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thirty-four. her vibe is pretty

Come morning, Iola found herself in Professor Dumbledore's office sitting across from him at his desk as she held a finger out for his phoenix to nip. Winky was beside her, body shaking with her sobs as she curled in on herself clutching tissues to her face. 

He didn't say anything just yet as he watched her with soulful, knowing eyes as she kept a hand on the house-elves back in silent support. 

He soundlessly offered her a lemon drop from the bowl on his desk. 

She denied it with a soft shake of her head, tilting her head to get a better look at the portraits around the room. She made a soft humming sound, reading the names of the previous Headmaster's -- only pausing briefly at Phineas Black to search his features quickly for something that might have been familiar to her. 

There was nothing that she could see of herself in him. She wondered, for a small moment, what it was that she got from the Black family gene pool, but she really couldn't tell. 

Iola had the same facial structure as her mother, if not much smoother, more fae-like in a way that reminded her of her great-aunt Aeres. Her black hair, she figured, she got from her father, at least, but the eyes could have been from either. Somehow, she wasn't sure if that made her feel better at all. 

One terrible family or another, she just -- she didn't really want either. 

"I'm glad you were able to come and see me," Dumbledore says. "You have heard the news, I presume." 

Winky chokes, a wailing cry leaving her as she collapsed to the floor. Iola winces at the display, mouth pulling into a harsh line as she averts her gaze kindly. 

"Yes, I heard the moment that we have returned. I sent Ponpy to be with Winky immediately. I do not think it helped, it seems." She pats Winky's head, hoping that it provides comfort of some sort. "Does this meeting have something to do with M. Crouch and Winky?" 

"I'm aware that you have been caring for Winky when you had the time. Your house-elf Ponpy has been watching after her, it would seem," Professor Dumbledore says, smiling at her in a gentle, inviting manner. "This is not a typical situation, it is a very tragic, saddening happening that has come to pass, but I have arrived at the conclusion that it would be best for young Winky if she was to come under your employment. I wished to discuss this with you both." 

"If it is already with Winky, then we have room for her in my house," Iola says. 

Winky sniffles, picking her head up slowly. "Misses ams wanting Winky?" 

"Of course I want you, Winky. You are more than welcome to work for me and I believe that Ponpy will be pleased to have the help. He is not accustomed to doing so much alone. You will be given a monthly allowance on top of payment to spend however you wish. You will be expected to dress appropriately and in a matching manner to Ponpy. I will provide your wardrobe for you, so do not worry about buying clothes," she says. "That is, if you should agree that you would like to work for me and not Professor Dumbledore here at Hogwarts." 

"You see, Winky, it is my belief that after so many years employed to a singular family unit, it would be best for you to work with a singular family once more if you so choose," Dumbledore tells the young elf. 

  "Winky is getting to pick?" 

"Winky may pick, yes. Whatever you believe will be better for you," Iola says gently, patting the house-elf's head once more and before pulling fully away. "Professor Dumbledore is giving you the option to work where you wish." 

"Winky has never decided," the elf mutters silently. "Winky wants what the masters want." 

Professor Dumbledore does a closed eye smile, squinting a happy expression at the creature that has her restraining from raising a brow at the elderly man. It was almost as if he was trying to pawn the depressed elf onto her. 

"We only want what is best for you, Winky, and since you seem to be getting along so well with Ponpy, I considered that this might be something that you want." 

Iola nods along. "If you wish to remain with Ponpy, then it is not a problem for me," she says. "If that is all, then I will await your decision Winky. Regardless of what occurs, Ponpy will always be delighted to see you." 

She lifted herself from her seat as gracefully as she could manage, nodding slightly to the headmaster before she whisks herself from his office. 

Stepping out into the corridor, she sighs silently before gathering herself up with her shoulders back, carrying herself aimlessly through the halls. 

She ought to be practicing, she knew, or at least doing her assignments, but truthfully, Iola really couldn't be bothered. It was a churning in her gut, an itching sensation that screamed that there was something that she was forgetting. 

To be fair, however, there was always something that Iola felt that she was forgetting, even if she hadn't truly forgotten something when it was within her realm of possibility. 

Solace came in the form of red hair, freckles, and a knit jumper with his school crest on the front, tie hanging loose around his neck, as he laughed after his brother and friend Lee Jordan. 

Fred was going on and on about the date that he was planning for Helene, raving about how he wanted it to be romantic and intimate and private because -- and he adds in a whisper -- she was still very nervous about it all, still very shy and new to the entire concept of dating. 

Dating to the point of what, she wasn't sure, nor was she even positive if what they were doing was dating because she couldn't know if it was true -- and Iola hated when she didn't know something, hated that feeling of being uncertain and unawares. 

Against the annoying desire that itched and begged for her to go to George, to see him and allow him to chase away this nagging sensation that crawled and prowled beneath her skin, that odd sense that told her that she just knew that going to him would wash away this feeling of unknowing with either words or silly jokes, Iola turned the opposite way and make for the quickest route to the Beauxbatons carriages -- for what just yet, Iola wasn't positive, but she knew that no matter how much she didn't want to, some sort fo activity would distract her enough to think properly. 

"Well, well, if it isn't Miss Bouchard," an annoying voice drawls, easily drawing her attention. The ridiculous blonde hair that looked nearly silver only had her rolling her eyes upwards in annoyance. "To think I've only had the chance to use you once or twice around this ridiculous castle. Your terrible choice in company must be been rubbing off on you." 

"My choice in company is not any of your concern, Malfoy," Iola drawls. "I believe that it is the company I keep that has prevented me from seeing you more than I need." 

She continues walking, not bothering to look at the boy any further than she had to. 

"And I would like for it to stay this way, Malfoy," she calls out to him, her voice echoing around the stone corridors. "Do not presume to speak to me again." 

"Look at you acting as if you're above anybody," the boy laughs. "You're nothing but a blood traitor and mudblood sympathizer." 

She whirls around, wand out and pressed to his cheek before he even had the time to flinch. "You dare speak those words to me," she seethes, digging the tip further into his skin. "You are nothing, little boy, without the money of your father. I could have you on the floor rolling in pain before you even so much as have the time to blink. I have made a name for myself. I have made my own fortune. I am the daughter of three great houses, top student, and quidditch star. I am one of the best duellers in the world, and yet, you have the audacity to speak to me as if you have the upper hand." 

Taking a step, she forces him to walk backward, nearly tripping over himself as he moves, eyes wide and wet with tears as he continues to flinch away from her. "Do not to piss in your violin, Malfoy, you will never be better than me, you will never be able to make anyone think that you are better than me." 

She used her wand to push him away, pressing his other cheek into the cool stone behind him. He whimpers, wincing away, and she scoffs, rolling her eyes at the cowardly boy. She turns on her heels, strutting down the corridor with all the confidence that is rightfully hers. 

Blood boiling, she palms her wand in hand, twisting it over and over to feel the weight of it in hand. The urge to fight everyone who so much as looked at her wrong was powerful, but easy to ignore as she stuffs it down aggressively, forcing her emotions into neutral. 

"You alright, Bouchard? That was a bit intense." 

Rolling her eyes, she continues on her warpath toward the nearest exit. 

"Oh, don't just ignore me because you're in a rotten mood," Gerome continues, the tap of his shoes on the stone flooring giving away the fact that he was rushing to get close enough to bother her properly. "That annoying little blonde was rotten, though. He deserved every bit of the scare that you gave him." 

"He deserved a lot more," she seethes. "How dare he speak to me like that? Like I was below someone the likes of him? His parents obviously didn't care a single bit about his foul attitude and it's far too late to shape him into place."  

"You could have done a good job with the way that you had him cowering against the wall." 

That gives her pause, a small grin beginning to form on her face. "Was he truly cowering?" 

"What? You couldn't tell?" 

"It's a bit different when it's right in front of you, admittedly. I was a tad close, so my judgement might have been off." 

Gerome scoffs, nudging her with his elbow. "Please, you just wanted to hear someone say it." 

"Goodness, Gerome, you must think so highly of me to make such grand assumptions." 

"Yet you haven't said I was wrong." 

Her irritation returns with all the gentleness of a tidal wave, slamming into her full force as she turns a scowl on the boy. "You're just full of unwanted opinions, aren't you?" 

"Oh, Iola, don't be so mean. You might give people the wrong opinion." 

Hissing, she spins on him, wand loosely held as she points the tip his way. "Do not, Gerome. I will not warn you again."

"Easy, Bouchard, easy," he says, hands held up in defence, "You really need to burn off some energy, don't you?" 

"I am completely fine, Gerome, I only need to be alone." 

"Then be alone, by all means, don't let me stop you," he says, backing away from her and moving a few steps away. "I just wanted to let you know that your ginger boy was looking for you."

"Yes, I passed them in the hallway," she says diplomatically. "I will remind you that I wish to be alone." 

Gerome nods, continuing to back away from her. He rolls his eyes skyward, making a big show of her. Whenever he was near, he never failed to make her feel as if she was small and insignificant, and if she was any less sure of herself, she might have honestly believed his every little diminishing action. As it were, Iola just so happened to have the degree of self-confidence and assuredness that allowed her to take his words to heart and level her just enough to be clear-headed, to make her feel as though she was human enough, humbled enough, to be what she was. 

And so, Iola spends the rest of her day alone doing absolutely nothing of importance than hiding from everyone just as her soul desired. 

If she just so happens to watch as Malfoy jumps from his seat during dinner, hands fluttering around his face as a beak overtook his mouth and he cawed like a chicken, then Iola wouldn't admit to the twins how good they were at raising her spirits. 

Nor would she admit to Gerome that she needed a good laugh when he gave her that smug look. 

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pure filler. a bit of plot set up on the low. a bit short. sorry for taking so long to update. 

unedited

posted: 2021-04-04

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