Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

nineteen. rainbow feeling

The fields near the shore of the Black Lake were damp no matter how much she brought fire to the tip of her wand to melt away the snow and dry the grass.

It was something that made her twitch with agitation, the way that the winters were just so wet, so incredibly different from the ones she spent at Beauxbatons. It was hard to get anything done when she was constantly distracted by how wet her shoes were becoming opposed to the spells that she was working dreadfully hard to review.

She didn't have anything new to learn, didn't have anything new to try when her mother had usually been the one responsible for giving her the spells she needed to learn. Iola simply found herself without the time to look through their library for something that would be useful to her.

There just wasn't any time to fit it on her schedule, the very same that Aveline had made for her at the start of the year.

It kept her distracted with little time for anything other than training, and if she had to sign off the last of her free time for this, then so be it. She couldn't care less about friends at the moment -- not when she had a month before the finals of her very first senior competition and she had no choice but to win with all of the allegations that were floating around.

People still wanted her to be a cheat and a liar, probably for the sense of security, it would give them knowing that she wasn't as wonderful as the world knew her to be.

It was their loss, really, the fact that they thought so little of her. It would make it easy for Iola defeat them then.

And defeat them she would because there was no way she could afford to lose her first championship after what they've been saying.

A wave of rage crashes through her and she breathes deeply, clearing her head as she goes through the movements of another spell, flicking the action into motion fluidly. The blast tears a hole in the ground, the dirt flying high before falling like messy rain.

"What has you tearing the lawn up?"

She bites backs a grin at the sound of his voice. She wasn't sure what she was thinking, training so publicly when George has been so invested in spending so much time with her.

He was becoming remarkably loyal to her, it seems, and she simply wished it was as easy for her to return the gesture, but being there to help her look things up, filling in when he knew she needed it, was proving to be something he was able to do with little effort.

Iola wasn't used to helping others. She didn't really know what it meant to have others depend on her. She had lived a very solitary and independent lifestyle, she still was, and the few friends she did have sort of guided her along.

George didn't seem to want anything from her. He never made comments about his own dreams and plans, he never asked her questions about his studies or for ideas she might have.

It was making her feel incredibly special yet useless at the same time and it was going to drive her mad. She wanted to contribute. She wanted to give him things the way he did for her.

"Why are you awake so early?" She asks, putting away her wand decidedly. She would give him her full attention. It was the least she could do.

"S'not that early," he says with a shrug, hands dug deep into his pockets.

"It is for you," she comments, stepping closer to him. "Where is your brother?"

"Ron? Probably won't crawl out of bed until noon."

She arches a brow, crossing her arms. He chuckles, throwing his arm around her shoulder as he leads her away.

"You have breakfast yet?"