There was a daily prophet tossed to the side, neatly folded and left out of the way after she had read through the entirety of the ridiculous article claiming her to be some jealous simp, angrily attacking students whenever they got near because she hadn't been chosen for the tournament.

It was slowly driving her mad, the whole thing with Rita Skeeter sewing as they seemed to have a sort of understanding before all of this. The woman was beginning to become a real thorn in her side.

Resting her head agains the carriage window, she traced the old raindrops that glimmered in the sunlight that was slowly peeking out from behind dark clouds.

Ever since the article where Skeeter had interviewed the champions, Iola had been stacked with more and more viciousness. Rita has always been absurd with her news, but that didn't mean she was allowed to just attack her because she wasn't able to defend herself. Apparently what had happened in that scary professor's class that one time had finally reached the woman because it was bent and morphed into something not even close to what had truly happened making her out to be some sort of heartless monster... again, because people loved to believe she was terrible for being successful at Duelling.

Which was absolutely ridiculous because she didn't need to ruthlessly attack anyone to prove how truly great she was.

And really, she didn't care in the slightest if she had been chosen for the tournament. She had much more interesting goals that she was reaching for.

The wood creaks with the wind, the carriage groaning along with the forest, and she sighs, wishing that someone was interested in humouring her foul mood, but Sofie and Francois have run off somewhere alone and Fleur was meeting with Madame Maxime, leaving her alone with Gerome and Gabrielle and neither were entirely good options.

"You have a visitor," Gabrielle says as she makes her way over.

Thanking the girl, she unsticks herself from the window seat, buckling up the shoes she had loosened to get comfortable before moving to meet her guest.

The air was cold against the exposed skin around her legs, chasing away the small warmth awarded from the tights as it blew her loose hair around her cheeks.

But Viktor looked comfortable in his thick jumper and slim fit seat pants. His gloves were on, a hat pulled snug over his ears.

"What can I do for you today?" She asks, leaning her shoulder against the wood. "Or is this personal, my friend?"

"Personal," he says, voice gruff as he ducks his head into his jumper. "Do you want fly?"

He holds up the broom she didn't notice before, holding it at his side expectantly.

Well, she was supposed to go out flying today anyway. She didn't see the harm in going out together. Grinning, she nods before she summons her broom, the charm bringing it to her quickly as she reached for her flying jumper, the one that was freshly washed and set aside for her practice, before darting out the door. She wasn't really dressed for the occasion but that wasn't going to stop her.

Changing would only bring attention and things were beginning to grow a little tense with the first task coming up. Aveline did not want them speaking with the 'enemy' unless it was for spying purposes. Madame Maxime did not feel the same exactly, or at least she had not said it in so many words.

Running off with Viktor so close to the competition would only upset Fleur if she found out.

She didn't mind being a little cold for a little bit of fun. It was practice, anyway, just what Aveline wanted.

They took to the sky with a kick, zooming off together, and she filled his example as he sets about in a simple game of catch with a small red ball that they've enchanted to go long and far, giving them the chance to actually practice their flying — if they garnered a small audience that gawked from the lawn below then it wasn't her problem. Her only concern being the length of the dress she wore riding up, pulling away from how she held it close to herself.

Regardless, it was nice, soothing, even as she coaxed the silent man into opening up about the task and how nervous he might have felt about it.

There wasn't much Iola could say to him about it in the end, not when she didn't know what he would be facing. Her only advice was to brush up on his spell work.

"You're neverk know what you will face," she has told him, and it had been the end of that as the two continued to fly until they got bored.

They had agreed to meet up at the castle after they've returned their brooms and Iola took a moment to run some warmth into her legs as she waited for him by the large doors.

"Come," he says once he's joined her.

"Where are we going?" She asks, pulling off her flying jumper to tie around her waist, spreading the heat lower.

He doesn't answer right away, not with the small audience they (he) have garnered following them around in this odd sort of flattery, hoping it would make them more attractive in some way.

It didn't matter in the end as they show up at the library. Iola walks in silently, head light at the sight of all the books and the potential for reads that she would never get a chance to view otherwise. That was the thing about old, fancy schools. They had such grande, full libraries packed with all sorts of books, but not all were bestsellers; some were admittedly rare, wonderful finds overflowing with spells that made her itch for her wand in an attempt to cast them all. Oh, the levels her duelling could rise to with the help of Hogwarts libraries — there was nothing left for her to read at Beauxbatons.

As much as she loved it, she had to ask.

"What are we do..." her voice trailed off, as she watched him sit at an empty table, a random book placed in front of him as he stared across the way at the curly haired girl surrounded by a stacks of various books and strips of parchment in a mess all over. Harry was at her side, lids dropping as he looked over notes and books that his friend gave to him.

"Oh, I see now," Iola beamed, hands falling to his shoulders and squeezing playfully. "She is a pretty girl and smart."

He shrugged her off, glaring at her as though she was speaking too loud. "She can not hear me. It is okay."

When she received no answer from him she smiled softly, taking to the isles in search of a book to read for herself. The school's library was slightly bigger than Beauxbaton and Iola hoped they had texts that she hadn't yet read. Having read nearly all the books concerning duels and the many useful spells and creatures of Defense Against the Dark Arts and many on Transfiguration, Iola hoped to find something that could be taught to her here instead of rereading the same things or scrounging for obscure bits of information.

Unsure of how to navigate the rows here, Iola browsed the shelves slowly, taking her time as she slowly read the English titles in search of those she found familiar in hopes to lead her in the right direction.

Her fingers stroke the spines, grazing the old and new covers with a delicate touch as she walked along.

"Iola."

She hums, acknowledging Harry as she continues to search.

"I need your help with something."

That stills her, the soft admittance and moment of vulnerably curling something unfamiliar in her chest. She wasn't sure if she truly expected him to take her up on her offer.

Tilting her head, she looks the big over. "I will try my best. What is it?"

"I can't get the summoning charm right. Hermione's been trying to help me with it and Professor Flitwick keeps giving me more homework on it, but—"

"But it just does not come to you. This is fine," she interrupts, not wanting to embarrass the boy with trying to explain his struggle. It was usually considered a rather simple spell, after all. "I can help with this. Do not worry."

He looks at her, really looks with his gaze flicking from her to the bookshelf behind her. "You weren't busy?"

"No. I was browsing," she says with a shrug. "Are you?"

It's his turn to shrug. "Not really."

"Good. We will go now," Iola spins, grabbing his wrist as she leaves.

"What about Hermione?" Harry asks, but he doesn't really struggle against her as she leads him out. "And Krum? Didn't you come in here with him?"

"And I will leave with you," she says dismissively. "I was with him since the rain stopped. We went flying. You are welcome to come next time."

That seems to be enough to get his attention fully on her, it seemingly clicking with the taller boy that she too was a professional quidditch player even if she wasn't a star like her friend. Keeper wasn't the most glamorous of positions that garnered the most attention.

"For real?" He marvels with that quidditch fan enthusiasm.

"Of course. It will be fun."

He makes a strange face. "How often do you fly?"

"Often. It is important that I stay in shape and do not grow tired. The longest match I have ever played through was two weeks," she tells him, nodding along to her own explanation. "Mother believes that I must be ready if the time is to come again. Endurance is important."

"Send me an owl whenever then."

She frowns. "I do not have an owl. You can just look to the sky and join me if you see me there. Bring your friends, too. It is not fun to fly alone."

"Yeah, I'm sure they'd love that," he remarks bitterly, as if the reminder of his friends wasn't a welcome topic.

Iola wasn't sure how to help him with his friend situation, not when it still wasn't better from the last time they've spoken. Her friends were important to her, of course, but she never thought that she would be this miserable if she was to lose them. Letting your emotions rule you this way was the sort of ridiculous thing she had spent her life working against.

And she wasn't entirely sure how to properly motivated someone, to begin with. She was the sort that believed learning a new spell fixed whatever issues she had. Spells and time.

"Where are we to go?" She asks, looking up and doesn't the hall. "Is there a practice room to use?"

"There should be an empty class we can use."

He leads her to an empty room through an empty hall, closing the door behind him silently. He was very suspicious about it all, making it seems like they weren't allowed to be in their, but Iola didn't care in the slightest, not when she wouldn't be the one in any of the trouble.

It didn't take her long to seat herself on the desk, pulling her wand from the sleeve of her dress as she adjust the skirt.

She let him get himself together, waited for him to get settled as he went about adjusting desks and chairs as if he was prepared to need all of the space.

If what he said was true then it might be possible that he would need it. Iola wasn't interested in getting hit with a wayward chair flying her way.

"Alright, picture it your mind," she tells him once he's settled. "Focus on the object that you want before you try to summon."

"I've tried that," he sighs, but he raises his wand anyways, trying it as she tells him to.

Nothing happens, at least, not that she can tell. She purses her lips.

"Again."

Harry does so, going again and again until he manages to summon the chair from one end of the room to the other. It's a slow process, one that Iola finds herself more involved in than she thought she would need to be, buzzing around the boy to help in picturing the spell properly in his mind.

Focus, she would whisper, focus your intentions on the chair and do not let your thoughts become distracted.

It wasn't easy to understand at first, not when he couldn't see how that was any different from what Hermione was telling him to do, but Iola knew spells and she could only really help him in the only way she knew how to learn.

Centre your magic and make your motives clear. Don't let your wants waver. Speak clearly. Trust in your wand. Iola could only help encourage him along the way to success with slight corrections opposed to lecturing him the way others were. What was she supposed to teach him that he hadn't already been told? He was smart enough that she needn't act so condescending with her methods.

The spell zooms across the way at his call and she cheers, calling happily as he gets it right again.

And it's like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, a sort of tension leaking away that only makes it all the more easy to see how terribly tired he was. The dark circles under his eyes made her chest pinch. He was taking this a lot harder than he was letting on and even then she knew he wasn't have an easy go of things.

"Thanks, Iola, I'm not sure if I would have gotten it so quickly without you," Harry says, walking at her side toward the great hall for something to eat. "Hermione's method wasn't really working."

She giggles. "She is very smart, too smart. I am positive you would have learned with her."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Not sure it would have been as fun, though."

"It would be the same after you finish her lesson," She quips, smiling bright to lift the mood. "I believe it is why Viktor likes her so much."

Harry freezes, sputtering as he looked at her stupidly. "He what?"

"What? You can not tell? He is very obvious," she states as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "If you did not know them you must not tell her. It is not nice."

He nods, slowly moving back to her side. "Blimey, she's going to have a cow when she realizes."

"Is funny how the smartest people can be the most stupid, yes?" Iola asks, stopping at the entrance to the Great Hall.

They had worked through the afternoon somehow and that only meant that Harry would have to sit at his house table no matter how badly he didn't seem to want to. Her friends had turned up again, the two girls huddled together to discuss whatever mischief Sofie had found herself in on her day date.

She would be expected to sit with them, she knew she would be, but Hermione was with Ron and it was not nice to make the girl choose... and Aveline was nowhere in sight.

Swallowing, she linked their arms as she made for the Gryffindor table, seating herself across from him with her head held high.

As long as she did not make a habit of it, it would be fine.

"What are you doing?" Harry breathes, glancing around like a nervous bird.

"Is it not clear? I am eating dinner."

"Won't your friends get mad?"

Iola arches a brow. "So? I do not need to always make them happy. They have no say in where I sit."

Harry grins before he catches sight of something behind her, his content demeanour fading away as quickly as it appeared.

Glancing over her shoulder, she eyes one of the badges that spin to spell out POTTER STINKS. They were in poor taste regardless of how ingenious they were.

"It is just the jealousy, you know," she tells Harry. "They are upset it was not them."

"They think I'm an attention seeker," he snaps.

"Then who cares what they say? How often do you speak to any of these people?" She asks. "Why would the opinion of a nobody matter?"

"Is that what it's like to be famous? You just stop caring what people think of you?"

"Do not get snippy with me. I am not the one you're angry with."

"Yeah, you're right, sorry."

"I am more than how the papers portray me. Don't believe all that they say," Iola whispers, eyeing a questionably large drumstick. "There is nothing wrong with being alone, you know, but I wouldn't worry about this. You have friends still and Ron will come back. Things will fix again.

"And until then you have me if you wish. I do not have much experience with friends, but I will try my best."

Harry eyes her suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because there is nothing wrong with being alone, but I know it is not a pleasant feeling," she says honestly, braving the meat with a timid bite.

She can feel sauce and grease on her cheeks, sticking around the corner of her mouth. It sticks to her fingers, messy.

"You have friends, though. That girl that follows you around and Fleur, and those boys."

"Sofie and Fleur were my first friends, but they were not always my friends. We met in my third year. I met Viktor that summer as well," she explains with a small smile. "And the boys are only there because Francois is in love with Sofie."

"You just spent the first two years on your own?" He asks in disbelief.

"Is not so bad. I was very busy then. It is harder to be a dueller when you are young and practice is very important," she states, serving herself potatoes. "Of course, I was also practicing my flying in secret. Mother never would have approved of me joining quidditch otherwise."

"You've just always known what you wanted to do?"

"Mother was the one who taught me spells early. There is exam you must take. From the ministry to prove you can control your magic before you are twelve. I pass every year I take."

"You can practice outside of school in France?"

She nods. "If you have someone to teach you. Mother is the charms professor at Beauxbatons. I spend most of my time in school since I was very young."

Harry reaches for the potatoes, scooping a small serving, but there's a clicking sound and they burst — white bits flying out all over the pair in the small explosion.

It's warm, not exactly hot enough to burn, but a little uncomfortable, she would admit.

Across from her Harry is covered in the food, glasses splattered white.

Iola's laughter is airy and loud, pulling from her stomach in real contentment that has her clutching at her sides. A strand of hair sways before her eyes, food dangling before her face.

She laughs harder and the deadly silence that she hadn't notice before is replaced by a shared mirth at the harmless prank.

Eventually, Harry laughs as well, grabbing a napkin to clean himself up.

Still giggling to herself, Iola pulls her wand and cleans the mess with a few easy waves.

"I'm so sorry," Harry blurts, glancing down the table of Gryffindors.

"Why? It did not hurt anyone. It is fine," she says dismissively, still giggling.

"I'm pretty sure it was just meant for me," he says, motioning to the twins that laughed a little more subdued than the others.

Iola frowns. "Why is that?"

He snorts. "They wouldn't dare do anything to upset you. George talks about you like you set the stars in the sky."

Cheeks burning, she shakes her head, tearing into the meat feeling incredibly like some wild animal. Oh, what would the Madame say if she saw her like this?

"That is no true. They enjoy pranks, yes? They told me this," she remarks hopefully. "It is not meant for you, this I am certain. And George does not look concerned for me—" she stares at the boy in question, eyes boring into him— "he is likely worried of what trouble he will be in because they are to be nice to me."

"I'm the most oblivious bloke there is and even I can see how smitten he is."

"He is not smitten. He cannot be," Iola emphasized. "He doesn't even know me."

Harry shrugs. "Everyone has to start somewhere."

"You speak as if it is possible"

"Why couldn't it be?" He asks, eyeing her from behind the rim of his glasses. "It's not like Krum knows Hermione, but he's still following her around."

She opens her mouth to argue, ready to tell him it wasn't the same thing in the slightest. She shuts it quickly. It was sorta the same thing though, wasn't it? Emotions weren't as simple and predictable as Iola wanted to believe. The way one felt wasn't something that could be accounted for even if she wanted to factor it in — she couldn't even prevent the way she felt about certain things, let alone someone else.

"Ah, but he doesn't follow me around," she says. "He is just a fan. They told me so."

Harry rolls his eyes. "If that's what you want to believe."

"It is the only thing to believe."

"Well, I'm not too sure about that. There are lots of things you can believe in."

Turning to face the girl as she pops up next to the table, crouched down so her arms rest on the wood with her head propped up. Dinah had been a ghost much of the time that Iola has been in the castle, always busy running around doing something.

Her short, choppy hair was a mess around her face again, an ink smudge cut across her cheekbone, but her smile didn't waver in its brightness.

"Wotcher Harry," Dinah chirps before turning to Iola fully. "You busy Saturday?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday, Dinah," Harry mutters as he eats.

The girl blinks. "Really? Well, you busy tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" She repeats. "I am likely to have something to do, but not all day, no."

"Brilliant. Want to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

She glances between the two. "What is Hogsmeade?"

"A little village not too far from here. It's got some neat shops and they sell butterbeer."

The offer was meant to sound enticing, she was sure, but Iola wasn't really sure what to say considering she had never tried the drink before.

Still, somehow, she finds herself agreeing to accompany her, setting a time to meet up in the Great Hall come morning, and really, Iola was incredibly eager to see what it was all about, the little village. She only hoped that Aveline wasn't going to try to prevent her from going.

Because it was a lot easier to make friends when her mother wasn't preventing her from speaking to people. Iola couldn't help wonder if her father would have made the woman less intense.

How different could things have been if he was here? How different would she have been if he was here?

Iola spend the rest of the night with her mind stuck on him and all the possibilities that could have been, unable to cast the urge to know from her mind no matter what she did to chase them away.

Because she was here, at his school, and no matter how much she had convinced herself she didn't need to know, the want was like emotions, unpredictable, and she could never have taken into account how badly she would want to know while she was here.

And since she was, she wasn't going to let the opportunity to go waste. Aveline would tell her or Iola would learn the truth in her own.

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2019-12-18