(o7. studying )

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THE BACK corner of the library was Iris's favorite spot—hidden behind towering shelves of ancient runes texts that hardly anyone ever reached for. The familiar scent of old parchment and dust usually calmed her, but today her hands wouldn't stop fidgeting with the letter McGonagall had handed her on her way in.

Her stomach twisted as she broke the seal, the wax crumbling beneath her fingers. She'd spread her books across the table first—a half-hearted attempt at OWLs revision, as if surrounding herself with schoolwork might somehow soften whatever her father had to say:

Iris,

I trust this letter finds you well. Professor Snape mentioned you seemed unwell in class last week. While I'm sure it was nothing serious, do inform me if you require any additional... assistance. Your mother has been asking after your health more frequently.

However, this is not my primary concern. Professor Umbridge, who I'm sure you recognize as a woman of considerable influence within the Ministry, is forming an Inquisitorial Squad—a select group of students chosen to help maintain order at Hogwarts. Your involvement would be most beneficial to our family's standing.

I expect you to accept any invitation extended. The Greer name carries weight, Iris. Do not disappoint me in this.

Your father, Augustus Greer

Iris stared at the letter, her fingers tightening on the parchment. Her father had never shown this much interest in her wellbeing before. Something about it made her skin prickle with unease.

"Hey."

Iris jumped, the letter crinkling in her suddenly tight grip. Ron Weasley stood in front of her, his lanky frame casting another shadow across her table. He had an armload of books clutched awkwardly to his chest, his prefect badge glinting in the sunlight as he shifted his weight.

"You shouldn't sneak up on someone like that," she snapped, sliding her father's letter beneath her Potions text.

"Didn't mean to." He shifted again, his books threatening to spill. "You're in my spot, Greer."

Iris stared at him, momentarily thrown. Of all the things she expected Ron Weasley to say, that wasn't one of them. "I didn't know you even went to the library, Weasley. Finally learned to read?"

His ears went pink—she'd noticed they always did that when he was angry. "Course I do! Some of us actually have to work for our grades, not just rely on family connections."

"Wow good comeback, Weasley." Iris gave him a cold smile.

"Oh shut up Greer." He hovered awkwardly, the stack of books tilting dangerously.

Iris caught the heavy Advanced Transfiguration text before it could crash to the floor, more out of respect for the book than any desire to help him. "For Merlin's sake, either sit down before you destroy something valuable or find another table."

He finally sank into the chair at the far end of the table, as far from her as possible while still technically sharing the space. The silence that followed was tense and heavy, broken only by the scratching of quills and Ron's occasional, frustrated sighs.

"Could you be any louder?" she snapped when he let out a particularly aggressive huff over his Defense textbook.

"Some of us actually care about learning proper defense," he muttered, not looking up. "Not that you'd understand, being Umbridge's favorite house and all."

Iris's quill stilled. "You really think being a Slytherin means I support that woman?"

"Well, yeah," Ron said, finally looking up at her. "Your lot always ends up—"

"My lot?" Iris cut him off, her voice sharp. She jabbed her finger at Defensive Magical Theory. "You think I enjoy wasting my time with this rubbish? Some of us actually want to learn proper defense, Weasley. In case you haven't noticed, there's a war coming. What's her brilliant plan - we'll defeat dark wizards by reciting chapter three at them?"

Ron stared at her, clearly caught off guard by her vehemence. "I thought—"

"You thought wrong," she snapped, turning back to her work. "Just because I'm a Slytherin doesn't mean I've lost my mind. That woman wouldn't know practical defense if it danced in front of her wearing Fudge's bowler hat."

Something in her tone made him pause. He studied her face for a moment, and she forced herself not to look away. "No," he said finally. "I suppose I don't know anything about your lot after all."

They worked in silence after that, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. But Iris couldn't help noticing that when Madam Pince walked by an hour later, neither of them had moved to find another table.

୨ৎ

The Gryffindor common room had emptied out except for the trio's usual corner by the fire. A half-finished game of wizard's chess sat abandoned on the table—Harry had given up after Ron's queen had taken out his third pawn in as many moves. Ron had been unusually quiet since returning from the library, picking at a loose thread on the armchair while Harry and Hermione discussed their plans for the Hogsmeade meeting.

"I've spoken to Hannah Abbott," Hermione was saying, consulting her ever-expanding list of names. "She's bringing three more Hufflepuffs—including that redhead from Potions, Isla Hollis. And Michael Corner says—"

"What about Greer?" Ron blurted out, then immediately looked like he wished he hadn't spoken.

The silence that followed was deafening. Harry's quill actually slipped from his fingers, leaving a small ink blot on his parchment.

"I'm sorry," Harry said slowly, as if he must have misheard. "Did you just suggest inviting Iris Greer? The Slytherin?"

"Have you gone completely mental?" Hermione added, staring at Ron as though checking for signs of fever.

Ron's ears went bright red. "Just forget it," he muttered, sinking lower in his chair. "It was a stupid idea."

"No, no, I want to hear this," Harry pressed, a mix of disbelief and amusement on his face. "What exactly made you think inviting a Greer would be a good plan? Her father practically lives at the Ministry!"

"I said forget it," Ron snapped, now thoroughly regretting opening his mouth. "Obviously it was mad. Can we just—"

"Actually," Hermione cut in, her voice thoughtful. She'd set down her quill and was staring into the fire with a calculating expression. "It's not entirely mad."

Now it was Harry and Ron's turn to stare at her in disbelief.

"Have you both lost it?" Harry demanded. "She's a Slytherin!"

"Yes, and that's exactly why it might work," Hermione said, sitting up straighter. "Think about it - she got detention with you, Harry, for speaking up against Umbridge. She's clearly not afraid to stand up to authority when she thinks it's wrong. And..." She hesitated, glancing at Ron. "She is rather good at Defense."

"But her family—" Harry started.

"Might be exactly why we need her," Hermione pressed on. "She knows how the other side thinks. And if someone like her joined us..." She trailed off meaningfully.

Ron was looking between them, his expression a mix of surprise and something else he couldn't quite name. He hadn't expected Hermione of all people to support his impulsive suggestion.

"You can't be serious," Harry said, but his voice held less conviction now.

"I am," Hermione said firmly. "Though I have to ask, Ron - what made you think of her?"

"Nothing!" Ron said too quickly, his ears going pink again. "Just... happened to see her in the library earlier. She was going on about how useless Umbridge's teaching is, that's all."

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. "The library? Since when do you—"

"If we're doing this," Ron cut in desperately, "someone needs to actually ask her."

"Oh, that'll be you," Harry said immediately, some of his good humor returning. "It was your idea first."

Ron's stomach dropped. "What? No, it wasn't! Hermione's the one who actually thinks it's a good plan—"

"But you suggested it," Hermione said sweetly, gathering her books. "Besides, you seem to know where to find her in the library."

Ron groaned, slumping further into his chair. He was starting to think he should have kept his mouth shut after all.

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