Post by IRIS JESSAMINE CARROW on Dec 30, 2023 5:43:18 GMT
At least James wasn’t dumb like most Gryffindors she knew could be. At least he wasn’t dumb in the sense that he wasn’t aware that people did expect her to set the world on fire, and that she was capable of doing it. She didn’t have many people underestimating her, not when she was clearly a Carrow and their history back as Death Eaters preceded her, not to mention they had to have something in the brains to have escaped conviction like so many Death Eaters had following the downfall of Voldemort. Her father hadn’t, he’d managed to scrape by free to start his brood of children he wanted to shape into his image but that was where she differed. That was slightly where James was an idiot, no, she wouldn’t have to burn down the world, but it wouldn’t be as easy as just not doing it, not with her father, her world being what it was. All her life she’d grown up being taught a specific version of history, one that painted James’ family as the monsters, as the tyrants and while eventually Iris recognised that that wasn’t an accurate version of history compared to dozens of books on the topic she very much lived the dutiful daughter to those facts when she was away from Hogwarts. She wondered if the only reason her father didn’t come to the school to check on his children more often was that he’d been banned from the school, she wasn’t stupid enough to ask but it wouldn’t surprise her. “Least you know I’m capable of it.” She told James with a shrug leaving out that she may very well end up burning some of it until she reached a certain point where she couldn’t betray her own goals for that of her father’s.
She wanted to be more than a Carrow but she wasn’t a Hufflepuff in being blindly optimistic that it’d happen, and she frankly didn’t mind the shield her name gave her from some of the mundane ins and outs of Hogwarts’ social life no one expected her to mingle with anyone outside of her house, and other than James, she rarely did. She knew that she was steps above her father but outside this pitch with James away from any other eyes and ears she’d never admit it. To the world she was aiming to be just like her father. “Well I’m something like him. We share DNA every trait he has didn’t pass over me. I’m more beautiful than him though. I’d wager smarter but you didn’t hear that from me.” She said with a dry laugh, knowing she’d only admit it now and deny it if he ever tried to bring up anything in the presence of anyone else, even people she knew her father would never associate with. It was a risk with James, that he could be trying to use her to gain information for his father and whoever else in the hero realm he knew to take down the Enlightened, but she didn’t get the vibe from him, she got the feeling how much alike they were rather than their vast differences. “You keep mentioning this kiss but I have no clue what you’re talking about. Still convinced you dreamt the whole thing up.” She rolled her eyes, acting as if she had no clue what she was talking about when she did remember their kiss, her inhibitions lowered in the haze of alcohol and the freedom of finishing her OWLS and the gruelling studying and pressure she had on her shoulders to perform well to impress her father and the lies she’d feed him when her passing History of Magic grade gave him pause to the history she believed. She’d already started spoon feeding the lies to him well before the test and the fact that she’d finished and didn’t have to lay more charades had been all the more reason to drink despite being underage.
She wondered if he had used the kiss to throw her off balance in her throw to him but she was made of tougher stuff than that when it came to Quidditch and was using James’ disadvantage to her own when it came to scoring but he wasn’t, to her annoyance, terrible at the position, and was holding his own. She was still managing to get them past him, and she was still cocky enough to gloat when she did so as she told him she could do this all day, watch him dive for the Quaffle after failing to stop it from soaring through the hoops, “You’d like for me to waste my day away up here creaming you at Quidditch wouldn’t you?” She rolled her eyes though she doubted he’d notice from their distance but would sense the sarcasm in her voice even as her lips were tugged upwards in a smile as he offered to make it more interesting. “Oh. Putting money down. Well, I suppose it’ll do. I’d have suggested stripping but you couldn’t handle me losing a layer without falling off your broom in shock so I’ll settle for taking your money.” She teased accepting his wager and lining up her shot and watching it go through the hoop, though barely so. “Five sickles to me. A galleon you don’t catch the next.” She gloated before raising the stakes on the next shot dramatically just to see if he’d take the bet or counter with another wager. The Potters and Carrows were both rich bloodlines so it wasn’t as if money was truly a problem unless some rumor she’d heard about Harry blowing it all on products to make his hair look windswept all the time was true.
She wanted to be more than a Carrow but she wasn’t a Hufflepuff in being blindly optimistic that it’d happen, and she frankly didn’t mind the shield her name gave her from some of the mundane ins and outs of Hogwarts’ social life no one expected her to mingle with anyone outside of her house, and other than James, she rarely did. She knew that she was steps above her father but outside this pitch with James away from any other eyes and ears she’d never admit it. To the world she was aiming to be just like her father. “Well I’m something like him. We share DNA every trait he has didn’t pass over me. I’m more beautiful than him though. I’d wager smarter but you didn’t hear that from me.” She said with a dry laugh, knowing she’d only admit it now and deny it if he ever tried to bring up anything in the presence of anyone else, even people she knew her father would never associate with. It was a risk with James, that he could be trying to use her to gain information for his father and whoever else in the hero realm he knew to take down the Enlightened, but she didn’t get the vibe from him, she got the feeling how much alike they were rather than their vast differences. “You keep mentioning this kiss but I have no clue what you’re talking about. Still convinced you dreamt the whole thing up.” She rolled her eyes, acting as if she had no clue what she was talking about when she did remember their kiss, her inhibitions lowered in the haze of alcohol and the freedom of finishing her OWLS and the gruelling studying and pressure she had on her shoulders to perform well to impress her father and the lies she’d feed him when her passing History of Magic grade gave him pause to the history she believed. She’d already started spoon feeding the lies to him well before the test and the fact that she’d finished and didn’t have to lay more charades had been all the more reason to drink despite being underage.
She wondered if he had used the kiss to throw her off balance in her throw to him but she was made of tougher stuff than that when it came to Quidditch and was using James’ disadvantage to her own when it came to scoring but he wasn’t, to her annoyance, terrible at the position, and was holding his own. She was still managing to get them past him, and she was still cocky enough to gloat when she did so as she told him she could do this all day, watch him dive for the Quaffle after failing to stop it from soaring through the hoops, “You’d like for me to waste my day away up here creaming you at Quidditch wouldn’t you?” She rolled her eyes though she doubted he’d notice from their distance but would sense the sarcasm in her voice even as her lips were tugged upwards in a smile as he offered to make it more interesting. “Oh. Putting money down. Well, I suppose it’ll do. I’d have suggested stripping but you couldn’t handle me losing a layer without falling off your broom in shock so I’ll settle for taking your money.” She teased accepting his wager and lining up her shot and watching it go through the hoop, though barely so. “Five sickles to me. A galleon you don’t catch the next.” She gloated before raising the stakes on the next shot dramatically just to see if he’d take the bet or counter with another wager. The Potters and Carrows were both rich bloodlines so it wasn’t as if money was truly a problem unless some rumor she’d heard about Harry blowing it all on products to make his hair look windswept all the time was true.
