When there was a crack and warp of light that accompanied a  portkey and Harry appearing with a rather still, rather motionless Cedric, Iola wasn't quite sure she had ever thought she would be prepared for such a sight. 

There wasn't any real, true way that a person could be prepared to see another dead, yet she found herself rather overjoyed, in some unbelievably twisted way, that it was Cedric and not any of the others. While Fleur had gotten out early, Viktor had come out stunned, disoriented, and bleeding after a professor had gone in after the red spark had been shot into the air. 

The upheaval, the outcry of fear had resonated far too near for Iola, far too deep as she faced such an overly bright emotion of good as she watched a father cry knowing that her people would still be warm to her touch, would still be able to wrap her tight and respond to her sharp words. She had recoiled at the feeling, had burned with the image of her mother in her mind, of the sound of her dark chuckles and the knowledge that rushed forward of every spell that could kill a person. 

Iola knew far too many. 

They hadn't remained long after the thought crossed her mind. Madame Maxime had been clear with her words, ordering them back to the carriage without delay -- placing herself and Francois responsible. 

No one disapproved when she took the lead, wand pressed tightly to her palm as she hurried her schoolmates along. No one had wanted to remain in the dark. No one wanted to be left behind. No one was willing to get lost in the jumble of the Hogwarts students returning to their houses. 

The Madame had remained to assist. Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen. 

Iola ushered them into the carriage, spelling the doors behind her as she was last to enter. "Go on," she snapped at them. "Don't gather around in the entryway." 

"No one will care if you stay with your friends tonight," Francois quickly tacks on, gentle and soft. Sofie clings to his side, knuckles white and lips trembling. "Try to get some rest." 

Gerome was silent against the wall. Fleur had been whisked away by her family, taking refuge in the castle at the Madame's assistance. Iola expected that they wanted to ensure that she wasn't affected in ways that no one had thought to suspect before. 

Iola herself could only guess, only draw terrible conclusions because of the things that she had read, things she had seen, because of her mother. 

Many things in her life seemed to return to her mother. 

Waiting until the room was clear, people going back to their beds, clinging to friends as they whispered their shock and terror, Iola took a deep breath -- dropping into the first available chair and crossing her ankles. 

Francois gently led Sofie to sit, letting the girl fall into his side. Gerome remained plastered to the wall. 

"You should go to bed, Sof," She tells her friend. "You don't need to stay up." 

"I won't leave you to sit here alone... I-I don't want to leave Francois either." 

Shaking her head softly to herself, she lifted a brow at Gerome in question. 

"The beds will be too loud and crowded, I'm sure. Much to difficult to get some quiet time." 

Despite the instinctive reaction to make a rather biting comment, Iola holds her tongue and nods, choosing to be sympathetic, empathetic, or whatever the hell it was. Just because she hadn't been nearly as touched, didn't mean that they weren't affected by this in some way or another. 

"Do you... do you really believe that he's back?" Sofie asked softly, breaking the relative silence that they had found themselves in. 

Lump forming in her throat, she swallows thickly as she grasps for an answer. "I don't think Harry would lie about it." 

"How else could the Hufflepuff boy have died?" Gerome says, voice just as tense as the rest of him. 

Sofie glowers. "His name was Cedric, you dickhead bastardo!" 

Iola draws in a quiet breath, biting back on a burst of laughter. 

"Sof, he didn't mean it like that," Francois defends his friend. 

"It's the point of the matter. That boy just died. He's dead and you're acting like--" 

"What do you think will happen now?" Iola interrupts, redirecting her friend. "He was... He was terrible. The history claims that he was terrible and that his reach was apparently much further than what most people had thought." 

"Maybe not so far. He had never truly come to France according to the Ministère. It was only your family that has been known to have joined him," Gerome says. 

"My family... perhaps. I know that Aveline's father was a pureblood from London that married into the Bouchard family and changed his name." 

"The Bouchard's must've housed him. Sympathizers," Francois quietly notes. "There were likely families all over that secretly sided with him." 

"It could just be because the Bouchards were a small family," Sofie says quickly. "They were one of the few remaining purebloods that had survived the Revolution." 

"Purebloods that were executed with the rest of the monarchy because of how they treated the poor people like us," Gerome drawls, and Iola was left rather stunned at how the conversation had turned to her family's position in history. 

It was all rather unfortunate, the existence of her family. She knew, as it had been revealed to her, that her Father's side were all Death Eaters or at least sympathizers. With Aveline, well, it was easy to assume that most purebloods taking refuge among a french family and changing their name were not in a very good position. It would be of no surprise to her if they were all very much practitioners of the dark arts. 

Though, she didn't know for sure and likely never would, and all this theorizing, this discussion as though she wasn't here or as if it were of no relevance to here was starting to sit wrong on her chest, weighing almost uncomfortably. 

"Yes, while I come from a long line of terrible people. What do you think will happen now?" 

"It depends on if Potter was telling the truth or not," Gerome says, shrugging a shoulder. 

Irritation bubbled in the pit of her stomach, annoyance burning through her as she was reminded once more that Gerome had few moments where he was anything other than a piece of work in her eyes. It felt almost foolish that he could be even meaner than she was at times. 

"I... well, Francois and I have been talking it over for a while now, and we've decided that we will be leaving Beauxbatons come the end of term," Sofie speaks softly, grip on Francois loosening and Iola wondered how long her friend had been waiting to admit such a thing to her. 

It was hardly a surprise to her regardless. Sofie had already admitted that she no longer wished to continue her schooling, that she was simply happy owning the orchard. Francois, while more surprising she must admit -- having always acknowledged his position as one of the top students -- was just as predictable, in a sense, she supposed. He was completely besotted with Sofie, willing to do anything for her, and while he clearly could have finished the final year with ease, it wasn't entirely necessary for him to live a comfortable life. 

Francois came from a notable family just as she had. She knew her friends wouldn't be wanting for anything, at the very least. 

"You can't be serious," Gerome demands, an angry furrow to his brows as he pushed off the wall. "You've been together for hardly a year, and now you plan to leave Beauxbatons, and what? Live off your parent's money?" 

"Calm yourself, the final year isn't needed. You know this. You're just upset that you'll be without any friends," Iola drawls, lifting a hand to pick at her fingernails. 

He turns on her, glowering fiercely. "You're one to talk. You won't have any friends at all. At least people will be willing to speak to me." 

"You make it out as though I have ever wanted to be friends with any of those people," Iola dismisses him, turning to her friend once more. "You're sure about this?" 

Sofie nods her head eagerly. "I have been ready to go home for a while now and Francois has agreed to follow me there, and with just happened, I doubt there will be a better time to get away from everything and everyone. I want... I want to be safe and Italy is very far from here." 

"We'll take turns living with our families, alternating between businesses until we are ready to be more involved," Francois says, speaking directly to Gerome as he does so. She doubts it does little to calm him. 

Gerome doesn't respond for a moment, taking his time to come up with an answer. "I supposed it's just as well. I have spoken with Madame and she has given me permission to enter into an apprenticeship with the healers at Jeanne D'Arc." 

"They allowing you to work in the hospital?" 

"Yes, myself and a few others interested were approached earlier in the year." 

"Well, that's something. I never thought you would truly get the chance to become a healer what with your lacking intelligence, but congratulations, I suppose," Iola says, peeking at him over the tips of her fingers, a small quirk to her lips. 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes skyward despite the stupid smirk that he was sporting. "What are you going to do, Bouchard? You going to go into hiding or are you going to continue to prounce around like your above the rest of the world?" 

"I plan to continue as I was. I shall continue my education, better my art form, and carry on as though you don't exist," she states plainly. "Did you think I would be absolutely beside myself with you away from me?" 

Gerome bears his teeth in a mockery of a smile. "You know what I think? I think you're--" 

"Are you sure that you'll be alright on your own, Iola?" Sofie asks with a hint of worry seeping through her words. 

"Merlin, you're acting like I'm nothing more than a child that needs your constant attention and comfort." 

"It's not that, Iola, I just worry now that you'll be alone. I don't want you to be spending all your time training and reading in the dorms," Sofie says, biting the corner of her lip. 

Pushing to her feet, she openly rolls her eyes and twists her wand around her fingers. "It's getting late. We should hurry to bed. Madame Maxime will be returning soon." 

Sofie nods slowly, gently tugging Francois to his feet as she stands. "Are you going to follow?" 

"I'm going to sit out here a while longer," Gerome says. 

"Goodnight, Sofie, Francois. I'll see you in the morning," Iola says, moving to a seat closer to the window. 

They remain in silence for a while, Iola watching the darkness play across the lawn with thin streams of moonlight. The colds were thick, dense, almost foreboding with the knowledge of what had happened that night. 

Because if Harry was certain, if he was right, then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned and they were all to face dark times ahead. 

Dark times where so much speculation would be cast upon her because of her mother, where so much would be expected. 

It was a while before Gerome finally fell asleep sprawled in his chair and Madame Maxime had finally returned. The hour was late and her shoulders weighed down, dark circles growing under her eyes. Madame Maxime shot her a grimace of a smile as she stepped into the carriage, head bending under the ceiling. 

"Oh, Miss Iola," her headmaster says rather sadly. "It's good that you're awake. Professor Dumbledore was hoping it was not too late to speak to you." 

Her eyes widen. "He wishes to speak with me now?" 

"I'm afraid so. I shall accompany you to the castle, if you wish." 

Iola quickly shakes her head, casting a glance toward the bunks briefly. "I can make the way on my own, Madame. I shall just retrieve a coat first." 

"Yes, yes, dear," Madame Maxime mutters. "And Iola, dear, please take care when you carry on alone. I trust the wards of the schools, but do not dawdle."

"I won't, Madame. I shall take care." 

Madame Maxime nods, a quiet sorrow settling into her features. The giantess woman reaches forward and pulls her tight into her arms, squeezing enough to make her ribs squeak. "Professor Dumbledore shall request you join him at his school next year. Please consider his request well." 

"Madame?" 

"You will always be welcome at Beauxbatons, dear, but you know just as well as I that you have overcome what you are able to learn in our halls," the headmistresses whispers, releasing her at once and moving to shake Gerome awake. "Hurry on, Miss Iola. It is already late and you mustn't keep Dumbledore waiting." 

Iola sprinted toward the castle, taking off the moment that her feet touched the ground and before the darkness could threaten to swallow her. She could nearly hear the mocking words of her mother, nearly hear the trembling of her own breath as she woke with a blaring pain in her head and an ache that sat within her skin. 

Professor Snape let her into the castle, the heavy door swinging open to let her in before she had reached the step. He was solemn, locking it behind her immediately. 

"You took your time, Bouchard." 

"I was only told just now that I was to come. You are lucky that I had waited up for my headmistress," she snaps, tugging her coat free of wrinkles. 

"Hurry along. We mustn't keep them waiting any longer." 

The trip to the headmaster's office was short. The pair hadn't spoken a word the entire way there and she much preferred it that way. 

The potions master didn't follow her up, only giving the password before disappearing in a flurry of came. Iola rose slowly, knocking on the door and waiting to be called to enter. 

Entering slowly, she stepped in lightly, heels making a slight click on the ground as she came inside. "Hello?" 

"Ah, I was wondering if I had caught you in time, Miss Iola." 

"I was told that you wished to see me."

"Yes, come, sit. You must understand, Iola, that I would not be asking you here if it was not necessary. With the confirmation from Harry, there is no time to waste in preparation of Voldemorts--" she flinches, recoiling away before she even has a chance to sit-- "tonight. Every powerful witch and wizard will be needed." 

"It is true, then, that he has returned?" 

The old man tilts his head. "You had doubted Harry?" 

"No. I simply had hoped that he was wrong." 

"I'm afraid that is not the case," Dumbledore says, shaking his head as he does so. "I must apologize for the lack of tact, dear, but there is something that I must ask of you." 

Iola considers slowly, carefully taking in his words and the position that she was being placed in. There were many things she could offer in assistance, yet few that would ever do much, in the end, to affect her greatly. 

As much as she wanted to quickly agree, she knew that it wasn't a feasible action to take. No matter how deranged and terrible her mother had been to her, Aveline had taken care to ensure that her daughter learnt life skills that would be necessary to her survival, her self-preservation and her continued existence. 

"What type of favour are you speaking of, Professor?" she asks diplomatically, cautious.

Dumbledore smiles wanly, reaching forward on his desk to grab one of the candies that he keeps in a crystal bowl. She doesn't look away from him to see what he has this time. 

"It has come to my knowledge that you are in possession of quite a few residences..." 

"I have a number of homes, yes. Is there any that you inquire to specifically?" she asks cooly. 

"There is a building in London that had been passed into your position with the passing after the passing of your grandmother." 

Iola blinks, startling slightly. "Yes, my father's home. Aveline had spoken of it a great number of times. I have never been there." 

"The home itself is protected from muggle eye, only those that know of its location may find it," he supplies. "With dark times approaching, a group that had been formed in the first war, the Order of the Pheonix, will be reassembled and require a safe place to meet." 

"You wish to use the house in London?" she asks softly. "Yes, I have never quite cared for it before. I can sign it over into your name if you wish." 

His eyes sparkle. "That won't be necessary." 

"Then what will you need from me, Professor?" 

His actions are slow, purposeful, as he picks up a newspaper and places it faces down on the table so that she can read it clearly. The headline is clear, her own picture smiling back uninteresting. It was from when she had won as the junior champion of the world dated to last summer. Professor Dumbledore places another beside it, her photo smaller this time, but it was noting her as eighth in the world, that there would only be extraordinary things to come in her future. 

"Aside from permission to use your home and for your presence within the building for at least one day, I must ask you something that is far more personal," he says, a form -- already filled in with her name clear -- placed on the table. "I wish to introduce a formal duelling club next semester, merging it into the curriculum as Beauxbatons has. It would be an honour for you to head it. I must do all that I can to ensure the safety of my students to any means necessary." 

Iola takes up the sheet, carefully looking over the filled-in details written in the hand of her own headmistress. It was clear to her that Madame Maxime was hoping she would accept, that she must have long known the plans of her friends and have realized that she would be alone. 

Still, it burned in her chest, heart shuddering with each trembling beat, as she felt the waves of control being washed over her, the shackles of being told what she must do and having her own choices ripped away once more. 

Swallowing back her displeasure, Iola calmly sets down the paper and holds out the tip of her wand. A silent wave and her signature is scrawled across the bottom. "I am to attend next year?" 

"It will be an honour to have you here. We will sort you in only a moment," Dumbledore supplies. "One more thing, dear, I had hoped that you would take care in training Harry." 

"Because of You-Know-Who?" she mumbles. "Harry will not be safe?" 

"He will be protected throughout the summer, yet your assistance will surely prepare him for what is to come." 

Iola doesn't truly need to consider when she already has her answer, merely, she goes over her engagements for the summer, organizing herself in a rough image so that she will have the time to visit him when she's needed. She was hoping to stay out of people's attention as much as she dared. She would have to make a few changes and arrangements for it all to work in her favour. 

"I will be sure to visit him during the summer." 

Dumbledore smiles, though it is grim and feels as though she had somehow just been tricked. "Iola, you are already doing a great deal to help, if you cannot see him often, then do not stretch yourself thin," he states, voice alarmingly calm. "Come, let us get you sorted into your house." 

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unedited 

2021-08-01