Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

eight. with a flick

Her hands were steady, a solid, practiced type of steady that made it easy to tell when it was time to take a break. It was not that time yet.

There was no keeping her mother from pushing her a little further as training become something more. Aveline had great plans for her now that she was of age. There was a competition in December, one that she was to face some of the best duellers around the world in — that is, of those that took to competing. There was no chance for her to face someone like Professor Dumbledore and all of his many years of expertise and skills.

She would be pitted against those set up to be like herself, show people with the hope to rise up the ranks.

Iola liked to believe she would be capable of defeating Dumbledore if he was her age. She was exceptionally talented, after all.

The spell hit the dummy, flames igniting along the worn leather. She watched it for a moment, letting the flames rise higher and higher until she decides to finally put it out with a burst of ice — freezing the shape agains the dummy that made her grin triumphantly.

It always made such wonderful designs, such beautiful ice sculpture that were never the same. It made her feel artsy.

Skipping down to the dummy, she traced the ice, letting herself have a moments break to look over the beauty of her own destructive chaos.

And then she pushed it, tipping it over to watch it shatter. Pieces slid along the grass, rolling away from her with and down the small slope that slowly turned into a hill.

She followed the ice, unable to look away from it even as it comes to a stop near Hagrid's hut. Students were collecting around the tiny building, gathering around near the back and Iola glanced curiously to the carriage behind her, checking to see if the others were still inside studying under Madame Maxime and Aveline's watchful eye.

It was wonderful that she got to skip out on her mother's charms lesson if only because Aveline taught her all throughout the summer. Iola was always in the way of learning something new about one spell or another, and if her mother wished to through her years curriculum so that she may learn things that would be useful in a duel, then she wasn't going to blame her for it.

Iola always felt like she had an advantage in her studies, never really having to deal with the restrictions on her magic like other students did. It wasn't something she would deny if anyone claimed it, often thinking it to be some sort of insult when they dared to speak to her so boldly. It was a privilege that made her incredibly proficient with her magic that few others would claim to have.

And if that meant that she wasn't watched as the few students that came along got a more focused lesson, then it was absolutely wonderful.

Because she Care of Magical Creatures was dreadfully boring at Beauxbatons. Monsieur Darnet was the most uninteresting of men she has ever had the displeasure of meeting, the sort of man that made her want to face a dementor wandless and alone.

But Hagrid was an incredibly interesting man. He had to be for a half giant that lived in a shack, and that was enough to tempt her to leave her practice to see what was the whole thing was about.

Monsieur Dernot never brought in any of the creatures they were learning about. He never cared enough for something like this.

Iola arrived at the cabin with small yet confident steps, taking in everything up close. It was much more cozy and inviting than it appeared from afar. His garden was positively adorable.

"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," the Draco boy sneers, two large boys behind him guffawing in Harry's face. "Got your autograph books? Better get your signature now, because I doubt he's gonna last much longer... Half the Triwizard Champions have died... How long do you reckon you're gonna last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."