Iris Alexandria Potter woke up with a start and jerked up to a sitting position in her bed, breathing heavily, with her body in a cold sweat. Her hands clutched to her chest to ease pain that was already fading to nothing more than a memory.
She was breathing in deep gasps that slowed quickly. Iris was no stranger to nightmares, and her right hand instinctively went to touch the lightning bolt shaped scar on her head. However, it didn't cause the expected jolt of pain she was used to after such nightmares.
What she'd just seen was not at all like what she was used to. Most of the time recently when she dreamt so vividly it inevitably dealt with Voldemort or what she thought was Voldemort anyway. It was him, but he was weakened and small and seemed barely a shadow of life. In it he was usually talking to a servant that was hooded and cloaked.
This dream was different. It was a battle between two people. Someone who seemed very angry and a very alive if not human Voldemort. They were fighting in ruins of some place, though she wasn't sure where.
Most jarring to Iris, was that she wasn't seeing through Voldemort's eyes this time. She was seeing from someone else's perspective. Iris was seeing from the view point of someone who clearly hated and opposed Voldemort.
Whoever's eyes she was seeing through was male, she was sure of that much. His perspective seemed oddly skewed, on one hand he was seeing things naturally and the other he had some sort of weird overlay on his vision that seemed to be colored blue and seeing different waves of magic. He walked with a limp, she could feel the physical pain that each step caused him. What struck her most was the sense of emotions she had gotten from him.
Anger was something she identified easily. But there was also constant pain, and a sort of hopeless resignation. What struck her most was a feeling she recognized and could sympathize with. It was the feeling of taking the weight of a world on his shoulders and the iron determination that came with the responsibility. But what struck her most was that the anger was focused almost exclusively at Voldemort. There was a distinct lack of general malevolence toward anything and anyone she was used to feeling from her nightmares.
Every time Iris had one of these nightmares, and ended up in Voldemort's head she had been most struck by this overwhelming sensation of absolute hatred of the world in general. This dream had none of that. Whoever it was, whose perspective she had was angry but almost entirely at Voldemort alone, with brief surges of anger directed elsewhere.
Iris' mind went back to the details of the dream. She remembered the ward Voldemort had set up. She remembered breaking through it, trying to break a rune symbol on the ground, the Mirror of Erised, taking that spell in the chest, seeing Voldemort step IN to the mirror and the agony of crawling after him… and then nothing.
Her mind held onto those details as she tried to put them in perspective. She wondered what to do about the dream. Both her parents and Dumbledore had told her that she should tell them should she get any more dreams. But this one didn't seem to come from her scar and it wasn't like the others.
Iris glanced at the clock on the wall. 3:15 in the morning. She let out a soft sigh as she ran a hand through the current mess that was her slightly longer than shoulder length black hair. She knew she wouldn't be able to get right back to sleep. She threw the covers off her bed, and prepared to slide out of bed and head downstairs when a voice spoke up caused her to jump slightly.
"Another bad dream?" came a concerned, if somewhat sleepy, voice.
Iris sighed, in part to calm herself from being startled, "I'm sorry Hermione; I didn't mean to wake you." Iris turned her head to see her bushy haired friend laying on the other bed in the room. Hermione was currently laying on her side, facing Iris with her head propped up on her elbow. Her face showed no trace of irritation, it was merely filled with concern for her friend.
"That's okay. You know it doesn't bother me. You didn't answer my question though." Hermione kept her brown eyes intent on her best friend.
Iris shook her head a little bit, unable to stop a small smile from stealing across her face at the ease with which Hermione saw through her deflection. Iris brought her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees, her nightshirt covering her and preserving her modesty, though Hermione had seen her in states of undress many times before. One of the hazards of being roommates in such close quarters for 10 months of the year.
Iris turned her head to regard her friend, the light from the stars and moon through the window letting her see Hermione's dark brown eyes staring at her. Iris briefly debated trying to put Hermione off, before shaking the thought away. Hermione was as stubborn as she was. Iris knew she wasn't likely to be satisfied with another deflection or empty platitude.
Finally Iris sighed a little bit, "It was a bad dream… but it was different. It wasn't one of those."
This time Hermione remained quiet. Hermione knew her friend was trying to organize her thoughts. As the silence dragged out Hermione couldn't restrain a little sigh of her own. She knew Iris would try and minimize any concern so as not to worry her.
After another minute of silence with no further elaboration by Iris, Hermione made a decision. She flipped back her covers and slid out of her bed, moving her bare feet quickly across the cold floor, Hermione crossed the room to Iris' bed.
"Budge over." Hermione said without preamble.