Her hands were steady, a solid, practiced type of steady that made it easy to tell when it was time to take a break. It was not that time yet.

There was no keeping her mother from pushing her a little further as training become something more. Aveline had great plans for her now that she was of age. There was a competition in December, one that she was to face some of the best duellers around the world in — that is, of those that took to competing. There was no chance for her to face someone like Professor Dumbledore and all of his many years of expertise and skills.

She would be pitted against those set up to be like herself, show people with the hope to rise up the ranks.

Iola liked to believe she would be capable of defeating Dumbledore if he was her age. She was exceptionally talented, after all.

The spell hit the dummy, flames igniting along the worn leather. She watched it for a moment, letting the flames rise higher and higher until she decides to finally put it out with a burst of ice — freezing the shape agains the dummy that made her grin triumphantly.

It always made such wonderful designs, such beautiful ice sculpture that were never the same. It made her feel artsy.

Skipping down to the dummy, she traced the ice, letting herself have a moments break to look over the beauty of her own destructive chaos.

And then she pushed it, tipping it over to watch it shatter. Pieces slid along the grass, rolling away from her with and down the small slope that slowly turned into a hill.

She followed the ice, unable to look away from it even as it comes to a stop near Hagrid's hut. Students were collecting around the tiny building, gathering around near the back and Iola glanced curiously to the carriage behind her, checking to see if the others were still inside studying under Madame Maxime and Aveline's watchful eye.

It was wonderful that she got to skip out on her mother's charms lesson if only because Aveline taught her all throughout the summer. Iola was always in the way of learning something new about one spell or another, and if her mother wished to through her years curriculum so that she may learn things that would be useful in a duel, then she wasn't going to blame her for it.

Iola always felt like she had an advantage in her studies, never really having to deal with the restrictions on her magic like other students did. It wasn't something she would deny if anyone claimed it, often thinking it to be some sort of insult when they dared to speak to her so boldly. It was a privilege that made her incredibly proficient with her magic that few others would claim to have.

And if that meant that she wasn't watched as the few students that came along got a more focused lesson, then it was absolutely wonderful.

Because she Care of Magical Creatures was dreadfully boring at Beauxbatons. Monsieur Darnet was the most uninteresting of men she has ever had the displeasure of meeting, the sort of man that made her want to face a dementor wandless and alone.

But Hagrid was an incredibly interesting man. He had to be for a half giant that lived in a shack, and that was enough to tempt her to leave her practice to see what was the whole thing was about.

Monsieur Dernot never brought in any of the creatures they were learning about. He never cared enough for something like this.

Iola arrived at the cabin with small yet confident steps, taking in everything up close. It was much more cozy and inviting than it appeared from afar. His garden was positively adorable.

"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," the Draco boy sneers, two large boys behind him guffawing in Harry's face. "Got your autograph books? Better get your signature now, because I doubt he's gonna last much longer... Half the Triwizard Champions have died... How long do you reckon you're gonna last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."

Disgust burns through her like acid through her veins searing each nerve. "I would not give you two," she calls, tone inflicted with all the terrible condensation she could manage on command. "It is a pity that only those the cup chooses may enter. Perhaps then I would be gifted the opportunity to see you fail—" she pauses tilting her head as she looks his over slowly— "I am sure there will be another chance. I will not need to be patient. It will not be long."

His cheeks burn with his anger, washing away the paleness of his skin. He did not look so terrible like this. It was better than the way his nose just seemed to stay upturned from his snobbiness.

"How long would you last, then? I didn't see you chosen," Draco retorts, hands fisted at his side.

"I was not of age, but I promise you, had I been, my name would be first called," Iola replies, tossing her hair back from her shoulder. "Even so, I do not need to take part in the tournament. The world knows who I am. What do you have to show for your life?"

Harry snickers, a sound that makes the corner of her lips curl into a snarky grin.

"My father will hear about this," he threatens, stepping away as Hagrid comes out from around his home.

"I pity him."

"You didn't have to do that," Harry tells her once they're alone, standing to the side at the back of the class.

"I did not do a thing. At least I did not do a thing for you," she dismisses, trying to see the creatures that were towered in crates. "I do not like his attitude."

"What's he done to you?" Hardy asks curiously.

"I had the displeasure of meeting him at the Quidditch World Cup. He insulted my house-elf."

"Malfoy's a prat like that."

"Yes, he is a prat," she agrees, uncertain about the word the moment she says it.

There were moments that she had never completely knew how to handle in life, instances where she felt this sort of dissociation from herself unsure of what was expected from her in a situation.

Because Iola was like a chameleon. She was so many things, so many types of people at so many different times that sometimes she didn't know what people expected of her.

She couldn't remember the last time that she had freely done something that would be entirely, selfishly, for herself.

And really, it was all because she didn't want to let anyone down.

Her fans wanted one thing, friends another, and then there were people like Harry who was quite anything, but still made her lungs squeeze at the thought of disappointing. She had only see him once or twice before, but something kept her from treating him in the sort of catalogue way she did others.

Sort of like how she did George or Fed because they weren't a thing to her yet there few conversation and moments made her wish to keep him happy. It was incredibly and utterly exhausting.

"Thanks. For sticking up for me," Harry blurts, catching by surprise as he eyes the Blast-Ended Skrewts nervously. Completely unaware of how excited Iola was to see them. She had studied them two years ago and enjoyed anything that could create such destruction. "Not many people believe me."

It takes her a moment to understand, thinking him to be referring to Malfoy again, before it hits her. "It was nothing. The Professors were simply worried for you and what you being chosen must mean, I am certain."

"No, they were furious that Hogwarts has a second champion."

She purses her lips. "At first, perhaps, but your Professor, the scary one, he has a point. You could not have put your own name inside the cup. Someone else must have done so and they will not have had pure motives. You will have difficulty in tasks, I am afraid."

"Not everyone seems to think that," he mutters darkly. "They think I just want the attention."

"What for?" Iola laughs softly. "You are Harry Potter. You will been known always in wizarding history. There is nothing you need to do for attention."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"Is no a bad thing, being known. You already have you legacy. You need not worry about greatness in future if you wish, Harry," she explains, smiling at the boy. "You can own a book store or raise owls. You can do whatever you wish and not worry about being forgotten in life. The others are just jealous. They will realize their mistakes in time."

"Yeah, well, I wish everyone else saw it the way you did."

"They will, you will see," she tells him with a shrug. "And if not, then they are not worth it. There is no time for inconsiderate people in life."

She shifts, eyeing the skrewts as they're let out of the crates, students reluctantly moving toward the beasts.

"But if your friends do not correct their opinions, then you may come to me for help if you need it," Iola offers. "I am busy, but whatever you need, I will try my best to help you."

Harry stares up at her with a confounded expression. "Uh, thanks."

"Harry!" Hagrid called. "You come here an' help me with this big one."

Waving the boy off, she observed from afar, not wanting to disturb the class as they tried to tie a leash around their middles and take them for a walk — all the while wondering why they didn't just use their wands to attach the leash. It was a pretty simple spell, after all.

Easily stepping out a blast zone, Iola takes it as her sign to leave, knowing that she really shouldn't be hanging around on their lesson when she should have been working on her own. She wasn't sure how long Madame Maxime and her mother were going to keep the others in when they were not many to begin with.

Iola took her stance when she got back into an appropriate range, taking the position with a small shift and a heavy exhale.

And then she begun once more. Hands steady.

There seemed to be a theme of her coming across people in the midst of her lessons as she was wandering through the castle, Sofie and Francois at her side with a moody Gerome lingering behind, taking a short stroll through the warmed halls as they waited for Fleur to join them for lunch, finding the castle a much better option than sitting inside the carriage among the other stir-crazy Beauxbatons students and her mother.

Besides, this was meant to be encouraging inter school relations or something along those lines and they were never told that they weren't allowed to explore the castle silently.

It gave Iola a sense of purpose as she found herself tasked with mastering the firestorm spell by Madame Maxime and her mother — something that was intended to be a challenge and was proving to be as much since she felt constantly at the risk of receiving third-degree burns.

Which was ridiculous because someone really ought to be supervising her opposed to the complete amount of trust they placed on her.

Iola was talented, that much she knew, but that did not mean she wasn't going to accidentally burn the forest, along with herself, down. They really should have done more than just demonstrate the spell a few times before leaving her to her devices.

It really made her miss courses like Language and Etiquette, the non-magic courses meant to refine them into upstanding young citizens.

Still, Iola wasn't sure how she ended up drawn into Defence Against the Dark Arts, faces with the scary Professor that made her skin crawl and itch to draw her wand.

Duelling has always been an instinct engraved into her every movement and action, but this wasn't a set match or tournament intended to demonstrate her skills and prowess. This felt like real life, like the urge to live pumping through her veins.

The man was just wrong. The way his eye rolled in his skull watching her was wrong. The way he made her nervous in ways she had never been before was wrong. The way he acted like he knew something about herself that she didn't was wrong.

Iola wanted to blast him through the rain splattered windows.

"It's not often we have a young dueller such as yourself with us, Miss Bouchard," he says in a gruff voice, magic eye flickering all over her.

She tilted her head politely, the weight of her hat sliding lower to her forehead. "I am such there are many competent duellers in these halls, Monsieur."

"Modest, that's good, important," he says, hobbling around his desk to get closer to her. She tenses. "Too big an ego gets you killed."

Iola sees it a moment before it happens. His jaw flexing, hand tensing on his cane to hold his weight, shoulder shifting with the slight movement of his arm.

The spell is deflected the moment it's cast, the shield rebounding the red zap of light.

Sofie squeaks, jumping at her side, and she can hear Francois' soothing words that play to the beat of her steady heart.

The class has become far too silent with the sound of his loud cackles.

"This is what I have been telling you!" The professor shouts. "Constant vigilance!"

There's a collective sigh of relief that she can't find herself sharing in, hand still tightly holding her wand at her side. Iola finds herself shifting into a far more casual stance, moving so that she was a solid force between her friends without seeming to read too much into it.

How did she even get in here? Why did he call them in?

"You have tells," she finds herself saying, words dripping like sweet acid. "They are not hard to see when you are looking."

"And why were you looking?" He asks lowly, eyes dark and haunting.

"I do not trust those I do not know who hold their wands in conversation."

"Yet you didn't pull your wand as a warning."

"I am fast."

"Yes, yes, you are," he agrees, eyeing her appraisingly. Iola doesn't relax her stance. "In the spirit of such an opportunity, who would like to try their luck against a champion dueller?"

Hands shoot into the air immediately, the people that are eager to prove themselves in the wake of the competitive spirits that was just apologized within the castle — at least for her standards. She couldn't see why so many would try their luck knowing her skill level and theirs wouldn't be even. Iola could only hope it was a fan thing and not because they were suddenly coming down with something.

She had literally just opposed their professor before their eyes.

And really, Iola shouldn't have been surprised when Fred and George appeared before her, ignoring the protest of those waiting to be called on, in an attempt be the one with the first shot — both shoving at one another ridiculously.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin."

Gerome pushes through, disarming them both when they were busy arguing. He collects their wands, setting them to the side.

"Iola is not allowed to just duel students," he says in choppy English.

The professor grins. "Not without certain restrictions, I've heard. I will be supervising. Weasleys sit down. Diggory, come up."

"This is not appropriate," Francois tries to interfere. "It will not be fair."

The Hogwarts champion seems to take offence. "I'd like a go, if that's alright."

Sighing, she holds her wand out before her. "As you wish."

They bow, that much being known by the students, and Iola waits as Sofie takes it upon herself to do the count.

"En garde! Prêts? Allez!"

He doesn't move right away, not recognizing the count, and she's not sure if she truly wants to wait for him to make a move if they did not learn basic Wizard Duelling etiquette. It would be a nice lesson to them to brush up on the art, just in case they did find themselves in a formal challenge.

Glancing around, she whispers. "You go on allez. It is the countdown."

Cedric flushes. "Sorry. We don't speak much French here."

"I can see that. It is fine. Are you ready?"

He nods.

"Good. En garde! Prêts? Allez!"

Iola reflects the spells as they come, easily sending them back or redirecting them to the students idle sitting on the edge of their seats gaping just because she could. He was quick, not so much so to be of any mention, but he would earn a decent mark at Beauxbatons.

The footwork was sloppy and his grip too tight, limiting the fluidity of his movements, but the greatest flaw in all of this was how he was not yet using only nonverbal spells. Each incantation spoken told her how to defend against him, calling out his each and every action leading him open and vulnerable.

"Would you stop humouring him? It's embarrassing," Gerome snaps.

"I am not humouring him."

"You haven't shot back a single spell," she argues. "You haven't even moved your foot a little. It looks like you're playing with him."

"Leave her alone, Gerome," Francois mutters.

"Are you going to tell me I'm wrong? Look at her!"

"That's enough!" Sofie hisses. "They might not be able to understand, but they can hear us."

She tried to block out their chatter, she really did, but it was difficult when they were practically breathing the words annoyingly in her ear, like a little buzz that was going to drive her crazy. They should have known better than to behave so deplorably before others, let alone in the midst of a duel.

So she really didn't mean to send him flying across the room with a flick of her wrist — crashing into the strong windows that prevented him from soaring out into the rain, sliding down to hit the floor with a heaving gasp and droop to his eyelids.

"Oops," she whispers to herself, already stepping forward to help heal the poor boy. She wasn't by any means a healer, but she had gotten into enough accidents and had harmed others quite a bit in a duel that she sort of just knew what to do.

Gerome beat her to it, already crossing the room to heal the boy. It was odd to imagine him as so competent at healing when he just seemed to be so rotten at everything that had nothing to do with the art. It was like he set his mind to one profession and nothing else mattered around him anymore.

At least Cedric was back and steady on his feet so she wasn't going to be blamed for trying to take out the competition — if anyone could try and pin something so ridiculous on her to begin with.

"Attaboy, Diggory, take your seat," the professor says, ushering him along. "Who's next?"

It's silent, few wanting to come and take a chance after that, but the twins were already jumping forward, already reaching for their confiscated wands.

They weren't going to be dismissed this time, it seems, and Iola sighs, resigning herself to the task of entertaining the class.

"On allez," she reminds, holding up her wand once more. "Sofie?"

The girl moves around to one of the desks, sitting in the wood so that she might watch closely. "Are you sure?"

"I am. It is better than wasting about doing nothing."

Sofie makes a small, dejected noise at the back of her throat. "First we bow."

She does so, sighing as the twins eye each other to see who will go first. "Fred, come."

The boy laughs, pushing his brother to the side as he comes to stand across from her. "Don't go easy on me," he says, purposely looking to Cedric.

Iola frowns in distaste but agrees nonetheless.

"En garde! Prêts? Allez!"

His movements are frozen immediately, the spell striking cold in his chest, encasing him up to the neck in pale blue ice.

"Point Iola," Sofie calls, holding her hand out to her side, before she quickly reconsiders. "Is this to the point or is finished?"

"I believe it's finished," Iola says, releasing the boy from her spell. "You must have a spell ready for the go or this happens."

Fred shivers, arms wrapping his robes closer around himself. "How am I supposed to know what you're about to do?"

"Then you take defence. This way gives you the chance to study my moves," she explains kindly, pointing out the flaws in his attempt. "There is no harm in playing safe when you know your opponent will be faster than you."

"Better than you," George supplies with a soft snicker, teasing his brother.

"You laugh, but you are next. Come."

He stands across from her, taking his brother's place as he tries to mimic her stance the best he could. It wasn't very well, the base was not sturdy and core weak, but his arm was steady and grip firm. She grins.

"We bow," Sofie reminds, prompting the pair to begin. She calls the go, the words stilling as Iola waits, watching for his move.

His eyes were so sharp, so focused, that she strangely did not want to beat him down. They weren't a challenge, but a sort of committed that one got when wanting to prove their strength and abilities. It made her stomach flip, heart pattering quicker against their ribs to rival the warmth that spread through her.

Aveline's reprimands ring through her mind. How foolish emotions were to get in the way.

Panicking, she catches his robes on fire, the spell partially deflected in her speed so he's left to drop his wand to pat out the flames.

She summons his wand, easily catching it before putting out the flames and flipping his robes so they were over his head, using it as a chance to knock his legs out from underneath him.

And it's silent for a moment, a moment where she's admiring her work, before Fred's bellowing laughter cracks the peace and the rest of the room follows suit — even Francois and his bleeding kind heart laughs at the boy's expense.

"Iola, that was little... quick, wasn't it?" Sofie asks between laughs, shaking back dark curls.

Blinking, she looks over at the boy that was trying to right himself. It was, wasn't it?

Jumping forward, she kneels down at his side to help deranged him from his robes, but his legs shoot out, knocking hers from underneath her, and Iola yelps as she goes tumbling forward, face landing in his lap.

He freezes and she swears that she's the one on fire because she had never felt so warm before in her life — cheeks burning with embarrassment as she scrambles back.

"Sorry! So sorry!" She squeaks, backing away. "I did not— oh Merlin, I have to go. I did not mean to do so much, I swear."

A hand is shoved into her face, wand held to her. Her blood chills. When had she lost her wand?

"Pathetic. Pull yourself together," Gerome scoffs, tugging her to her feet. It's all she needs to compose herself, his words calming her rampant thoughts. "Tell him what he did wrong to warrant such a quick and hilarious takedown."

"Right, right, of course," she straightens herself, fixing her hat on her head. "You did good deflecting my spell, but you must work in your aim. It is not enough to know a spell. It is not truly mastered until you've successfully done it a hundred times without fail. Your biggest mistake was dropping your wand. Losing your wand ends the match for you immediately as you can not defend yourself. You have a wand for a reason, you could have put out flames with wand or have taken off the robe."

"Don't understand why you flipped me over, though," George complains with a pout.

Her smile is one that doesn't quite reach her eyes because she doesn't quite know why she did that either.

"Consider it a lesson. Now you will always have this reminder," Iola says. "Now, who will like to go next?"

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2019-12-16