(18. a tragedy indeed )

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A HAND shook Iris gently but insistently awake. She knew something was wrong before her eyes even opened.

"Miss Greer," came the low, urgent voice of Professor McGonagall. "You need to come with me. Now."

Iris blinked groggily, the hazy blur of the dormitory sharpening into focus. McGonagall stood by her bed, her usually unflappable demeanor looking rattled. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and she was still in her night gown. Why was McGonagall in the Slytherin tower?

"Professor?" Iris murmured, sitting up. "What's—"

"Not here," McGonagall cut her off, glancing warily at the other sleeping girls. "Bring your wand."

Iris nodded, slipping quietly out of bed. As she stood, she shifted her pillow just enough to obscure the forbidden book hidden beneath it.

The castle was eerily silent as they walked, the sound of their hurried footsteps amplified in the cold, empty corridors. Shadows danced on the stone walls, the flickering torchlight making the castle feel more like a labyrinth than ever before. Iris felt the hairs on her arms stand on end.

When they reached the stone griffin guarding Dumbledore's office, it sprang aside without the need for a password. McGonagall gestured for her to go up first, her face tight with concern.

Dumbledore's office was fuller than she'd ever seen it. The Weasley children huddled together—Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny—each one pale and distraught, their pajamas wrinkled from hurried dressing. Harry stood apart, his face ashen, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Professor Snape was in the corner too, looking unusually worried much to Iris's surprise.

"Ah, Miss Greer," Dumbledore greeted her gravely from behind his desk. His usual twinkle was absent, his blue eyes somber. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"What's happened?" Iris asked, her voice steady but her stomach twisting into knots.

"There's been an attack," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Weasley was injured while working at the Ministry. He is alive but has been taken to St. Mungo's for treatment."

The breath Iris hadn't realized she'd been holding released in a rush. "But why am I..."

"Before he was attacked, he witnessed something concerning," Dumbledore continued. "Your father was there, Miss Greer, in circumstances that confirm what we have long suspected of his... allegiances."

Her stomach dropped. "He's joined Him."

"Yes." Dumbledore's eyes were heavy as they rested on her. "And given your condition—the Crimson Veil Syndrome—we believe you may be in danger if you return home for the holidays."

Iris felt her face heat as several heads turned sharply in her direction. Fred and George exchanged surprised looks, while Ginny's eyes widened in recognition of the disease name. Harry's expression shifted from confusion to understanding—clearly connecting it to what he'd overheard during her confrontation with Malfoy. Only Ron's face remained unchanged, though his eyes were fixed on her with concern.

"Your disease," Dumbledore continued gently, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the reactions around the room, "has its origins in dark magic. It could, in the wrong hands, be twisted into something else entirely. Something far more dangerous."

Iris lifted her chin slightly, refusing to acknowledge the mix of surprise and pity in some of their faces. She'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.

"We kept this information from you," McGonagall added gently, "because we thought it best to protect you. And to keep such knowledge away from... interested parties."

"Interested parties," Iris echoed bitterly. "You mean my father."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Precisely. But we have reason to believe he now knows of your true potential."

Iris pressed her lips together, her mind a whirlwind. "So what happens now?"

"Mrs. Weasley has kindly offered to host you over the holidays," Dumbledore said. "She and the children will be staying somewhere safe and unplottable. The choice, of course, is yours, but we strongly advise against returning home."

Her eyes darted briefly to the others. Ron's face was drawn with worry, while Fred and George had lost their usual mischievous expressions, now looking at her with a new understanding. Even Harry's gaze held something different when it met hers—not pity, exactly, but a kind of recognition.

"I'll go," Iris said finally, keeping her voice steady despite the weight of their stares. "But I'll need to pack. And... write to my parents. I wouldn't want them to be suspicious of anything..."

୨ৎ

The walk back to the dungeons was silent. McGonagall had insisted on escorting her, though neither spoke. Iris's thoughts were racing too quickly to form words.

When they reached the Slytherin common room, McGonagall waited at the entrance. "I'll give you ten minutes," she said softly. "Take only what you need."

Inside, the dormitory was still and quiet. But as Iris opened her trunk, the rustling woke Jade.

"Iris?" Jade's voice was groggy but concerned. "What's going on?"

"I have to go," Iris replied shortly, her hands trembling as she began grabbing clothes. "There's been an attack. Mr. Weasley. At the Ministry."

Jade sat up fully, her expression sharpening. "Is he—"

"He's alive." Iris's voice cracked slightly. "But he saw my father there. With them. Jade it's official now. He's chosen to follow him."

"Oh, Iris..." Jade slid out of bed, moving to help her friend. "Stop. You're packing your winter robes with your potions kit." She gently took the clothes from Iris's shaking hands.

"Thanks," Iris mumbled, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Jade worked silently for a moment before asking, "Where are you going?"

"With the Weasleys. Somewhere safe, apparently." Iris let out a shaky laugh. "And as if that weren't enough, turns out my 'condition' is even more tied to dark magic than we thought. Dumbledore says it could be weaponized. That's why I can't go home."

Jade froze mid-fold. "Wait. Weaponised? How could we have missed—"

"I hadn't read that far into the book," Iris admitted. "But i think Dumbledore knows I took it. I think he wanted me to find it. He practically handed me the clue tonight."

Jade glanced at the other sleeping girls before lowering her voice. "Do you think your mother knew?"

"Not until recently. But it all makes sense now. Why she came so suddenly to visit me, she's never been interested in the potions or my condition before." Iris ran a hand through her hair. "They've both been lying to me, Jade."

Jade placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Not everyone, though. You've got me. And the Weasleys, apparently. Merlin knows Ron won't let you out of his sight."

Iris managed a small smile but kept silent for once.

The letter to her parents was harder than Iris had anticipated. She wanted to unleash all the anger boiling in her chest but knew it wouldn't make a difference. They wouldn't care.

Mother and Father,

I've decided to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Please don't concern yourselves with my whereabouts.

Iris.

"That's all you're writing?" Jade asked, peering over her shoulder.

"That's all they deserve," Iris muttered, sealing the letter with a sharp flick of her wand.

"Here." Jade reached into her trunk and pulled out a small silver pendant on a chain. "It's got protection charms. My grandmother gave it to me, but you need it more right now."

"Jade, I can't—"

"Shut up and take it," Jade interrupted, fastening the chain around her neck. "And you'd better write to me. Even if you can't say where you are."

"I will," Iris promised, her throat tightening.

Jade hugged her fiercely. "Be careful. And tell George... tell him I said hi."

Iris raised an eyebrow. "That's all? No hexes or threats?"

Jade rolled her eyes. "Fine. Tell him if he doesn't keep an eye on you, I'll hex him into next week."

"That's more like it." Iris smiled faintly, squeezing her friend's hand.

When McGonagall escorted her back through the castle, the weight of everything finally settled on Iris's shoulders. She wasn't just leaving the dormitory. She was leaving the familiarity of her life behind—her home, her parents, even the fractured truths she'd once believed.

As they neared the front doors, Iris glanced at McGonagall. "Professor... do you think Dumbledore was right? About my father?"

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line. "Dumbledore is rarely wrong. And who are we to accuse Mr Weasley of lying."

Iris nodded, though it wasn't the reassurance she'd wanted.

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