(20. a christmas gift )

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THE LIBRARY was nothing like the one at Hogwarts. Where the school library was vast and airy, this one felt like it was holding its breath - all dark wood and leather-bound volumes with titles in languages Iris only half-recognized.

Iris had claimed a worn leather armchair by the window, curled up with her feet tucked beneath her and an ancient tome about defensive magic balanced on her knees. The book's pages were brittle with age, and she had to squint to make out some of the faded text.

The creak of floorboards announced someone's arrival before she saw them. She recognized Ron's footsteps - they were different from the twins' purposeful stride or Ginny's lighter tread.

"Hiding?" Ron asked, dropping into the chair opposite her. His hair was mussed like he'd been running his hands through it, probably from helping his mother with whatever Christmas preparations she'd recruited him for.

"Reading," she corrected, though they both knew she was barely seeing the words. "Though the quiet is nice."

"Still weird seeing you here," he said, studying her with an expression that made her stomach do an odd flip. "If someone had told me three months ago that you'd be spending Christmas with us..."

"You'd have had them committed to St. Mungo's?"

"Probably," he grinned. Then more seriously, "Mental, though isn't it? All of this. You being here, Dad getting attacked, the DA..." He trailed off, watching her. "Have you told your parents where you are?"

Iris let out a sharp laugh that held no humor. "God no. Can you imagine? 'Dear Mother and Father, spending Christmas with Weasleys and fugitives. Happy holidays.'" She shook her head, closing the book in her lap. "I told them I was staying at school to study. Probably the only excuse they'd actually believe."

"Bit scary how good you are at lying to them," Ron said, but his tone was understanding rather than accusatory. There was something in his eyes that made her think he was starting to understand more about her life than she'd meant to reveal.

"Years of practice," Iris murmured, then caught his concerned expression. "Don't look at me like that, Weasley. Not all of us had the luxury of growing up in a family where the truth was actually an option."

She expected him to argue or offer platitudes, but instead he just nodded. "Harry gets it, you know. The lying to survive bit. Reckon that's why he wanted you here as much as any of us."

Before she could process that, Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed up from below, calling everyone for dinner. The scent of roasting turkey and herbs had been teasing them all afternoon, making even the dusty library smell festive.

When the came into the kitchen it had been transformed. Garlands hung from every surface, enchanted candles floated near the ceiling, and the long table was set with what looked like the Black family's finest china - though someone (probably the twins) had charmed the painted flowers to occasionally stick out their tongues at passing diners.

Iris found herself seated between Ron and Hermione, who had arrived that afternoon looking windswept and carrying an enormous stack of books that had made Ron groan, "It's Christmas, Hermione!" She'd simply rolled her eyes and muttered something about "holiday research."

The door opened again to reveal Harry and Sirius who walked slowly into the room. Molly immediately gave Harry a tight hug, beckoning him to sit down.

"Now then," Molly announced once everyone was settled, "just one present each tonight. The rest are for morning!"

She began distributing packages wrapped in cheerful paper with little golden snitches that actually flew around the surface, occasionally bumping into each other and changing direction. When she placed one in front of Iris, it was surprisingly soft and light.

"Molly," she started, her throat tight with unexpected emotion, "you didn't have to-"

"Nonsense, dear," Molly said firmly, her warm brown eyes brooking no argument. "Everyone gets a Christmas Eve present. No exceptions."

With trembling fingers, Iris unwrapped the package to reveal a hand-knitted jumper in deep forest green, with a silvery 'I' worked into the front. She ran her fingers over the soft wool, realizing with a start that this wasn't just any gift - this was something made specifically for her, hours of work and thought put into every stitch.

She looked up to find Harry watching her with understanding. He was already wearing his own jumper, a deep burgundy with a golden 'H'. When their eyes met, he gave her a small nod that somehow conveyed exactly what this moment meant - being included, being chosen, being part of something.

Mr. Weasley stood carefully, still moving gingerly from his injuries but looking happier than Iris had seen him. He raised his glass, the candlelight catching on the crystal. "To Harry," he said warmly, his voice carrying real emotion, "without whom I wouldn't be here to enjoy this lovely dinner."

"To Harry!" everyone echoed. Iris caught Harry's embarrassed but pleased expression and found herself smiling. She understood suddenly why he spent so much time with the Weasleys - they had a way of making you feel like you belonged, even when you weren't sure you did.

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Later, after the dishes had been cleared and people began drifting off to bed, Iris went looking for Sirius. She found him in the drawing room, examining what looked like an old photograph in the dim lamplight. His expression was distant, lost in memory.

"Family photo?" she asked hesitantly.

He startled slightly, then nodded. "My brother and I, actually. Before everything went... well, before I chose a different path." He studied her for a moment and opened his mouth to say something, but Iris beat him to it.

"Could I ask you something?" When he nodded, she continued, "Is there any way... would it be safe to send letters to Jade? Just to let her know I'm okay?"

His face softened with understanding. "I'm sorry," he said gently, setting the photograph aside. "But we can't risk revealing this location. Even a simple owl could be traced." He paused, then added, "I tried writing to my best friend too, that first summer I ran away. Sometimes the hardest part of choosing your own path is leaving people behind, even temporarily."

"Right," Iris said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Of course. I understand. Goodnight Sirius."

She retreated to her room - now shared with Hermione, who was already there arranging her books in neat piles on the floor between their beds. The room felt different with two people in it, less echoing and strange. Iris had draped her new jumper carefully over the chair, the silvery 'I' catching the lamplight.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, looking up from her organizing. Her hair was escaping from its tie, creating a halo of frizz in the lamplight.

"Not really," Iris admitted, sitting heavily on her bed. The springs creaked beneath her. "I can't contact Jade. I know why, but... she's probably worried sick."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said quietly. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "Can I ask you something? About your condition? Ron wouldn't tell us what it was, and I wondered if maybe I could help somehow with brewing something up or..."

Iris surprised herself by laughing. "Thank you, but unfortunately you wouldn't be able to help in that way." She paused, considering something. "Although... maybe you could help in a different way."

She reached into her trunk, pushing aside clothes and books until her fingers found what they were looking for. The restricted section book felt heavier than she remembered as she pulled it out.

"You're smart, Granger. Probably smarter than most of the professors," Iris said, turning the ancient tome over in her hands. "Snape thinks there might be something in here, but all I could find was dark magic." She watched Hermione lean back slightly at those words, her eyes widening. "I don't want to use dark magic. Thats the last thing I want. But if there's anything in here - anything at all that might help that you could find that I couldn't... I'd be forever in your debt, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly at the use of her first name. She reached for the book slowly, treating it with the reverence Iris had come to expect from her around any text. Her fingers traced the worn spine carefully. "I'll be careful," she said. "And discrete of course. Though..." she hesitated, "you really shouldn't have taken this from the library."

"Are you actually lecturing me about breaking rules?" Iris asked, amused. "After everything with the DA?"

"That's different," Hermione protested, but her lips twitched. "This is..." she opened the book carefully, her expression growing more serious as she scanned the first page. "Oh. I see why Snape thought it might help. Look at this part about blood magic and hereditary curses."

She shifted over on her bed, making space for Iris to sit beside her. The ancient pages crackled as she turned them, her finger tracking lines of text that made Iris's head spin.

"Some of this is in Ancient Runes," Hermione muttered, already reaching for a piece of parchment. "And these diagrams... they're not just about dark magic. They're about understanding how magic flows through bloodlines. How it can be corrupted, but also how it might be..." she trailed off, scribbling furiously.

"How it might be what?"

"Redirected, maybe? Or purified?" Hermione's quill paused. "It's complex. I'll need to cross-reference with some other texts. But..." she looked up at Iris, her expression determined. "There might be something here. Not dark magic, but understanding how it works so we can fight it."

"We?" Iris asked quietly.

"Of course 'we,'" Hermione said matter-of-factly, already making a list of books she'd need. "That's what friends do, isn't it?"

Iris felt something warm bloom in her chest at the casual way Hermione said it. Friends. When had that happened?

They sat in companionable silence after that, Hermione absorbed in the ancient text while Iris watched the snow begin to fall outside their window. Each snowflake caught the lamplight as it fell, creating patterns that reminded her of the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall.

"This part's fascinating," Hermione murmured, more to herself than Iris. "The way they describe magical currents... it's almost like Muggle blood circulation..." She looked up to find Iris fighting back a yawn. "Oh! I'm keeping you up. We should sleep."

"You can keep reading," Iris said, moving to her own bed. "The light doesn't bother me."

Hermione smiled, already turning back to the book. "Happy Christmas, Iris."

"Happy Christmas... Hermione."

Iris fell asleep to the sound of turning pages and Hermione's quill scratching against parchment, feeling, for the first time in days, like she wasn't quite so alone.

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