Note:

This first chapter is a bit of a prologue starting before Hogwarts. The next chapter begins near the end of second year. Anything that contradicts the canon timeline is done on purpose, so just roll with it. If there are any questions you have (about this story, its summary, where this story is headed, etc) then feel free to ask these questions in a review or private message. I'll be more than happy to answer them.

Romance, like in canon, is not the focus of the story. This story is not written with any particular pairing in mind, so no final pairings are set. Again, don't come into this expecting any real focus on romance. The little there might be will be femslash.

There will be no bashing, no Ron/Hermione, no magical cores, no male slash, no Lordship/Ladyship politics, no rape scenes. I don't consider all these to be bad, simply that I've noticed them to be deal breakers for some, and so I'll note that this story won't have them.

Chapter One

The Thief

Iris swung her feet off the edge of the roof, looking on with wry amusement as Dudley and his gang walked off into the setting sun — she wished it was literally — with a silly kind of swagger. It was as though they thought they were rather impressive in having chased an eleven-year-old girl through the neighborhood, eventually losing her after she had somehow appeared on the fire escape of an abandoned building.

She didn't spend too much time thinking about it. It puzzled her, certainly, but such things weren't new to her; she had many of them, these strange and impossible incidents, floating about in her memory.

Iris watched the sunset for a few more moments, her sweat drying faster than what was natural, and then retrieved her cassette player from her bag along with her headphones — but she couldn't really say they were hers. The idea of having money to pay for these studio quality headphones was ludicrous. She had taken the cassette player, the headphones, and the cassette itself from some American — his whole bag, really.

She thought he had it coming, naming himself Q-Tip, and then mentioning how much money he had, so she hadn't felt that bad about it. Besides, she often stole to feed herself, what with her aunt and uncle kicking her out of the house every now and then; it was either resort to thievery or starve.

This wasn't exactly one of those times.

But how could she resist, when they were talking so loudly about how great some unreleased tape was?

She looked at the cassette, titled The Low End Theory, put it in the player, tossed on the headphones, and laid down sideways on the edge of the roof, letting one leg continue to dangle off. As far as her birthdays went, this one had to be her best.

But her standards were never really that high.

It was as she tapped her foot, rolled her head side to side to the beat, and enjoyed the breeze that she felt something, a disturbance in the air around her. She wasn't sure how she felt it.

It was as if a pebble fell into a pond, not from a great height, and she lay in this pond, right on the surface of the water. The pebble would create the slightest of ripples, as this disturbance had done in — what, exactly? What did the pond represent? It wasn't the roof. It was in the air itself, all around her, and in her too, beneath her skin, in her bones.

It was a completely bizarre kind of feeling.

She turned her head to where she thought she had felt it, and for a moment, the tiniest of split seconds, she thought she saw something disappear into nothing… but the sun was in her eyes and she was squinting because of it, so she must have imagined it: the flicker of a figure standing there on the pavement. A trick of the mind, surely.

But the next time it happened, on the very same roof she lay upon, there was no mistaking it. It wasn't her imagination. It was as though a boulder was dropped onto the pond, and the resulting wave crashed over her.

Drenched in the overwhelming feeling, she jerked her entire body — her headphones falling off as she twisted in her position — and fell off the roof.

She slammed into the fire escape below, giving a grunt of pain.

Everything was in her bag in a second — "Iris?" called a voice from above — did it sound concerned? — and she used her boot to shatter the remaining glass on the window in front of her, sending the sharp and deadly shards both inward and outward.

She leapt through — her mind overriding caution with what she had seen as she had fallen off the roof, a man, and how he had appeared out of thin air — and fell right into the glass as her feet caught on the bottom of the window frame.

She cursed mentally as she picked herself up, sure that the glass had cut her hands. She didn't dare to look, not yet. Looking always made it worse. It wasn't as though pain was anything new to her, courtesy of the bullies she unfortunately couldn't stab, but it stopped from her continuing to flee as she had planned.

Her eyes scoured the apartment. Ruin had long ago claimed the building, she thought, as she took in the dirt, trash, and general clutter. There was nothing clean to wrap her hands in.

"Are you well, my dear?"

The voice spoke from behind her, calm and pleasant, despite the situation, and perhaps a little concerned. She was not calm, and she most certainly was no longer in a pleasant mood. The sun made it difficult to see him, but when she grimaced and turned her head, he stepped in front of the sun, shielding her eyes. Though it might as well have been the same thing, for he looked very old, too old to have snuck up on her like that, and his bright yellow robes were ugly enough to blind her. His eyes were blue and his beard was as white as snow.

"Who are you?" she said.

"Of course, I have not introduced myself," he said as she stared. "I apologize, Iris. Appearing out of thin air, why, you must be terribly confused. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I —"

"Can teleport?" Iris said. "I saw that. What'd you really do?"

If Iris herself hadn't known she had done the impossible before herself, she would have already been running for her life. But this Albus Dumbledore made her curious. And her curiosity was like the wounds on her hands; if she left it to fester, it would become infected and be much more of a bother than it was now. She had to cure it now.

"Perhaps I should show you first," Dumbledore said. "It would be a better explanation, I dare say, and would forestall any exclamations of disbelief."

He reached into his robes.

As soon as the wooden stick was in his hand and pointing in her direction, Iris's switchblade was flying through the air before he could do more.

It missed completely, burying itself into the wall next to Dumbledore.

Iris grimaced.

"Ah, it has also been quite a while since a student has thrown a knife at me," Dumbledore said, appearing rather untroubled over the fact that someone had just attempted to stick a blade through his eyeball. He gave his wand a lazy wave, and the glass on the ground lifted from the ground and drifted back to the window, piecing themselves back together in the window frame like puzzle pieces forming a picture.

But there had been numerous missing pieces before Iris had even broken and scattered them, and now the window looked fine. Whole, complete, looking as though it had always been untouched. Just like her hands.

She stared down at her healed palms, her breathing became heavier with this display of —

"Magic," Dumbledore said as his eyes met her blank stare. "Is that how you've found your way up here?" He hummed to himself. "Impressive accidental magic."

Iris snapped out of her daze. "Is that what it's called, then? What you just did? What I can do? Magic? Actual magic?"

Underneath the surprise there was a large explosion of disbelief that she fought to keep down, if only for foolish hope. But it did make sense. He had unnatural abilities. She had unnatural abilities.

"And what can you do, Iris?" Dumbledore asked, his stick pointing a little too close in Iris's direction for comfort.

She blinked. She had done a lot over the years. This was a lot. Too much to take in.

"Plenty," she said, attempting to ease faux lightness into her tone but hearing it fall flat. "Make things move without touching them... hurt people who try and hurt me... control animals, especially snakes — just like that one behind you."

Right as he turned, she bolted toward the door. It was open — at least, until she nearly reached it. It swung closed by itself. She crashed into it and attempted to reopen it, only to find it could not open, despite the fact that both the lock and doorknob had been completely ripped off the door.

"What the —"

"I mean you no harm, Iris," Dumbledore said from behind her, and when she spun around, she saw her switchblade in one of his hands. "But I suppose you could not say the same... unless you missed on purpose, which I must say, I highly doubt."

Iris glared at him. "You used your — your magic to make my knife hit the wall."

"I certainly did not," said Dumbledore. "You simply missed."

He seemed to take her in with an odd light in his eyes. It wasn't fear. Almost caution, but not quite there. It was still peculiar, though, seeing as she had missed her throw. She had no weapons left. What was he troubled by?

Iris stared at him, becoming more unnerved as he stood there, his blue eyes staring at her in such an intense manner that she thought he might have been looking through her.

"Who are you really?"

"I have told you. Albus Dumbledore. Though, you may call me Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor?" Iris asked, taking in his appearance again. The idea of him being a professor almost made her laugh.

"Oh yes," Dumbledore said. "You see, I am the headmaster of a school. A school your parents went to and a school you will have the chance to attend, and for ten months of the year I might add. There will be no returning here for the evenings or even weekends. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a boarding school, Iris, a place for the gifted, for those with special abilities, for those of magic, for wizards and witches."

It was a fitting explanation; certainly an answer to her questions concerning all the unexplainable events in her life: magic. It was difficult to believe, and yet, at the same time, not. The term "magic" felt like an incredibly vague and broad term for it all, but who was she to argue about the details? She could hardly do "magic" on purpose.

"And I'm a — a — witch? A magician?" Iris asked, already feeling a hesitant elation at the very thought of leaving the Dursleys, leaving behind the cupboard, the small meals, the countless evenings — or outright days — where they kicked her out of the house. If he was to be believed.

"The official term is witch, yes," Dumbledore said. "I am a wizard."

Iris hesitated, but then said, "Can you show me? Magic? Again?"

Dumbledore pointed his stick vaguely in her direction and her bag suddenly jerked on her back, the straps slid off her shoulders and down her arms by themselves, and the whole thing flew from her and directly into Dumbledore's hands before she could do anything.

She stepped toward him, outraged, and admittedly a little awed. "Hey! That's not —"

"The very first thing you must understand, Iris," Dumbledore interrupted, and his tone was grave now, "is that thievery will not be tolerated at Hogwarts. Please, do not lie," he added when Iris opened her mouth to do just that. "If you do wish to go to Hogwarts, to leave dreary old Privet Drive, you must abide by this rule. And many more, I might add. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Iris said instantly. Her mind was racing. How had he known? Did he see her do it? Did he also know that she had done it to feed herself? Well, not really. Not this time, at least. Was it worth bringing up?

"You will return this?"

"I — I'm not really sure where to return it." And this was the truth. She had no idea where the American was now. "I didn't steal it for that. I took it because the man said he had a lot of money. I figured he wouldn't miss it, and since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kicked me out for the day without food or money, I — well, I sorta needed it."

She didn't live on the streets. She always had a bed, however uncomfortable, to come home to at the end of the day. But the fact of the matter was that she had been kicked out often enough that she had actually become what her aunt and uncle always claimed her to be: a criminal.

Dumbledore watched her fidget for a moment, then he gave a heavy, weary sigh. "Quite understandable. Many more would have done the same in your place, I am sure. Nonetheless, this will need to be returned. I will do so myself. At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you will not need to worry about food. Free meals will be given three times a day — and meals they will be, Iris, feasts of innumerable foods, drinks, and desserts."

Iris stood a little straighter and nodded, trying not to betray her growing excitement and apprehension. There had to be a catch; there was always a catch. And if there was, as there undoubtedly would be — it was unfortunate she could admit this — then this wouldn't be the first time someone had offered her something she wanted but only in return for something she wasn't willing to give.

"And while we are on the topic," Dumbledore continued, "while we speak of your relatives and their treatment of you, I should explain why I am here. Around this time, you would have received an owl — our way of communication — an owl with a letter." Iris looked distrustfully out the window. "Your Hogwarts acceptance letter, to be precise. However, as our special quill wrote out your letter, I happened to be near. I took a glance, to see if everything was in working order, and I saw your name, yes, but more importantly, where you live."

Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out an envelope, yellow and made of — well, it wasn't normal paper. He walked slowly to Iris and handed it to her.

She looked down at who the envelope was addressed to: Iris Vivienne Elizabeth Potter.

"That's my full name?" she said. "Bit of a mouthful."

"Perhaps so," Dumbledore said, smiling as though he knew a joke she didn't. "I warned Lily and James that some might view the name as rather... pretentious..."

Iris directed her gaze at Dumbledore now.

"Oh yes, I knew your parents," he said. "It was quite amusing, their bickering as they struggled to name you. Your father wanted to name you after the Queen and your own mother. Your mother wanted otherwise. So they compromised."

"It was a bit overkill," Iris said, tracing her finger over her name on the envelope as though her parents had been the ones to write it.

"Your godfather wanted a part in your naming as well." Dumbledore smiled sadly at this. "His family named their children after stars and constellations. If Lily hadn't put her foot down, you would have been called Iris Vivienne Elizabeth Carina Potter. You'll just have to make do with only one unnecessary addition to your name. I'm somewhat envious."

"Is he dead too?"

"No," Dumbledore said, and he hesitated for a moment. "No, I'm afraid he is a murderer."

Iris laughed, but her laughter died when Dumbledore's grim expression did not change.

"Oh." Her mind whirled. She had so many questions popping into her head, only to be nearly instantaneously forgotten as new ones replaced them. "You're serious? But — I mean, is he —"

"There will be time for more questions later," Dumbledore interrupted, waving his hand at the envelope.

"But —"

"As you can see, it says 'Miss Iris Vivienne Elizabeth Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs.' The cupboard under the stairs is not the usual place for a child to sleep, so —"

"You came to see, yeah," Iris finished, already having opened the envelope, her mind still somewhat stuck on what was said before — on all of it. There were two letters, the first of which was an acceptance letter.

Her mind felt as though it was overloading with all the new information from the second one: robes, pointed hats ("Really?" she muttered), winter cloaks, dragon hide gloves ("Dragons?" she said a little louder), numerous books about magic, wands, cauldrons, phials, a telescope, brass scales, pets, and — "Why would anyone bring a broomstick?"

"Wizards fly on them," Dumbledore said, sitting on a chair that had not been there before.

"Not witches?" Iris asked, frowning. The idea of tossing herself into a sexist group of people who had unnatural powers that could be used to perhaps control her sounded highly unpleasant.

"Witches too." Dumbledore gave her a reassuring smile. "Wizards can be a blanket term for both wizards and witches, a gender-neutral term."

"And there's a whole — what, a whole school of them? Us?"

"Oh, much more. A whole society, really. We have our own Ministry. In Great Britain, we have approximately fifteen thousand wizards and witches. Hundreds of thousands throughout the entire world."

"And that stick you've got — is that a wand? Like from comic books? Or fairy tales? Are fairy tales real? Or are they just inspired from real magic stuff? Do I need a wand to use magic when I want to? All the times I've used it before was by accident. It just came out of nowhere. Sometimes I want it to happen again when Dudley — well, when I want it to, but it doesn't."

She took a breath to keep going, but Dumbledore stopped her from doing so.

"It is a wand, yes, and it will indeed allow you to focus your magic — although, I believe, with enough practice, a few years of it perhaps, you would be able to do the most basic magic without one. It is somewhat unusual for a child to do as powerful magic as you have described. Have you done any other kinds of magic?"

"Yeah, I think." Iris thought for a moment. "Sometimes, when I'm really angry, I think the air turns cold. But it's only happened two or three times... could be coincidence or my imagination... I turned a teacher's hair blue once. I imagine I won't be able to do that at Hogwarts, will I? Shame, you'd look dashing."

Dumbledore gave a short chuckle. "No, definitely not. Professor Snape, however, would find it a great joke. Perhaps try it on him."

"Right. I also set a snake loose on Dudley in June," Iris continued. "That was by accident though. I — I really can speak to them too. I don't need a wand to do it. Can all wizards speak to snakes?"

A moment's hesitation. A slight pause as Dumbledore opened his mouth. But Iris knew before he said that it was "Quite unusual, but… but not unheard of" that there was something wrong with the ability. Iris let the answer slide past and moved on to other questions, of her parents ("You've your father's black hair, though much less untidy, but everything else is your mother's, Lily's — your eyes, even the light freckles across your nose and upper cheeks, almost identical to your mother's"), of Hogwarts, of magical places and why the wizarding world was secluded and separated from the "muggle" world — most of which Dumbledore answered. Her questions were finally exhausted after the sun had dove mostly below the horizon, leaving a pink sky as their source of light.

"Would you like to go to Diagon Alley now?" Dumbledore asked. "The alley is ordinarily filled with wizards and witches during the day, the main street being nearly impossible to tread through, the shopkeepers tearing their hairs out at the impatience of so many shoppers coming in all at once. If we had gone earlier in the day, we would have faced exactly that."

"We?"

"Certainly." Dumbledore hesitated, in that odd way he had done before, almost unnoticeable. "Or do you wish to go alone?"

"I'm... I'm not sure." On one hand, here was an adult that seemed to actually take an interest in her, even laugh at her jokes, but at the same time… "I'm used to doing things alone. I spend most days on my own. I know how to handle myself. And you said you're the headmaster. I'm sure you've got more important things to do — wait, I don't have any money for this stuff."

"Your parents left you a significant amount of money," Dumbledore said, and Iris's eyes betrayed her great surprise. "You will need to visit Gringotts, the goblins' bank — yes, goblins are real, too — and visit your vault. Be polite but firm with them, Iris, and there need not be a problem. Are you sure you wish to go alone? I mentioned your fame, and I might have even understated it."

"I've got a bunch of money?" Iris said quietly. But her aunt and uncle had always told her she was a burden and that she wasn't worth feeding! "Isn't it a little too late now? I mean, if Diagon Alley is supposed to be in London like you said, everything will be closed before we can get there, won't it? We're already late."

Dumbledore smiled at her from his chair; she was pacing, still slightly amazed at all of it.

"Wizards never need be late," he said, "for they may arrive anywhere they want at precisely whenever they mean to. We call it Apparition. You will not be able to learn it until later. But... yes, I don't see why not."

He stood up and held his arm up to her.

Iris stared at it.

"Nice arm," she said. "Very adult-like — sir," she added at Dumbledore's slightly raised eyebrows.

"If you wish to visit Diagon Alley now, to travel there instantly, grab tightly. I do warn you, however, it is most unpleasant, especially the first time."

"Okay," Iris said, "but — er — can I get my bag back? The headphones and cassette player aren't mine, but the bag and all the books in it and everything else inside is."

This was a lie. Some of the comics she liked to read were taken from Dudley and his friends. But Iris cared so little for them that she didn't even bother trying to feel guilty about it. And it must've shown on her face, for Dumbledore nodded and gave her bag back, placing the stolen items inside a pocket that was far too small to carry it all.

Iris put it on her back and grabbed his arm.

The sun, the noise, and her energy had well and truly abandoned her for the night. It was quiet and dark now, nothing new for one who had spent much time in a cupboard, but it was a bit unsettling in this new and unfamiliar world.

She had explored locations at night before, but that was when she had believed the most dangerous thing around could be a lecherous man. She carried a switchblade for that reason. But could these men and women — wizards and witches — just magic it away from her? Dumbledore had done so with her bag.

It made her uncomfortable.

When a cloaked figure fled from Gringotts and passed by her, not noticing her as she was cloaked too, but in shadow, she thought it was a little less lonely. The shouts from the goblins, full of fury and bloodlust, oddly added to this sense of comfort. It filled the silence.

She assumed the cloaked figure to be a man. The robes made her slightly unsure. They looked to be too much of a hindrance, the long, loose, and baggy wizarding style of them. She was wearing black robes, a more fitting type — not that she had much of a form, but it was nonetheless much better, she felt, than having her robes catch on random things.

Like the fleeing man's just did — on a cat's claws; a white cat; her cat.

"Lily!" she hissed.

The last thing she needed now was for her cat to be blown to smithereens by some random wizard. It would be rather depressing if she had named her new cat after her mother only to get the damn thing killed immediately after. Lily, however, listened, as most animals did with her.

Iris picked her up and scratched her behind the ears, attempting to appear as casual as possible as she followed the figure — she couldn't help it — looking as though she was merely browsing the shops, at night, when the shops were almost all closed. She dragged her trunk behind her, though it didn't make much noise as it had some featherlight nonsense enchanted into it, making it weigh very little.

Even though she had already taken a very close look at every shop here, it still amazed her as she walked past them again. Magic. Brooms she couldn't wait to fly; cauldrons for potions she couldn't wait to brew; a holly wand with a phoenix feather she couldn't wait to use.

She had probably spent too much money. After she had seen just how much her vault contained, she couldn't help herself. She bought the very best of what she needed, her most expensive item being her trunk, which could probably fit five other trunks inside.

She had wanted a trunk with even bigger space, but the more room on the inside the more the prices seemed to grow exponentially. Those few designed to hold something like a small office were tens of thousands of galleons; hundreds of thousands of pounds, as a galleon was about twenty-six pounds, a sickle about one and a half pounds, and a knut about five pence.

Her trunk was positively dirt cheap compared to them.

Regardless, magic was wonderful.

The thought repeated in her head for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. Part of her still believed it all to be a dream.

As she was about to turn around to explore Diagon Alley one more time, abandoning her curiosity for the fleeing man, a figure exited the alley near her, which was marked as Knockturn Alley.

A man in dark robes. He had black hair that looked oddly reflective in the moonlight. Or it was just greasy. He stopped short when he saw her, his black eyes flickering only slightly toward her scar. His face looked like Dumbledore's had at certain points, as if he was purposely keeping it as blank as possible. All in all, he looked terribly creepy.

"Hello," Iris said lightly, as though it was perfectly normal to meet strangers in the dark of a shady alley. It probably was for wizards. "Pleasant day for a stroll, isn't it? Maybe some shopping too, and if one could fit it into their schedule, why not the robbery of the apparently most secure bank in the wizarding world?"

"What?" he asked sharply.

Iris frowned. "But the goblins would say that, wouldn't they? Great gits, goblins." She gave an uneasy laugh and hoped the man would move on.

The man looked at her as though she was mad, and then moved to walk past, unknowingly filling Iris with relief — but then he stopped and spoke, his back still to her.

"Why are you here, Potter? It's not safe. Go to the —"

"Oh, she's quite safe, Severus," said a familiar voice from behind Iris: she spun around only to come face to face — or face to beard — with Albus Dumbledore. "I have been keeping an eye on her."

"Headmaster," said the man, his tone showing only the slightest of surprise — Severus, was it? She stared in disbelief at Dumbledore as Lily hopped down from her arms and began clawing at Severus's robes. Where had he come from? His robes were still that horrible yellow and she was sure she would have taken notice of the bright color if he had been following her. Could he perhaps make himself invisible?

"You're a nosy —" She stopped, realizing what she was going to say. "I mean — I didn't — bugger."

"It's quite all right, Iris," Dumbledore said, smiling down at her. "I was simply worried for your safety, so I —"

"Followed me for a few hours?"

"And bought a bit of this, a bit of that," Dumbledore said, pulling out a bag of some wizard sweets. He extended the bag to both Severus and Iris, both of whom declined. "Just as you have, I see. Dear me, Severus, it appears you've attracted a lovely little thing."

"What?" Severus turning to see Lily claw at his robes. He kicked her. "Get off, you stupid animal."

Iris frowned. "She's not stupid. She's my cat."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, "then it appears the cat will have plenty of time to rip apart Professor Snape's robes later, so perhaps you should pick her up." As Iris did so, Dumbledore continued. "This is Professor Snape, Iris, as you now know. He will be your Potions teacher at Hogwarts."

"Oh," Iris said. "I've made a fool of myself in front of another professor then, have I? Suppose I could go for a record."

Professor Snape's lip curled up slightly as he stared resolutely ahead. "Headmaster, I have places to be. I will see you at Hogwarts." And he began to walk away.

Iris grabbed one of her cat's paws and waved it at Professor Snape's retreating form. "Professor Snape's leaving. Say bye, Lily."

Professor Snape suddenly faltered in his step, but then recovered and disappeared around a corner. Iris watched him go, puzzled. Why had he seemed so... off? Was she hideous or something? Of course not. She looked much better than goblins. Her nose twitched at the thought of the ugly little things.

Dumbledore watched Professor Snape go with a sad sort of smile. "Lily, is it? A fitting name, given the eyes." He turned back to Iris. "Though I did keep an eye on you, I did not, however, do so when you went into Gringotts. Only a fool would attempt to kidnap somebody inside halls of that which belong to goblins, so I did not think it a worthy opponent to take my time from me. How did it go?"

"They hate me," Iris said. "I probably shouldn't have asked if two goblins were brothers. They think I'm a racist or something now, but I didn't mean it that way. They didn't even let me apologize before they began insulting me."

"Hm, yes, they are often like that," Dumbledore said, chewing on one of his sweets.

"They get really creative with their insults," Iris said casually. "I even learned some new ones, wanna hear?"

"Oh, I think we can do without. I dare say I've heard enough for today, what with visiting your family — if one could call them that." Dumbledore frowned. "For someone who wishes so desperately to appear sophisticated, Vernon Dursley seems to be quite the opposite."

"Which helps make you appreciate the goblins' creativity even more, doesn't it?" It then hit Iris what Dumbledore had just said. "You visited them again? Why?"

"Oh no, not again," Dumbledore said. "But I do believe I had forgotten to tell you that next summer will be, if they keep their word, and I will know if they do not, much more pleasant for you."

"I have to go back then, do I?" Iris said a little absentmindedly, not being able to fully take in the fact that Dumbledore had actually done something.

"I'm afraid so. You will, however, be able to move your belongings to the second bedroom. They won't be able to put you back in the cupboard even if they tried." Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment, as if wondering if he should say something or not. But before he could say anything, another figure came from Knockturn Alley. "Ah, Hagrid, how do you do?"

Iris turned around to see a gigantic man step up to their little group. He looked as though he could eat Iris as an appetizer.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said, giving a nod. He squinted at Iris. "Hello there, nice ter meet yeh. Another student, headmaster?" His face took on a look of confusion. "Yeh almos' look like... blimey… Iris? Iris Potter? Yeh look just like yer mum!" he said, beaming at her. "Excep' the hair, of course, yeh've got yer —"

"Father's, yeah, I've been told. Who are you, another professor?" Realizing that this sounded a bit rude, Iris added, "Did you know my mum and dad too?"

"Oh yeah, I knew yer mum and dad, spent half me life chasin' yer dad away from the Forbidden Forest, an' now, I'm spendin' half me life chasin' away the Weasley twins!" He chuckled. "Yeh'll meet them at Hogwarts, they're from a good family, the Weasleys. Knew yeh'd be going soon, asked Dumbledore to lemme take yeh to Diagon Alley, but nah, he said it was importan' he take yeh. But blimey, yeh don't even know who I really am, do yeh? Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

Iris gave him a polite smile and nod. She had no idea what the Keeper of Keys and Grounds meant, so she felt somewhat awkward. She had already, truth be told, standing here with two adults — one of whom looked literally a century older than her.

"Hagrid here takes care of the many creatures that surround Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "Magical and non-magical. You told me you have an affinity for animals, or was I mistaken?"

"Affinity?" Iris asked. As well-read as she was in fiction novels, some words remained beyond her.

"You find them pleasant to be around? Perhaps you prefer their company over your own relatives?"

"I prefer the company of drywall over my relatives."

Hagrid gave a kind of half-grunt, half-laugh. "The Dursleys, eh? Professor McGonagall told me all about them. Like I said, Iris, I knew yeh father — your mother too. If yeh ever want to come by me hut and have some tea, I could tell yeh about 'em. Maybe even show you some of the beautiful creatures I —"

"Okay," Iris said easily; magical creatures were one of the things that interested her most about this magical world.

Hagrid beamed and Iris couldn't help but already feel an affinity for this seemingly gentle giant.

"And is that yeh cat, then?" he asked. "If I had taken yeh to Diagon Alley — well, I had it all planned out, yeh see — I was going ter buy yeh an owl for yeh birthday."

Iris scrunched up her nose. "I don't like owls. Those flat faces, huge eyes, unnatural necks, they freak me out."

Hagrid gave a great chortle. "I s'ppose they are a bit odd, aren't they?"

Iris's feeling of awkwardness faded slightly as the conversation lightened up. Hagrid was especially inquisitive about her, asking questions about how the muggles treated her, what she was looking forward to the most at Hogwarts, and she longed for a spell to create water by the end of it.

She might have worried about someone finding them like this, assuming that there was some kind of drug deal going on, if not for Dumbledore's ludicrous robes. They were revolting. Nobody would wear such a thing if they were doing anything illegal.

She thought about sneaking off while the two adults talked — about some package, how lucky their timing was, and something about a "leshy" appearing inside the "Forbidden Forest" — but decided against it. She could do with a little more magic. It was all, so far, quite fantastic, and much more exciting than even the best of her little explorations.

Just thinking of it again made her want to jump up and down in joy, which she had already done in an empty alley before. She had always loved exploring abandoned locations, going on small adventures with only her imagination as company.

And now it seemed as though imagination wasn't needed, that real, actual magic would do the work for her. And oh, the things she could collect as souvenirs now. Comics, old coins, cool rocks, and other odd little trinkets would become a thing of the past now, replaced by… she had no idea, really, and that fact excited her greatly.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?" She yawned. "Can you take me back home?"

"Ah, of course, it is rather late," Dumbledore said, having paused his conversation with Hagrid. "And you've had quite the adventure today."

"Actually, can't I just stay at the Leaky Cauldron? They have rooms, don't they?"

"Hmm." Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at her for a few minutes. "I have spoken to your relatives, Iris. They have even given you your own room. It really is best that you —"

"I know nothing about the wizarding world," Iris interrupted.

"Nothin'?" repeated Hagrid, sounding both confused and upset.

"Wouldn't it be better if I could stay here for the next month?" she continued. "You know, experience it all more? Talk with actual wizards and witches rather than be forced to do chores from the moment I wake up?" Iris could have smirked at the expression on Hagrid's face. "Can I even get in trouble for not following your orders outside of school?"

Before Dumbledore could reply, Hagrid said, "Nah, course not."

"In that case, with all due respect, sir, no thank you." She turned around to walk away, dragging her trunk behind her, sure that Dumbledore wouldn't be too upset. She had, after all, already thrown a switchblade at him. "Wait," she said, turning around to face him again, "could you please teach me how to shrink and unshrink my trunk? According to some Malfoy kid, I can do magic here without the Ministry of Magic figuring out due to all the magic already here."

Note:

Again, if there are any questions you have, then feel free to ask these questions in a review or a private message. I will respond to them all. Reviews and messages are welcome, appreciated, and encouraged. They are the greatest motivation for me to continue writing. A big thank you to the betas that looked over this: Vlaai, Mudsock, Nyx Muirinn, Temporal Knight, and Gnurd.

Below is something that didn't work as part of this chapter or the next, as it takes place in the summer before second year and I felt two time skips was unnecessary and too much, but it was also something I didn't wish to delete. So consider it a bonus scene, something that happens between Chapter 1 and Chapter 2. There's a difference here in how Iris treats Dumbledore, and it's meant to imply Iris lost trust in Dumbledore during her first year in Hogwarts.

Bonus Scene

There and Back Again

Mere days after her first year at Hogwarts had finished she had done exactly what she was told not to do. And it had been what she had expected. Dingy and grimy, eerie and unnerving, shady figures moving about, their glances toward her a little too curious.

She, on the other hand, had been unexpected. And for that, it maybe wasn't fair to blame the onlookers for their stares, if they were indeed out of curiosity and not something sinister. It hadn't been every day a small girl like herself visited all by her lonesome.

After a closer look, though, it had been her turn to be surprised, to be confronted with the unexpected. She had known shady trades and conversations were done here, but it was the specifics that had her pushing her jaw back into place the very first time she had ventured into the murky maze of Knockturn Alley.

Unicorn ashes and what looked like small human skulls being sold for ludicrously high prices; extravagant entertainers and their devilish dances, only exaggerated by their evil-looking masks as they moved unnaturally on a runic circle that glowed an ominous red; rope that had been slung around the necks of death-sentenced muggles decades ago being sold in exchange for dwarf livers, and only dwarf livers; a man who exited a shop only to turn back around and enter it again, and again, and then repeat this over and over.

Every third step seemed to bring a new smell to her nostrils; from smoky to sweet, funky to fresh, and everything in between. It had been a bit nauseating at times.

But this was how she had felt weeks ago, and she had gotten used to it all now.

Today she came across a man sitting on a chair at the edge of an alleyway, selling human hair.

"For fifty galleons, you get Celestina Warbeck! For a hundred, the Potter girl!"

She stumbled at his words. "What?" She turned around and walked cautiously to the man, who looked as though he hadn't had a shower — or a home — in weeks. "Excuse me?"

He looked at her. "Looking to buy some hairs?" He grinned, looking up at her with bloodshot, baggy brown eyes. "Like I said, Celestina Warbeck for fifty galleons. Would sell it for more," he muttered, scratching his stubbled chin, "but she's gotten old now, body ain't what it used to be."

She wasn't sure who Celestina Warbeck was and she didn't really care. "What was that bit about Iris Potter?" she said, reaching up to touch her enchanted hood to make sure it was still concealing her face.

"Aye," the man said, "a hundred galleons."

"You're selling my — the Girl Who Lived's hair for a hundred galleons?" she asked, unable to keep the astonishment out of her voice.

The man shrugged. "High demand. Normally I'd say two hundred, but I'm in a good mood. Whatchu want with it anyway?"

Before she could respond, another man — bearded, giant, familiar — came up to the two of them.

"Yer sellin' hairs now, Mundungus?" Hagrid said in a dangerous tone. "Tell me I didn' hear righ' about who's hairs yer sellin'."

"Now, now," Mundungus said, letting out a little nervous laugh, "it's nothing you have to worry about —"

"Mundungus," Hagrid growled, and Mundungus curled up in fear, "tell me yeh're only scammin' people, 'cause if I take those hairs an' find out they're real, I'm goin' to really hand you over to the Ministry this time, I swear it!"

Mundungus scooted his chair back. "C'mon, Hagrid, you know I wouldn't…"

She stood next to them, utterly bewildered, when Hagrid reached down and picked Mundungus up by his robes. Three vials fell to the ground. She dove to grab the one with three black, wavy hairs in it. Before she even straightened back up, Mundungus was thrown back into the chair and Hagrid turned on her.

"Now, yeh listen here," he said, bending over her, "hand me tha' vial or —"

She pulled down her hood. "Hagrid, it's me."

"Wha'?" Hagrid said, also straightening up. "Iris?"

"What?" Mundungus spluttered. "Potter? Iris Potter? Bloody —"

Hagrid swung his giant arm around and knocked Mundungus out. "Filthy liar, thief, swindler, and —"

"Hagrid," Iris said gently, "I think he's out."

Hagrid turned on her, looking furious. "Wha' in bloody blazes are yeh doin', Iris? Don' yeh know Dumbledore's been lookin' fer yeh fer ages now? Don't yeh know how bloody dangerous it is in Knockturn Alley?"

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"I'm bein' serious!" Hagrid said, his tone split between anger and relief. "Yeh disappeared from the Dursleys and Dumbledore was worried sick!"

"Technically," Iris said, "I never went back."

Confusion replaced Hagrid's anger. "Eh?"

"I just walked straight to Diagon Alley from Kings Cross." Iris put her hood back up. "Only took me an hour or so."

His face twisted again. "Doesn' matter! We looked fer yeh! Dumbledore said yeh'd no longer be able ter spend yer summers there any more."

"Did he?" Iris gave a little kick to Mundungus. "Say, Hagrid? What did — what was his name, Mundungus? Why was he selling my hairs?"

Hagrid sighed. "Don' worry abou' tha', it's… it's none of yer concern."

"Says you. It's my hair he's selling." She played with the vial she had picked up. "It's black. I haven't had my hair black since I left King's Cross."

"What's with yer hair anyway? Why'd yeh turn it blonde like that?"

Iris ignored him and continued to stare at the black hairs. "Some way to track me down or something, maybe?"

"I though' yeh would've at leas' told me," Hagrid said in a defeated tone, "so I wouldn' have had ter worry —"

"But no, if you could do that, Dumbledore would have found me by now…"

"Iris, are yeh even listenin'?"

"I'm listening."

"Do yeh even feel bad about wha' yeh did?"

"Not really." Iris looked up at him. "Hagrid, the Dursleys are terrible. I wasn't going back to them."

"But Dumbledore said he'd taken care of it!" Hagrid said, taking her by the arm and leading her into a nearby side alley, away from prying eyes and ears. "He said they wouldn'..."

"Wouldn't what? Did he even tell you what they did?"

"Well —"

Iris snorted. "Just trusting him, are we? Maybe McGonagall will invite you to her little fan club."

"Now don' say tha'," Hagrid said, a little hotly. "There's a reason so many have faith in Dumbledore, and it ain't blind, Iris — Dumbledore's done a lotta good fer people. He's the reason I'm still at Hogwarts, why yer parents had the warnin' they did, why yer even alive, why —"

"Yeah," Iris interrupted, "I get it. I know he's done a lot of good for people, okay? It was like some ingrained instinct in Remus, defending Dumbledore…"

"Hmm." Hagrid considered her. "I don' like yeh talkin' about Dumbledore tha' way… and what's this abou' Remus? Remus Lupin?"

"I'll stop, then. I get into enough arguments with Remus — yes, Lupin — about it as it is."

"Are yeh livin' with him, then?" Hagrid asked. "If Dumbledore had known tha', at leas'…"

"More like he's living with me." She frowned. "Or was. He scampered when the last full moon came along. Haven't seen him since." She nodded to the main alley and made toward it. "I'm going there right now, actually, my home — my rented room, really. Don't worry, it's in Diagon Alley. What're you doing here anyway?"

"Buyin' Flesh-Eating Slug Repellen'," Hagrid said, following her back out into Knockturn Alley's main road. "And yeh're sure it was safe, livin' with him?"

Iris scowled up at him. "I would've thought you, of all people, wouldn't have cared about —"

"Oh no! I'm not — yeh know me better than tha'. I'm jus' sayin'..."

"It's fine." Iris turned a corner and lowered her voice. "The first time I had no idea what was happening. He disappeared on the full moon, came back, and told me he was just sick. Psh. When the next full moon got near and he became jittery again, I figured it out, said I'd get him a Wolfsbane Potion... but..."

"But how? Wolfsbane Potion ain't jus' bought on the corner, and the ingredien's are righ' expensive. And even if yeh had them, makin' it ain't an easy task."

Iris made a dismissive sound. "I'm rich."

"Yeh ain't tha' rich. I've seen yer vault, and yeh've got money, sure, but bes' be careful —"

"I am. Well, mostly."

"Jus' be careful is all I'm sayin'. It'd do no good ter yeh if yeh waste yer money before yeh graduate. And Dumbledore's gon hear of this, Iris, all of it, yeh hear?"

"I hear."

As they walked, Hagrid kept her very close and glared at anyone who got a little too interested. Knowing they had to walk a straight path for a little bit more, Iris let her mind wander.

What one could do with her hair she didn't know, but it couldn't be any good, especially if it evoked such a reaction from Hagrid, who was usually fairly gentle.

A potion, of sorts, where one could put in a piece of someone's hair, pour the potion on a map, perhaps, and the potion would show where the owner of the hair was located… and maybe the reason Dumbledore couldn't do such a thing wasn't because such a thing wasn't possible, but rather that he did do it, but all the magic in the air, here in the Alleys, interfered with the results.

She could feel it. It had taken her a few days to get used to the foulness of Knockturn Alley, particularly where the darker shops lay.

Magic, though wondrous and something she wouldn't give up for anything, could frustrate her.

She knew her sense to sorcery was special (otherwise the Ministry would have an easy job of finding these dark shops), had discovered this connection her first time in Diagon Alley, and then coming upon Hogwarts, and then even more so when she had snuck into the Restricted Section, looking for information on Nicholas Flamel, and heard the whispers of the books. Hermione Granger had been unable to hear them. Indeed, not even Madam Pince knew of what she had talked about.

Though, for the life of her, she could never use this ability for anything. It was rather maddening, knowing she had a deeper connection to magic itself, but couldn't do anything with it.

"This way, Hagrid," she said, turning a corner.

Hagrid grunted. "I know the way."

It had been surprising, at first, to see how large Knockturn Alley was. It wasn't necessarily wider or longer than Diagon Alley, but more vertical. From above, the rooftops would be even with the rest, but as the streets sloped downward, the buildings did become taller. Shops, shacks, and small apartment buildings were littered above the street-level ones. The very lowest point must've been a hundred feet below Diagon Alley.

"So yeh've been here this whole time?" Hagrid gave a small chuckle. "Hidin' righ' under our noses."

Iris shrugged. "Here and there. I visited Godric's Hollow on my birthday. Figured it was appropriate."

Hagrid sighed. "Yeh could've jus' told me, Iris. I'd've taken yeh. Did yeh — did yeh visit their graves?"

"Yeah," said Iris tightly. "Saw the graves... our old home... and I met Bathilda Bagshot too. Maybe I should take you there instead, so you can hear some of the things she said about Dumbledore."

But then they passed by a building with a sign depicting only a lady on it, and the door to the shop opened. Laughter, music, and what sounded like a good time came from within. Iris slowed down and leaned backward to see inside, curiosity getting the best of her.

She went red in the face.

Inside was a topless woman, wrapping her arm around a man's shoulders. Iris had stopped in the middle of the street, unable to tear her eyes away. The woman pointed to a door in the back and began walking the man there. She held a vial of some potion, dark blue in color. And then another woman came into view, and she, too, was —

"Iris?" Hagrid's voice reached her just as the door finally shut.

"Hm?"

"Wha' are yeh — oh." Hagrid looked at the sign and blushed himself. "Er — c'mon — let's go."

Iris could only nod.

"And wipe tha' stupid grin off yer face."

They reached the end of Knockturn Alley in silence, Iris trying to appear more mature about the situation than she really had any right to be. While Knockturn Alley was certainly busy, Diagon Alley was lively and almost festive. The faint sound of music was pleasant, not ominous, the people unafraid to keep their chins raised and hoods down.

One particular fellow, Gilderoy Lockhart, an author and adventurer, was especially exuberant. Even his "Unfortunately the headmaster saw me doing more good protecting the world than slaving away teaching!" was joyful, though Hermione Granger's disappointment was visible even through the bustle of the crowd surrounding him.

Iris almost called out to her, but she had a feeling she'd get nothing but a lecture about not answering her letters, and living on her own, and blah, blah, blah.

Already annoyed with the imagined Hermione in her head, she turned away. She'd greet her later.

A canopy of red attracted her attention instead. Though it was as vibrant as Diagon Alley, their hair still stood out amongst the rabble. Giving her goodbye to Hagrid, who begrudgingly let her go, Iris made her way to the Weasleys.

Before she brought her hood down, she scrunched her face up and forced her hair to turn to a shade of red, a fiery copper, and her freckles to double in quantity.

She slipped off her hood, slinked into the crowd, scuttled up to the Weasleys, and slid her hand into Ginny's without wasting a second. Immediately startled, Ginny turned and tried to pull away, stopping only when she saw Iris was a girl of her age and not some random adult attempting to take her away.

Iris smiled. "Hey, sister."

Ginny blinked. "What?"

"What, you don't remember me?" Iris said, a frown playing on her face. "I thought we had fun in Romania."

Suddenly it was Iris that could have been the only Weasley girl, for Ginny had turned so red that she might as well have been a fire hydrant. But she didn't pull away from Iris. It took a moment, but when her skin resumed its normal hue, genuine excitement replaced her embarrassment.

Ginny turned her gaze toward her parents. "Hey, dad, I can't see anything! Can I sit on your shoulders?" Her brothers snickered, but she ignored them, pushing Iris forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. None of the others, not even Ron, had noticed Iris.

"Of course, Ginny, of course," Mr. Weasley said absentmindedly. He hardly looked at Iris before he took her and threw her on his shoulders. "What's next on the list, Molly?"

Iris and Ginny both laughed. It was this that alerted the mother that it was not her daughter on top of Mr. Weasley's head.

She blinked up at Iris, who smiled sheepishly. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley gasped. "Iris! What are you — where's Ginny?"

All four Weasley boys turned to look at her: Percy looked at her as though he couldn't believe her nerve; Fred and George looked downright proud; and Ron just looked confused, though happy to see her.

Mr. Weasley looked up in a mixture of confusion and amazement. "Iris? Is that really you? Molly, look!"

"Yes, but where's Ginny?"

"Right here, mum," Ginny piped up from behind.

"How'd you know it was me?" Iris asked Mrs. Weasley, tilting her head.

"Oh, you forgot to hide those eyes of yours, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "Now come down from there! Fred, George, one of you take her — don't think I don't know you played a part in this."

Fred and George, both of whom had genuinely no idea it was Iris, gaped at their mother. Iris cackled.

"And the other," Mrs. Weasley continued, "put Ginny on your shoulders. They're both terribly short."

Iris stopped laughing. "Hey."

And then they were off, the Weasleys-plus-one, shopping and talking ("Are you going to be spending this year's Christmas with us, too, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked hopefully) and eventually meeting up with Hermione. To everybody's slight surprise, Iris's summer had been mostly uneventful ("See, I can stay out of trouble!").

And any potential trouble they ran into was quickly dealt with. Draco Malfoy had shut his mouth and ran off almost instantly when Iris had shifted her hair back to black and glared at him; he clearly hadn't forgotten her hexing his nose, ears, lips, and fingers off — each on a separate occasion. Gilderoy Lockhart had spotted her with her black hair, but as he did a double take, Iris shifted it back to red. She also made sure to stay outside with Hermione when the Weasleys went into Gringotts, not wanting to cause any issues with the goblins for them. They never did like her.

The day, it was safe to say, went splendidly. So it was with a grin on her face that she went to bed that evening, sure that she wouldn't forget the day anytime soon.

Note:

Remember, roll with whatever is written. I haven't made any mistakes. Lockhart isn't teaching at Hogwarts, Iris went to Romania with the Weasleys for Christmas, etc. It's all intentional.