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On Christmas morning, Iris woke up to a small pile of parcels at the end of her bed. The small brunette witch used her wand to float the gifts in front of her as she walked into her brother's dormitory with Buttercup in her arms.

She put her presents on the ground, along with her cat, and grabbed a spare pillow laying on one of the other boys empty beds before throwing the pillow at Harry.

"Oy! Wake up, it's Christmas!"

That woke the boys up with a jolt.

Iris took residence on the bed she believed belonged to Neville, dropping her small pile of gifts at the foot of the bed.

She waited for Harry to groggily shove his glasses onto his face, before delicately grabbing her first package.

She waited a second, "Happy Christmas, Harry!" Iris said grinning. "Happy Christmas Ron!" The girl said to her friend, who was already ripping the paper off his own presents.

"Another sweater from Mum...maroon again...see if you've both got one."

Iris and Harry had. Mrs. Weasley had sent Iris and Harry matching sweaters with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front (Iris's was deep blue, and Harrys' scarlet), also a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle. As Iris moved all these things aside, she saw a small, square package lying underneath.

"What's that?" said Ron, drawing Iris' attention over to Harry, where a long, thin package was in front of him.

"Dunno..."

Harry ripped the parcel open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his bedspread. Ron dropped his socks and jumped off his bed for a closer look.

"I don't believe it," he said hoarsely.

It was a Firebolt, identical to the dream broom Harry had gone to see every day in Diagon Alley. Its handle glittered as he picked it up. Iris' eyes moved from the golden registration number at the top of the handle, right down to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.

"Who sent it to you?" said Iris in a hushed voice.

"Look and see if there's a card," said Harry.

Ron ripped apart the Firebolt's wrappings.

"Nothing! Blimey, who'd spend that much on you?"

"Well," said Harry, feeling stunned, "I'm betting it wasn't the Dursleys."

"I bet it was Dumbledore," said Ron, now walking around and around the Firebolt, taking in every glorious inch. "He sent you two the Invisibility Cloak anonymously..."

"That was our dad's, though," said Harry, and Iris nodded in agreement. "Dumbledore was just passing it on to us. He wouldn't spend hundreds of Galleons on me. He can't go giving students stuff like this --"

Iris turned back to her square gift while the boys debated who sent Harry the broom. The box was red and a little bigger than the size of her palm with a gold ribbon tied around it and in a bow at the top.

Iris pulled the ribbon off and opened the box. What was inside made her gasp softly; a beautiful silver chain with a small heart-shaped locket dangling off of it. A small piece of parchment was resting at the bottom of the box, with a short note sketched in ink.

Iris eagerly picked up the note, reading it hastily.

Happy Christmas

Slightly put out, Iris turned the note over looking for anything else suggesting who it might be from. Not finding anything though, she gave up and stuck the note neatly back into the little red box.

Iris closely studied the face of the locket, it had tiny swirls engraved around the curves of the heart. She gently popped it open and just stared at what she found inside. Slowly her eyes got glassy, as she held back unshed tears.

On one half of the locket was a small moving picture, as all pictures were in the wizarding world, of Harry and her as children wrapped within their parent's embrace. James and Lily Potter were laughing merrily and gazing down at their two little angels, not a care in the world. They were just one happy family at that moment.

The other side was empty, waiting to be filled by her own memories. She wondered who had gotten it for her, who would have access to a photograph like that.

Quickly wiping her eyes, Iris tuned back into the boy's conversation while she worked to clasp the locket around her neck.

They were still going on about who sent Harry the broom, and at the back of her mind, Iris thought that it was likely the same person who sent the necklace.

"Well, he wasn't in the hospital wing," said Ron. "I was there, cleaning out the bedpans on that detention from Snape, remember?"

Harry frowned at Ron. Iris squinted, confused.

What on earth were they talking about?

"I can't see Lupin affording something like this."

"What're you two laughing about?"

Hermione had just come in, wearing her dressing gown and carrying Crookshanks, who was looking very grumpy, with a string of tinsel tied around his neck.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione!" Iris said, cheerily.

"Don't bring him in here!" said Ron, hurriedly snatching Scabbers from the depths of his bed and stowing him in his pajama pocket.

But Hermione wasn't listening. She dropped Crookshanks onto Seamus's empty bed, next to a lazy Buttercup, and stared, open-mouthed, at the Firebolt.

"Oh, Harry! Who sent you that?"

"No idea," said Harry. "There wasn't a card or anything with it."

To Iris's great surprise, Hermione did not appear either excited or intrigued by the news. On the contrary, her face fell, and she bit her lip.

"What's the matter with you?" said Ron.

"I don't know," said Hermione slowly, "but it's a bit odd, isn't it? I mean, this is supposed to be quite a good broom, isn't it?"

Ron sighed exasperatedly.

"It's the best broom there is, Hermione," he said.

"So it must've been really expensive..."

"Probably cost more than all the Slytherins' brooms put together," said Ron happily.

"Well...who'd send Harry something as expensive as that, and not even tell him they'd sent it?" said Hermione.

Iris knew what she was thinking, and carefully tucked the locket under her sweater, hiding it from view.

"Who cares?" said Ron impatiently. "Listen, Harry, can I have a go on it? Can I?"

"I don't think anyone should ride that broom just yet!" said Hermione shrilly.

Iris, Harry, and Ron looked at her.

"What d'you think Harry's going to do with it -- sweep the floor?" said Ron.

But before Hermione could answer, Crookshanks sprang from Seamus's bed, right at Ron's chest.

"GET -- HIM -- OUT -- OF -- HERE!" Ron bellowed as Crookshanks's claws ripped his pajamas and Scabbers attempted a wild escape over his shoulder. Ron seized Scabbers by the tail and aimed a misjudged kick at Crookshanks that hit the trunk at the end of Harry's bed, knocking it over and causing Ron to hop up and down, howling with pain.

Crookshanks's fur suddenly stood on end. A shrill, tinny, whistling was filling the room. The Pocket Sneakoscope had become dislodged from Uncle Vernon's old socks and was whirling and gleaming on the floor.

"I forgot about that!" Harry said, bending down and picking up the Sneakoscope. "I never wear those socks if I can help it..."

The Sneakoscope whirled and whistled in his palm. Crookshanks was hissing and spitting at it and Buttercup seemed very upset with all the loud noises.

"You'd better take that cat out of here, Hermione," said Ron furiously, sitting on Harry's bed nursing his toe. "Can't you shut that thing up?" he added to Harry as Hermione strode out of the room, Crookshanks's yellow eyes still fixed maliciously on Ron.

Harry stuffed the Sneakoscope back inside the socks and threw it back into his trunk. All that could be heard now were Ron's stifled moans of pain and rage. Scabbers was huddled in Ron's hands. It had been a while since Iris had seen him out of Ron's pocket, and she was unpleasantly surprised to see that Scabbers, once so fat, was now very skinny; patches of fur seemed to have fallen out too.

"Wow... what's up with him?" Iris questioned, observing the rat.

"It's stress!" said Ron. "He'd be fine if that big stupid furball left him alone!"

But Iris, remembering something about rats living only three years, knew that Scabbers was likely reaching the end of his life. And despite Ron's frequent complaints that Scabbers was both boring and useless, she was sure Ron would be very miserable if Scabbers died.

Christmas spirit was definitely thin on the ground in the Gryffindor common room that morning. Hermione had shut Crookshanks in her dormitory, but was furious with Ron for trying to kick him; Ron was still fuming about Crookshanks's fresh attempt to eat Scabbers. Harry gave up trying to make them talk to each other and devoted himself to examining the Firebolt, which he had brought down to the common room with him. This seemed to annoy Hermione as well; she didn't say anything, but she kept looking darkly at the broom as though it too had been criticizing her cat.

Iris knew why Hermione was being like that to the broom, she thought Sirius Black could have jinxed it. Iris had to somewhat agree with that but decided not to tell Hermione about the locket, as she already felt possessive over it. The young witch felt a deep connection to it, maybe it was the picture of her family, but she believed it was something more.

At lunchtime they went down to the Great Hall, to find that the House tables had been moved against the walls again and that a single table, set for twelve, stood in the middle of the room. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were there, along with Filch, the caretaker, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather moldy-looking tailcoat. There were only two other students, an extremely nervous-looking first year and a sullen-faced Slytherin fifth year.

"Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore as Iris, Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached the table. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables...Sit down, sit down!"

Iris, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down side by side at the end of the table.

"Crackers!" said Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver noisemaker to Snape, who took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large, pointed witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture.

Iris, remembering the Boggart, covered her mouth to hold back a snort; Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who swapped it for his wizard's hat at once.

"Dig in!" he advised the table, beaming around.

As Iris was helping herself to roast potatoes, the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.

"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!" said Dumbledore, standing up.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest, most faraway voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness..."

"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you up a chair --"

And he did indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream, making Iris jolt in her seat.

"I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

"We'll risk it, Sibyll," said Professor McGonagall impatiently. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."

Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen.

"Tripe, Sibyll?"

Professor Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and said, "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."

"But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised.

Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall a very cold look. Iris watched with wide eyes as the two challenged each other.

"Certainly I knew, Minerva," she said quietly. "But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."

"That explains a great deal," said Professor McGonagall tartly.

Professor Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty.

"If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him --"

"Imagine that," said Professor McGonagall dryly. Iris' eyebrows raised and she let out a little cough.

"I doubt," said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney's conversation, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"

"Yes, Headmaster," said Snape.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Then he should be up and about in no time...Derek, have you had any of the chipolatas? They're excellent."

The first-year boy went furiously red on being addressed directly by Dumbledore and took the platter of sausages with trembling hands.

Professor Trelawney behaved almost normally until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours later. Full to bursting with Christmas dinner and still wearing their cracker hats, Harry and Ron got up first from the table and she shrieked loudly, making Iris jump high in her chair, banging her knees on the underside of the table. She gasped in pain and clutched her knees.

"My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?"

"Dunno," said Ron, looking uneasily at Harry.

"I doubt it will make much difference," said Professor McGonagall coldly, "unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall."

Even Ron laughed. Professor Trelawney looked highly affronted.

"Coming?" Harry said to Iris and Hermione.

"No," Hermione muttered. "I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall."

"Yeah, sure I'll come," Iris said standing up to follow them.

After wishing the Professors a Happy Christmas, Iris left the Great Hall to catch up with Harry and Ron.

When they reached the portrait hole they found Sir Cadogan enjoying a Christmas party with a couple of monks, several previous headmasters of Hogwarts and his fat pony. He pushed up his visor toasted them with a flagon of mead.

"Merry -- hic -- Christmas! Password?"

"Scurvy cur," said Ron.

"And the same to you, sir!" roared Sir Cadogan, as the painting swung forward to admit them.

Iris and Ron waited as Harry went straight up to his dormitory, collected his Firebolt and the Broomstick Servicing Kit Hermione had given him for his birthday, brought them downstairs and tried to find something to do with the Firebolt; however, there where no bent twigs to clip, and the handle was so shiny already it seemed pointless to polish it. He and Ron simply sat admiring it from every angle while Iris read a book she had received from Luna until the portrait hole opened, and Hermione came in, accompanied by Professor McGonagall.

Though Professor McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor House, Iris had only seen her in the common room once before, and that had been to make a very grave announcement. She, Harry and Ron stared at her, both boys holding the Firebolt. Hermione walked around them, sat down, picked up the nearest book and hid her face behind it.

"So that's it, is it?" said Professor McGonagall beadily, walking over to the fireside and staring at the Firebolt. "Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter."

Iris slouched down in her chair as if to hide from this conversation, her head bobbing back and forth between Hermione and the boys. Harry and Ron looked around at Hermione. They could all see her forehead reddening over the top of her book, which was upside-down.

"May I?" said Professor McGonagall, but she didn't wait for an answer before pulling the Firebolt out of their hands. She examined it carefully from handle to twig-ends. "Hmm. And there was no note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind? And you, Miss Potter, did not receive anything like this, correct?"

"No," said Iris and Harry in unison, answering different questions. Iris didn't know why she lied, she just had a feeling in her gut that she couldn't shake.

"I see..." said Professor McGonagall. "Well, I'm afraid I will have to take this, Potter."

"W -- what?" said Harry, scrambling to his feet. "Why?"

"It will need to be checked for jinxes," said Professor McGonagall. "Of course, I'm no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down --"

"Strip it down?" repeated Ron, as though Professor McGonagall was mad. Iris' mouth had dropped open, as she gaped slightly at the Professor's remark.

"It shouldn't take more than a few weeks," said Professor McGonagall. "You will have it back if we are sure it is jinx-free."

"There's nothing wrong with it!" said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. "Honestly, Professor --"

"You can't know that, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, quite kindly, "not until you've flown it, at any rate, and I'm afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed."

Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait hole, which closed behind her. Harry stood staring after her, the tin of High-Finish Polish still clutched in his hands. Ron, however, rounded on Hermione. Iris winced, preparing for another argument.

"What did you go running to McGonagall for?"

Hermione threw her book aside. She was still pink in the face, but stood up and faced Ron defiantly.

"Because I thought -- and Professor McGonagall agrees with me -- that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!"

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Well, it's only been a million years.

I am SO sorry this took me forever to write. I literally lost all motivation and inspiration to write for the last few months, but I'm getting back into the groove now I hope.

Fingers-crossed that you can expect some more updates coming soon!

Also, thank you all so so much for getting this story to 5k reads! I have no idea why people continued to read this, but it really means a lot. Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments that were left, they really helped motivate me to just get off my butt and do something haha.

<3 <3