"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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Over the next few days, Iris couldn't help but notice that there was one person within number twelve, Grimmauld Place, who did not seem entirely overjoyed about the kids' upcoming return to Hogwarts. Sirius had put up a very good show of happiness on first hearing the news, wringing Harry's hand and beaming just like the rest of them; soon, however, he was moodier and surlier than before, talking less to everybody, even Iris, and spending increasing amounts of time shut up in his mother's room with Buckbeak.
Iris could tell that he had been happy to have the company over the Summer, but never fully considered what would happen once school started back. Now that Harry's trial was over and there was barely a week left, it seemed to finally set in for Sirius that they'd soon be gone.
Iris had followed in her godfather's footsteps, taking to isolation. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys attempted to coax her out of the guest room she was staying in, but anytime Iris communicated with the rest of the house's occupants, it just wasn't the same. She wondered how a part of her had broken so badly she could barely smile or keep up a conversation. Iris helped the rest of the kids clean the musty old house, but she preferred to do it in another room than the one they were all tackling.
She would eat dinner with them, making quiet small talk whenever someone spoke to her, it was often Tonks, before retreating back to her room. The solitude wasn't all bad. Iris had taken up drawing in her alone time, sketching random parts of her bedroom, her friends, or self-portraits. The teenage girl had always had a fairly decent artistic ability, but never explored it until now. Sometimes she would hide in the attic with Kreacher, who, after some TLC, warmed up to Iris just enough that he wasn't an endless fountain of slurs and disgusted looks.
Around noon that particular day, the student's booklists finally arrived. Along with them came two shiny new Prefect's badges for Hermione and Ron, just as planned. Iris could tell Harry was feeling guilty about being disheartened, having expected a different result.
Later that evening there was a knock on Iris' door. She looked up from the spellsbook Dumbledore had told her to read, telling the knocker to come in. The knob twisted and a familiar head of long black hair peered around the door as it opened, eyes scanning the room quickly until the came to rest on Iris, who was sitting crisscrossed in the middle of her borrowed bed.
Sirius gave her a weak smile before saying, "Mrs Weasley is back from Diagon Alley. She's asking everyone to come downstairs."
Iris nodded, flipping the thick book closed and standing from the bed. She walked over to the small oak wood desk by the door, dropping it on the surface with a thud. Sirius glanced over at the multitude of papers scattered across the desk, observing them with interest.
"Those are really good," he gestured at her sketches, "Y'know I used to be something of an artist myself when I was your age... haven't done anything in a long time, but I should show you some of my old drawings."
