Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

twenty-two. un-sing to me

There was something that Iola had once told Harry, not truly knowing whether or not it was factual at the time, but it was outstandingly clear to her after everything.

Hermione was not the best teacher, or rather, she grew easily frustrated when she wasn't quite able to fully express the way something was meant to be done or she grew flustered when the notes she had written herself didn't fully function the way that she had researched it to be.

Regardless of this simple trait, the sort of thing that showed that she was much more accustomed to working with Harry and Ron as Iola suspected, it was quite easy for Iola to keep up herself. She was remarkably intelligent, impossibly so, and following along to what Hermione was attempting to teach her was simple.

The spell, as difficult as it was, turned out to be rather easy for Iola when she finally understood what it was that Hermione was attempting to explain to her. It was simple after that.

As the name suggested, the spell produced a ghastly, glowing green ghost head that attacked whoever and whatever she wanted it to. It was a little like oppugno in that sense, but this was capable of moving through things, phasing through spells as it attacked and seeped into you -- they had learnt that the hard way, unfortunately, when attempting the spell and it had gone through Hermione's spell and around her protego when she had thrown it up.

She had experienced the attack many times over as well, her regular training routine called for her to know exactly what sort of pain that she was willing to put others in. It was a sort of knock in the chest that flattened her and left her unconscious for only a few seconds at a time toward the end of the training session.

Hermione was lucky to have been given the chance to work on the spell. Together, it turned out, they worked rather well.

They had the same sort of work ethic, the same sort of drive and ambition paired with the same sort of intellect, that they accomplished the task with the same precision and speed that Aveline had always demanded of her.

It was a nice change to face someone at the same speed that she needed whilst simultaneously getting the push without the fear of reprimand and punishment.

Part of her, still, wanted to face that sort of punishment, face that sort of discipline that felt her with marks of her failure, with marks that shamed her into working harder, being better, than she was and ever could be.

It would be ridiculous to consider that the younger girl could replace her mother in any way, not when she barely knew her, hardly liked her and didn't care for her enough to let her into her life so intimately. It was a one time deal that she knew that she would always have to stick with because the likeliness of Iola ever having to see her again once she left was truly slim to nothing.

There was no reason for her to make any further acquaintance to these people when the year was have gone as it was. When the time came, she would be going back to Beauxbatons to spend the remaining few weeks after the tournament with whomever she deemed worthy of being in her graces once more to only return to the empty villa.

Iola paused, watching as Hermione finished returning the classroom to its original state, her hand frozen mid-spell as she collected the books that had been tossed and papers scattered.

Returning to her empty home was a daunting thought, a terrible, unwelcome idea that formed an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach, flipping as though she was going to be sick.

The Villa was a family home, the Bouchard family home that was passed to the eldest child upon the retirement of their parents, and as things stood, Aveline was forcibly retired for good. Iola was the last Bouchard and the last, she assumed, of her mother's side of the Travers family.