"Those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly." For Iris Potter, these words defined her whole life. Born with a natural talent for Legilim...
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"I feel like the universe is out to get me."
Her eyes were glazed over as she stared mindlessly up at the vaulted ceilings of the Headmaster's office. Iris sank into the cushions of the small sofa that rested beside Dumbledore's desk, hands fidgeting with the heart-shaped locket clasped around her neck.
She sighed heavily, "I mean, couldn't I at least just have one normal year?" Turning her head to the side to look at the old professor, Iris continued, "And forgive me for my blunt rudeness, sir, but this tournament may be your worst idea yet."
He gave a weary chuckle, gazing over fondly at the teenage witch, "I am not offended, Iris. You are correct in your judgements." Dumbledore frowned at her, "I am, truly, very sorry that you and Harry must go through with this."
Iris rolled onto her side on the sofa, now looking across at the man. He looked tired, worn out, and so unlike the jovial old wizard she was used to having these chats with. She was worn out too, so exhausted from all the crying and worrying she had done the last night, not getting more than thirty minutes of sleep before she awoke in a hyperventilating panic.
The caramel-haired witch had found herself trapped within the same reoccurring sequence of nightmares that consisted of vivid flashes of green light, haunting laughs that echoed throughout the empty darkness, and a pair of glowing red eyes. This time, though, she had only suffered through the familiar scenes a few times before a brilliant white glow overtook her entire dreamscape, blinding her before a soft voice spoke, telling her to wake up.
Iris couldn't particularly recall the voice once she woke up, choosing to forget about the entire nightmare as a whole as she sat awake in her bed for the rest of the night.
"I'm scared," she spoke quietly to Dumbledore, noticing that the twinkle that was usually present in his eyes was dull.
He stood from his grand chair behind his desk and made his way over to a cushy armchair that rested beside the sofa, "I'd be worried if you weren't."
Iris sat up all the way, her wide, innocent and pleading eyes staring into Dumbledore's wise, knowing ones, "How am I meant to do this?... How do I get out of this alive?"
The Headmaster sighed heavily, peering at her through his half-moon shaped glasses, "Iris... from the moment I met you, I knew you would grow to be not only an exceptionally powerful witch but an exceptionally kind one as well, just like your mother and father." Iris could feel her eyes begin to well up with unwanted tears and she looked to the floor. "I have no doubts you will be able to make it through this tournament. You are stronger than you know."
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Iris did her best not to worry about the tournament over the next couple of days. True, she could not ignore the pitiful or hateful looks she got every time she walked down the corridors or sat in the Great Hall, nor Cedric who, at every opportunity possible, attempted to corner her multiple times throughout the castle so she would speak to him. Iris had not spoken to him since the night of their argument, as hard as it was for her. Maddie, Issac, and Kasper had even all approached her at some point over the couple of days since then practically begging her to talk to him so he would quit sulking.
