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"Dumbledore warned Fudge this could happen. He's going to get us all killed, just because he's too scared to face the truth."

The news had broken that morning: Death Eaters had escaped Azkaban. Iris was walking into the Great Hall with Harry and their two companions, her pulse racing. Hermione had been talking nonstop since they found out, though it seemed her furious tones were the only voice anyone could muster.

As they were walking along the Gryffindor table, a voice called out, "Harry, Iris?"

The twins turned in surprise to find a nervous Seamus.

Seamus twisted his hands, looking very bashful, "I wanted to apologize." he rubbed the back of his neck, "Now even me Mam says the Prophet's version of things don't add up." Iris exchanged a look with Harry that was filled with renewed hope. "What I'm trying to say is... I believe you."

That morning seemed to be the tipping point for a lot of students. All throughout the rest of the day, Iris noticed she was receiving more looks than usual, but rather than the judgement and malice they held every time before, these looks were more curious. Once or twice she was sure she overheard snatches of conversation that suggested that the speakers were not satisfied with the Prophet's version of how and why ten Death Eaters had managed to break out of Azkaban fortress. These doubters now seemed to be turning to the only other explanation available to them, the one that Iris, Harry, and Dumbledore had been expounding since the previous year. Iris could tell the break-out had struck something into a lot of people— more than just fear.

It was not only the students' mood that had changed. It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.

A weekend not long after, quidditch was back on. Though the students and professors carried a whisper in the background of everyday activities, everyone seemed to cautiously move on from the events earlier that month. The morning of the big Gryffindor versus Slytherin game, Harry received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold. Iris and Ron sat on either side of him, decked out in supporting colours as well. Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red-and-gold scarves, gloves, and rosettes.

"How're you feeling?" Ginny asked Harry, who was looking considerably more cheered up than his usual disposition those days.

"Amazing," said Harry.

Iris couldn't help but smile, her brother's never-ceasing excitement for the sport filling her heart with a warm feeling of joy that had been missing for a significant amount of time.

"Hello," said a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Iris looked up: Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head.

"I'm supporting Gryffindor," said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. "Look what it does..."

She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.

"Oh wow..." Iris spoke for the group, all of whom were too stunned to speak.

"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna happily. "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway... good luck, Harry!"

She drifted away. They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying toward them, accompanied by Katie and Alicia.

"When you're ready," she said, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change."

"I'll be there in a bit," Harry assured her.

Ten or so minutes later, after Harry had finished eating, he rose from the table and said goodbye to everyone then left the Great Hall, followed by rousing cheers. Not long after, all of the students remaining began making their way out to the stands.

It was freezing outside. There was a light frost that coated the dead grass, and when they breathed, it would come out in cloudy puffs like dragon's breath. The crowd was buzzing with excitement the whole way up the stands. Iris, Hermione, and Ron found seats and waited for the two teams to enter the field. Iris rubbed her hands together, trying to bring some warmth back into them.

Finally, the Gryffindor and Slytherin players walked onto the pitch. The stands roared to life, screaming for one team or the other.

"Captains shake hands," ordered the booming voice of the umpire, Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. "Mount your brooms..."

Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.

The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upward. Iris watched carefully as each of the players zoomed off to their positions. Every few seconds her gaze would flicker back to her brother. Harry zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold; on the other side of the stadium, Draco Malfoy was doing exactly the same.

"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me —"

"JORDAN!" yelled Professor McGonagall.

"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest — and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's — ouch — been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and — nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away —"

Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium and Iris listened as hard as she could through the wind whistling in her ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing —

"— dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger — close call, Alicia — and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them — and Alicia passes back to Angelina!" Lee shouted, hope rising in his voice. "Come on now, Angelina — looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat! — SHE SHOOTS — SHE — aaaah..."

Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zigzagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer the Gryffindor Keeper. There was a new one that year, following the graduation of their previous Captain. Johnny Jenkins, a clumsy seventh-year, wasn't horrible, but Iris had to admit, filling the shoes of Oliver Wood was a difficult task. And unfortunately, the Gryffindor team hadn't been doing well at all in their games that year.

It seemed like everyone in the stadium had turned to look at Johnny, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goal hoops while the massive Warrington pelted toward him...

"— and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead so it's a test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Jenkins, a promising new talent on the team — come on, Johnny!"

But the scream of delight came from the Slytherin end: Johnny had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them, straight through Johnny's central hoop.

"Slytherin score!" came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below. "So that's ten-nil to Slytherin — bad luck, Jenkins..."

Everyone sitting around Iris deflated, their hopes for this match going well quickly disappearing.

"Could they not have found anyone better?" Iris asked dejectedly to Hermione, who looked equally as disappointed.

"— and it's Warrington again," bellowed Lee, "who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now Angelina, you can take him — turns out you can't — but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean, George Weasley, oh who cares, one of them anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell — er — drops it too — so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle, and he's off up the pitch, come on now Gryffindor, block him!"

"— and Pucey's dodged Alicia again, and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Johnny!"

There was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins.

But twenty-nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch, a few goals and they would be in the lead as usual, Iris assured herself, glancing nervously at Harry, who was flying around with his eyes squinted in concentration.

But Jenkins let in two more goals. Even Iris, who understood little about Quidditch, understood the weight of the situation. Harry had to move quickly to find the snitch before it got even worse.

"— and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now Angelina — GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle..."

Iris could hear Luna's ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, and Iris noticed him every so often glancing at Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like Harry, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly...

"— Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey — Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good — I mean bad — Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again..."

Iris...

A metallic whisper called. Her eyes shifted, looking around herself cautiously, but no one was looking back.

Iris...

Her head snapped to the side — she was sure she heard she heard it that time. Iris, not really paying attention to anything else, told Hermione she would be back, and then carefully waded her way through the crowd of students, following after the voice that called for her.

Iris jogged down the stairs, hearing more roars of excitement and disappointment come from above. When she reached the ground, Iris stood still, waiting. Off to the left was one of the entrances onto the field and to her right was the exit. From every angle, she could hear the audiences' reactions, but they were only fading into the background as she focused on listening for the voice she heard before.

Iris...

The voice was masculine and sounded distant, but almost... familiar. A cold sensation crawled across her chest. Then—

IRIS! The voice with no origin screamed so loud Iris almost thought for a moment that there was somebody standing no less than a centimetre from her ear.

She shrieked in fear at the abruptness, though it was drowned out by a sudden uproar above her, snapping Iris back to reality. She turned around in a full circle, her messy dark brown hair flying about as her head snapped in every direction, looking for anyone but seeing no one.

Iris was breathing heavily, her heart pounding tightly in her chest. Gusts of wind that blew past burned her face, flushing her cheeks from the pallid shade they had turned.

Suddenly, like floodgates had opened, students began pouring down the stairs, surrounding her every side. It was Gryffindor students who were cheering and laughing, half of them making a rush for the exit, and the others filing out onto the field. Iris could feel herself slipping, her mind fogging over with anxiety. She pushed the thoughts out, following the students who were going out onto the field, in hopes of meeting up with Harry out there.

As she started walking across the neatly trimmed grass, Iris noticed a commotion in the middle of the field and sped up wondering what it was about. She pushed her way through the forming crowd of students to find not just the Gryffindor team celebrating, but Draco Malfoy and his cronies trying to start trouble with them.

"Saved your team's neck, haven't you?" Malfoy said to Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was born in a bin... Not like the rest of them are much better, though."

Harry did not answer; he turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph, all except Jenkins, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and was making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.

"See, we were all talking earlier... came up with a bit of a tune for each of the Gryffindor team— got a bit tricky with your beaters though," Malfoy called, indicating the Weasley twins, as Iris walked up to Harry. "We couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about their mother, see —"

"Talk about sour grapes," said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.

"— we couldn't fit in useless loser either — for their father, you know —"

Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy.

"Leave it," said Iris to the other twins, trying to dispel the growing looks of fury before they did something they'd regret.

Angelina at once took Fred by the arm. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little —"

"— but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potters?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you two stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay —"

Iris and Harry grabbed hold of George; meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie to stop Fred from leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Iris hastily looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was busy berating Crabbe for an illegal Bludger attack he pulled.

"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it —"

Iris was not aware of releasing George, all she knew was that a second later both he and Harry were sprinting at Malfoy. It felt like she was watching in slow motion as the boys collided. With no time to draw out his wand, Harry merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach —

"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!"

Very quickly, reality hit and Iris lunged at Harry, trying, with wild eyes, to pull him back off of Malfoy. Fists were flying from all angles— she wasn't sure whose it was, but with a loud crack in her ear, one of them went flying straight into her face.

Iris went reeling backwards, a hand flying up to clutch her nosewhich stung sharply with pain and had a steady stream of blood flowing from it.

She could hear girls' voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing, and the bellowing of the crowd around her. Neither Harry nor George seemed to have noticed Iris getting punched and continued to beat down on Malfoy relentlessly until somebody in the vicinity yelled "IMPEDIMENTA!" Only when they were knocked over backwards by the force of the spell did they abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy they could reach...

"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet again; it was she who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx. She was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. "I've never seen behaviour like it — back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"

Iris was gasping, holding a hand over her clearly broken nose as she tried to hold back the tears that were coming with it. Harry and George both stood, radiating anger, but when her brother turned and saw Iris standing with a hand covered in blood and an expression of pain, he sobered quickly.

"Who was it?" he asked, horrified at the thought that it may have been him.

Iris shrugged, unsure herself. Harry carefully pulled her hand away to look and grimaced at the sight. Her nose was noticeably misshapen and had already begun turning a nasty shade of purple. There was a fair amount of blood from the bottom of her nose to her upper lip and a few involuntary tears that had left her eyes trailed their way down her cheeks.

Madam Hooch noticed Harry wasn't moving and stalked over to the Potters with the intention of shooing him along angrily. However, when she saw Iris' condition her face shifted.

"Oh dear, Potter." The coach winced, "Let's get you along to Madam Pomfrey now."

Iris walked silently back to the castle with Harry and George, the boys marching off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to each other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the entrance hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps.

The boys walked Iris all the way to the Hospital Wing doors before parting with faces of regret toward her to head to Professor McGonagall's office.

Luckily, with a flick of her wand, Madam Pomfrey fixed Iris' nose right up. The only reminder of the accident was the black eye she sported for the week after.

The outcome of the collision was Harry, George, and Fred (though he never threw a punch) getting lifetime bans from quidditch and their brooms taken. It was the punishment that Umbridge had seen fit, but everyone knew she would take any opportunity to ruin things for especially Harry, but also the whole of Gryffindor.

Iris could see the ever-growing frustration and anger in all the students, but most especially in her brother. It seemed to Harry that Umbridge was steadily depriving him of everything that made his life at Hogwarts worth living: visits to Hagrid's house, letters from Remus and Sirius, his Firebolt, and Quidditch. He, to no objection from Iris, took his revenge the only way he had: redoubling their efforts for the D.A.

The twins were pleased to see that all of them, even Zacharias Smith, had been spurred to work harder than ever by the news that ten more Death Eaters were now on the loose, but this improvement was more pronounced in Neville than anyone else. The news of his parents' attacker's escape had wrought a strange and even slightly alarming change in him. He had not once mentioned his meeting with Iris on the closed ward in St. Mungo's and her involvement with his mother's sudden improvement in condition. Nor had he said anything on the subject of Bellatrix and her fellow torturers' escape; in fact, he barely spoke during D.A. meetings anymore, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and countercurse Iris and Harry taught them. He insisted on working specifically with Iris, who hardly held back, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries or accidents, working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving, and when the twins taught them the Shield Charm, only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville.

With so much to worry about and so much to do— startling amounts of homework that frequently kept the fifth years working until past midnight, secret D.A. meetings, and regular classes— January seemed to pass alarmingly fast. Before Iris knew it, February had arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year.

On the morning of the fourteenth, Iris couldn't get out of bed.

She woke up hours before her roommates and could not fall back asleep. She just laid under her sheets, staring at the ceiling overhead, the weight of an elephant on her chest.

Valentine's Day. She wanted to laugh— or maybe cry. A healthy mix of the two and a stiff drink ought to do the trick she thought. Nearly eight months without him and still nothing felt right.

When she closed her eyes, she could still see his face, clear as day, as beautiful as it was until the moment he hit the grass. Iris sighed quietly, clutching strongly the necklace she never took off; the locket bearing her family to one side and her heart to the other. If she listened hard enough, Iris thought she could almost still hear his voice saying her name softly and sweetly, like a melody on his tongue.

Eventually, when Hermione and the other girls awoke, Iris' best friend had to spend a while at the task of getting her up. She couldn't find it within herself to move. The absolute last thing she wanted to see all day were happy couples covering every inch of the castle, grounds, and Hogsmeade.

After finally getting Iris out of bed, the girls made their way down to the Great Hall where they met up with Harry and Ron.

"You look nice," Iris said to Harry as they joined up, noting an unusual effort put into his styling that morning.

He flushed slightly, self-consciously tugging at his shirt, "I wasn't sure what to wear for my date with Cho."

They made it to breakfast just in time for the arrival of the post owls. Hedwig was not there— not that any of them had expected her— but Hermione was tugging a letter from the beak of an unfamiliar brown owl as they sat down.

"And about time! If it hadn't come today..." she said eagerly, tearing open the envelope and pulling out a small piece of parchment. Her eyes sped from left to right as she read through the message and a grimly pleased expression spread across her face.

"Listen, you two," she said, looking up at Iris and Harry. "This is really important... Do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?"

"Well... I dunno," said Harry dubiously. "Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we were going to do."

"Well, bring her along if you must," said Hermione urgently. "But will you come?"

Iris hadn't been planning on going into the village, but the look on Hermione's face was enough to get her to say she'd go.

Harry said unsurely, "Well... all right, but why?"

"I haven't got time to tell you now, I've got to answer this quickly—"

And she hurried out of the Great Hall, the letter clutched in one hand and a piece of uneaten toast in the other.

Both of the boys turned to Iris, looking at her expectantly assuming that perhaps Hermione had clued her in to whatever scheme she was cooking up. Iris just looked back equally confused, unsure of what her friend had done.

The remaining three finished their breakfasts and Ron left to head off to Hogsmeade with Dean and Seamus. Iris stayed at the table with Harry, who was looking more nervous by the second. He picked up a teaspoon and turned it over to see his reflection in the back while attempting to flatten his hair down.

Iris had a small smile as she slapped his hand away and made him turn toward her, taking over the job herself. She combed his hair into place with her fingers, making it look presentable. Glancing down at his face, Iris nearly laughed as she wasn't sure she had ever seen her brother look this nervous for anything.

"You'll be fine," she reassured him, "You like her, she likes you. Just try to have fun."

Harry gulped and nodded. They both stood and just as her brother was about to walk away, Iris grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. She held him tight, her chin on his shoulder. When they separated Harry grabbed her hand and squeezed it with a sweet smile toward her before he left.

Iris sighed, a frown drawing over her face as she stood alone.

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