Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

thirty-one. just tired

Iola spent the weekend of the meeting training, splitting her time between flying herself in dizzying circles and flicking her wand throughout the space of her designated training area on the Hogwarts lawn. It was spent in dazzling shades of anger that had people hesitant to approach lest they face the extent of her wrath at the tip of her wand.

The week following that was more in shades of violets as she worked through her anger, transforming it into a bitter feeling of a storm that tugged and worked over her. Iola often left like a lightning storm trapped in a bottle, ready to be unstopped and aimed at calm oceans to churn and wreak havoc -- setting death upon any who dared touch her waters. She did not snap, however, as Iola was very good at being angry as it was a constant companion over the years, an ally that held her still in times where her spirit was crushed under the oppressive weight of Aveline's control.

It was after a week and a half of people toeing around her as though she was a sleeping dragon that brought the bravest of her acquiantances to her side. Surprisingly, it was not Dinah that came to her.

Hermione's hair was more of a curled mess than normal. It looked frizzed and tugged on, giving Iola the sense that the younger girl had been tugging on it quite a bit lately, neglecting herself in stress.

She was dressed casually under her dress robes. Her jumper looked ruffled, the stitched pulled.

Slowly, Iola lowers her arm, wand hanging at her side in a loose grip. It was relatively late in the evening, the sun setting behind her as she faced the castle.

"You've been avoiding everyone," Hermione remarks.

Iola doesn't answer for a moment, tongue touching the top of her month softly. "I have been in a  bad mood. I am still in a bad mood. What do you want?"

Hermione rolls her eyes. "You're been a foul git because of what Harry said to you? Are you still wearing nappies?"

Her hand twitches. "Excuse me? Do you know that you must not always take Harry's side because he is your friend, oui? I am not wrong for being angry that he ask me to meet with a murderer and then throw my kindness to him back in my face."

"So you're going to act like a child and stamp your feet until you get your way?" Hermione snaps.

The words leave a terrible taste in her mouth as they burn their way through her chest, ripping at her as though there was an old wound hidden beneath layers of skin and bone, as though she was nothing under flesh but tumbling dark feelings and emptiness.

"I have never had a fit in my entire life," Iola silently seethes. "I have never had the chance to stomp my feet or shout nasty words or cry like a child. I have never been allowed to be angry at others because I was not allowed near others. If Aveline had been here, I would not have feelings distract me for anything."

She steps closer, moving so that the tips of her pointed shoes touch Hermione's feet. She tries not to preen at the way the other girl shifts her stance.

"We are not the same. Do not speak to me as though you understand why I am angry or like you have any right to tell me how to react to something," Iola continues in a nasty, dismissive tone. "I am allowed to be angry at anyone that I like now, no matter anyone's opinion of it."

Hermione doesn't answer for a long moment and Iola takes that as a sign to back away, twirling her wand carelessly between her fingers as she considers her next move and how to proceed.

These sort of conversations, confrontations really, were very much like duels in certain cases. They were a back and forth as you read your oponent, your partner, and responded, moving until you either understood and slashed down or came out victor and slashed down.