The time passes in a blur, much of it spent with Hermione and Dinah that were willing to push her in much the same way that her mother had. It was invigorating, really, to have the weight of their dependency on her shoulders, their hopes that she would win. Iola would not let them down, it wasn't even an option -- not when they had taken the time to bring her around to their Professors McGonagall, Moody and Flitwick for swift lessons that neither could assist her in. 

She was a far superior duellist in comparison, something that they were equally accepting of, and had taken the care to ensure that she got the challenges she needed. She had faced many students within the castle from all three of the schools. 

It was a thrill, a boost that pushed her to make sure that those who continued to believe in her, those that were willing to be flung around by her, weren't disappointed by what she was. 

And Iola was ready, she had to be ready. 

She had pushed and pushed further and harder than she had even with Aveline, had let her vulnerability and weakness show to others that were capable of assisting her in turn. 

It was like Hermione and Dinah had taken Aveline's structure, taken the routine that she had always known, the one that she was familiar with and knew was proven to work, and had made it better because they gave her time to practice quidditch with the teams that were grounded for the year and Viktor that was simply happy to be playing again. 

They had given her weekends with George where she ate all of his ridiculous candy willingly and followed dutifully to get him out of trouble.

She had never thought that Hermione could be such a good friend, as good a friend as Sophie and Fleur were to her, with how she had treated her upon first meeting. Now, though, she was happy to know that she had such a close connection with someone else that she had chosen to befriend on her own -- someone that she had won over in the end. 

Sometimes Iola wondered truly what it was that Aveline was trying to keep from her, if there was something that was truly wrong with friends other than the distraction to her training. Before, when she was on her own with only her mother's word to lead her, every moment had been spent training for one thing or another in some odd shape or form. Then, there had been a never-ending loop of repetition that had no visible ending in sight. 

Friends were a distraction, they were a weakness, something that people could target, but that didn't mean it wasn't worth the motivation that they gave. 

As much as she enjoyed her newfound relationships, Iola didn't want to be seen with them as she left the school. She would leave and arrive alone. She would fight alone and win alone. She was not a child to be coddled or held, not a blathering infant that needed sweet words to gather her courage. 

Madame Maxime saw her off, had walked her to the edge of the school grounds and ensured that she was prepared to go alone before she made her way off. 

No one knew that she had left that morning, none had thought that she would leave two days before she had claimed so that she could arrive in London alone. 

Sofie and Fleur would be rather displeased at her, she imagined, as she had disappeared before they had the chance to speak with her, but with the tension that continued to grow and multiply between them, spreading likes weeds, she was not entirely prepared to open up to any of that just yet. 

As for the others, well, Viktor was the only one who knew, but she was the only one that she expected to know. Iola was well aware that he was not the most brilliant of men, but he wasn't completely daft either. He knew her, this side of her, the competitive bit that required certain events to go as she planned. Viktor had not said a thing as he patted her shoulder that morning after breakfast, just as Iola had said nothing about the carefully posed question about breathing underwater. 

She made a note of it, of course, and then had sent him on his way to the library with the book titles that she could easily recall neatly printed on a scrap of parchment. 

Now, however, alone in London with her things felt in the extravagant home that Aveline had purchased in her name, Iola took a leisurely stroll through the busy streets as most were leaving work for the day. 

The tip of her wand brushed her fingers inside her tailored coat, the loose belt lightly tapping against her legs as she wove through the tired individuals that rushed home for the day. 

Iola could not remember a time that she had honestly been so completely alone. It was daunting if she had to admit. She shoved the feeling away in favour of a healthy dose of curiosity. 

She could not be more pleased that she had chosen to do so, either, as she spots the black, shaggy dog seated calmly across the street from her. It was still, attentive as if it watched the people pass it by every day. 

Based on how scraggly and scruffy the thing looked, she would bet that it did often sit around and wait, begging for scraps for anyone that was willing to spare it anything. 

She had never been a dog person, really, had never cared much for pets when they only required maintenance and affection that she didn't have the time to give them. That wasn't to say that she had never thought of getting an animal, it was just that she had never been interested. 

The dog didn't move as she approached cautiously, wandless arm held out for it to sniff as she drew closer -- sitting on a nearby bench. It followed behind quickly, stopping in front of her with its head cocked to the side. 

"Bonjour. There's no chance that you'll understand French, is there?" she asks softly, tentatively touching the top of its head. The fur was dirty, this odd mix of oily and dry. "But of course, there isn't. You live in Britain. And you're a dog. I must look awfully ridiculous." 

She slowly scratches to the back of its ears, grinning to herself as it presses its head more firmly into her palm. 

"You're all alone, aren't you?" she asks. "I am as well. It is the first time in my life that I have ever been truly alone. No one has ever trusted me before this." 

The dog huffs and for a moment she swears it rolls its eyes. Her movements still and it whines, pressing forcibly against her.  "It's true. My mother was not the kindest woman, but she try at least to make sure I know that I had her. She is gone now and I am alone. I would take you with me, perhaps, but I do not think I am much of a dog people, as they say." 

Pets were... pets were terrible, ridiculous things. Iola wanted one, she thought, but not this one. Not a dog. 

The sense that she was ruining her life returned in full force once more, slamming hard into her chest and her breath shuddered as she quickly and efficiently worked to compose herself. Bouchard women did not cry. Travers women did not cry. Dangerous women did not cry over something so stupid as pets and loneliness. 

Loneliness was simply a state of mind, a vague idea that she conjured up in a lapse of useful activity. Letting herself become so idle at times was a mistake that she had been taught against years ago. 

Helene told her that it was good to have moments of silence, moments where you could face yourself so that you could have the chance to grow and let yourself heal, but Iola wasn't injured, she wasn't hurt or broken and didn't need healing. She needed accomplishments and success. 

Moments of silence, moments to yourself, those weren't the time for quiet reflection -- they were fantasies to those whose minds didn't know how to take a break. 

"You are the first stray that I have ever seen. I wonder how long you have been alone," she speaks to herself, blinking quickly as she pulls away from her thoughts. "I should take you somewhere. It is no right to leave you alone like this." 

The dog barks, jumping away from her. She frowns to herself, standing just as swiftly as he had moved. "Wait a moment. Don't go." 

It skitters back, teeth bared, and she withdraws instantly, wand touching more firmly against her palm instinctively. 

"Do not growl at me!" 

It snaps again. 

"Fine. Go away, then. Get away. I would turn you pink if I could, you mangy dog," Iola bites, dropping back onto the bench. She crosses her ankles, hands resting properly in her lap. 

She doesn't watch the animal go, doesn't care where it went. 

The world was so confusing. It was split in two, moments unpredictable as they were either exactly as her mother has taught her to think or turning out to be the complete opposite, and Iola didn't know which of these was more frequent than the other. 

What was she meant to do when she didn't know the truth of anything? Iola wasn't sure how to even go about answering the question and it wasn't like she was ever to get the chance to speak to Aveline so that she might get the chance to... 

She sighs. Iola didn't even know what she would do if she got to see her mother again. 

It was ridiculous how much she relied on that woman still when she had been raised to depend on no one. As stupid as it was, she missed Aveline more than she could imagine. 

Iola hated herself for it. 

She stayed seated, watching people pass until the rush died down and the sky was beginning to darken. She had to meet with Bagman tomorrow. Legilimens and an Auror were going to delve into her mind just to ensure that everything remained the same. 

To assure everyone that she was honest and truly not cheating was worth the extra hoops that they were demanding she jump through. 

Eventually, she makes her way back to the cold, empty condo. She turns the lights up as she enters, flicking the switches as she passes, and she frowns at how bare and emotionless everything was. 

There were no pictures, only ridiculous paintings that had likely cost her a fortune for no reason. There was uncomfortable furniture and hideous beige walls. It was as if it was brand new, staged for sale still, and she supposed that it still was, in a sense. It was a simple, unfeeling place that Aveline had bought so that they might have a place to stay in London. 

It was all still very new, seeing as this was to be only the second time anyone was going to be staying here since the condo was purchased in her name. 

The pantry was empty, as was the refrigerator. There was only her and her small suitcase. 

She wished she had brought Ponpy along with her instead of insisting that he remain at the castle to be with Winky. He was growing quite fond of the little house-elf, and she him, it seemed, as she cried less and less and began to visit her alongside Ponpy in the early mornings. 

The pair would be sad to separate after working together so closely. She wished that she could convince Winky to come work for her in the end. It would not be nearly as prestigious as working at Hogwarts, but staying in her care was perhaps the next best thing. 

Tapping on the window draws her from her slump, dragging her from the slump in her thoughts. She crossed to the kitchen window, flipping open the locks to let in the snowy white owl that tittered and landed on the counter. 

"Allô, dear. Who are you?" she asks softly, taking the letter from his beak. Her name was looped across the front in familiar cursive. She pats the owls head, muttering to the poor thing that she didn't have anything to tip it. 

She fingers the envelope open, pulling free a small collection of letters that spread between her fingers as she moved them. There was different handwriting for each, some familiar and others not so much. 

Sofie's loopy letters and Fleur's concise, tiny print were easy for her to pick out. From a glance, she could see how displeased they were with her. Pity. George's quick, artistic scratches brought a wave of warmth through her and she set it to the top. There were others, two more, and she figures that one had to be from Dinah at the least, perhaps even Harry since it was his bird. 

It was easy to observe the Great Hall in the morning when the mail was delivered. He always got the same courier, after all. 

"Are you willing to wait as I respond?" she asks the owl. 

It tucks its head under its wing. 

"I won't take long," Iola tells her softly, grabbing her wand to summon a quill and parchment from somewhere within the condo. "I have an early morning and no time to waste on correspondence." 

Iola settles into the stiff cushion of the white couch, leaning against the armrest. George's letter held loosely in hand. 

The night passes before Iola could even notice.

°°°

Vote,
Comment,
& follow me on wattpad

unedited 

2020-05-25