Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

twenty-seven. what's in a name?

The day starts off wonderfully, really. Iola wakes to far too many sweets already at the end of her bed, anonymous and not, it's a small pile that she had organized and swept to the side far out of the way. 

She receives more and more gives as the day goes on and she plays the part of grateful recipient for each, but still, each only gets dropped into her bag that housed the school books, parchment and quills that she carried with her between the carriage, library, and Great Hall for meals and snacks. 

With the tournament over with and arm still held in that god-awful sling, Iola was back to classes with the rest of her peers regularly -- as if it as a full-day affair and she found it to be quite the disconcerting feeling. 

Without Aveline there to demand her time and attention as she split their education with Madame Maxime, Iola wasn't the subject of most of her mother's ire and demanding attention. She was free to relax a little more, to drift off during the parts that she had long since been educated on. It was nice as much as she had been unprepared for such a thing. 

Doing homework once more during a free period where the headmistress was taking a turn to sit with Fleur as they discussed the tournament, she and Sofie had taken residence in the library far out of sight as they worked on their respective papers. 

Iola was behind, admittedly, but her professors were always more lenient of her work if she had something of importance to focus upon. She had one essay review on Snargaluff and another on the uses and effects of Finestra before she would be officially caught up to everyone else -- not including the course work that they were currently doing. 

It was easy as she knew answers without needing to search them out, jumping between both parchments as she tired with one and gained inspiration for the other. 

Admittedly, Iola was rather pleased with the simplicity of schoolwork compared to the obsessive training that she was usually occupied with. 

"How are you able to switch back and forth with such efficiency?" Sofie complains, dropping her quill with a loud groan as she flexes and stretches her digits. "I can hardly focus longer than  ten minutes with all the texts I need to consult." 

"You know how I am able. Don't compare us when we work and learn quite differently, Sof." 

She groans. "I hate this. I'm a terrible student." 

Iola finishes her thought and places down her quill. "What do you mean? You're very clever and intelligent." 

"I might be smart, but this stresses me more than is healthy. I don't think I can do another year of this." 

Her lips part with surprise, blinking stupidly at her friend. "Sofie... You can't mean..." 

"I don't know, Iola. I'm just going to inherit the orchard fro my parents. I don't need to finish at Beauxbatons for that," the other girl says, tracing the feather of the quill tenderly with the tip of her finger. "I could always write Francois and you. You wouldn't be terribly upset with me, would you?" 

Iola's breathing comes a little quicker. "Would you be happy simply owning the orchard? Growing wand trees your whole life? Are you sure you don't want more?" 

"Well, what would you want if you were not duelling? If you were not playing quidditch?" Sofie retorts defensively. "Would you be happy with just any job or would you fall back on old family money and work for parliament as all rich people do?" 

"Why are you turning this into a matter of money? You're just as wealthy as I am, Sofie," Iola whispers sharply. "This isn't a matter of whether I believe you capable. I just want to know if you're sure that you want to be involved in trees, of all things. You are capable of so much more than that."