"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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July 12th, 1995 Paris, France
He had been dead for just two and a half weeks and yet, to Iris, it had felt like a lifetime. She had been attempting to nurse her broken heart in that time, but the sensation of a cold hand wrapped around it took hold quickly and just wouldn't shake.
Iris Potter had been travelling for only a few days, and she knew where she was headed, but first, she needed some help.
That was how the young witch found herself sitting at a small round table outside on the patio of a quaint cafe in the heart of the City of Love. Across from Iris sat someone that she didn't expect to be meeting with, but someone who could get her what she needed.
"Are you sure you want to do to zis?"
Iris sighed, gazing out at the sunny, late-afternoon streets. She could see the top of the Eiffel Tower peeking over the top of a nearby building from where it loomed in the distance. "I have to, Fleur. I need to do this."
The older platinum blonde witch nodded sadly before reaching into her small purse and pulling out a piece of parchment. She leaned forward in her chair, "I asked around... you can find what you are looking for 'ere."
Fleur held out the bit of parchment to Iris. Written in a neat, loopy, scrawl was an address located a few streets away.
Iris gave Fleur a small pained smile, her heartbeat picking up.
The blonde girl gently reached out and placed her hand over Iris', "I am so sorry for your loss... good luck."
They went their separate ways after that, Iris walking on through the crowded streets until she finally reached her destination. She stood in front of a small shop that looked lost in the loud crowd that surrounded it, though Iris was sure it was meant to be that way. There weren't any distinguishing features to the hole in the wall shop beside a single door and window. A small sign was hung on the door that said in a billowing font, Madame Rousseau's.
As Iris stared at the door, debating whether or not to go in, she was suddenly hit in the shoulder by someone walking into her. Jostled out of her thoughts, Iris turned quickly to the person who had walked into her.
He was a boy around her age with dark hair. His lips were pulled up in a slight smirk, eyes lit with amusement as he spoke, continuing to walk past her, "Sorry about that, love."
Iris didn't linger any longer, knocked out of her internal decision-making she took the last few steps up to the small door and opened it.
Inside the shop was quite different from the exterior of the building. The walls were dark blue and purple, draped with an assortment of fabrics in unique colours and textures. There were many strange objects lying around on shelves and petite tables, giving the small room a cluttered look. There was an archway at the back of the room covered in a beaded curtain.
