Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

thirty-five. power remains

The end of the year had approached much faster than Iola would have like, though she was able to tamper her displeasure in the face of all the excitement that came with the third task. The twins, George, had been quite hyper and eager about the whole thing, crowing about the profit that they would bring in with the amount of action they were getting in bets up to a month before the task. 

Iola had, of course, smiled politely, but she hadn't understood what the interest was with betting. There was no excitement in the task for her to be interested, but she had sent a few students their way when she had the chance. 

To her, with the little time that they had left in the year before she returned to France, anything had been worth it to get the bubbly feeling in the pit of her stomach when he made her laugh. She had never laughed so much as when she was with him and Iola was dearly in love with the feeling, that bit of emotion that she had been denied for such a long time, that happiness and joy that was never the same when Aveline was around -- the woman sucking all joy and light from her, she could now recognize, and Iola was not too daft to deny that she was starved for the comfort of affection.  

And George... he simply had plenty that he was more than eager to gift her, doting as she was showered in little touches and plentiful smiles that only drew her in more and more -- as though he was the Veela, and not Fleur, that was enchanting her very spirit and driving her mad, as though there was delicate magic at play that was more than any love potion.

The morning of the final task, she had spent it with Fleur, encouraging the girl with stilted words of motivation (unfamiliar with such words). She had given the girl an athletic outfit to wear, one of the many that she owned in the shade of blue that was rather flattering on her friend. 

Sofie wiped her fingers under her eyes, looking skyward as she held back sniffles. "I'm just so proud of you!" the girl exclaims, leaning into Francois's arms as she held back tears. "You're such a bright, and talented witch."

Frowning, Iola looks over her friend. "Are you alright?" 

"Yes, yes, quite. I'm sorry. I don't know what's the matter with me." 

Fleur rolls her eyes, sharing a look with Iola that screams that they were going to be talking about this later. "Yes, well, gather yourself before we have to head out."  

"Now, now, princess," Gerome drawls, spread out along his bench. "Let the girl feel things. She's more emotional about all this than you are." 

Fleur is on her feet and at him in a minute, smacking him over the head with the back of her hand as she rants about how he would never understand the emotional range of a normal human and that he had no right to make any hasty presumptions about her. 

Quite bored with it, she rises slowly and grabs a thin sweater, throwing it over the dress she wore with enough noise to indicate that she was ready to head out. 

They all ought to be ready about now, anyway. Madame Maxime had warned them not to be late to the castle when the families of the victors were to arrive. 

It didn't take more than the reminder to pull Fleur along, the girl hurriedly walking as gracefully as she could in her excitement to see her mother. 

The Delacour's were, as always, genuinely content to greet her and Sofie as the pair had briefly tagged along with their friend to say hello. They had exams that morning -- Madame Maxime taking the chance to set them at the same time as the Hogwarts students, and while they wouldn't be late, exactly, Iola wanted to finish quickly as the headmistress was aiming to have her proctor the duelling practicals on the front lawn within perfect view of the Hogwarts students and in an attempt to show up Professor Dumbledore, she was certain.