Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

one. little miss teen thing

Fresh, cool air cut across the apples of her cheeks, burning with the harshness of the wind. Her bones felt as though they were shivering with the cold and her fist clenched to withhold the small tremors that threatened her body.

Standing before so many people Iola wouldn't dare taint her image so as her mother stood just to the side, watching with hawk like attention. Rather she continued to smile, the over used muscles laying just beneath firm skin now numb to the sensation as photo after photo was taken.

The warmth of the French summer sun was deeply missed as she stood under the dreary overcast that threatened downpour. For Iola it was tan skin that stood out in the poorly chosen outfit in the UK atmosphere that made her feel rather foolish compared to the well prepared witches and wizards that cozied to her side with flush of nerves and excited exclamations.

It was perhaps what made her rather thrilled to see her poorly expressed friend that suffered from rather awful social skills and an awkward demeanour.

He split the crowd oh so easily that she had to laugh despite herself, the sharpness of his eyes not stopping the small shake in her shoulders as bodyguard wizards chased away any who dared approach him. It wasn't that he was a humorous man per se, simply that Viktor never failed to amuse her with his stiff exterior.

"Bonjour Viktor!" She greeted, leaning forward to give chaste pecks to each of his cheeks.

He nodded, an arm slipping around her waist politely as he granted a few photos' to be taken of him, the bare skin of his arm warm against the small of her back providing just enough heat that she was tremendously grateful for.

It was him who finally pulled her away, dragging her through the crowd quicker than she had expected and Iola had only a second to look over her shoulder and gesture for her house-elf to follow close before they were too far out of sight.

Away from her mother, the French native felt much more at ease and gratefully thanked her friend. "It is nice to see you. I never allowed to be alone like this."

He took a moment to consider her words, her English may not be the best but it was truly superior to anything the Bulgarian was capable of. They were an odd pair to be acquainted but it was a true friendship that had been forged quickly.

Quidditch rivalries were never something that she was all too concerned with. She didn't care for it all that much as she was allowed to play to sport.

"I did not think you come in time," he finally said, guiding her through the small shops and fan tents.

So much caught her eye, little trinkets and knick-knacks that screamed for her to reach for her change purse. Greens, burgundies, oranges and reds mixed together like the flower petals that caught on the summer breeze and fluttered together in a rain dance back home. Iola had abused her poor house-elf many times by getting him to perform easy magic for her entertainment, though she supposed he didn't mind much compared to the things her mother tried to get him to do.

It was not until they passed a stall overflowing with merchandise riddled with her friend's face and number that they stopped, a laugh tumbling from her lips as she spotted his face on a wonky top hat.

"This is . . ." her tongue felt tied as she searched for the right word, mind muddy as nothing seemed to be correct.

"Hilarious? Amazing? Bloody brilliant?" Someone offered, close to her ear, and Iola startled, wand already clutched in hand as she whirled to face the boy — boys — with fiery red hair and deep brown eyes.

"What?" She asked, a little bewildered, but not quite to the extent of the boys that grew still before her — mouths dropped in silent surprise.

"You're . . ." they breathe, an airy quality to it that made her feel quite a bit uncomfortable.