Iola was up before the sun was, the day ahead of her filling her veins with this buzzing energy that made her itching to get up and move.

She was dressed in her muggle clothes, happily braving the approaching winter chill so that she could wear her pretty green pleated skirt and over the knee socks. She has on a high collared button up blouse that was of thin and loose material, one that she had bought impulsively simply because it had shown off how pretty her neck was — which sounded ridiculous but was still utterly true.

Still, she was up before the sun, standing out on the lawn so that she might practice her firestorm spell in peace without having to worry about accidentally getting anyone caught up in her flames. Iola knew better than most how horrible it felt to be burned. She was lucky that the healer was so competent or she would have been forced to walk around with the marks of her failures painted across her skin.

Fires spun around her, twisting around her and the dummy as she circled her wand over her head over and over again. The wall built up higher, growing tall as the heat flared toward her, spreading so much that it made her cheeks warm and breath laboured.

Hair whipped at her face, tendrils of heat washing against her, and she pants, struggling to keep it in control a little while longer.

It was ridiculous that she wasn't afraid of getting burned.

"Iola-Colette! Is this all that you've accomplished? This disaster of a spell?"

She fumbles, flames dropping away, and she nearly shrieks as they whip at her thighs, lifting the skirt as it singed her skin.

"Mother?" She gasps, struggling to control her breathing. "Why are you up so early?"

"I've come to observe your progress. Is this all that you've accomplished?"

"It is a tough spell, mother. I've had to make many trips to the hospital wing to get treated for burns."

Aveline steps over the ring of charred grass, coming toward her and the brown patch she was standing in. "You've taken yourself to others filled with vulnerabilities?"

"Mother, it was not like that. Most of the students have seen me on the lawn practicing. Most could never dream of performing such a spell."

"I should have known better than to trust you on your own. It is all those people that you have been spending your time with — those blood traitors and mud bloods."

Iola flinches, glancing around her nervously. "Mother, you cannot say that!" She breathes the reprimand, regretting it the moment she spoke.

Aveline's expression darkens, twisting into something that promised pain and punishment if she continued on that chosen path.

"What was that?" Aveline asks, voice terribly low.

"Nothing, mother."

"That's right. Now listen, my sweet girl," Aveline whispers, drawing her fingernail along Iola's jaw. "I do not want you near anyone I would not approve of."

"But, mother, that isn't fair!" She blurts before she could help herself.

Her grip tightens on her face. "I will not tell you again."

She nods quickly. "Yes, mother."

"Good—" Aveline releases her jaw as she steps away— "you will not move from this spot until I've deemed your progress acceptable."

She swallows thickly. "I have plans, mother."

"Now, Iola."

"Yes, mother."

She's three hours late by the time she makes it to the great hall. She feels sticky and gross, her skin impossibly warm, and her thighs ache from the flames that had bit at her thighs. They were still pink and raw from the hasty healing she had done on her way up to the castle.

It didn't stop her hands from feeling stiff and sore from the abuse or her clothes from bearing the proof of her struggle. She was thankful she had thought ahead to purchase more than one style of blouse that she could pull on.

Her saving grace had been the time she saved by cutting her socks short with a spell, clipping them around her ankles to hide the burn holes that riddled the material.

Iola felt like an absolutely terrible mess as she crashed through the corridors, racing to the Great Hall where she could still hear the chatter of those that decided to take a late breakfast.

She really didn't want to know what sort of image she painted as she stood their with her hair tangled smelling of charred grass and burned flesh.

Dinah was seated at the Ravenclaw table, wearing a pair of straight legged trousers with her uniform top. Her tie was loose around her neck, the end used as a page holder to a book left on the table as she read another about erumpants.

The books snaps closed as she drops down next to her, Dinah beaming up happily as if nothing at all had gone wrong.

"You made it! You want to eat here or wait until we get to Hogsmeade?"

Her brow furrows. "What?"

"Are you hungry or can you wait?"

"You are not mad?" She asks curiously, grabbing a warm croissant from a tray.

"No. Fleur told me you got held back by your professor — which is also your mum so how awful is that — and that you would be late," Dinah explains, jumping to her feet. She pulls a worn rucksack from under the table to stuff her books in. "You ready to get going?"

"Yes! Of course!"

Standing, she shoves the rest of the croissant into her mouth before flexing her fingers, stretching the sore pink tissue that was far too delicate and fragile for her to comfortable.

"Merlin! Did you get into a fight with the fire?!"

Jumping, she looks down at herself with a wince. "I am learning firestorm. It is not so easy with so much fire. I prefer ice, if I am honest."

"You're covered in burns!"

"I have healed most of them!" She exclaims, spinning this way and that to get a look at herself. Episkey wasn't meant to work for burns, but she could do a patch job to heal the torn skin if she was in a hurry. "It is not that bad. It could be worse."

Dinah heaves a sigh. "Come on," she says. "We'll pay Madame Pomfrey a visit before we head out."

A chill runs through her. "That really won't be necessary. I'm fine, I promise."

"Yeah, you say that, but those minor burns say otherwise. I can feel the heat radiating from you," Dinah snarks, tugging her along by the sleeve of her jacket so that she could examine her hand. "Look at how bloody tight your skin is. How can you be so okay with that?"

"It doesn't really hurt," she whispers her protest.

"That's stupid."

The hospital wing was nearly deserted as they came in, Iola dragging her feet in protest. This was completely unnecessary.

The healer didn't think as much as she pushed her into a bed and ordered her to take off her shirt so that she could she her chest and back just in case. She did so bitterly, showing the expanse of raw pink skin that swooped along the bottom of her back, hugging around her spine where the firestorm had wrapped her up.

What a foolish mistake on her part, rushing through an attempt.

"Burns aren't any laughing matter no matter how small," the woman says as she pulls out the burn paste. Iola scowls at the orange goo. "You should've come straight to me."

"Don't bother arguing with her. She's persuaded that there was nothing wrong with her," Dinah remarks, idly flipping through her book.

She had angled the chair around so she wasn't facing her as she was partially dressed, something about it being improper.

Iola didn't mind so much. Many people have seen her in similar forms of undress, it was an unexpected occupational hazard, and if she gave her consent to such forms of immodesty, then she really didn't care in the slightest.

But if the other girl didn't want to face her, then she wasn't going to force her to. It would be horribly rude to do something like that.

"That should have you healed up in a jiffy. Wait here for me to come and check on you."

The doors burst open and she tenses, looking over her shoulder past the open curtain to the twins that carted in their brother between them. He limped, sporting his left leg as he stumbled to keep up. The three boys were remarkably tall.

In an instant Dinah was on her feet, book forgotten as she watched the trio enter.

"Is he alright?" Iola inquires, stepping away from the little sheet room that was meant to be her own. "What happen to him?"

The three stop, eyes bulging. Fred catches Ron as he slides from George's grip, his good leg buckling from under him.

Iola jumps forward, rushing to help the boy the best she can with paste covered hands.

"You have a wand sling," Fred squeaks, eyes shut tight.

She glances to where the fine, expensive leather was still strapped to the inside of her arm. "Yes, I have many. Where else would I keep it, in my pocket? That is silly."

"Right, right, makes sense," he mumbles. Ron makes a small whimper sound as she wraps his arm around her shoulders helping him along. "Where's your shirt?"

"She took it off," Dinah supplies, voice thick. She clears her throat. "Pomfrey needed it gone to put the paste on—" her mouth curl into a quirked grin— "she wasn't supposed to be running around like that, though."

"I am not supposed to do a lot of things," she comments bitterly, helping Ron to sit in an empty bed. She leans forward, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "Are you alright?"

His face goes red and he stammers something that makes absolutely no sense.

And then she's being pulled aside, spun around so that George was standing between them as he looked down at her. How was he so tall?

"Hello," she grins. "What did you do to your brother?"

Already pink cheeks flush darker. "Me? What makes you think I did it?"

"It was not you?" She asks innocently, tilting her head.

"It doesn't matter who it was," he argues defensively. "He's here now, isn't he?"

"I suppose that he is. You are a good brother to bring him."

"Oi! Don't go giving him a big head! I helped, too!" Fred shouts from where he was laid at the bottom of the bed.

"I know. I saw."

"Oh Merlin," Dinah moans, collapsing in the chair beside Ron. "How can you handle two of them?"

"You don't have to live with them," Ron complains.

Giggling, she shakes her head. "They are not so bad."

"Can you lot stop talking about us as if we aren't here?" The twins grumble together, both crossing their arms.

Madame Pomfrey comes from the back, brow furrowing at the scene before her.

"Oh dear, what on earth are you doing walking about like that?" She demands, ushering her back to her little section, pulling the curtain shut. "And you boys! What is this all about? What did you do to your brother?"

"Why does everyone think it was us?" Fred demands.

"We didn't do anything to him," George adds, much more calm and convincing.

Yet somehow she doesn't exactly buy it. She pokes her head out from around the curtain.

Ron's foot was bruised horribly, as if crushed by something incredibly heavy, and she wondered for a moment if it was true when they claimed it wasn't them. It might have been an accident at the very least.

"No broken bones. This'll only take a moment." The healer pulls her wand from her pocket and Iola loses interest, knowing that bruises were nothing all that interesting.

She picks at the paste on her hands, peeling away the dry substances that cracks before she lifts away a few pieces. It crumbles, revealing burn free skin and she hums quietly to herself, tamping down on that joyful feeling that bubbles in her chest.

Brushing the rest away methodically, Iola cleans herself and the mess up with a wave of her wand, cleaning up after herself as quickly as she could.

Her jacket is draped over her shoulders as she leaves, buttoning her shirt with steady fingers as she tries to move as silently as she could.

Waving, she waits to catch Dinah's attention, hoping the girl would turn to look at her instead of the steady focus she held on Ron. It was like the girl didn't even realize that she was doing it either, the way she was inexplicably drawn to him. How curious a thing emotions were.

Knowing she wasn't going to get anywhere, she waves down the next best option. George was looking at her anyway.

"Tell her to stay with your brother," she mouths, nodding her head to the pair. "I will see her later."

George looks at her hard for a moment before silently agreeing.

Smiling her thanks, Iola fleas as quickly as she could, darting back through the halls toward the carriage. There would be no Hogsmeade for her today, not when she was free to focus on much greater things.

Aveline would be pleased that she was taking her training seriously today.

Or perhaps Sofie and Fleur would like to take a walk just the three of them. That would be incredibly nice.

The morning of the first task came quicker than she could realize, like blinking awake and suddenly it was there. Iola could remember what had occurred in the time that it had happened but she was drowsy and sore, limbs feelings as if she was carrying the carriage on her own shoulders.

She was prim and proper in her school robes as the sun rose, pulling her hair back into a low ponytail with sluggish movements.

It was as though she wasn't attached to herself, wasn't really herself as she looked in the mirror. She looked full, false.

"Oh, you're up," Fleur says, not at all surprised.

"Aren't I always?" She comments dry, looking at her friend's reflection. "I think this shortage of sleep has really been getting to me, though. I don't feel real."

"You look more real than you have the last few days. Are you feeling better?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she says, ducking her head to hide her small frown. She couldn't remember being sick. "Are you prepared for the first task?"

Fleur laughs. "Not in the slightest. I am terribly worried."

"You'll be wonderful."

"Iola, it's dragons," she whispers in a stolen, hushed whisper, so quiet she isn't sure she hears it at first.

"Dragons? Like honest to goodness real dragon?"

Fleur nods.

"How do you know?"

"Madame found out and told me the Saturday, but you weren't feeling well and I didn't want to bother you with the truth," Fleur explains quickly. "It's why you helped me perfect the bewitched sleep charm. I don't know why you don't use that more often in a duel."

She stares openly at her friend, unable to recall a moment that she described but agreed anyways — smiling tightly. "I'll use it the next chance I get. If you can put a dragon to sleep then I can knock out one of my measly opponents."

Snorting, Fleur shakes her head as she stands close to her friend, looking at herself in the mirror.

She was incredibly, unfairly beautiful with her silky silver hair and striking blue eyes. Fleur was blessed with clear skin and a pretty face. She was all sorts of beautiful and wonderful.

Her dark waves were impossibly darker beside her friend, like drops of ink or the shadows with an endless pit.

"You will be there to cheer for me?" Fleur asks, dropping her head to her shoulder.

"Certainly. Sofie and Gabrielle will be right at my sides."

"Don't forget Francois and Gerome."

Iola groans. "How can I forget? They are always there. I don't know what Sofie sees in Francois. He has a horrible taste in friends."

Another head falls to her shoulder, Sofie resting her face near the crook of her neck sleepily. "It's funny. Gerome says even worse about you at times."

"Gerome is a foul little creature."

Sofie giggles. "He's said that about you as well."

"Do you have to speak of him so early? I'm going to be sick."

"Don't be so dramatic, Coco," Sofie pipes, nudging her friend with her elbow. "He's even more miserable when you aren't there. I think he considers you a friend."

Iola shudders. "Merlin forbid. Also, don't call me Coco. What even is that?"

"What? I thought it would be cute..."

"It's not, though," Fleur says soothingly, patting her friend on the back.

"Oh, forget it," Sofie moans. "Lets just get you ready, Fleur. Big first task today! I wonder what it is..."

"Dragons," Iola offers, putting on her hat.

"What?"

"It's dragons."

"How do you know?" Sofie whispers shakily.

"Fleur just told me."

"What?!"

Fleur makes to run but Sofie gets to her first. It's a wonder they could keep their silly wrestling quiet and considerate of those still sleeping. She didn't know the Italian could be so terrifying, especially over something so little in comparison.

"If this is how you are going to react then it is a good thing she hadn't told you," she remarks, pulling Sofie off the other girl. "Now, if we can help Fleur prepare herself for the day, then that would be wonderful."

She displayed the spell continuously, over and over, throughout the morning — demonstrating as though that alone could imprint the memory in her friends head. There wasn't any saying how good the strategy worked, but Fleur didn't seem as green in the face by the time she left with Madame Maxime for the first task.

Iola and Sofie followed closely behind, trailing dutifully. Gabrielle appears at one point. The girl was out of breath and looked as though she hadn't in days. Iola held her hand as they made for the stands, seating themselves near the front with a few well placed glares and loud threats by Sofie. It wasn't the kindest tactic.

Oddly enough, it was like the seat had settled her. It made her feel like she had a semblance of control of the situation with a clear sigh of the dragon handlers around the pitch, with a view of the many professors and the shot herself if it should ever come to it. If somehow each of the handlers and professors missed their spell as the beast was trying to eat her friend then Iola would readily be able to interfere. She knew the Bewitched sleep spell as well as any other. She was confident she could subdue a dragon long enough for her friend to escape.

And truly, it was all becoming incredibly obvious how daft a person had to be to enter such a competition on their own volition. Viktor and Fleur were in more danger than they had ever been in their loves and they had chosen to make it so.

Poor Harry hadn't had a choice and was now forced to face the beasts. He was still so young and hadn't the knowledge that the older champions did. He wouldn't know such spells as bewitched sleep or one powerful enough to knock through the hard skin of a dragon.

Iola flexed, her wand slipping loose to rest comfortingly in the palm of her hand. She wouldn't cheat, how despicable a thought, but she would interfered they looked as though they couldn't handle the task. Preventing their deaths wouldn't be so frowned upon, she believed.

"What are you doing?" Gabrielle asks quietly.

"Nothing. I am simply thinking."

" Then why do you have your wand out?"

"Because I can. Why do you have so many questions? Can't you simply sit and wait like everyone else?"

"How am I to sit and wait when it is my sister going out there?" She retorts viciously. "Look at it. What is it that they plan?"

"Sit patiently and you'll see."

"But you know, don't you? Why can't you just tell me?"

"Because you're about to find out on your own! Just wait."

"But I don't want to wait!"

"Gabrielle!" Sofie snaps, leaning over Iola so that she could speak to the girl. "That sort of behaviour is extremely unbecoming of a young lady! The Madame would not be impressed."

Its enough to keep the girl quiet until Bagman finally steps out with Professor Dumbledore and Crouch to address the watching students and the few reporters that had been permitted on the grounds for the competition.

Aveline was at the side, stood silently as she observed the field. Her gaze was dark, shadowed. Her mother was angry about something. She averts her eyes, unable to force herself to look lest she bring her mother's anger down upon herself.

And finally, they bring out one of the dragons, the handlers standing with their wands ready as they pulled the chained Swedish Short-Snout out into the muggy air.

Her breath catches at how positively beautiful the beast was.

Sofie grabs the arm tightly, squeezing. Gabrielle shrinks into her side.

A gong sounds and the dragon screeches.

Iola whispers, "Oh, sweet Merlin."

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So I'm the kind of person that write obsessively for one thing at a time, and I know that this isn't my most popular book, so I just wanted to say a huge thank you to those of you that are reading this garbo!! It really does mean the world to me because I really do love Iola with all my dumb heart !!

Big thanks to you all! I appreciate you!!

Unedited

2019-12-19