IMPORTANT NOTE:

This fic sorta ends at Chapter 15, in the middle of Iris's fourth year. I say sorta because while I abandoned this fic, I did release a short little epilogue to give closure. You can also find a new story that covers Iris's third year, has her characterization, but is still a whole new story that's not at all related to this one.

You might find this a good read, but be aware that this story is not exactly finished. Still, it's a fun ride for what it is.

Disclaimer: None of this story is mine; not this chapter nor the rest.

Cover Photo: The credit for the wonderful cover photo, named "Black Panther Watercolor", goes to Zdeňka Kosková.

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Iris Potter and the Goblet's Surprise

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Chapter 1

All Hallows' Eve

1994, October 31, Hogwarts.

"Iris Potter."

The whisper swept across the Great Hall like a gentle, bitter wind, but the only person who might have shivered, had she heard it, sat in the far back, leaning against the wall with her two best friends. She knew though. It didn't take the turning of many heads for her to realize what had just happened. She didn't lock gazes with any of the countless students and staff members now staring at her. She wasn't surprised that it had come, and yet, her breath still caught in her throat.

The moment it was announced that the drawing would be held on Halloween, a heavy sinking feeling had settled itself deep within her stomach. If there was anyone in Hogwarts that could talk of bad luck, especially when it came to Halloween, it was Iris Potter. The deaths of her parents; a twelve-foot troll; the petrification of a cat by basilisk; the breaking in of the Gryffindor tower by a raving, murdering lunatic.

Maybe he wasn't a murderer in the end, but Sirius Black certainly didn't do himself any favors in regards to lunacy.

"Iris Potter!"

She had told nearly all of them. Hermione, Ron, the twins, Neville, Ginny, the Quidditch team, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and even Snape. She told every single one of them and a few more that she would be dragged — kicking and screaming if she had any say in it — into this tournament; with the Dark Mark appearing over the summer, Moody being attacked right before he would come to Hogwarts as a professor — well, she really had no reason to believe this would be a normal year.

But now, when it was time for the kicking and screaming, Iris couldn't seem to say anything at all. All the arguments she had built up in her mind were now slipping away, and everybody staring at her certainly didn't help.

Instead, it seemed Ron was willing to speak for her. He opened his mouth, and in what must have been the most uncertain voice imaginable, he said, "No?"

"Wow," Hermione breathed, shaking her head at Ron.

"Sorry, Mr. Weasley?" said Albus Dumbledore, a man Iris profoundly respected, at least until now. Oh, she still respected him; it was only the profoundly part that she was questioning now, along with just how competent of a headmaster he really was if, yet again, her life was at stake inside the walls of Hogwarts.

"Uh, nothing," Ron said, giving an apologetic look to Iris, who had got up and walked to the headmaster now, trying her best to ignore the incredulous and disbelieving stares from nearly everyone.

"I could have sworn I warned you about this, sir," Iris said quietly enough that only a few heard her.

"Enter through the door there," Dumbledore said. "We will sort this out soon."

"More like I'm going to end up getting tossed into another —"

Dumbledore looked down at her, his blue eyes informing her that this was not the time. Iris sighed and nodded once to say she understood.

She took the paper containing her name in her own writing; obviously ripped off an assignment I turned in, she thought. She made her way to the antechamber and entered. It was a room full of paintings, trinkets, books, furniture, and other nonsense, and a fireplace rested centered against the farthest wall.

Viktor Krum stood near the fireplace, looking menacing, and Iris knew the comparisons between her flying skills and his would be made now that she was in the tournament, if they had not been made already.

Cassius Warrington was in his seventh year and the actual Hogwarts champion. He had short brown hair with his fringe pushed back, a strong jaw, a straight nose, and was handsome. She didn't doubt for one second that Slytherin would hate her more than ever. Perhaps the rest of the school too, she had always heard Cassius was one of the Slytherins that most of the rest of the school was okay with.

And in one of the chairs, sat Fleur Delacour. There was no doubt she was far more than just a pretty face, but Iris knew there would be comparisons there as well. Perhaps not in the Daily Prophet but amongst her fellow students — she had heard it before. And did she even compare? Fleur looked like a goddess. Iris? Iris felt she was too skinny from her summer of malnutrition and her curves were nowhere near those of the French girl's. Her black hair felt boring compared to Fleur's silvery-blonde. Even Fleur's ice blue eyes competed with her vibrant, emerald green eyes. Though, Iris was fond of the very light freckles sprinkled across only her nose and upper cheeks.

But Fleur didn't have a scar on the corner of her forehead.

"What is it?" Fleur asked. "Do zey want us to go back outside?"

Iris opened her mouth to say no, that she was going to be the fourth champion, but she couldn't. She suddenly wanted to be very alone, to maybe throw something. She had really wanted one peaceful year at Hogwarts, but it looked as though this year would be the least peaceful of all. Five tasks. There would be five dangerous tasks she'd need to get past — no, five tasks she'd need to survive.

Could there be a decent chance she'd die this year? Was her luck just this terrible?

"Yep," Iris said, answering her own question. The other three must have taken this as an answer to Fleur's question, for they moved from their positions and walked towards the door. Iris sat down, not bothering to correct them. When the door burst open just as Viktor Krum reached for the handle, he was sent tumbling down the stairs. He let out a low pitiful moan that caused Iris to laugh before she managed to clap her hands over her mouth. He glared at her through pained eyes.

"Viktor! Are you hurt? Why are you hurt? This is clearly sabotage!" came the voice of Karkaroff.

"Yeah, clearly. Didn't you get the 'Burn Durmstrang, Burn' leaflets?" Iris muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear. Fleur couldn't contain her snort of amusement. Karkaroff's head spun to her and his eyes widened as if he had just discovered a mass conspiracy.

Dumbledore looked at Karkaroff before turning his attention to Iris. He looked pointedly at the piece of paper that held her name and then back at her, a clear question on his face.

Iris gave him a look that clearly said, 'Really? Me?' Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at her for a moment before nodding and turning back to the matter at hand. Iris did so too and saw that Karkaroff had moved on to plots about bringing him down while McGonagall tried to calm him, unsuccessfully.

"Yes, yes, everybody here is out to get you. We meet on Sunday evenings to discuss different ways to bring your school down. I suggested throwing you to the colony in the —

"Potter, enough." McGonagall shot her a sharp look.

Snape stared at her, looking like an insult was on the tip of his tongue. "So, Potter, this is the newest ploy of yours, is it? Another attempt to —"

"Will you just knock it off, Snape? I don't care for your insults right now," Iris said irritably. She was about to be thrown into a tournament that had claimed many lives before, and if Snape pushed his luck, he might find himself to be the first casualty.

"Potter, you think —"

Dumbledore stopped them before they started. "Severus, Iris, both of you, enough."

"Detention, Potter, for the next week!" Snape snarled. "And once we prove you placed your name in the —"

"I said, both of you, enough," Dumbledore said. "It's Professor Snape, Iris. And Severus, you are a professor. Act as such. We have talked about this. And there will be no detentions, if you can remember. Now," Dumbledore said, much more cheerily. "We are getting off topic. It appears we've a fourth champion."

Iris took great pleasure in seeing that Snape's face was still slightly purple from anger. She stuck out her tongue at him.

"Vat?" said Krum after a moment of silence.

"Oh, very funny joke, Mister Dumbledore," said Fleur.

"Joke?" Bagman repeated. "No, no, not at all! Iris's name just came out of the Goblet!"

"But evidently zere 'as been a mistake," she said to Bagman, shooting Madame Maxime a look. "She obviously cannot compete. She is too young."

She wasn't going to argue there — she was too young. She expected to be involved in the tournament somehow, given her luck with Halloween, but to be a fourth champion?

"Well... it is amazing," said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Iris. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as her name's come out of the goblet... I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage... It's down in the rules, you're obliged! Iris will just have to do the best she can, I think."

"Bagman is right. It is a magical contract, therefore you would lose your magic if you were to not participate," said Crouch from next to Dumbledore.

Iris found that her mouth was very dry, and then arguments broke out. It seemed as though everyone was taking turns yelling at certain people in the room.

After a minute of this, where Iris had sat in a chair, trying to absorb everything, trying to calm down her pounding heart, Moody finally spoke above everybody else. "You know, I don't hear her complaining as much as you lot. And you'd think she would, given —"

"Why should she complain?" Madame Maxime said, sounding annoyed. "She has the chance to gain glory and honor for her school! And the prize money! This is a chance many would die for!"

"Maybe because somebody is hoping she is going to die for it," Moody growled.

"Oh, preposterous!" yelled Karkaroff. "You consider the morning wasted if you have not discovered six different plots to murder you by lunchtime!"

"Imagining things, am I? Seeing things, eh?" Moody said with an almost maniacal glint in his one real eye. "It would take a powerful wizard to confound the Goblet, oh yes, but it would be doable. I'm guessing they put Potter's name in as a fourth school. It is a magically binding contract, she must compete. There's no way out. Now that I think of it, we should have put escaped Death Eater names into the Goblet to remove their magic, eh?" Moody chuckled darkly after looking pointedly at Karkaroff's left arm, which Karkaroff grasped instantly.

The Dark Mark? Iris had read up on Death Eaters and the Dark Mark after the Quidditch World Cup event, so she knew plenty of Death Eaters getting off free. Some through bribery, as Mr. Weasley had said, and others because they redeemed themselves. Karkaroff didn't seem the type to be filthy rich nor did he seem like he's redeemed himself.

The conversation went on for a few more moments before one of Fleur's comments caught the attention of Iris, who was zoning out a bit.

"Madam Maxime, you said — zey are saying zat zis little girl is really to compete, zat zere is no way to... kick her out. You said zis would be worth it!" Iris looked back at Fleur with mild annoyance on her face, which Fleur caught. Irritably, she added, "Quelle? You are a fourth year, non? You are far too young to compete."

"Yes," Iris said slowly, "I am too young to be in this tournament, but there's no need to call me a leetle girl," she finished using a mock French accent. "Really, I don't even want to be here."

"You zink you are capable of holding your own against those three years better? I did not travel all this way to compete with a fourth year! Madame Maxime, when you spoke to me of zis, I did not —"

"Fleur, hush," said Madame Maxime, and Fleur's eyes flared.

"Well, the tournament won't be toned down for Iris, Miss Delacour," Bagman said, trying to calm matters down. Dumbledore stood to the side with a blank expression on his face. Iris had the feeling that he wasn't paying attention at all, that he also didn't even want to be here. It almost made Iris laugh.

"I don't want to hold my own against anyone," she said. "I don't even want to be here, but you're not going to be competing with a worthless first year."

Fleur threw her hair back and laughed. The wall Iris built to control her temper shifted ominously.

"Girls, enough, please," Dumbledore said, halfheartedly.

"You are upset zis tournament will overshadow your fame so you feel you must cheat to get in. I can not believe I let myself get talked —"

The wall crumbled and fell.

"Good god, you're like the epitome of a spoiled little bitch."

"Iris Potter!" McGonagall said, gasping along with Madame Maxime. Dumbledore closed his eyes and looked as though he was internally groaning; Snape looked livid, naturally; Karkaroff and Moody were still arguing about who was more of a madman, and weren't paying the slightest bit of attention to them; Cassius Warrington was reading a book he had somehow found, seemingly not at all interested in what was going around him; Krum's head was snapping from person to person, argument to argument; Crouch was talking calmly to Bagman, who looked as though he was stopping himself from jumping up and down.

"Iris, what did I just say two minutes ago?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

"Do — do not call my student that!" said Madam Maxime after a moment of shock.

"Spoiled? You do not know me," Fleur whispered furiously, also after getting over her shock.

"And you don't know me, so quit assuming I'm some poor defenseless girl," Iris said irritably, leaning back in her chair.

"Zat is exactly what you are! What spells do you possibly know zat could be used for zis tournament? Are you going to win the tournament with a tickling charm? Or perhaps you will battle a manticore with Alohomora? Or maybe you can use the Water-Making Charm to fill up the baths of the judges, scrub their backs clean, so zey can give you some points, non?"

Iris raised her eyebrows at Fleur, purposely making herself look amused. She knew it would get to the French witch.

"Girls!" said Bagman, laughing nervously.

"Fleur, enough!" Madam Maxime said, glaring at Fleur.

Iris took out her wand. It was clear the others thought she was about to hex Fleur, but their protests died with Iris's first word.

"Expecto Patronum," she said, casually waving her wand in a circle and ending the movement with a small upwards flick. It was instant. There was no beginning mist. A beautiful silvery doe instantly burst from her wand and flew straight through Fleur, who gasped lightly, and ran around the room. All the other arguments that were going on at the same time had stopped as the doe scattered the feeling of joy and hope. Iris thought it was a rather effective way to get everybody to shut up.

Dumbledore was staring at the wall with an unreadable expression, shaking his head slightly. Snape wasn't sneering, surprisingly, but looked pained at the sight of the doe. Bagman's jaw was hanging comically low. Crouch had an eyebrow raised.

Iris stared at Fleur. "Not even close to the only advanced spell I know," she said, fully aware that it was actually one of the very few. Iris took a deep breath. "Right then, I didn't come here to get insulted. Good day to you Headmaster, McGonagall, Bagman, Cassius, crazy grinning dude in the back," she finished, giving a smile to Moody, who she had grown comfortable enough with to insult playfully.

"Like Bagman said, Miss Delacour, the tournament won't be toned down for me," Iris said, having already reached the door. "Not that I'd be the one they would need to tone it down for. Former Death Eater Headmaster, Madame Maxime, I'm truly sorry you've traveled all this way. After all, it'll be a completely pointless trip once your champions are thoroughly put to shame by a fourteen year old."

"The first task is on the twenty-fourth of November, Iris!" Bagman called out. Iris nodded. "Also, we won't be telling any of you what it is. It'll test your daring and courage in the face of the unknown! All you're allowed is your wand and the clothes on your back. We'll tell you a little bit more right before the task but not much. We'll talk of the other four tasks at a later time!" Iris gave another nod and walked out the door.

All the heads turned to Dumbledore.

He sat down and gave a great sigh, thinking of teenagers and their temper tantrums.

Iris grimaced to herself. Shamed, embarrassed, humiliated by a fourteen year old? Why in the world did she say that? If she was an adult, and a fourth year had said all that in front of her, she'd laugh at her. And she was fourteen. She stood no chance in this tournament and she knew it. She would be made a fool in front of the entire school. And she didn't even do much to enforce anyone's belief that she was innocent.

She certainly wasn't going to enjoy the victorious grin of Fleur should she win the tournament.

Iris was irritated with herself. She cursed herself, Fleur, the adults for their incompetence, Voldemort, too, because he obviously had something to do with this. She knew she shouldn't have left it to the staff to make sure her name didn't get tossed in. It wasn't as though she had any proof that it would happen, but she figured Dumbledore would at least have a portrait look over the Goblet of Fire.

After stringing a few more swear words into the most colorful sentence, she found herself in front of the Gryffindor portrait.

Before she told the fat lady the password, she realized that there was a chance second year would be repeated. The majority of Gryffindor house believed her to be the Heir of Slytherin and therefore responsible for the petrifications. Nevermind the fact that her best friend was a muggleborn. No, she had long ago come to the conclusion that the wizarding world was full of Vernon Dursleys. Idiots, the lot of them.

Compared to the silence of the corridors, the sudden explosion of noise almost made Iris's bones tremble. Before she knew what was happening, she was surrounded. Screaming, whistling, shouts of congratulations, it was deafening. Creevy was snapping pictures; Angelina was talking of how "at least a Gryffindor had made it in"; the twins were even on their knees bowing to her. Iris knew she should be grateful for their support but she was still incredibly frustrated. Surprised, too, that no one seemed to be angry with her — but didn't they realize that there would be a very real chance she'd be dead soon? After a few minutes of them congratulating her on tricking the Goblet —

"Enough!" she bellowed. The room quieted. Some people looked excited, as if she was going to give a motivational speech. Others, who knew her better, became wary.

"Speech?" asked Fred.

"Damn it, Fred, George, whoever, no," Iris snapped at him, and she felt bad that he flinched. She gave a deep sigh to calm herself and then spoke. "Look, I get that you're all very happy that a Gryffindor is a Champion —"

"Yeah!"

"Damn right!"

"Go Iris!"

"But!" Iris interrupted, silencing the room again, "I'm not. Excited, that is. You all don't get it, do you? You guys are going to get to watch it all for entertainment so I get your excitement but the last thing I am right now is excited. I did not put my name into the Goblet — no, don't interrupt! — nor did I ask anyone else to do it. Don't you all think I have enough fame as it is? Any of you that actually know me know damn well that I despise my fame, and if you don't believe me, come up with just one instance of me using my fame for my own gain. And a time where you actually saw it with your own eyes too, not a rumor. I hate my fame. As for the galleons, if I somehow win, I'm giving them away. I'm a Potter, I don't need the galleons. There is literally no reason whatsoever for me entering myself."

The crowd gathered in the common room stared, some a bit disbelieving.

"I mean, don't you all get it? This isn't a game for me. This is going to be life or death. They're not toning this tournament down for me — Bagman said so himself —and it's designed for people three years older than me. I haven't got a bloody chance. And I'm not just talking about winning the damn thing, I'm talking surviving too. I might be dead before the school year is over; I might be dead before Christmas! So no, I'm not going to celebrate my likely death. I'll appreciate your support, I really will, and I'm very happy you all are supporting me right now, even if for the wrong reasons, because I was fully expecting most of you to hate me, but I can't bring myself to be happy." Iris looked around the room and saw a few people whispering to each other, slight disbelief stretched across their faces. Iris sighed. Some of them didn't believe her.

"Why would we hate you?" George asked, confusion.

"I dunno, I was afraid you'd think I put my name in myself and refused to tell any of you how I did it. I know how much you and Fred wanted to be in the tournament," Iris said, and in a quieter tone, added, "Thought maybe Angelina would be upset I took a possible chance away from her or something."

"What?" Angelina said. "It's not like I would have been chosen if you hadn't been. Warrington was already the Hogwarts champion."

Iris shrugged, feeling a bit foolish.

"Don't worry, Iris," Katie said. "Go get some rest, I can see you're stressed. We'll support you — because you can be certain that the rest of the school won't. Both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff like Cassius; he's one of the good Slytherins, you know? He's not afraid of taking points away from his own house."

After saying her goodbyes, she headed upstairs to her dormitory. She hadn't seen Hermione in the common room and was hoping she wouldn't be awake. She didn't want to be asked how she was doing, what happened, if she was planning murders, why she was angry — at least not now. They could wait until the morning. Luck, as usual, was not on her side, however, as Hermione was indeed waiting for her as she opened her dorm room. Before she could even close it, a blur of wild brown hair had crashed into her.

"Oh, Iris! I'm so sorry! Things always happen to you, don't they? I just don't understand how anyone could be this unlucky. I mean, your terrible luck almost seems beyond even magic itself, doesn't it? I hope you're okay, I heard you yelling but I figured it would be best for you to let it out. You really did handle it well out there. Usually you miss a lot of points you should make and end up having to repeat those missed points later on to individuals over and over and over but I think you got them all this time — I mean when it comes to the fame and gold and how you have it all, of course, and even called out the disbelievers before they even got a word in by making them think on if you had ever actually used your fame. Brilliant, really. Now all you have to do is drop that ridiculous class, Divinations and —"

"Hermione, breathe. Deep breaths. Good lord woman, how you haven't spit out a lung yet is beyond me," Iris said as she continued to hold Hermione.

Hermione pulled away from the hug, and gave Iris a half-hearted glare. Then she threw herself at Iris again for another hug.

"Sorry, I'm just worried for you. People have died in these tournaments before, and I know you can take care of yourself — well mostly — don't give me that raised eyebrow, don't let me remind you of nearly every Quidditch match —"

"You are seriously exaggerating, Hermione."

Hermione ignored this. "What happened?" she said. "Can you get out of the tournament? Somehow I doubt it given your cartoonish luck, but —"

"Hold on, let's go to Ron's dorm first so I don't have to repeat it twice. But no, I can't get out. It's a magically binding contract. And speaking of Divinations, I'm thinking you're right. I should drop it."

"Well, that would be the more reasonable thing to do. Given what happens around you, Divinations is a bit worthless for you, isn't it?"

"Would I be able to learn enough of Ancient Runes to start using them? Set traps and the like, you know?" Iris asked.

"Well, yes, but drawing runes strong enough to be used in combat and 'the like' is N.E.W.T. level spellwork, and it takes a long time to learn. If you caught up to fourth year level, you might be able to do it for the very last task, but I can't even draw runes that could be useful for that sort of thing." Hermione saw her best friend's unimpressed look, and added, "But don't let that dissuade you. It just takes time. If you become good at it, it can be incredibly useful, especially as most people don't bother learning it. Could give you a real advantage once you graduate Hogwarts.

"I'd rather not think of graduating Hogwarts," Iris said solemnly.

"I was just saying. I do wish they had extra optional years one could take though," Hermione said.

"I'd take them in a heartbeat. I know I wouldn't have to go back to Privet Prison after graduation but still..."

"Here's a solution: Professor Potter. I bet you'd be good at it."

"Don't be stupid," Iris said dismissively.

"Really, think about it. You easily took control of the common room down there. Plus you'd have a ton of respect being who you are," Hermione said. Iris let out a derisive snort. "Oh whatever, just think about it. I know Moody told you to think about being an Auror but do you honestly think you won't be sick of fighting dark wizards and creatures by the time you graduate? I already am if we're being honest with ourselves."

"Yeah, s'ppose you're right," Iris said, squirming at her last comment. If Hermione had made friends with anyone but her, she wouldn't be facing dark wizards and creatures in the first place.

"Anyway, you should also consider taking Arithmancy," Hermione said as they walked into the boy's fourth year dormitory. Ron picked up Hermione's comment, apparently, as his jaw dropped.

"Arithmancy? Why on earth would she — wait, also? What do you mean also consider taking arithmancy? Iris, we were supposed to be partners in laziness!" Ron said in mock indignation.

"Actually, Ron's right," Iris said.

"Hm? Oh, I was kidding," said Ron. "You won't get me to take that class — I'd rather eat slugs again — but go for it I suppose, if you want that is."

"No, I know you were. I was just actually wondering why on earth I'd take arithmancy. Isn't it math stuff? I'd rather listen to Trelawney predict my death than do math," replied Iris.

"No, it isn't just math," Hermione replied indignantly. She opened her mouth to continue —

"I'd rather give Malfoy a massage," Ron interrupted.

"I'd rather play spin the bottle with your brothers," Iris said, making Ron chuckle.

"You two —" Hermione said, only to be interrupted again.

"I'd rather play spin the bottle with my sister," Ron said, chuckling.

Iris stopped and stared. "What's wrong with you?"

"What?" Ron said. "I — I wasn't — it was just —"

"No, seriously, your sister? Are you sure Lockhart didn't mess with your head?" Iris said very seriously, but at Ron's panicked look, she burst out laughing.

"Oh, very funny," he grumbled. Hermione shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"You two are so immature," Hermione said half-heartedly. "And Arithmancy is not just math, Iris. You should know better. But fine, don't think about it. Perhaps learning one of the key components to creating your own spells just isn't that interesting," Hermione said in a singsong voice.

"Creating spells?" Iris asked slowly.

"Oh yes, you must know Arithmancy to be able to create your own spells. But since you don't want to —"

"Shut up, you know damn well I want it."

Hermione smiled. "So, what happened?"

Iris then went on to explain everything that happened in the antechamber. Ron had a twitching expression on his face, as though he wasn't sure if he should laugh or scowl at the image of Krum falling down the stairs. Iris had finally managed to get a smile out of Hermione when she came to the point where she used the Patronus to get Fleur to shut up. That smile quickly disappeared when she told the two about her parting comments. Iris gave her sheepish smile. They spent twenty more minutes talking about what had been said in the antechamber before she and Hermione went back to their dorms to go to sleep.

"Hey, Iris?" Hermione called out after she activated the privacy spell that Hermione had set up to cover the distance from Iris's bed to hers. It was apparently Ancient Runes that had taught her how to do it. A silencing spell designed to stop any noise from within exiting could have been placed without any knowledge of Ancient Runes, of course, but the sphere of influence would be, quite literally, a sphere. With Hermione's knowledge in Ancient Runes, she was able to place one that would cover whatever it was that she wanted.

Truthfully, Iris had not even seen the small runes Hermione had sketched into parts of her bed to set up the area of the spell, something that exasperated Hermione. It allowed the two of them to have late night conversations without disrupting the other girls.

"Yes?"

"Er — well, I wanted to ask — I was wondering —"

"Spit it out, Hermione."

"Right. Well, in the Great Hall, I noticed you looking at the students of Beauxbatons an awful lot. The female students in particular."

Great. Hermione had finally figured it out, apparently.

It was odd. She had always expected Hermione to put the pieces together eventually, and she expected that her insides would feel like they were ready to explode once that moment came — now, however, it was as though she had no insides at all. She knew Hermione was open-minded, but even as backwards the wizarding world was in comparison to the muggle world, when it came to this, even muggles were extremely prejudiced. Maybe not as much as Aunt Petunia was, but nonetheless, they were.

"You there, Iris?" Hermione whispered.

"Yeah. I was just confused. What do you mean?"

"It was just that it was only the female students you were looking at," Hermione said.

"Oh. Yeah, I suppose so. I was curious about their fashion, makeup, that sort of thing."

There was a moment of silence before Hermione spoke again. "Iris, you don't care for makeup, nor do you care for —"

"Because I don't need it."

"Yes, I know," Hermione said stiffly. "But you put on only a minimal amount, and you often only wear a sweatshirt and joggers —"

"So what? What's your point?" Iris interrupted.

"My point... is that you don't care for makeup or fashion, that you get annoyed when Lavender and Parvati talk to you about it." Hermione sighed. "Why are you trying to play dumb? You know you can talk to me, right?"

"Christ, what is this, the second World War? I'm not looking at the French for some nefarious purpose, alright?"

Hermione giggled in spite of herself. "I know you're not, and that's what I want you to understand," Hermione said. In a whisper, she added, "You're my best friend, Iris, and no matter what, that will never change."

Iris didn't respond, but she understood.

Silence ensued. It appeared as though Hermione had indeed pieced it together. Iris had never shown any interest in guys whatsoever, but then again, neither did Hermione. Except Lockhart, perhaps, but Iris didn't like him from the start and Hermione knew that. Still, she wouldn't have put it past Hermione to catch her looking at Daphne Greengrass or Cho Chang.

It most likely didn't help that she had turned down every guy that had asked her out without even looking at the most of them. They were just two months into this school year and she had already turned down seven boys. She couldn't recall looking at a single one of them as she did it. She should have at least looked them in the eye instead of saying 'nope' and walking on. She sighed. Of course Hermione figured it out.

Iris flipped her blankets over herself, not realizing one was her Invisibility Cloak, and went to sleep.