"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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"What the bloody hell do you mean you aren't having Occlumency lessons anymore?" Iris asked incredulously, wondering if her brother was completely thick in the head.
"I've told you," Harry muttered. "Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics..."
"So you've stopped having those dreams?" said Iris sceptically.
"Pretty much," said Harry, not looking at her.
"You're lying!" Iris said loudly, her voice filled with shock at his audacity.
"No," said Harry forcefully. "Just drop it, Iris, okay?"
The twins were sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room late at night trying to get some last-minute homework assignments out of the way. Iris slammed the textbook she had in front of her closed and looked hard at Harry.
"I can't drop it, Harry. How do you still not understand how serious this is?"
He sighed heavily, glaring into the blazing fireplace. The boy raked a hand through his messy hair. "I've tried— it's just not working!"
Iris felt her temper rising, "You aren't trying, Harry, you've made no progress," she insisted, "D'you know how I know that?"
'Because I'm in your head right now.'
'Well, get out of it.'
Iris rolled her eyes. She huffed, turning away from her brother and also glaring into the fire. More than ever, Iris felt the weight of the world on her shoulders since Dumbledore had left. Harry's well-being was left entirely up to her now, and she didn't know what to do about it. The girl had never felt so alone.
"I wish I could talk to Remus," Harry admitted quietly a few minutes later.
Iris' chest seized. "Yeah... I miss Sirius. At least they're stuck in that house together."
She hated the idea of either one of their godfathers stuck alone in isolation again, and though she knew they were less than pleased with not being allowed to leave the house, it meant they were safe, and that was all that matted to Iris.
Weeks later, the castle grounds were gleaming in the sunlight as though freshly painted; the cloudless sky smiled at itself in the smoothly sparkling lake, the satin-green lawns rippled occasionally in a gentle breeze: June had arrived, but to the fifth years this meant only one thing: Their O.W.L.s were upon them at last.
Their teachers were no longer setting them homework; lessons were devoted to reviewing those topics their teachers thought most likely to come up in the exams.
They received their examination schedules and details of the procedure for O.W.L.s during one of their final Transfiguration lessons.
"As you can see," Professor McGonagall told the class while they copied down the dates and times of their exams from the blackboard, "your O.W.L.s are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory exams in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night."
