to date. But it…it never worked out.” He sighed, eyes meeting hers. “They were never actually interested in me. It was always about the other stuff, or that at least played a part.”

She nodded. Unsurprised. There had been times at school when she had wondered how Harry would manage that aspect of fame as they got older. At least until he’d started dating Ginny, which had brought up other feelings, feelings she’d shoved deep down.

His hand was warm on her wrist, thumb brushing over the old scar. “The bigger problem…they were never you.”

She joined their hands together.

“I know that feeling,” she said quietly.

“Alright, your turn,” he said, squeezing her fingers.

“I don’t think my life has been quite as interesting as yours.”

He shook his head. “That’s not true.”

“Didn’t you say that you once fought a banshee with Seamus?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He gave a low chuckle. “True. Though I did have to do about ten hours of paperwork afterwards. So it wasn’t all glamorous.”

She took another sip of whiskey. “Well paperwork is something I’m familiar with. But I’ll try to think of something more exciting…” Hermione wracked her brain, then it came to her. “Alright. First, promise you won’t report me.”

Harry leaned forward, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Never.”

“I may have hexed one of my Professors.” His eyes widened behind his glasses and she traced the edge of her now empty glass, biting her lip. “I do think he deserved it though.”

His expression was equal parts curious and amused. “You do have quite the track record with teachers don’t you.”

“Only when necessary,” she replied primly and he smiled knowingly. 

“Yeah. Umbridge deserved nothing less.”

“Well, he did too.”

The amusement vanished from his face. “Did he—”

She shook her head quickly. “No. Though he did try.” Harry’s eyes flashed and she took his hand this time. “He had a reputation for flirting with female students, that was the rumour. But the truth was worse, if you turned down his advances, he did what he could to block you academically. He tried with me at the start of grad school.”

He glowered. “Prat.”

Her lips turned up. “Unfortunately the faculty didn’t seem to take the woman who came forward seriously. No proof, you see. So, well, I took matters into my own hands.”

“Did you abandon him in an enchanted forest?” She shook her head. “Set him on fire?”

She huffed a laugh. “No. But it was tempting.” Her own cheeks grew warmer. “He may have suddenly started to forget the need to wear pants at faculty meetings.”

Harry burst into laughter right as the waitress came by with their food. Both of them apologetic and trying not to laugh more until she was gone.

“I take it the faculty took issue with that?” he asked, when it was clear.

“Why yes they did. I think I was fair. He kept his briefs on, unlike when he exposed himself to students, and I believe he was put on indefinite leave, so he kept his pension.”

Harry watched her carefully for a moment, and his next statement surprised her.

“So you do use magic. Complex Magic.”

She picked up her fork, glancing down at her seared scallops. “Sometimes.”

“When necessary?” She looked up to see his familiar crooked smile. Her stomach swooped with affection. 

She nodded. “When necessary.”

“You’re brilliant. You know that, right?”

Warmth crept up her neck. “Not as brilliant as you.”

“You once told me there was more to all that than books and cleverness. You haven’t studied magic since school, but whenever you’ve needed to, you’ve figured it out. All on your own.”

Tears pressed behind her eyes and he held her hand again, she brushed her thumb over his wrist, feeling his pulse, proof that this was real.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty: Maps

Harry’s breath formed clouds as he made his way up another long corridor. The sun hadn’t been kind enough to rise yet, not that there would be anyone else around to see it at this hour.  Harry himself wanted nothing more than to return to Hermione’s flat and continue sleeping next to her. 

But a promise was a promise. Neville had covered his arse for patrols twice already, which was why he had forced himself to leave Hermione’s bed at an ungodly hour. Her soft sheets and even softer skin had made it nearly impossible. 

Resigning his post had crossed his mind when she had moaned sleepily while he untangled himself from her. How sorely tempted he had been in that moment to throw away everything else for another moment pressed against her. 

The dank dungeons that he walked through offered zero warmth. His skin prickled as he walked further beneath the school, and not just from the chill. He hated knowing that in the common room nearby there were teenagers who had already been radicalised. It may be unfair to demonise a whole house, but he was sick of the hands-off attitude and willful blindness that had created the issue in the first place.

His thoughts turned stormy as he went over the case again. They were missing something; he was sure of it. The warning Iris had received about the greenhouse had stuck with him. He hated that those threats still loomed. Harry already found that to be one of the hardest parts of being a parent: worry, never ending worry.

He let out a heavy sigh, which evaporated in the flickering light of the nearest sconce. He berated himself for not having the forethought of grabbing the map from Teddy or Iris. He’d get it off them tonight, which he was already dreading—another patrol. He knew it was important. It was the one way he could contribute to keeping Iris safe.

When he made his way out of the dungeon the sky had a faint tinge of purple, dark clouds blocking any sun. He was wondering if Hannah had any stamina potion he could nick when he opened the door to his quarters to find Remus on the sofa. His head was tilted back and his eyes closed, though they shot open at the noise of Harry’s arrival. Remus gave him an exhausted smile, which did little to hide that he had likely slept little. 

“Morning,” Remus said, with more vigour than Harry expected. He sat down in the armchair across from him.

“How did it go?”

“No casualties.”

Harry sighed with relief. “Good.”

“We captured most of them,” Remus continued, some weariness stealing back over his features. “With one notable exception.”

He stiffened. “Who?”

“Macnair.”

Harry swore, groaning into his hands. Macnair had proven to be the biggest thorn in their side, always evading capture—despite his lack of brilliance.

“So, what now?”

“We’ve assigned Finnegan and Sullivan to follow leads. Macnair still has connections to Ireland, so we’ll start there.” Harry heaved another sigh and Remus shrugged. “You know how it is on the legal end.”

Harry snorted. It seemed nothing ever moved beyond a flubberworm pace in the legal department of the Ministry. 

“I think the trials won’t be until spring at the earliest. We’ve got the captured members in custody and the youth caught on Halloween are being monitored at their homes. We’re taking all precautions with them, long with continued patrols at the school.”

“And Hermione’s security?” he asked.

Remus leaned back. “I’ll leave that up to her.”

Harry shook his head. “She’ll say she’s fine. And we don’t know if that’s actually the case.”

“Well, then I’ll leave it up to the two of you to discuss. I agree, I don’t think there’s any harm in being cautious.”

Harry nodded, swiping a hand over his jaw, which had tensed during their conversation. He may have been separated from her for over a decade, but he knew Hermione could be more stubborn than a Hippogriff. He just had to hope she would see his side of things. He’d play the Iris card if he had to. There was no point in taking risks, not when their daughter was depending on both of them now.

His lack of sleep started to hit him and he offered to make tea, which Remus accepted. Harry let himself be distracted by the familiar movements, passing a mug to his old friend who thanked him warmly. 

“How’s parenthood?” Remus asked, as Harry sat back down.

“Er—” he released a breath. “I mean it’s…amazing. And also, kind of terrifying. I don’t really know what I’m doing…but she…she’s wonderful.”

Remus smiled at him over the rim of his mug. “I don’t think anyone ever knows what they’re doing.”

Harry sighed. “I suppose so, but usually there’s time to figure it out, like a whole nine months before they even arrive.” He took a sip, wincing at the hot liquid and the anxiety of what he voiced next. “I feel like I’m already messing up, except she’s not a tiny baby who won’t remember. So I have to get it right, or at least try harder not to screw it all up.”

“It’s an unusual introduction to parenthood,” Remus conceded. “But I think you’re sorting it out.”

“We’re trying,” he replied, eyes drifting to the fire burning low in the grate.

“How is Hermione adjusting to everything?”

“Alright I think. I mean…it’s a lot. Obviously.” He took another sip. “She wants to come back. To the magic world.” He paused. “She's struggling with figuring out her next steps.” He glanced at Remus who frowned in confusion. “She feels like she can’t get work without her NEWTs.”

Remus raised his brows. “She has an order of Merlin First Class.”

“Yeah. But it’s Hermione.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he said, lips lifting up. “One thing at a time. You two have enough to contend with.”

Harry nodded, hating how true that was. 

“Iris—she’s adjusting alright?” Remus asked gently.

Harry managed a smile. “She’s strong, like her mum.”

“I believe that. I think she rather takes after you as well though, doesn’t she?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a laugh catching in his throat. “Maybe too much like me at times.”

Remus grinned. “I figured the Marauder's genes would be passed on.”

“Yeah, another whole generation,” Harry murmured before his stomach dropped, remembering just how true that was—at least in terms of courting trouble. “There’s some stuff you should know about the greenhouses.”

He explained what Iris had told him about the boys and their threats, the overheard conversation back before Halloween and the warning from Myrtle.

Remus placed his now empty mug of tea on the coffee table with a resigned expression.

“I’ll speak to Myrtle now. Or try.”

Harry grimaced. “I can come. If you need me.”

A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “I think that will only serve to distract her, based on what you’ve told me.”

He felt nothing but relief at being turned down. Remus seemed to read this, amusement in his eyes. “I’m off. Let me know what you and Hermione decide with her detail going forward.”

Harry stood, walking him over to the door. Right as Remus went to touch the handle he turned back, brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “Do you know what they keep in Greenhouse six?”

He shook his head. “I’ve already given Neville a heads up. He seemed surprised that anyone would want access to it.”

Remus sighed. “I’ll update the team. Increase patrols.”

With a pat on the back, Remus left. The opening and closing of the door let in a wave of cold air. Harry scrubbed his face with his hands, the day already seeming to stretch long and endless in front of him. 

***

Iris stirred her porridge around lazily, suppressing a yawn. She had stayed up later than planned; her school work wasn’t going to catch itself up on its own. As much as she loved learning, she had been rather tempted by the illicit quills that Johnny and Teddy spoke about in whispers: quills that apparently filled in assignments on their own. Except she knew the very thought would horrify her mum, so she wouldn’t dare.

Her eyes darted back to the teacher’s table. They kept landing on Professor Longbottom, who flashed her an easy smile, catching her in the act again. She managed a small smile back, face heating as she turned back. She knew not to worry. Her dad was likely in his office, or maybe at their flat. 

Teddy was polishing off his tea, gazing back over his shoulder and noting the same absence as her. His brow furrowed. “Are you going to Potter Manor this weekend?”

Iris swallowed her food. “I dunno. He said we would go to Ron and Susan’s… He didn’t say anything else…”

Victoire reached for the sugar across from them. “It’s so cool Iris, you’ll love it.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, spooning sugar into her tea. “It’s huge! There’s also an entire wooded area to explore in the back, it’s got a stream and everything. The house itself is so chic. Some of the rooms are just breathtaking.”

“Plus Uncle Harry said he’ll put in some quidditch hoops this summer,” Teddy said excitedly. “We’re out back most of July and August.”

Iris absorbed their comments. Summer felt so incredibly far away. The oats in her stomach churched. Other than Hogwarts she had never lived anywhere other than their small flat, at least that she could remember. 

Mum said they’d moved in when she was a few months old. There were vague memories of when Annie had resided with them, afternoons on the rooftop garden, her hands in the dirt as Annie taught her the names of each flower and their meaning. Along with her stories; ones of gods and goddesses, saints, warlocks, vikings, and Kings and Queens. Her mother’s stories had proven to be literally true. And her own life lately felt not unlike those crazy myths, with a father returning from the dead and her own brush with dark forces. 

A strange bit of homesickness came over her. She missed Annie and Rosie, and Matilda too. She hadn’t realised how much she was aching to go home for a visit until just then.

“Iris?”

She shook herself, refocusing on Victoire who looked at her expectantly.

“I was saying you should convince him to take you.”

Iris frowned. “Where?”

Victoire gave a delicate laugh. “Potter Manor!”

“Right,” Iris said, forcing another bite of cereal. Was Potter Manor her home now too? 

“Anyways, Ron and Susan’s house is nice. And you’ll get to snuggle Mabel.” Victoire pouted. “I wish I could join.”

“They’ll be right by your parents,” Teddy added. 

Victoire sighed. “I know; it’s unfair. They really ought to make it easier to visit.”

“Why don’t they?” Iris asked.

Teddy and Victoire shrugged. 

“I think I know why.” They all turned to stare at Isobel, who had mostly been ignoring them as she sketched in her book next to Victoire. 

“Why?” Victoire asked.

Isobel lifted a shoulder, not looking up from her work. “Because it wouldn’t be fair for Muggleborns. Their parents can’t travel great distances like ours can. I also think it’s to create more school cohesion. It’s not unlike boarding school in the Muggle world. My dad attended one, he always said being away from family builds one’s character,” she said the last part with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Are you really quoting Dad?” Johnny said, appearing suddenly and looking rather haphazardly dressed.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it,” Teddy said, making room between them.

Johnny yawned. “I can’t get through the day without food.”

“What time did you stay up to?” Isobel asked, eyes narrowing.

“Dunno. I think I made it until almost three?”

She huffed. “It’s not a contest. I thought we agreed that we’d stick with one.”

“Haven't you heard? ost terrible things happen after two am.”

“Says who?” she asked, in a tone she only used with her brother.

The two began arguing across the table from one another and Iris tuned them out. Hogwarts had been a crash course in siblings, and she wasn’t sure where she stood on the idea. The thought suddenly stopped her short. She had asked mum for a sister once, when she was around five and had been jealous of a school mate's adorable baby sister. She no longer remembered what her mother had said, though she did remember that it had been a firm but loving denial of her wish. 

That was before. Now, she wasn’t so sure. With her father back, might her mother’s stance change? Her mind was full, much fuller than her stomach as she couldn’t bring herself to finish her soggy porridge. The others discussed the new restrictions to their freedom. Anxiety seemed to hover above their heads like the ominous clouds in the expansive ceiling. 

Glancing around the hall, she saw that it was more than just their group that looked put out; everyone's voices were more subdued and people’s heads were bent close to one another as they whispered, many of them looking towards the Aurors stationed at the entrance to the great hall in their distinctive red cloaks.

Hogwarts still felt like home in many ways, but one that was under lock and key. Iris felt the anxiety churning inside her as she followed the others past their new guards, wondering for the hundredth time if things would ever get to be normal at school.

***

The rest of Harry’s morning melted by in a blur of teaching and attempting to catch up on grading between classes. His hands were full, in every sense, juggling a tray of food and his bag packed with unmarked essays.  He was woefully behind. It was something he had avoided dealing with until today.

He approached his door, eager to settle in before Hermione arrived. One thing that had gotten him through the morning was the thought of getting at least a slice of alone time together to make up for the morning. When he entered his office, he placed the tray on the coffee table and swung his bag onto his oversized chair. A glance at the clock told him that Hermione would likely be there within the next five minutes. 

Harry gave himself a once over in the mirror above his cluttered desk. As usual his hair was a mess, something the mirror had finally stopped telling him by around his third year living there. He had hastily showered after Remus left before dashing off to his first class without breakfast. 

Teaching had luckily distracted him from his hunger and exhaustion. He eyed the sandwiches he’d snagged from the kitchens, picking up an apple and eating it quickly as he unpacked his things. Why had he insisted on such long essays for his fifth years about the mechanics of patronuses? 

His internal grumblings were cut off by a sharp knock, and then another, more insistent. He frowned towards the door, unsure who would be searching for him now. Had Remus come back with more information?

Harry made his way over and opened the door, revealing the empty hallway. His wand sailed into his hand on instinct. Before he could speak, Iris appeared out of thin air.

He squeezed out a breath, hand covering his heart. “Christ.”

She grinned at him impishly, folding the invisibility cloak in her arms. “Sorry.”

His pulse started to slow and he levelled her with a look. “Did you walk alone?” Her face turned sheepish and she nodded. He held her gaze. “I told you we’d come and fetch you.”

“I was invisible,” she said, earnestly. At his continued stare, Iris gave a small huff. “Bad guys can’t get you when you’re invisible.” Her tone implied that this should be obvious. He swiped a hand across his face, shaking his head. She was going to be the end of him. 

“It’s a technicality,” she added, slightly mollified at his expression.

“Right. Well, let’s add no invisible wanderings either. At least for now.”

Iris seemed to debate this for a second and then nodded. Which gave him little reassurance as she brushed past him into the office.

“Is Mum still coming?”

“Yeah.”

Harry scrubbed his face, letting the door shut behind him. Any hope of having alone time with Hermione evaporated. When he looked up, Iris had made herself at home on the sofa, kicking off her Mary Janes and shucking off her Hogwarts robes.

“How are classes going?” he asked, lowering himself next to her. Iris picked at a thread in her black tights and shrugged. “That good, huh?”

Her nose wrinkled, head tilting thoughtfully. “It’s just hard to focus.”

He gave her knee a gentle pat. “That’s understandable. It’s the same for me.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, watching her carefully. She looked healthy, her cheeks had colour, and there weren’t any dark circles under her eyes. Still, he sensed that there was more she wasn’t saying. “Anything on your mind?”

Like her mother, her expressive face gave her away. An uncertainty and anxiousness passed through her eyes. She only shrugged, looking down at her knees again. Sitting there, she seemed so small to him. Yet there was a weight to her shoulders—one that generally came with having to grow up quickly. He wanted to rewind the clock, to know the laughing two year old pictured in Hermione’s locket. He wanted a do over of her first months at Hogwarts or, well, a redo at all of it.

The sound of the floo drew both their attentions. Hermione came out, dusting herself off briskly. Her hair was half up, and she wore faded jeans and a chunky cream knit jumper. She instantly brightened at the sight of them.

“Mum!” Iris jumped up, nearly tripping over her feet before throwing herself at her mother. Hermione hugged their daughter tightly, stroking her hair.

“Hello my love.”

Iris pulled back. “Dad got us sandwiches and butterbeer!”

Her eyes met his and his heart picked up. He cleared his throat. “Well, the elves made them.”

Hermione released their daughter. “Your father actually makes excellent sandwiches—even from scraps.”

He grinned and her smile widened. Iris tugged her along and they came towards the sofa. Hermione leaned down, kissing his cheek. His eyes closed, breathing in the aged parchment and vanilla scent that told him she’d come right from the shop. The smell of her shampoo also lingered and he pushed out thoughts of being in the shower with her the other day.

“How’s work going?” he asked as they all settled, Iris between them. 

“Bit of a slog this week,” she sighed, peeling off her boots. “Hard to concentrate.”

“There’s a fair bit of that going around apparently.”

Her eyebrows raised. Iris didn’t seem to pay them any mind, rolling up her sleeves before digging into a sandwich. They joined her in eating; Iris seemed to relax more which put him more at ease. Hermione peppered Iris with questions about school and Iris soon began a tangent about the subject she liked least. 

“I loved mediaeval studies. And learning about Egypt. You’d think magical history would be even better, but it’s boring and awful!”

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “It is interesting, sweetheart. You just have to…I suppose you have to study it yourself to find the good stuff.”

Iris shook her head. “They could also hire a teacher who isn’t both dead and dead boring.”

Harry bit back a laugh, exchanging a quick glance with Hermione who brushed a hand over Iris’s hair. “Sorry love, but you have to give some respect to Professor Bins…even if he’s boring.”

“Why do people come back as ghosts anyway?” she asked, brow furrowing. “Would you have been one?” 

It took a moment for her question to sink in. “Er—I dunno,” Harry said.Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, chin trembling. “I don’t entirely know how it works, and we still don’t know exactly what happened with my…situation.”

Iris gave a small nod. “It’s just strange to think about.”

He heard Hermione’s intake of breath and he wanted to reach over and take her hand, but then Iris was talking again. “I wonder why Moaning Myrtle came back…she seems, rather, well, moany.”

Harry felt the pressure in his chest release, a laugh unexpectedly leaving him. Hermione followed suit, then Iris.

“I met her, Mum; she’s a bit scary,” she added.

Hermione feigned surprise, Harry had told her last night, but Iris quickly relished in filling her mother in on the details. His face heated when Iris didn’t mince words about what Myrtle had said about him, Hermione’s eyes shining with laughter when they met his. 

When Iris got up to use the bathroom, he used the opportunity to close the space between them, kissing her properly. She kept her hands on his cheeks when she pulled back. “How was your morning?”

“Long.”

Her lips turned up, hands moving to take his. “Anything on patrols?”

He shook his head. “All clear. I did hear from Remus, though.”

“And?”

His hands massaged hers absently. “They had some success with the information. Which is good.”

Hermione’s gaze didn’t waver. “But there’s more?”

“Yeah.”

She sighed. “There usually is.” 

“Do you have to rush back?” he asked. “After?”

“Not terribly fast, no.” 

He glanced back at the door to his room, then slid his hand beneath her jumper, pulling her closer.  “Good.”

She raised a warning eyebrow at him. She clearly had a sixth sense because Iris came back into the room only seconds later. He forced himself to scoot away from Hermione who was fighting a smile. 

Iris plucked herself down in the armchair instead of the sofa, watching them carefully. 

“What is it, love?” Hermione asked, brow furrowing.

“Will we be staying in our flat?” They exchanged confused glances before Iris continued at a near whisper. “Over the holidays…”

Neither of them replied at first, exchanging another wordless glance. “We haven’t really discussed that yet,” Hermione told her gently. “Where do you want to stay?”

Iris chewed on her lip. “I don’t know…I do want to see Annie and Rosie….and everyone else. And I told Matilda we’d hang out…”

Hermione leaned forward, eyes focused on Iris. “Are you feeling worried?”

Iris looked away, then finally gave a small nod, chin quivering. Without another word Hermione got up, moving towards their daughter and crouching in front of her. 

“Look at me sweetheart,” she said softly. “Please.”

Iris looked at Hermione, eyes welling with tears.

“It’s okay to feel anxious. There’s been lots of change, hasn’t there?”

Iris sniffed, nodding. “But it’s good,” she said, sounding small. “I’m happy.”

Iris’s eyes met his, and he knew she meant it. He got up and went over to them, placing a hand on Iris’s shoulder. “Your mum’s right. It’s a lot of change at once.”

Hermione rubbed Iris’s legs soothingly. “Why don’t we try and come up with a plan this weekend? We can make a list.”

“Okay,” Iris said, swiping her cheeks. “That sounds good.”

“Your mum was always really great with lists,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.

Iris’s lips pulled up before falling again. “Are we going to tell Annie and Rosie about Dad?”

Hermione stilled, then sighed. “I think that’s a given.” Her face tilted up towards him. “Not sure it would be easy to hide him.” She turned back towards Iris. “And you know how Annie is. She sees through people.”

“I told you she’s psychic.”

Hermione laughed. “Maybe not quite psychic, but I think she’d catch on. She lightly touched Iris’s chin. “Your matching eyes are something she’s bound to notice.”

Iris’s forehead creased. “I thought you said people don’t notice that kind of thing.”

“I did, but Annie’s not most people.”

Iris gave a proper smile. “No she’s not. I’ll also probably forget and call him Dad.”

Listening to the two of them, it hit him. The blending of their lives would be far from simple. Judging from Hermione’s expression, she clearly already had more awareness of this than him.

“You’ll probably have to tell her about magic,” Iris added, after a minute, glancing between them.

Hermione patted Iris’s leg before standing up. “I’ve been thinking that might be the case.” Her eyes flashed to his. “I’m not sure about the rules anymore.”

The statute. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think some more exceptions were made after the war. I’ll ask Remus.”

“I still don’t understand why it all has to be a secret anyways…” Iris said, untangling her legs and getting out of the chair. 

Hermione brushed a curl from her face. “It’s a complex history. You’ll learn more about it each year.”

Iris made a disgruntled huff. “If I can stay awake during the lectures.”

Harry snorted and Hermione shot him a look, though her eyes shone with amusement. “No more insulting poor Professor Bins.” She looked towards the mantle and he did too. Their time was coming to a close. 

“Do you want to walk her back with me?” he asked Hermione. “We can take the cloak.”

Iris brightened, racing to grab it from the armrest. Hermione gave him a conspiratorial look before agreeing. Iris brought it over, grinning when Hermione disappeared beneath it.

***

The door to Harry’s quarters closed firmly behind them, and no sooner had Hermione slipped off the cloak than he pulled her into his arms and their lips collided. Hermione’s fingers weaved into his hair and tugged hard.

She swallowed his groan and he deepened the kiss, hands seemingly everywhere. There was something a little frenzied in their gestures, likely because they were both aware that they would be separated overnight for the first time in days. 

When she broke for air, she found herself pressed against the back of Harry’s sofa. His lips trailed across the skin of her neck, making her shiver as she spoke. “Hmmm. I do have to get to class soon.”

She glanced back to see the clock. Harry’s hands slipped beneath her jumper, his calloused fingers tempting her to be irresponsible. “ You have to be in class,” she said, reminding herself that there were others counting on him. Though she felt like she was losing the war with her body when he palmed her breast, causing her breath to hitch.

“You're not playing fair,” she sighed.

When he pulled back his grin was particularly roguish. “I think you looking so good is unfair.”

She rolled her eyes, lips twitching. “Yes, my old knitted jumper is quite seductive.”

He kissed her lips, then her nose. “On you it is.”

Hermione allowed herself to be swept into one more heated kiss before framing his face with her hands. “We need to be responsible.” He released a breath, head dropping to her shoulder. “I’ll miss you tonight,” she whispered against his neck.

His grip tightened and she closed her eyes, knowing it was silly to feel such anxiety. She had, after all, spent over a decade without him. Though she knew that was likely the exact reason for the feeling. Her palm pressed over his chest. She still sought out that proof of his heartbeat each night when they lay tangled together in the sheets of her bed.

“Why are we doing it again?” he mumbled, lifting his head. 

“Because it’s healthy to spend time apart. And you’re on patrol until two AM, and I shouldn’t ditch my book group, and I have an early morning class, as do you.”

All good reasons they’d discussed yesterday. They were still good reasons, but the temptation when staring down their first twenty four hour separation was easier said than done.

“I’ll text you,” she said softly.

He kissed her temple. “Have fun tonight.”

“You too.”

Chest to chest she felt his chuckle. “Patrols would be a lot more fun with you.”

“Hmmm. I have a feeling I’d serve as a distraction.”

He tilted her chin towards him. “That’s a distinct possibility.” The fire in her belly only grew warmer at his words, making her whole body flush, and his grin widened. He leaned forward, lips brushing her ear. “I know all the good snogging spots.”

She gave a small snort. “Is this from experience?”

He laughed. “No. I haven’t snogged anyone at Hogwarts except you.”

At her pointed look, he sighed. “At least not since sixth year.” His hands found her waist again. “I do however spend more time than I’d like catching students getting…er—familiar, with one another.” He grimaced as she forced back a laugh. “It’s not the best part of the job.”

“I know Filch rather relished in that.” Harry blanched and she couldn’t help the laughter bubbling out. “I do think you have some familiarity with that.”

He shook his head. “Please don’t remind me.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders. “If I ever sneak out with you around Hogwarts I promise we won’t get caught.”

“We’ll have to make sure Iris doesn’t have the map,” he muttered.

She laughed against her will and he grinned. “Good point. You’ll be making good use of it tonight?” she asked.

Harry had asked Iris to use it when they’d dropped her off. Their daughter had looked surprised but had promised she would give it to him at supper.

“It makes patrols easier, especially on my own.”

She kissed him before pushing lightly on his chest. 

“Okay, now I really have to go,” she said, side stepping out of his embrace. His reflexes were faster, his arm shooting around her waist.

“Promise you’ll text Stella where you're going?”

Hermione turned back around. The sheen of worry in Harry’s eyes made any arguments die on her lips.

“Alright. I will.” 

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he hugged her. “Thank you.”

She nodded, brushing a kiss to his cheek and inhaling the wonderful smell of him, grateful she had several more of his shirts to wear to bed that night.

“What time tomorrow?” she asked, moving to the fireplace and pinching a handful of powder from the mantle.

“Ron said anytime after five. Supper’s at six.”

“Alright, I’ll be here.”

He took a step forward, closing the gap. “You should come earlier.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I should?”

He hummed an agreement, hand brushing against her hip. “It might be our only window of opportunity this weekend.”

“She does sleep, you know,” she said, with a laugh as she threw the powder into the flames. “But I’ll come early.

He grinned, pecking her cheek in the green glow. “Good.”

***

Hermione declined the second glass of wine that Margo offered her, already feeling the effects of the first. She hadn’t managed to eat properly before arriving at Elizabeth’s tastefully decorated townhouse in Morningside, and the assortment of crudités, crackers and cheese on her tiny plate weren’t soaking up the alcohol fast enough. 

She glanced around the circle of women, most of whom she knew from her time in academia. Female friendship had been something she had lacked, both in her childhood and at Hogwarts. Now, of course she had Annie and Rosie, whom she treasured deeply. But in her time at University, she had found friends closer to her in age.

A worn copy of Jane Eyre rested on her lap. She thanked her lucky stars that this month’s pick had been a classic, and one she was familiar with. Elizabeth got everyone’s attention, clad in a bright pink silk wrap style dress that would be garish on others, yet was lovely on her. The book discussion started in the usual fashion, with everyone going around and saying one thing they liked, or didn’t like about the book.

When it was her turn, she stroked the side of the worn pages. “I think it’s hard to not fall in love with Jane. I…I admire the way she stays true to herself,” she said, swallowing the lump suddenly forming in her throat. She gave a small smile. “The atmosphere also always pulls me right in, I can never read a Bronte novel without wanting to walk the moors at dusk.”

There was murmured agreement and then Michelle happily went on about the romantic elements of the novel. Hermione tried to appear normal, to eat some appetizers and nod along with the other woman. Her neck felt tense, as if her head had suddenly grown heavier. That was the thing with having two identities at once; you ended up carrying the weight of each of them.

She had remembered this feeling at a few family friends' houses between summers at Hogwarts: the white lies she’d had to keep on the tip of her tongue, lest she reveal too much. One foot in each world had been a balancing act, one she thought she had been mustering well, until at some point she had tipped over completely. First to magic when she cut off her parents, and then again when she escaped back into the muggle world.

With Iris going off to Hogwarts and Harry’s return, she was once again straddling both, this time with even more baggage than before. 

She had been a misfit in her primary school, set apart by something she didn’t understand. In many ways Hogwarts had been a clean slate. Except she’d also had her parents, the connection to the good parts of her childhood, and the Muggle world. 

They had allowed her to have two homes: one at Hogwarts and one with them in Golders Green. She swallowed the last bit of wine, ignoring the ache that flared up at the thought of them.

Her eyes moved around the beautiful room, filled with interesting people. Her current life was one she had worked hard to cultivate. She had understood Iris’s worry about everything changing back at Harry’s. If she was honest with herself she was feeling much the same, not that she wanted to take even a second of Harry’s return for granted. 

A bout of laughter went around the group and brought her out of her thoughts, and she belatedly joined in. For the next little while she did her best to stay focused on the back and forth about Rochester and his terrible secret. Then they moved onto themes of race and gender in the 19th century, and then the division of opinions on the ending.

Eventually the conversation shifted as it always did, wine glasses emptying and more laughter and light talk flowing around the lovely living room.

Michelle leaned in next to her. “I heard you have your own Mr Rochester?” Hermione blinked in surprise and Michelle grinned. “Sorry. Margo spilled the beans.”

Her face went hot. “Oh please don’t call him that.”

She shouldn’t be surprised, Margo had given her a playful wink when she’d let her in. Michelle was several years older than her and one of the only other single mothers Hermione had encountered at Uni. She had uniquely understood some of the challenges she faced with dating—at least outside of being a witch.

Michelle nudged her with a freckled arm. “I told you it was worth putting yourself out there,” she said, before her voice dipped into a whisper. “Margo did add that he was tall, dark and handsome. And with you being called Jane, I think it fits the theme of the evening.”

“God, please don’t bring it up to the group,” she said, hiding her face.

Michelle laughed, long hair moving around her as she gently lowered her hands. “I like you too much to do that,” she said, marine eyes dancing. “But you know Margo will keep trying to refill your glass in hopes that you’ll let loose.”

Hermione pressed back against the crushed velvet cushion. “There’s not much to tell,” she said.  Michelle’s blatant stare made her sigh. “Alright, well, that’s not entirely accurate. I just wanted to be mindful…” Her eyes involuntarily flicked across the room to Rachel, the petite blonde had barely said more than a hello all evening, which was unusual.

Michelle hadn’t missed the direction she’d looked, tutting thoughtfully. “Ah. I’m sure she’ll come around. I heard Colin’s taking it a little hard.”

She winced. Not choosing Colin had been easy, but it hadn’t felt good to hurt someone she liked, especially someone she'd considered a friend for years. Michelle patted her arm. “I didn’t mean to touch on a sore spot. It’s just the truth. He’ll be okay in due time.”

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t…I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” she replied, massaging her temple. “None of it’s what I was expecting.” That was the understatement of the bloody century. She fiddled with her empty glass, then sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ll have tea, catch up properly,” Michelle said warmly.

She smiled, even as an endless worry tugged at her nave: that maybe she wouldn’t ever truly belong in either world. 

***

The sky was surprisingly clear when Harry looked out from the astronomy tower. He breathed in the clean night air and watched the stars for a few minutes. He enjoyed the gust of wind, even as it chilled him. He then pushed off the stone window ledge and continued on. His patrol had been uneventful thus far, save for dodging Peeves who was raising hell along the third corridor.

He stopped a bit further down the tower. A patch of light made him pull out the map. As it had been ten minutes before, all appeared quiet. His body relaxed seeing Iris’s name floating in her dorm, from the looks of it asleep.

Harry was about to stuff the map back in his pockets when his eyes fell to the green houses, a floating black dot labelled Nicholas Beckett moved slowly across the worn parchment. He blinked for only a second before he pulled out his wand and began to sprint down the winding staircase.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: Waiting

But in life, he discovered, parenthood was like – it was – living with a person. A new person, with strong opinions, strong tastes, arbitrary swings of emotion, all of them addressed at you. You were the passive one: the work of care was primarily to endure, to weather the endless, buffeting storms of unmediated will.”
― Paul Murray, The Bee Sting

Iris squinted up at the sky, a few flakes had started falling on their walk from the castle to the greenhouses. The windchill cut right through her robes and she huddled next to Isobel, trying to keep her footing on the iced over mud. Up ahead the prefects led the way, their easy laughter carrying on the wind. 

Iris wasn’t in much of a mood to laugh. She had tossed and turned most of the previous night. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Her dreams, when she had them, had been murky. Her eyes followed the lines of trees that stretched out for miles ahead of them. As cold as it was, it was nice to be out of the castle. 

She was lost in thought when she nearly crashed into Calvin, who had stopped suddenly.

“What—” 

Edith moved and then she saw what had caused their group to stop short. Outside the fogged windows of greenhouse six, several Aurors milled around in their distinctive red uniforms. 

Her stomach immediately dropped as the prefects led them by. Professor Longbottom was waiting at the door to Greenhouse two, smiling warmly, though he looked worn out. “An easy day today, let’s pot some more roses.”

Iris glanced back, she could only see a few indistinct blurs of red at this distance, but everything in her told her that something had to have happened last night—something bad. Her stomach only dropped further remembering that her father had the map.

Teddy had been irritable when she explained that she had handed it over. Not that there had been much choice, at least not without giving away their plan. But now she was beginning to worry he’d been right.

***

Harry had not expected to spend a huge chunk of his day at the Ministry.  Exhaustion hung over him, but he downed coffee after coffee until he was finished writing his case notes at his old desk. He didn’t wait around, eager to get the hell out. He ducked his head as he walked the long marble corridors, aware that he still garnered curious onlookers whenever he was spotted—stares that lingered longer with the recent headlines. 

It was more bearable at Hogwarts. At least with the students it was usually innocent curiosity. Out here, he was never quite sure. 

Constant vigilance . 

Over a decade later and Moody’s infamous words still came to mind more often than he would like. Those words seemed even more pressing with his body still tense from the events of the previous evening.

The adrenaline had long faded, replaced with a deep frustration. The morning played through his mind on repeat—how he had run headlong into the cold night, sending out an alert as he had been trained to do. 

When he had shown up at the greenhouse, the door was open and a huge swatch of plants had clearly been ransacked. Irritation had been more prominent than fear; hadn’t he told them to send an extra patrol here? He had kept his guard up, wand at the ready. Though he could almost sense the absence—that they were too late. He had secured the premises and kept vigil until the others appeared. When he pulled out the map, his suspicions had been correct—there was no one else at the Greenhouse. He searched, heart sinking at the tiny dot labelled Nicholas that was quickly clearing the Forbidden Forest. 

Irrationally he had considered summoning his broom and giving chase. It was something he may have done before. Instead his eyes had landed on the dot labelled Iris and that was enough to keep him rooted to the ground.

“Harry!” He turned, relieved to find it was Seamus jogging up the corridor. “Leaving already?”

Harry glanced at his watch. It was already high noon and he had yet to sleep.

“I left all my notes with Bonnie.”

Seamus fell into step with him. “Bet you don’t miss the paperwork.”

“I don’t.”

“Wait till you see mine. Interviewed the father. What a knob.”

All the anger from earlier came back in a flash. He only nodded. He didn’t doubt whoever produced Nicholas and Naomi would be. 

“I take it you’ll be at the meeting tomorrow?”

Harry nodded again, suppressing a sigh. His weekend with Hermione and Iris would be interrupted and he already felt a hefty dose of guilt. The feeling of being torn about work was new. More than one ex-girlfriend had accused him of being married to his job. His hours as an Auror had been unpredictable, even when he had focused more on teaching. He had never hesitated to work late, take long missions and go in on his days off. Now for the second time that week he was contemplating quitting both his jobs. 

“I’m off to post these,” Seamus said, interrupting his thoughts. He held up a scroll. 

“A press release?”

He nodded grimly. “Lad’s being given the adult treatment now.”

Harry nodded grimly. It was likely too little, too late. As he had argued, the boy was eighteen, free to perform magic without a trace. It had been negligent not to have him under lock and key after what he had done. Though old money and blood still held some sway, something Harry hated.

“Good,” he sighed, already feeling a headache pinch his temple when a shout drew their attention. oth of their hands went to their wands. 

“Harry Potter!” A young man jogged up to them. He was breathless and seemed exceedingly unfit when he got close enough, but Harry continued to grip his wand. “Do you have any comment?” Harry frowned, looking at Seamus, who didn’t seem to know him either. The man drew in another breath. “About your love child?”

He fought the instinct to send him flying across the marble floor.

“Why don’t you feck off?” Seamus answered for him.

Harry didn’t bother responding. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said to Seamus, brushing past the man. He saw the flash from the corner of his eyes as he strode more quickly towards the exit. There were policies in place; they weren’t supposed to photograph him at work. But reporters had never cared much for the rules. 

The bracing air of London in November hit him as he left the lift. Some of the storm inside him settled the further he got from the Ministry. He had intended to floo straight to Hogwarts, but the lift was closer. Now he was glad to be moving anonymously through Muggle London. The honk of cars and the bustling of people was a relief; it reminded him there was life beyond the bubble of the magic world. 

He ended up in St James’s park, some of the noise receding. His mind wandered to Hermione; she had talked about missing London, especially the parks. It was tempting to go right to her. But he knew she had a busy day of classes. He sat down on one of the benches that sat in a pool of weak sunlight. He tried not to think of the reporter, the case, the ever looming threat hanging over his nascent family. As he looked around at the people milling about: parents pushing strollers, vendors selling food, a child clutching a toy boat near the small lake, he thought he could understand Hermione’s instinct to hide amongst Muggles. Their world was far from perfect, he wasn’t ignorant of that, but some things were simpler.

He wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t have done the same if it had been Hermione who had died. The thought alone was enough to make him shudder. Hermione had also had Iris to think about. No, he didn’t begrudge her the choice to run. 

Not that it stopped him from ruminating over the last eleven years whenever he was alone. It was a different kind of ache than the one before, knowing how time could never be rewound—not properly at least, not lived again. 

He scrubbed his face and stood up, determined to get through the rest of the day. He pulled out his mobile, which was previously used sparingly, at least until Hermione had come blazing back into his life. 

Come at 4:30 if you can. 

Her reply was quick, drawing the first genuine smile from him that day.

A pack of Centaurs couldn’t stop me.

***

Hermione nearly stumbled out of the fireplace. Her entire afternoon had been a rush and seeing Harry standing there, she knew exactly what had compelled her to hurry. An apology for her delay was on her lips but Harry strode across the room, silencing it with a kiss. 

The stress she’d been carrying since leaving him lifted and she felt made of air, even with the breathlessness in which she broke their kiss.

“We don’t have as much time, I’m sorry—” she began.

“There’s plenty of time.” He smiled against her lips, already making quick work of the buttons on her dress. 

He swallowed the laugh that bubbled out of her. Not for the first time did she think that this had to be some sort of drug. She had felt that way in the tent, that she needed him to be at equilibrium. The withdrawal had been unbearable.

Harry’s warm hands had already slid up her back under the material of her now open dress as he walked them towards the sofa. “I missed you,” he murmured, kissing the spot beneath her ear that made her shiver. 

She could only hum in agreement, her own hands wandering the planes of his chest. His heartbeat raced beneath her palm. Her own sleep had been broken, the sheet twisting around her and the bed far too empty and cold without him. 

When she felt the sofa against her back, she forced herself to pull away. “How long until we have to get Iris.”

“I told her yesterday that we’d come get her at five thirty.”

She bit back a smile. “Are you sure you weren’t meant to be a Slytherin?”

He didn’t answer, only sliding his hands more firmly down her side and all but hoisting her onto the armrest. She tugged at his shirt, pulling him down and kissing him, both of them laughing as they ungracefully tumbled onto the cushy surface.

“The bedroom would probably be better,” she managed to squeak out, Harry shifting his weight above her. 

He shook his head. “Too far.” She could hardly argue with him kissing her again, his hands skating up her thighs, sparking a rush even through the tights she wore. 

Hermione began quick work of his pants and he groaned against her shoulder when she reached in and stroked him. She pressed a kiss to the side of his head, that was part of the high, getting to be the one to see him like this. He began to press open mouth kisses to her neck, collarbone, over the cups up her bra and down to her stomach, and the flame inside her burned hotter. She vaguely thought she needed her tights gone. Harry seemed to read her mind, his thumb tracing the top of the elastic, tugging them down.

She wiggled and with only some struggle, they were off. “I’m sure there’s a spell for that,” she said, huffing as she lay back down. 

“Probably,” he said, hands squeezing her now bare thigh. “I’ll make sure to learn it.”

“Do you think there’s a book about that sort of thing in the library?”

He laughed, the sound warming her as much as his body heat and touch.“I don’t think I’d want to be the one to ask Ms Pince. She always liked you more.”

His hands moved further up, brushing against her knickers. Then there came a bang. Or rather a knock, but it had the effect of making them both freeze. They looked at one another wide eyed and the knocking continued. Harry mumbled a curse, head bowing. She started to sit up and he caught her wrist. 

“Who is it?” she whispered.

Even though it was impossible to be heard, her question was answered.

The word came through the door muffled, but clear enough. “Dad?”

They both sighed deeply, Harry quickly helped her sit up. With a flick of his wands, her buttons reassembled. He glanced down at his lap, scrubbing his face with hands. “I’m going to er—change.”

She kissed his cheek. “Good idea.”

He retreated and Hermione pulled her tights back on, she gave herself a glance in the mirror, which tutted at her and told her to get a hairbrush. She ignored the remark, shaking out her flattened curls with her fingers before she moved towards the doorway. 

No sooner had she opened the door did their daughter launch herself at her. She held Iris tightly. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, not hiding her disbelief.

“Hi,” Iris mumbled, not letting go. 

“Everything alright?” she asked, worry spilling in, as it so easily did when it came to Iris.

“Yeah,” she replied, still hugging her. “Where’s Dad?”

“The loo.”

She pulled back, placing a hand on either of Iris’s shoulders. “I thought there were new rules about wandering alone.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, gesturing behind her. In a blink Victoire and Isobel emerged from the cloak looking bashful.

“Hi girls,” she said, turning back to Iris and sighing. “I think it was clear that you weren’t to be out, any of you, without being escorted.”

Iris gave her a look that was familiar, one she had given in spades as a toddler and that had re-emerged with more regularity as she grew closer to her teens. Petulance pulling her lips down. “But Mum, we were under the cloak!”

“I told you that didn’t count as a technicality.” Both of them nearly jumped as Harry suddenly appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. 

“But Dad, you cancelled class! And you weren’t at lunch and you still have the map and there were Aurors all over the green house—”

Harry held up a hand. “I understand, but you still can’t be out of the dorm like that. Especially right now.”

Iris remained unfettered. “But something happened. Didn’t it?

Hermione glanced back at Harry, the set of his shoulders a dead giveaway that something had indeed happened, despite his best Auror face. Her chest tightened, followed by a wave of irritation for not having heard the story first. 

Though watching Harry and Iris in their near identical stances, the feeling was quickly replaced with the disbelieving awe that had yet to wear off. She wouldn’t be arguing with just one Potter anymore, but two. And she hadn’t yet prepared herself for dealing with both their stubborn streaks at the same time. 

Her fingers brushed against Harry’s elbow. “We don’t want to be late.” She didn’t wait for a response, turning her attention back to Iris and her friends who watched on awkwardly. “Girls, I think it’s best if Harry walks you back.”

The two girls mumbled an agreement. Iris only glowered as Hermione tugged her daughter into her side. “We’ll wait here.”

Iris didn’t argue, but her cheeks flushed red as she waved back to her friends who murmured their goodbyes, following Harry whose posture was still tense. Iris waited until they were out of view and stalked into the office. Hermione held in a sigh, shutting the door behind them. 

Iris had already taken a seat on the sofa when she turned towards her, curled up in a ball. She wore her favourite faded jeans and a fuzzy green jumper, comfortable and casual and at odds with the stormy expression.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” she asked, sitting next to her.

Iris didn’t answer right away. “I’m not a little kid,” she finally muttered. 

Hermione hummed, brushing back her daughter’s curls. “No. You're not.” This was true. She still found it hard to reconcile the growing girl in front of her was somehow the tiny baby she had rocked to sleep night after night. “You’re also not a grown up either.” At the protest starting to spill from Iris, she placed her hand on her cheek. “Do you trust your father?”

Her eyes widened. “Yeah. Of course.” 

“Then trust that he’ll keep you informed when he can. He only wants to keep you safe. There’s also things he can’t talk about because of his work. And frankly, your job is to be a child “ She smiled, leveling her gaze to Iris’s. “Leave the other stuff to us, alright?”

Iris remained quiet, bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you think he’s angry?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I think he’s concerned.” She tucked a curl behind Iris’s ear. “You're both too stubborn for your own good.”

A small smile pulled at Iris’s mouth and Hermione wrapped an arm around her. “Now…tell me about the rest of your week.”

Any remaining tension seemed to leak out of Iris, who filled her in on classes, the Aurors, and the anxiety she had carried all day at the scene she’d glimpsed in Herbology. She made a mental note to follow up with Harry, though she suspected they would already be tackling the subject later. 

“What are we doing tomorrow?”

The question pulled Hermione fully back to the present. Iris blinked at her expectantly. “I thought we could show your dad around Edinburgh? Take him to some of our spots?”

Excitement lit up her entire face, and right then she could see the much younger version of her daughter.

“Like the Hermitage?” Iris continued, “Or Dean’s Garden? We could even go to Berwick…since we don’t have to take the train!”

“I was thinking that.”

The door opened and Harry entered, closing it behind him. Her lips parted, but Iris jumped up and all but crashed into Harry before she could get a word out. Harry’s arms wrapped around Iris, his expression softening. She heard Iris’s mumbled apology and Harry planted a kiss on her crown. “I don’t want to leave you in the dark…but there’s stuff I just can’t share now,” he told her quietly.

Iris nodded against his chest. “Mum said that.”

Harry smiled at her over their daughter. “You should listen to her. She’s usually right.”

Hermione’s cheeks warmed and she stood up. “Hmmm, I do know we are going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”

***

Iris stumbled out of the floo, her dad’s arm steadying her before dusting her off. She stared at the tall ceilings. Her dad had called it a cottage, but it was bigger than she had been picturing. They were in what appeared to be a living room; two long sofas and several squashy chairs were near the fireplace, the room itself framed by endless glass that showcased the winter sea tossing below in the hint of remaining daylight. 

She was still getting her bearings when Mia and Cora ran into the room, crashing into her father’s legs. He tossed Cora up in the air who gave out a squeal of delight. The jealousy flared hot and sharp, but when he smiled down at her it softened into something more manageable. 

The fire roared and she looked over her shoulder to see her mother exit the giant stone fireplace, brushing the soot off her red dress. She relaxed further when she stood next to her. This time she had a complete set of parents. Her father placed Cora back on her feet and the two girls stared slack jawed at Hermione. 

“Girls, there’s someone I want to introduce you to,” he said, a spark in his eyes as he glanced at her and Mum before crouching down. “You’ve met Iris but you haven’t met Hermione.”

“I know who she is,” Mia said, face colouring instantly. 

“You do, do you?” he asked, amused.

Cora tilted her head. “She’s in the old pictures.”

Ron came into the room carrying Mabel, who was dressed in an adorable strawberry knitted jumper. He grinned at the sight of them. “You’ve met the monsters.”

Hermione smiled warmly, hand going to Iris’s back. “I don’t see any monsters here.”

Ron came towards them, kissing Hermione on the cheek and patting Iris on the shoulder. “Yours has outgrown that stage.”

“Hmmm mostly,” she mused, stroking Iris’s hair. 

“Hermione hasn’t met the littlest monster yet,” Harry cut in. Mabel had reached for him with her chubby fists and Ron passed her along.

“He’s the real favourite around here,” Ron said to them.

Her father shook his head. “Nah. It’s only cause I don’t have to enforce the rules.” He shot Iris a knowing smile and she ducked her head, fighting her own smile. She still found it hard to believe that she now had a father of her own. 

“Girls, you know about Hermione, my best friend. Well, after him,” Ron said, to Cora and Mia.

Mia frowned. “I thought Mummy was your best friend.”

“She’s my wife, which is like a best friend. Only have one of those.”

“Good thing,” Hermione said, touching Mabel’s soft arm. “Looks like you're busy enough.”

He chuckled. “More like overrun.” 

Cora was clinging to Harry’s leg and Mia watched Hermione carefully from beneath her clear lashes, half hiding behind Ron who gestured around. “We cleaned up before you came but it normally looks like a toy shop spewed its guts all over the place.” 

Hermione laughed brightly. Iris found herself distracted watching Mabel who was attempting to pull off her father’s glasses. His grin was easy and light as he held her and also talked to Cora, who was demanding his attention.

The tightening feeling came back to her chest. Her mother continued to talk to Ron, but Iris only heard bits as she pulled her gaze away from her dad and the girls. The words that stood out were “Cornwall… Shell Cottage… Bill and Fleur…

Iris inched closer to the large windows, absently wondering if she could see Victoire’s house from there if it wasn’t dusk. The water crashed on the shore relentlessly in the encroaching darkness, though no sound bled through the glass. She assumed that was due to magic. She glanced around the room, seeing several baskets overflowing with toys tucked away. Pictures dotted the far wall, and she went over to them. People waved at her from their frames, the most obvious sign of magic she had seen so far.  

Iris scanned the myriad of photos, seeing her father in several. And like Mia had said, also her mum. She stared at one now, her mum sandwiched between the two boys, wearing Hogwarts robes and hardly older than she was now. All three of them were grinning. 

She jumped at the sudden tugging of her hand. She looked down to find Mia smiling shyly, a gap in the front where her teeth were growing back in. “We’re cousins now, you know.”

“Oh.” Iris eyed her parents but they were busy talking to Ron, Cora still glued to Harry’s leg and Mabel now in Hermione’s arms as she cooed at the baby. “I’ve never had a cousin before…”

Mia nodded thoughtfully. “I have loads. You just play together. Come on, I’ll show you my room!”

Before she could reply, Mia was tugging her along, past their parents, nearly running into Susan coming through the doorway.  

“Mia let poor Iris breathe,” she said, with a laugh, placing a hand on Mia’s crown. Her blue eyes met hers. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“You too,” Iris replied, unsure what to do with Mia’s sweaty hand still in hers.

Susan’s gaze swept over to the other adults and she smiled. “Welcome to the circus.”

As if on cue Mabel let out a high pitch squeal to rival that of a howler monkey.

Everyone laughed, the sound trailing them as Mia dragged Iris out by the hand into the other part of the house. There was more warm wood and stone everywhere, and Iris thought they were in some kind of atrium, where natural light would pour down from the second floor. Beneath them, under glass, water streamed, giving her the feeling that she was walking on air. There was a large tropical looking plant that reached up all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. The stairs were another give away to the magic in the home as they appeared to be suspended in mid air. 

There was a shout and when she looked back, Cora was gaining on them, face set in a pout.

“You didn’t wait for me!”

Mia didn’t bother replying as she navigated them up the stairs, which seemed to anticipate their movement, delivering them up to the next floor. Iris wasn’t sure she liked the sensation, but there was no time to process it, Mia already dragging her down the corridor to the last door that was already open, Cora hot on their heels. 

Her mouth also dropped open upon entering; the room itself a dream her younger self would have died for.

The bed, like the stairs, was suspended from the ceiling by magic, a rope ladder leading up to the platform, with two netted hammock swings beneath it. Walls of sage green bordered with flowers appeared to move from an invisible breeze. The picture window looked out onto the endless beach and sea that blended together in the blue darkness. Then there were the toys, more than she could have ever wanted growing up. Stuffed animals littered the bed and the striped cushioned seat by the window.  A giant bookcase reached the ceiling and was filled with books and trinkets. In the corner there was a small artist's easel with a half done canvas of bright colours, but something else caught her eye, and she moved towards the largest dollhouse she had ever seen. 

“Everything changes if you want it to,” Mia told her excitedly, following her. “Watch.” Mia ran her small finger over one of the rooms and scrunched up her eyes. Iris watched bewildered as it changed to the colour of the room they were in. “Uncle Harry got it for me,” she said proudly. She handed Iris a little figure. “It works on the dolls too, ask it to look like you.” 

Iris did so and it changed; it did resemble her, at least in a rudimentary sense.

“We’re supposed to share,” Cora muttered.

Mia rolled her eyes. “Yes, but it was my sixth birthday, not yours.”

Cora huffed, then marched off to one of the low swinging hammocks, contorting her small body and beginning to swing, but her blue eyes stayed locked on hers. “Do you still live in a bookshop?”

“She’s at Hogwarts now,” Mia snapped. 

“No, she said a bookshop!”

“Er—kind of. It’s a flat above one,” Iris replied.

“With your Mummy?” Cora asked. Iris nodded and her brows drew together. “But not with Uncle Harry? Even though he’s your daddy now?”

Iris squeezed the doll tightly, heart thudding. “I…It’s a long story.”

“Daddy already told us. There was a misunderstanding.” Mia said, stressing the last word. 

“I still don’t get it,” Cora muttered before winding herself up to spin.

Iris glanced out at the dark sky and sea, thinking she still didn’t really either.

***

Hermione shifted Mabel in her arms. She had nearly forgotten how heavy a baby could feel after a while. She couldn't stop admiring her, with her full flushed cheeks and bright eyes that were set on Harry, who held a chubby fist in his hand. Her breath felt trapped in her chest at the sight. 

She knew he was a good father, and had witnessed it first hand with Iris. Still, it felt like an entirely different thing, Harry with a baby. It was a thought she quietly pushed away as she laughed along with everyone else at the excited shriek Mabel released when Susan came into the room. 

Cora, who had been clinging to Harry’s leg, dashed away, disappearing through the same door that Iris and Mia had. 

“Hopefully they share,” Harry said to Ron, failing to fight a grin.

Ron huffed out a breath. “Yeah, can’t exactly rip her down the middle to make it even stevens now can we?” 

Susan patted his arm. “It’s just a phase.”

“I bloody hope so. They’re ruthless,” he replied, exasperated.

“He’s exaggerating,” Harry said to her, a spark in his eyes.

“No. I’m not.”

“They're just…passionate,” Susan added, before smiling over at her youngest. “Lucky this one seems sweet.”

Hermione looked down at the baby. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

Harry placed a hand on the back of her flossy head, humming his agreement.

The fluttery feeling came back, warming her all over. It was much too early to think about. Really, it was the last thing they needed right now.

“I’m enjoying it while it lasts,” Ron said, interrupting that treacherous thought. “Soon we’ll have to split everything into thirds.”

“Would you like a tour?” Susan asked. “I forgot to ask, does Iris have strong food preferences?”

“Not a fan of tomatoes, otherwise she’s alright,” Hermione answered. 

“Or anchovies.” Harry added.

The fluttery feeling only grew stronger and she swallowed, her arms moving up and down as Mabel started fussing. The instinct was apparently still there a decade later.  Hermione moved towards Susan who happily took Mabel with a cooing babble. Another thing she had forgotten from that stage, the nonsense that babies brought out in you. 

“Let’s head to the kitchen first,” Ron said, turning towards the doorframe. 

“You just want to sneak some food,” Susan teased.

“I won’t dignify that with a response.”

Harry’s hand on her arm, making her look up at his face, watching her with a question. She couldn’t quite shake the strange nostalgia, the memories taking on a different quality now that she knew about Harry’s survival. She was unsure she would ever find the words for a past that should have been different. Instead she smiled, taking his hand. At least now she had him, they would unpack it together.

The two of them followed Ron and Susan into what appeared to be an atrium set in the middle of the house. The room cast all doubts that this home ran on magic, with its impossible architecture. There were far too many windows to seem possible, the staircase unsupported by anything but air. Not to mention plants that certainly shouldn’t thrive in England. 

Even with magic, it reminded her of the marvelous homes that dotted Rosie’s magazines—the kind she had never let herself daydream about. She ran a hand over the floating banister, the wood polished beneath her hand. 

The floor was another shock that she almost hadn’t noticed, that water moved swiftly below them. 

“Sometimes we get some unwanted visitors,” Ron told her, seeing the awe on her face. “It flows from the River Fowey. So we get the occasional Grindylow.”

Hermione had roughly a hundred questions, and she began to pepper Ron and Susan, who were eager to explain the spellwork that had gone into their home. She and Harry followed them throughout the rest of the main floor. Despite the magic, it was the photographs that made her stop and pause most. It told her what she could already tell from observing them, that Ron and Susan were happy. 

That fact was already obvious from the easy laughter between them, trading off the baby from room to room. She could feel it in the house itself, as if it was blended in with the wood, stone, and magic. Annie often said nonsense like that, that buildings had memories; right then she thought maybe she was right after all. 

The smell of home cooking wafted from the spacious kitchen they passed again, but she had stopped at a long wooden buffet covered in photographs. There were also multiple pictures of Harry, proof of the life he had lived since. 

Harry squeezed her hand. “Alright?”

She nodded, squeezing his hand back. “Never better."

Once they made their way to the atrium Ron tilted his head towards the stairs. “We should probably make sure the two of them aren’t torturing her.”

Susan rolled her eyes, but followed Ron. Hermione leaned into Harry. 

“I thought you said Ron exaggerates.”

His lips twitched upwards, voice lowering conspiringly. “I adore them, but they are pretty intense.”

“I think I’m familiar with intense.” He raised his eyebrows, and she snorted. “I just had one, not three. But I’m not sure if you’ve noticed that our daughter is a tad headstrong.”

“Only a tad,” he replied, grinning at her in that way that made her feel all of eighteen.

The upstairs felt cosier, the hallway stretching ahead of them with plush carpet. High little voices could be heard as they approached the door at the end. Hermione’s mouth fell open at the wondrous children’s room, which was almost like something from a storybook with its swing beneath the bed, picture windows and magical toys. 

Once she took in a few of the wonders of the room, her gaze locked in on Iris, seated on the floor. Her daughter sat cross legged, wincing as Cora brushed her curls with some kind of comb that looked more like a fork.

“Girls,” Susan said, turning stern. “We’ve talked about using my makeup.”

That’s when Hermione noticed the quilted bag spilling out its contents on the ground around Iris, who upon further inspection was wearing a garish shade of pink blush. 

“But Mummy, Iris asked us to,” Cora said with the conviction only toddlers were capable of.

Iris’s mouth fell open, eyes wild with panic. 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what she asked for.” Ron said, crossing his arms. “We’ve talked about lying haven’t we?”

“No. Daddy, she does want to. She’s getting married!”

“To who?” Hermione blurted out at the same time that Harry did. The two of them exchanged a quick glance. 

“A prince!” Cora said in a tone of obviousness.

When she looked back, Iris had turned a deeper shade of pink than the blush that reached towards her eyebrows. 

“Or it could be a princess,” Mia added.

Iris looked as if she would rather be swallowed by the giant squid, then participate in the discussion. 

It still hit Hermione at times, how her daughter had once been tiny like that. She could still remember her so clearly at three, at six, curious and bold, and obsessed with true love. A wave of tenderness went through her as she moved towards Iris, crouching down. “Do you want the makeup off?”

Iris nodded, still clutching the doll in her hands. Hermione pulled out her wand, conjuring a wet cloth that she used to wipe her daughter’s cheek, her green eyes avoided hers and Hermione felt the familiar nudge of instinct—something was bothering her. She tucked it away, knowing Iris wouldn’t want her to ask in front of everyone.

“I think supper’s about ready anyways,” Susan said, clearing away the makeup despite the younger girls’ protest. 

Hermione offered Iris her hand, pulling her up. Despite being eleven, and often insisting she wasn’t a child, she held Hermione’s hand the whole way down to supper. 

***

Looking around the dining room table, Harry could hardly believe that they were here, all together. He had been having monthly dinners with Ron and Susan since they had crammed around the tiny kitchen table in their old flat, long before Mia had come along and they had built this place.  Never had he imagined that Hermione would be with them. Or well, he had. Only that had always seemed like a far fetched fantasy. Iris was an extra gift, one he could still scarcely believe, nor could he have dreamt up.. 

He passed the basket of buttery garlic bread to Hermione, who smiled at him. Iris was across from them. Mia had insisted she sit next to her, while Cora vied for the seat on her other side. Iris had seemed fine with this, though she’d remained quiet at the start of the meal, but had eagerly dug into the pesto drenched pasta. Susan’s cooking was wonderful enough to turn around most moods. Her face was now clear of makeup, and she seemed both older and younger seated between Cora and Mia. 

She was talking with them now, answering their silly questions with a happy smile playing on her lips. 

Mable was as usual the star of the show, drawing everyone's attention to her high chair which floated next to Ron. Her bubbly laughter, and the occasional hunk of bread being lobbed across the table, provided extra entertainment.

His own plate was nearly empty when Cora sat up on her elbows, leaning forward and directing her intense stare at Hermione. “Are you married to Uncle Harry?” 

Hermione’s eyes widened before flicking to his. “I’m not.”

On instinct his hand went to her leg; her hand quickly covered his. He wound their fingers together, mind drifting to the box of jewelery in the Potter vault. 

“Let’s maybe keep the personal questions to a minimum,” Ron said, a warning in his tone.

Cora immediately ignored this. “Don’t you need to be married to have a baby?” 

The table went quiet for a long moment.

“Bug, that’s not true.” Susan replied, with a shake of her head. “Remember? We talked about this?”

Cora appeared even more confused. “But you said after people get married, they have babies.”

“No silly. You only have to have S-E-X.” Mia said nonchalantly. 

Harry dropped his fork and Ron coughed on his last bite of noodles. 

Iris’s hands flew to her mouth, shock and mirth in her eyes. Everyone else had gone stoke still, even Mable who couldn’t possibly understand the context.

Mia looked around with a small frown. “What? It’s true. You told me Mummy.”

Susan rubbed her temple, glancing over at Ron who blanched. 

The quiet hung over the table until a small snort of laughter broke through. He looked up to see Iris, hands still over her mouth, but her composure breaking. Next to him, he heard a similar snort of laughter. Hermione’s expression matched their daughter, down to the hands on her mouth.  

He felt the trembles of her laughter against his hand and found his own lips twitching upwards. More suppressed laughter escaped them both until Iris snorted and then they were both full on losing it and he found himself unable to contain his any longer. At that moment Mabel let out a shriek that pierced any remaining silence as Ron and Susan exchanged startled looks before they too were laughing.  The little girls were perplexed, watching everyone and then confused giggles overtook them until they turned into the real thing. 

When the wave of uncontrollable laughter subsided, Susan wiped her eyes which had teared up. “On that note…does everyone want pudding?” 

Mia and Cora practically screamed their affirmation, with Iris having recovered enough to nod. Mabel banged her spoon, while Ron got up to help, clearing away the dirty dishes with a wave of his wand.

Hermione’s hand was warm in his, and he smiled at her fondly when she tilted her head towards him. He could still hear Iris laughing, talking back and forth with Mia. Harry was sure, he couldn’t remember ever being this happy.