The Other Golden Girl

Chapter One: Impatience

September 4, 2000

Iris Sinclair was not a patient woman.

And at that moment, Iris' patience had been waning for two mundane reasons: Harry was late to the meeting he had called and, more importantly, he was late with her tea.

"Honestly, Harry's flair for the dramatic is going to cost me my heart one day." Hermione grumbled as she paced ferociously.

Iris was sure she was going to burn holes into the carpet beneath her.

Harry's Patronus had visited each of his dearest friends at sunrise and the message that had accompanied the ghostly stag, a vague request to meet Harry in his office later that morning, had sent the Brightest Witch of Her Age into a tailspin of worry.

Iris had been nearing the end of a peaceful slumber when the stag floated into her bedroom.

Not only had the sound of Harry's voice startled her from her dreams, but the apparition had frightened her so thoroughly that she'd rolled right out of bed and smacked her head against the hardwood floor.

She winced as she grazed the small bump forming near her hairline.

Harry's Patronus had caused a similar reaction out of Hermione.

She'd been in the process of smoothing her thick curls while reviewing her notes on the complexities of House Elf magic, as one does when the sun is just rising, when the stag had burst through her closed bathroom door.

The sudden arrival of the apparition had sent Hermione's wand flying from her hand, and the notes that had been floating in the air in front of her were whisked out the open window and onto the street below.

She'd been the second one to arrive at Harry's office, her hair pulled back in a tight knot as her attempt at taming her curls proved fruitless after Harry's interruption.

Ron had been the last to waltz through the door, his red hair desperately needing a brush through.

He had slept through the arrival of the stag and had unknowingly relied on George to relay the message. The Weasley brothers shared the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Ron helped his older brother run the notorious joke shop, and so Harry had taken the precaution of also sending his Patronus to George.

George had barged into Ron's bedroom immediately afterwards, covered in the steaming hot coffee that had safely occupied a mug before the stag had frightened it out of his hands.

"Honestly, Ronald how can you stay calm at a time like this?" Hermione groaned. "My nerves are fried."

"Mione, breathe." Ron yawned as he reclined causally on one of the sofas in Harry's office. "He probably had a fight with Ginny and just needs help getting back into her good graces."

Ron's eyes were closed, a pleasant smile plastered upon his face, so he missed the glare Hermione shot his way.

At the sight of her best friend's ever-growing frustration, Iris moved from her spot near the front of Harry's desk and grabbed Hermione by her forearms, halting her in place.

"Stop with the pacing or you're going to wear out the Mary Janes I bought you."

Hermione's eyes widened and frantically darted downward, Iris' grip on her arms allowing her to inspect the brown leather shoes one at a time without wobbling over.

Once she'd determined that the shoes were free of scuffs, Hermione stepped out of Iris' grasp and threw herself into Harry's desk chair, sighing heavily. 

In any other circumstance, Harry's office was one of the most comforting places to be. Most mornings, Iris would recline in the armchair next to the floor to ceiling window, downing her second or third cup of tea, while Harry read through his recent case briefings or flipped through the pages of the Daily Prophet.