When Iola woke up on Sunday morning before any one else with a stiff back, it took her a minute to remember why she felt so refreshed and eager to go shoot her day. Then realization struck, the date staring her dead in the face as she slowly climbed from her friends bed.

She dressed quickly, leaving the carriage as silently as she could to stretch out front. The abraxans slept peacefully, unaffected by the crisp cool air that had settled over the grounds with a slight mist. It wasn't like the mornings she was used to back homes, but the new experience was still pleasant. The weather here felt like such a drastic change to what she was used to, yet she wanted to be familiar with it. Post of her felt robbed of something because she never had the chance to attend the school, and though she would never trade her time at Beauxbatons or the few friends she had made, Iola one that the ancient castle held so many secrets and memories to something she didn't quite know.

Her father had walked those halls, had roamed these grounds — if only she knew who he was, then maybe that small, guilty part of her that always searched no matter how much she truly didn't care would finally go away. At least she could get to know the place since she was here, that would be enough to appease her if she never learnt nothing else.

Jogging along the shore of the lake, she didn't rest until she sees wisps off sunshine peeking out from behind the clouds, taking it as her cue to turn back.

There was telling telling what she would do today, with no plans set for anything big, Iola was looking forward to letting something come to her. Maybe she could check out the library, check to see what new spells she could learn while she was here. It would be foolish not to take advantage of such a thing.

She was in and out of the carriage without anyone knowing. They're all still asleep, resting after a night of partying. Dressed in suitable muggles clothes for the weather, Iola heads up to the castle with a skip in her step — not expecting there to be as many people awake as there was when she turns up.

"Miss Bouchard!" One of the boys calls, one that's younger, the short thing running up to greet her. "I can't believe it's actually you!"

Iola chuckles, stopping before him with a small smile. "Here I am," she jokes, holding her hands out.

"Can I have your autograph?" The boy blurts, fumbling through his robes. "And I photo, please?"

"I do not see why not."

He makes an odd noise, abandoning his search as he grabs the camera from around his neck, holding it with trembling hands. It was adorable how excited he was.

She beams, holding herself properly for a photo that he snaps with a click and a bright flash. Iola waves, just in case it isn't a muggle photo, before she moves forward, waiting patiently for him to produce whatever it was that he wanted signed.

The boy grows more frantic in his search each second he doesn't find what he's searching for. Iola glances about.

"How about you return to your dorm and get something? I will have breakfast as I wait," she offers, motioning to the great hall that was within sight, the smell of food making her stomach grumble.

Permission seems to be the only thing he needs as he darts off, shoving people out of his way as he heads for the Gryffindor dorms. Iola really does try not to laugh at how silly it all was. She really did enjoy meeting fans.

The great hall was filled with chatter as she entered, surveying the tables curiously as she considered which one she ought to sit at. There were no Beauxbatons students and they were all likely to get something small to eat from the little supply they had in the carriage. Most would not be eager to leave in time to catch breakfast. It was one of the things she loved about the early mornings, the isolation from people because most didn't enjoy skipping out on a little extra sleep as she did. The importance of getting a full night of rest only worked if you truly slept through the night and not the day, after all.

Seating herself at the empty end of the Gryffindor table, tucked into the corner where she could watch the doors, Iola served herself some eggs and toast smeared with honey.

"What's got you up so early?" A familiar voice asks as they seat themselves across from her.

George looked the perfect specimen of Sunday morning exhaustion with his hair mussed and clothes wrinkled. She would have believed he slept in them if she didn't know better. It was a little odd to see him without the tie that gave him the illusion of looking like a proper gentleman.

"It is not so early. It is what, ten o'clock?"

He snorts. "Nine-thirty. Early."

She shakes her head, smiling down at her plate. "I am always up this early," she tells him once she finishes chewing.

"Yeah? What for?"

"There are only so many hours in a day. I am a busy girl."

"What plans could you have so early in the morning?"

"Today I went for a run," she says, stretching her legs out in front of her for show. "There are many ways to train."

His gaze doesn't flicker from her own. "Think you could turn me into a proper athlete?"

Iola looks him over slowly, a grin breaking into her face that she struggles to hide before she can school her features. "I am no sure. You may be a lost cause."

"Lost cause?" He mouthed, gasping stupidly as he places a hand to his cheek. "I am more than capable of anything you put me up to—" he glances around, searching for something— "how about we go now? I can prove how fit I am to you then."

"What are you—"

She's cut off by a loud explosion, one that knocks over her goblet and spills orange juice across the table. It rolls slowly, dripping over to his side, but he doesn't make a move to avoid it, too busy looking at the doors waiting.

His brother comes skidding in, red faced as he grins — completely unawares of the bright red pain smudged in his cheek.

"We should go," George blurts, grabbing her hand to take her with him, nearly pulling her over the table as she follows blindly, glancing back to her breakfast sadly.

"What?" She breathes, finally dragging her feet when he managed to get her outside the great hall. "What is going on?"

Fred looks down at her, face still a rosy colour. "We were with you all morning."

"Huh?"

"I do not understand. What is this?"

The twins share a look before turning to her. "If they ask. We were with you all morning."

"But you were not with me," Iola says uncertainly, eyes darting from one to the other.

Fred groans, dragging a hand down his face. He looked ready to run again.

His brother is not so agitated as he looks to her closely, bending himself so they were face to face. "No one will know the truth and they won't deny it even if they did because it'll be you saying it. Just say we were together and we—" he motions between the two with his thumb— "won't get detention with Filch."

Her brow furrows. "What is filch?"

They freeze, looking at her. "Good question."

"But not important," Fred adds, throwing an arm over her shoulder. "He's coming now. Let us do the talking."

An old man comes hobbling down the halls, furious scowl etched deep into his weathered cheeks. This was Filch then, the one that would give them detention — something that she personally had no experience with and didn't want to start now.

Her wand is in her hand before they could speak, pointed at the boy's face as she cast a quick spell. The paint disappears from his cheeks in time for the man to come to a stop before them.

"You two have done it now," Filch pants, pointing a wrinkled, shaky finger at them.

"Us?" Fred asks with an affronted tone.

"We haven't done anything," George finishes.

"Don't you try to pull that on me again. I know it was you two," the man growls, his wrinkles more prominent than before. "Just you wait until Professor McGonagall hears of this. You'll be hung by your toes in the dungeons."

She stiffens, not wanting to see what the threat entailed. Punishments were meant to keep you in line and on track, but hanging from your toes... she wasn't sure what detention entailed, but she truly did not like the sound of it.

Iola couldn't remember the last time she had lied, or at least, had lied so blatantly without there being a shred of truth. She never had anything that she needed to hide, never had a reason or a chance to hide things, to begin with.

Her palms sweat as she spoke. "They were with me all morning."

The man turns to her, sneering. "What are they giving you to say that?"

"Excuse me? Do you know who I am? They give me nothing to say a thing," she objected defensively. "What you think they have done, they have not. I can assure you of this. Go bother someone else with accusations."

Filch gives the three a dirty look, but Iola doesn't waver, staring him down until he leaves the way he came, muttering under his breath in a way she couldn't care less about. Let him be upset. It is none of her business how he feels of her.

She doesn't move until he's out of sight.

"Is this okay?" She whispers breathlessly, accent coming out thick. Her heart pounds against her ribs. "He will not hang you by your toes?"

They twins laugh.

Grooming the bristles of her broom with quick, practiced movements, Iola nudges her kit toward the pair once more, encouraging them to use her clearly better kit instead of the old one that they shared.

They were stubborn like that, she was quick to learn, not wanting to seem like they were taking advantage of her no matter how many times she offered, and it would've driven her nuts if it wasn't so touching. They hardly knew her yet they were acting so considerate, as if they were genuinely concerned they might offend her.

Iola nudges it closer once more, huffing when George pushes it back. She sighs in defeat.

"He does not hang you by your toes, then?" She asks again, stretching her fingers. "Then why do I lie to him?"

"Did I lie to him," George corrects absently.

"Because we didn't want detention," Fred answers.

"Punishment is meant to correct your actions. You never told me what you did."

"We decided to test out a new product in celebration of the tournament of course," they say.

"With Harry as a champion," Fred continues.

"We have to show house pride," George finishes.

Iola nods slowly. "But Cedric is also a champion. Why not celebrate him?"

"He's Hufflepuff."

"He is Hogwarts. Is there really big difference between the houses?" She presses, placing her broom aside. "Dinah says they are not truly needed when she explains."

The don't have an answer at first, not that she was truly expecting one. That first day Dinah had done well to give her the important details of the Hogwarts lifestyle, not failing to mention how serious inter-house rivalries could be taken too far.

It was like everything was a competition to be the best and the atmosphere of the school didn't do anything to discredit it. The quidditch mart he's and house points only encouraged them to further that distance between them, putting them against one another in an attempt to prove that their house was the superior.

Beauxbatons is better in this sense, she decided, giving them all that sense of unity that came with everyone's accomplishments. Fleur's success would be their success. Her own success in quidditch and duelling was one that her school and peers could claim because she was one of them. There was nothing to differentiate.

Hogwarts did not seem to get the idea of that. The twins made it very clear. Cedric was not their champion now that they had Harry, someone from their own house competing. It did not matter they were from the same school.

"It's not so simple..." George finally says.

Iola waves a dismissive hand. "It does not matter. I am no longer concerned."

"Dinah's a bit of a crackpot anyway. It's a wonder she has any friends at all," Fred mutters.

Iola chooses to ignore him in favour of pulling on her gloves.

"Are you ready?" She asks, taking up her broom.

They shift in the grass, bouncing to their feet. It wasn't so odd for her to be flying outside of a stadium, she did so quite often, but it was a little strange to mount a broom with people she had never flown with before.

Almost strangers taking to the sky with her.

Iola didn't spend very much time with beaters, either.

Not waiting for a response, she kicked off like a bird as she soared up into the sky, flying with an easy grace that came from relentless hours of practice.

She let go of the handle, hands coming up to tie back her hair as she moved, holding it from her face.

"Tell me what is so terrible of detention then," she asks when they finally join her, both staring with this unnecessary sort of awe. "What do they make you do?"

Fred answers first. "Plenty of stuff, depends who gives it. It's mostly cleaning things around the castles

She pulls a face. "Does it not grow tired? Why not stop the trouble?"

"What's the fun in that?"

Rolling her eyes, she pulls free her wand and points it at her kit on the ground.

The kit was truly expensive, complete with easily shrinkable balls for practice. Not regulation because of the shrinking, but otherwise just the same. They had their own bats, holding them out in anticipation for whatever she planned. The bludger nearly hits Fred in the head.

"Careful! Are you sure you know how to play?" She teases.

His twin smacks the ball away.

"What exactly is the point of this?" George asks, eyes peeled to the bludger as it begins to make its way back.

"You hit bludger at me, I avoid. Simple."

"I'm not trying to hit you!" He exclaims, nearly dropping his bat.

Iola eyes him, nimbly moving out of the way as Fred hits it toward her. "Why not?"

"You'll get hurt!"

"I will not," she promised. "It is fun!"

"This is not fun."

She shakes her head. "It is. You'll see."

"No, really, I don't think it's a good ide—"

The bludger comes zooming back and he has no choice but to beat it away, sending it flying off to the side.

She feels positively wicked as she chases after it, speeding to put herself as the target. It wasn't what she had planned, just the opposite, but if he was going to be stubborn about helping her then she was just going to let herself have a little bit of fun with it.

It was a big day, after all.

Slowly, with much prodding, George agrees to go along with it, his brother going at it with full gusto when he does, and it starts to feel a lot more like a real practice session for her. A beater job was to keep her from getting hit, but Iola has to be able to dodge on her own, just in case. Getting hit wasn't a pleasant experience.

There were a lot of training methods that Aveline had come up with that involved her learning how not to get hit. Knowing what it felt like was the best way to prepare yourself.

The boys are tired when she finally puts away the bludger, stunning it before it's shrunken down and returned to her kit. They're red in the face, brooms slung over their shoulders.

"It was a good training. I am more willing to consider you as athletes now," she tries at a joke, uncertain if she was doing it right. It was difficult when she wasn't speaking to people who knew her.

And even then it was not often that she did so. Humour had never really been something she was good at, unsure if she was doing it right or if she was just being cruel, the girl thought it best to forfeit the entire thing. She would laugh and tease, she would make the occasional jokes, but it was never anything great.

Iola has learnt early on that being funny just wasn't her thing and she didn't have time to learn how now.

"Gutted! Absolutely gutted!" George laughs, not caring for the way his brother looks at them confused.

"Brilliant," Fred mumbles, groaning to himself as he walks away. "She's making fun of me now. First I'm Not George, now this."

"Settle down, Fred, it's just a joke," George says, rolling his eyes. "You wouldn't understand."

He gasp. "Why, I never! Me not understanding a joke, as if such a world could exist."

"You were not there. It is no big deal," Iola says placatingly, stretching herself out as he falls into playful theatrics.

"Miss Bouchard!" The small voice has her turning. She pales at the sight of the little boy from earlier. "I've been looking all over for you!"

"I am sorry! I must admit I was distracted and forget," Iola apologizes, biting her cheek.

"What are you doing here, Colin?" The twins say, coming to stand next to her as they face the boy.

The Colin kid shifts his feet and she can't tell if he's excited or nervous as he produces a a handful of papers and photographs. A Famous Witch and Wizards trading card is on top, her smiling image twirling her wand back up at herself. Iola laughs, unable to recall when they had even made this.

Taking the quill from his pile, she signs the back with all of her information.

"Blimey, why do you have all of this?" George breathes, fingering through the small collection.

"It's more than what we have," Fred says, shaking his head.

Iola signs her name, peeking up at them curiously. "You have collected my articles? How many you have?"

They flush under her attention as she continues to make her way through the papers and photos he presents to her. Mother wouldn't be happy she was signing so many things for one person but Iola didn't care what he planned to do with any of it. He seemed like an incredibly sweet boy even if he did plan on selling them. She doubt he would. She didn't care if he did.

Iola frowned at one of the articles, the one that portrayed her in the middle of a duel with a black eye, and signed it across her face. She had come in second place that day, a terribly embarrassing moment as she lost out to a younger boy from Germany.

"We only became interested in what you were doing when you were twelve," George admits. "We don't keep all of your articles."

She hums. "What does it take for you to keep an article? Is it the photo?"

"The photo certainly helps, not going to lie," Fred says.

George elbows his brother. "It's not the photo. It's the content that counts."

"Ah, of course, would you like me to sign something for you?"

Colin holds out one of the newer articles, one from Teen Witch Weekly of her at the World Cup in her dress. "You can have this one!" He offers.

"No thanks, Colin," George grumbles, ears a bright red.

"He already has that one," Fred crows, taking a step back from his brother. "Keeps it next to his bed because that was the day the Iola-Colette Bouchard learnt his name and spoke to him for the first time."

He gapes, face paling, and she jumps as he lunges at his brother, tackling him to the grass as his twin bellows and moans with laughter that doesn't keep him from fighting back — the two wrestling over and over themselves as the roll along the ground grappling with each other.

Blinking at the pair, she's unsure of what to do to stop them or with the knowledge she was given . They were fans, they had told her as much, but she hadn't considered them being fans. They didn't seem like the type that would be it o that sort of thing.

But she couldn't deny it, not with the way they had first met and how George seems to because flustered and rosy in the cheeks at times.

He was too gorgeous for his own good, the constellations of freckles like specks of paint flickers across his nose made the flush look like a painting looked at through rose tinted glasses. Iola was often faced with pretty boys but never the kind that she was allowed to get to know.

Hogwarts made it so easy to hide from Aveline.

"You little toad! I've been looking all over for you!"

Iola's knocked forward by the sudden weight on her back, Sofie's dark hair brushing against her cheek as she leans herself forward.

"Buon compleanno! Bonne fêtes! Happy birthday!" Sofie screams, shaking around onto of her.

The wrestling stops, the boys freezing as they look at her pressed into the ground.

She can see the realisation dawn on their faces before the denial and guilt finally weighs in.

"It's not your birthday!" Fred claims, shaking his head as if he was completely right. "We would know if it was. The 1st of November."

"Uh, it is the 1st of November," Sofie says in spotty English. "Yesterday was the Halloween feast."

"Yeah, but that would mean we forgot," Fred argues, shaking his head.

Iola laughs, shaking her head. "Do you usually celebrate my birthday, then?"

George looks a little purple in the face. "What? Of course not!"

"Then is no big deal."

"It is! That means we wasted your day playing quidditch!"

"It is fine. I would have done so anyway."

Fred points at her. "That is not the point."

"This is not how you spend a birthday!" George exclaims, pulling her up to her feet with a quick yank that knocks Sofie to the grass. Fred grabs her too.

"What is this?" Sofie demands.

"Is best not to ask," Iola stage whispers to her friend, playfully shaking her head dejectedly.

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I wanted to have this finished this morning but I've been busy all day so sorry for the wait !!

Unedited

2019-12-14