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It was a quiet morning for Iris. She sat in a window seat in an empty corridor for a good part of it, watching raindrops race down the glass as a heavy downpour fell from the clouds above. The gloomy grey skies perfectly reflected her mood.

The time passed quicker than she would have liked, and soon enough, noon was approaching and she realized she had to leave to meet with Hermione and her brother. Iris slowly ambled down the staircases and to the front entrance. She couldn't say she was very excited to be going to Hogsmeade.

Nevertheless, Iris stepped outside, the rain meeting her instantly. She tilted her chin up toward the sky, closing her eyes and letting the drops collide with her face. The girl took a deep breath of the misty air, her facade cracking for only a second as her lips fought into a frown that threatened to let out a dry sob. Iris pushed away the lump in her throat and began walking.

By the time she arrived to Hogsmeade, her olive green cloak had turned a darker shade and was completely soaked through, along with the rest of her clothing and hair.

Outside Dervish and Banges, a large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. As she walked past, Iris found herself staring once more at the ten pictures of the escaped Death Eaters. The poster ("By Order of the Ministry of Magic") offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information relating to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured.

She could see people talking lowly about it all over. Their thoughts intruded into hers but they were right— so much fuss had been made when Sirius had escaped, Hogsmeade and the entire castle grounds were surrounded by dementors at all times, but now there wasn't one anywhere in sight. Iris knew it meant they had truly escaped Ministry control and had turned to Voldemort.

She continued on until she finally reached the door of The Three Broomsticks. Upon entering, Iris pulled her wand out and waved it from head down her body, a breeze blowing over her and drying Iris immediately.

"Iris! Iris, over here!"

Hermione was waving at her from the other side of the room. Iris made her way toward her through the crowded pub. She was still a few tables away when she realized that Hermione was not alone; she was sitting at a table with the unlikeliest pair of drinking mates she could ever have imagined: Luna Lovegood and none other than Rita Skeeter, ex-journalist on the Daily Prophet and one of Hermione and Iris' least favourite people in the world.

Iris reached at the table, eyeing the blonde woman cautiously as she slid into the booth beside Hermione muttering a quiet greeting. Rita eyed her closely but didn't say a word. Every few seconds Iris thought she saw the woman's hand twitch toward her bag, looking like she was desperate to pull out her writing utensils.

"We're just waiting for Harry now, but I expect he's likely to be a bit longer," Hermione announced to the table.

She was not entirely accurate, however, as Iris' twin came running into the pub just minutes later, sans Cho Chang. When he caught sight of the girls, Harry briskly walked over to join them.

"You're early!" said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. "I thought you were with Cho, I wasn't expecting you for another half-hour at least!"

"Cho?" said Rita at once, twisting around in her seat to stare avidly at Harry. "A girl?— And what about you, Iris? Anyone special?"

She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it. Iris blanched at the blatant nerve of the writer.

"It's none of your business if Harry's been with a hundred girls, and don't even think about asking about Iris' relationships again," Hermione told Rita coolly. "So you can put that away right now."

Rita had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again. Iris' chest had begun to seize up but she forced herself to take a deep breath, silently thanking Hermione for having her back.

"What are you up to?" Harry asked, sitting down and staring from Rita to Luna to Iris and Hermione.

"Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived," said Rita, taking a large slurp of her drink. "I suppose I'm allowed to talk to them, am I?" she shot at Hermione.

"Yes, I suppose you are," said Hermione coldly.

Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels missing from her winged glasses. She took another great gulp of her drink and said out of the corner of her mouth, "Pretty girl, is she, Harry?"

"One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise," said Hermione irritably.

"What deal?" said Rita, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days..." She took a deep shuddering breath.

"Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry, Iris, and me," said Hermione indifferently. "Find someone who cares, why don't you?"

"They've run plenty of horrible stories about those two this year without my help," said Rita, shooting a sideways look at him over the top of her glass and adding in a rough whisper, "How has that made you two feel? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"

"They feel angry, of course," said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. "Because they've told the Minister of Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe them."

"So you actually stick to it, do you, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?" said Rita, lowering her glass and subjecting the twins to a piercing stare while her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. "You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you two being the sole witnesses — ?"

"We weren't the sole witness," snarled Harry. "There were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?"

Iris had stilled in her seat, paling. She did not want to think about that night.

"I'd love them," breathed Rita, now fumbling in her bag once more and gazing at him as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. "A great bold headline: 'Potters Accuse...' A subheading: 'Potter Twins Name Death Eaters Still Among Us.' And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you two: 'Disturbed teenage survivors of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry and Iris Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the Wizarding community of being Death Eaters...' "

The Quick-Quotes Quill was actually in her hand and halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression died out of her face.

"But of course," she said, lowering the quill and looking daggers at Hermione, "Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?"

"As a matter of fact," said Hermione sweetly, "that's exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want."

Rita stared at her. So did Iris and Harry. Luna, on the other hand, hummed a jolly tune dreamily under her breath and stirred her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick.

"You want me to report what they say about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Rita asked Hermione in a hushed voice.

"Yes, I do," said Hermione. "The true story. All the facts. Exactly as Harry and Iris report them. They'll give you all the details, they'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters they saw there, they'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now — oh, get a grip on yourself," she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for at the sound of Voldemort's name, Rita had jumped so badly that she had slopped half her glass of firewhisky down herself.

Rita blotted the front of her grubby raincoat, still staring at Hermione. Then she said baldly, "The Prophet wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes this cock-and-bull story. Everyone thinks they're delusional. Now, if you let me write the story from that angle —"

"We don't need another story about how the two of them have lost their marbles!" said Hermione angrily. "We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want them given the opportunity to tell the truth!"

"There's no market for a story like that," said Rita coldly.

"You mean the Prophet won't print it because Fudge won't let them," said Hermione irritably.

Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forward across the table toward her, she said in a businesslike tone, "All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough. People just don't want to believe You-Know-Who's back."

"So the Daily Prophet exists to tell people what they want to hear, does it?" said Hermione scathingly.

Rita sat up straight again, her eyebrows raised, and drained her glass of firewhisky.

"The Prophet exists to sell itself, you silly girl," she said coldly.

"My dad thinks it's an awful paper," said Luna, chipping into the conversation unexpectedly. Sucking on her cocktail onion, she gazed at Rita with her enormous, protuberant, slightly mad eyes. "He publishes important stories that he thinks the public needs to know. He doesn't care about making money."

Rita looked disparagingly at Luna.

"I'm guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter?" she said. "'Twenty-five Ways to Mingle with Muggles' and the dates of the next Bring-and-Fly Sale?"

"No," said Luna, dipping her onion back into her gillywater, "he's the editor of The Quibbler."

Rita snorted so loudly that people at a nearby table looked around in alarm.

"'Important stories he thinks the public needs to know'?" she said witheringly. "I could manure my garden with the contents of that rag."

"Well, this is your chance to raise the tone of it a bit, isn't it?" said Hermione pleasantly. "Luna says her father's quite happy to take Harry's interview. That's who'll be publishing it."

Rita stared at them both for a moment and then let out a great whoop of laughter.

"The Quibbler!" she said, cackling. "You think people will take him seriously if he's published in The Quibbler?"

"Some people won't," said Hermione in a level voice. "But the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative story available, even if it is published in a" — she glanced sideways at Luna, "in a — well, an unusual magazine — I think they might be rather keen to read it."

Rita did not say anything for a while, but eyed Hermione shrewdly, her head a little to one side.

"All right, let's say for a moment I'll do it," she said abruptly. "What kind of fee am I going to get?"

"I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine," said Luna dreamily. "They do it because it's an honour, and, of course, to see their names in print."

Rita Skeeter looked as though the taste of Stinksap was strong in her mouth again as she rounded on Hermione. "I'm supposed to do this for free?"

"Well, yes," said Hermione calmly, taking a sip of her drink. "Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban..."

Rita looked as though she would have liked nothing better than to seize the paper umbrella sticking out of Hermione's drink and thrust it up her nose.

"I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" said Rita, her voice shaking slightly. She opened her crocodile bag once more, withdrew a piece of parchment, and raised her Quick-Quotes Quill.

"Daddy will be pleased," said Luna brightly. A muscle twitched in Rita's jaw.

"Okay, Harry?" said Hermione, turning to him. "Ready to tell the public the truth?"

"I suppose," said Harry, watching Rita balancing the Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready on the parchment between them.

"Fire away, then, Rita," said Hermione serenely, fishing a cherry out of the bottom of her glass.

They were only a few minutes into the interview and Iris hadn't spoken a word. Harry was doing all the talking and Iris could do nothing but stare at the table. She did not want to hear about it, or talk about it, or even think about it, but she was being forced to relive it. It wasn't until Rita asked Iris a very direct question that she felt something twist in her gut.

Iris quite suddenly turned to Harry and gestured in a way asking him to stand up from their side of the booth. "Sorry, I just— I'm gonna run to the loo."

Harry, who had taken immediate notice of her silence until then, watched her with worry in his eyes but stood anyway to let her go. Iris shakily stood and walked quickly toward the washroom door at the back of the building, her legs feeling like jelly.

She pushed the door open somewhat violently, and stumbled her way in, struggling to catch her breath. She noticed with relief that the room was empty. She walked over to the sinks, placing her hands on the countertop and hunching over gasping for air.

Her heart was thudding dramatically in her chest and she could feel her eyes start to well up with tears that immediately shed, streaming down her face. Iris' vision tunnelled and she sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably. She knew she was in for it once the first voice whispered to her. It was like the buzzing of a hundred bees that only kept getting louder and louder. Iris bent forward, putting her elbows on the counter to hold herself up and dropped her head into her hands, uselessly covering her ears as though it would ease the noise. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, waves of tears pouring down her cheeks.

She felt dizzy like she would pass out at any moment. And then, through it all, she heard someone calling her name.

"Iris, it's okay, you're fine."

She couldn't see who was speaking, her vision was obscured by the glossiness of tears, and wavered in and out of black splotches that made her nauseous. Iris sobbed harder, backing up until she hit a wall and grabbed at it trying to find something material to ground her. She slid down against it until she was sitting.

"Iris," a calming voice said.

The girl saw a face just in front of hers, a familiar bespectacled boy with concern sparkling in his green eyes.

"Hey... look at me, I'm right here," he said gently, his voice sounding so far away in her head.

Iris was gasping for breath in between her cries, unable to fill her lungs to capacity. Through her faded eyesight, she saw a hand held out before her, an offer if she wished to take it. She fumbled for it and when she made contact, Iris inhaled sharply with relief.

Harry took her hand and guided it to his chest, placing her palm flat over his beating heart. She focused on the slow, steady rhythm of it and closed her eyes tightly, trying to contain her out of control heart rate. Her cries quieted and her sporadic gasping calmed.

After a minute, Iris opened her eyes, tears sticking to her eyelashes like morning dew on grass. Her lips trembled in a frown as she looked at Harry, who was knelt down before her.

"Harry..." Iris said, choked up, "I can't." She shook her head, her eyes wide with a plea, begging him to not make her do the interview any longer.

He stared at her softly, then said, "Okay. You don't have to, I can finish it."

Iris sat forward and pulled her brother into a hug, clutching him tightly.

"Iris," Harry said quietly over her shoulder, "I didn't know him like you did." Her grip tensed. "I can't speak about him the same way..." he paused and held her tighter, as if to let her know her would never let her go, "This is the one opportunity we'll have to tell our story... and his." Harry pulled back to look into her glassy eyes, "I hate asking, and I won't make you, but just think about it."

Her lips trembled. Iris wiped at her eyes, saying, "I thought it would get easier. It'll be eight months next week... eight months, and I still remember like it was yesterday." Her voice sounded hollow.

"I get nightmares too," Harry said quietly, looking sympathetic.

Iris' hazel eyes locked in with her brother's green, and she just searched them for a moment. She sniffled one last time before tearfully saying, "Okay."

With that, Harry took her hand and led her back out to a waiting Rita.

The next time she was asked a question, Iris began speaking, fully telling her story for the first time.

It wasn't until days later that the aftermath of that interview really took hold. The morning the article was published, the twins received a sudden and very unusual influx of mail. They entered the Great Hall for breakfast at exactly the same moment as the post owls on Monday morning. Hermione was not the only person eagerly awaiting her Daily Prophet: Nearly everyone was eager for more news about the escaped Death Eaters, who, despite many reported sightings, had still not been caught. She gave the delivery owl a Knut and unfolded the newspaper eagerly while Harry helped himself to orange juice, and Iris to a piece of toast; as they had each only received one note during the entire year they were sure, when the first owl landed with a thud in front of Harry, that it had made a mistake.

"Who're you after?" he asked it, languidly removing his orange juice from underneath its beak and leaning forward to see the recipient's name and address.

Frowning, he made to take the letter from the owl, but before he could do so, three, four, five more owls had fluttered down beside it and were jockeying for position, treading in the butter, knocking over the salt, and each attempting to give him or Iris their letters first.

Iris was pulled into a staring contest with a wide-eyed bird standing right in front of her, her mouth full with her half-eaten toast as she had been caught greatly off guard by the intrusion.

"What's going on?" Ron asked in amazement, as the whole of Gryffindor table leaned forward to watch as another seven owls landed amongst the first ones, screeching, hooting, and flapping their wings.

"Guys!" said Hermione breathlessly, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylindrical package. "I think I know what this means — open this one first!"

Iris ripped off the brown packaging. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of March's edition of The Quibbler. She unrolled it, Harry peering over her shoulder, to see her own face alongside his, grinning sheepishly at them from the front cover. In large red letters across the twin's picture were the words:

THE POTTERS SPEAK OUT AT LAST:

THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT WE SAW HIM RETURN

"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself onto the bench between Fred and Ron. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these," she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Iris and Harry, "are letters from readers."

"That's what I thought," said Hermione eagerly, "D'you two mind if we — ?"

"Help yourself," said Harry, looking slightly bemused. Iris nodded along.

Ron and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes. They read many of them aloud, Fred and George getting in on it too. It seemed to be a random mix of people voicing their support, calling them crazy, or unable to make up their minds between the two.

"What is going on here?" said a falsely sweet, girlish voice.

Iris looked up with her hands full of envelopes. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of the twins. Behind her, Iris saw many of the students watching them avidly.

"Why have you got all these letters, Potters?" she asked slowly.

"Is that a crime now?" said Fred loudly. "Getting mail?"

"Be careful, Mr Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention," said Umbridge. "Well?" she reiterated.

Harry hesitated and exchanged a glance with Iris, but neither of them could see how they could keep what they had done quiet; it was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge's attention.

"People have written to us because we gave an interview," said Harry. "About what happened to us last June."

Iris followed her brother's gaze as he said it, and watched his eyes drift to the staff table. She had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore had been watching them a second before, but when she looked, Dumbledore seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Professor Flitwick. Iris had not spoken directly to him in a while; Umbridge had been narrowing her security in the castle making it harder for Iris to get anywhere near the Headmaster.

"An interview?" repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. "What do you mean?"

"I mean a reporter asked us questions and we answered them," said Harry, again speaking for the both of them. "Here —"

And he threw the copy of The Quibbler at her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.

"When did you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Iris.

Umbridge looked up at them, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers.

"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you both, Potter," she whispered. "How dare you... how could you..." She took a deep breath. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions each."

She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.

Iris let out a shaky breath, not sure whether she felt more pride for what they had done or fear of how the professor would retaliate.

The happiness Iris had felt in the aftermath of The Quibbler interview had long since evaporated. As a dull March blurred into a squally April, her life seemed to have become one long series of worries and problems again. During that period of time, Iris had started a correspondence with a certain set of twins from the Shielded organization.

The Mattonere girls were a subject of great interest and delight to Iris. She had met one of them, Rory, the past autumn but had yet to officially meet her sister, Jessica. Their communications were filled with discussions of books they were reading or spells they had learned, but most exciting to Iris, was when they wrote to her about their special abilities. Rory had a way with ice, physically producing a freeze on demand, but Jessica had freeze control in a more metaphorical sense. With just a touch she could render someone paralyzed, and with enough concentration, she could actually freeze their heartbeat while still preserving their living body.

Rory and Jessica kept Iris updated on news within the Shielded. The girls told her about the other twins, those Iris had met and those she hadn't. With a delicate hand, they spoke of Kai often, seemingly testing the waters with them, unsure of exactly how Iris felt towards the boy.

She hadn't seen or spoken to him since winter break, but Iris thought about him more than she cared to admit. She barely knew this boy. They had only been friends for mere months, and yet, she had felt a connection with him that was so real— so natural, that without it she could feel his absence every day.

Also in that time, Iris had begun pushing her limits. Every night before falling asleep she would clear her mind and travel to another. The legilimens would shift from person to person, traversing across dreamscapes until it lulled her to sleep. She would attempt someone further and further from her body each time, and finally, one night she was strong enough to reach a sleeping villager in Hogsmeade.

Meanwhile, as the teachers and Hermione persisted in reminding them, the O.W.L.s were drawing ever nearer. All the fifth years were suffering from stress to some degree, but Hannah Abbott became the first to receive a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey after she burst into tears during Herbology and sobbed that she was too stupid to take exams and wanted to leave school now.

If it had not been for the D.A. lessons, Iris was certain she would have been extremely unhappy. Sometimes she felt like she was living for the hours she spent in the Room of Requirement, working hard but thoroughly enjoying herself at the same time, swelling with pride as she looked around at her fellow D.A. members and saw how far they had come. It brought a flush of excitement to Iris whenever she thought of how Umbridge was going to react when all the members of the D.A. received "Outstanding" in their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s.

They had finally started work on Patronuses, which everybody had been very keen to practice, though as Harry kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was very different to producing it when confronted by something like a dementor.

"Oh, don't be such a killjoy," said Cho brightly, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during their last lesson before Easter. "They're so pretty!"

"They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you," said Harry patiently. "What we really need is a boggart or something; that's how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the boggart was pretending to be a dementor —"

"Harry you're such a buzzkill," Iris cut him off lightly. She raised her voice to his level to address everyone, "While he has a point that Patronuses are meant for the worst situations— yes, they are pretty. They should be... your Patronus is a manifestation of your happiest memories and all of your hope."

Neville was having trouble. His face was screwed up in concentration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip. "Pause for a moment and just think it over. Find your happy place, the memory that brings you the most joy," Iris gently reminded him.

"I'm trying," said Neville miserably, who was trying so hard his round face was actually shining with sweat. "What do you think of?"

Iris frowned slightly, "I... I haven't produced one in a while. I'm not really sure anymore..."

"Hey, I think I'm doing it!" yelled Seamus, who had been brought along to his first ever D.A. meeting by Dean. "Look — ah — it's gone... But it was definitely something hairy!"

Hermione's Patronus, a shining silver otter, was gambolling around her.

"They are sort of nice, aren't they?" she said, looking at it fondly.

The door of the Room of Requirement opened and then closed again; Iris looked around to see who had entered, but there did not seem to be anybody there. It was a few moments before she realized that the people close to the door had fallen silent. The next thing she knew, something was tugging at her robes somewhere near the knee. She looked down and saw, to her very great astonishment, Dobby the house-elf peering up at her from beneath his usual eight hats.

"Hi, Dobby!" Harry said, walking up beside her. "What are you — what's wrong?"

For the elf's eyes were wide with terror and he was shaking. The members of the D.A. closest to the twins had fallen silent now: Everybody in the room was watching Dobby. The few Patronuses people had managed to conjure faded away into silver mist, making the room look much darker than before.

"Issy Potter, miss..." squeaked the elf, trembling from head to foot, "Harry Potter, sir... Dobby has come to warn you... but the house-elves have been warned not to tell..."

He ran headfirst at the wall: Harry, who had some experience of Dobby's habits of self-punishment, made to seize him, but Dobby merely bounced off the stone, cushioned by his eight hats. Hermione and a few of the other girls let out squeaks of fear and sympathy.

"What's happened, Dobby?" Iris asked, grabbing the elf's tiny arm and holding him away from anything with which he might seek to hurt himself.

"Issy Potter... she... she..."

Dobby hit himself hard on the nose with his free fist: Harry seized that too.

"Who's 'she,' Dobby?"

But Iris thought she knew — surely only one "she" could induce such fear in Dobby? The elf looked up at them, slightly cross-eyed, and mouthed wordlessly.

"Umbridge?" asked Harry, horrified.

Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head off Harry's knees; Harry held him at bay.

"What about her? Dobby — she hasn't found out about this — about us — about the D.A.?"

Iris read the answer on the elf's stricken face. His hands held fast by Harry, the elf tried to kick himself and fell to the floor.

"Is she coming?" Iris asked quietly.

Dobby let out a howl and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor. "Yes, yes!"

Iris looked at Harry with horror filling her eyes. Harry straightened up and looked around at the motionless, terrified people gazing at the thrashing elf.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Harry bellowed. "RUN!"

They all pelted toward the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through; Iris could hear them sprinting along the corridors and hoped they had the sense not to try and make it all the way to their dormitories. It was only ten to nine, if they just took refuge in the library or the Owlery, which were both nearer —

"Iris, Harry, come on!" shrieked Hermione from the centre of the knot of people now fighting to get out.

Harry scooped up Dobby, who was still attempting to do himself serious injury, and they ran with the elf in his arms to join the back of the queue.

"Dobby — this is an order — get back down to the kitchen with the other elves, and if she asks you whether you warned me, lie and say no!" said Harry.

"And I forbid you to hurt yourself!" Iris added, Harry dropping the elf as they made it over the threshold at last with Iris slamming the door behind them.

"Thank you, Miss and Sir!" squeaked Dobby, and he streaked off.

Iris glanced left and right, the others were all moving so fast that she caught only glimpses of flying heels at either end of the corridor before they vanished.

"Come on!" Iris said, her heart pumping violently.

She grabbed her brother's arm and dragged him with her. They started to run right; there were bathrooms up ahead, they could pretend they'd been in there all the time if they could just reach it —

"AAARGH!"

Harry went flying towards the floor first, and Iris was too slow to react before she followed suit. Something caught her around the ankles and she fell spectacularly, skidding along on her front for six feet, banging both her knees and probably scuffing up her arms, before coming to a halt. Someone behind them was laughing. Iris rolled over onto her back and saw Malfoy concealed in a niche beneath an ugly dragon-shaped vase.

"Trip Jinx, Potter!" he said. "Hey, Professor — PROFESSOR! I've got them!"

Umbridge came bustling around the far corner, breathless but wearing a delighted smile.

"Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good — fifty points to Slytherin!" she said jubilantly at the sight of Iris and Harry on the floor. "I'll take them from here... Stand up, Potters!"

The twins got to their feet, glaring at the pair of them. Iris had never seen Umbridge looking so happy. She seized one arm each of theirs in a vicelike grip and turned, beaming broadly, to Malfoy. "You hop along and see if you can round up any more of them, Draco," she said. "Tell the others to look in the library — anybody out of breath — check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls' ones — off you go — and you," she added in her softest, most dangerous voice, as Malfoy walked away. "You two can come with me to the headmaster's office, Potters."

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as usual, sorry for the wait, but I hope the extra long chapter made up for it even slightly!