Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

ten. drops of pink

Iola was up before the sun was, the day ahead of her filling her veins with this buzzing energy that made her itching to get up and move.

She was dressed in her muggle clothes, happily braving the approaching winter chill so that she could wear her pretty green pleated skirt and over the knee socks. She has on a high collared button up blouse that was of thin and loose material, one that she had bought impulsively simply because it had shown off how pretty her neck was — which sounded ridiculous but was still utterly true.

Still, she was up before the sun, standing out on the lawn so that she might practice her firestorm spell in peace without having to worry about accidentally getting anyone caught up in her flames. Iola knew better than most how horrible it felt to be burned. She was lucky that the healer was so competent or she would have been forced to walk around with the marks of her failures painted across her skin.

Fires spun around her, twisting around her and the dummy as she circled her wand over her head over and over again. The wall built up higher, growing tall as the heat flared toward her, spreading so much that it made her cheeks warm and breath laboured.

Hair whipped at her face, tendrils of heat washing against her, and she pants, struggling to keep it in control a little while longer.

It was ridiculous that she wasn't afraid of getting burned.

"Iola-Colette! Is this all that you've accomplished? This disaster of a spell?"

She fumbles, flames dropping away, and she nearly shrieks as they whip at her thighs, lifting the skirt as it singed her skin.

"Mother?" She gasps, struggling to control her breathing. "Why are you up so early?"

"I've come to observe your progress. Is this all that you've accomplished?"

"It is a tough spell, mother. I've had to make many trips to the hospital wing to get treated for burns."

Aveline steps over the ring of charred grass, coming toward her and the brown patch she was standing in. "You've taken yourself to others filled with vulnerabilities?"

"Mother, it was not like that. Most of the students have seen me on the lawn practicing. Most could never dream of performing such a spell."

"I should have known better than to trust you on your own. It is all those people that you have been spending your time with — those blood traitors and mud bloods."

Iola flinches, glancing around her nervously. "Mother, you cannot say that!" She breathes the reprimand, regretting it the moment she spoke.

Aveline's expression darkens, twisting into something that promised pain and punishment if she continued on that chosen path.

"What was that?" Aveline asks, voice terribly low.

"Nothing, mother."

"That's right. Now listen, my sweet girl," Aveline whispers, drawing her fingernail along Iola's jaw. "I do not want you near anyone I would not approve of."

"But, mother, that isn't fair!" She blurts before she could help herself.

Her grip tightens on her face. "I will not tell you again."

She nods quickly. "Yes, mother."

"Good—" Aveline releases her jaw as she steps away— "you will not move from this spot until I've deemed your progress acceptable."