Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

twenty-one. repeat me

The wind blew gingerly through her hair, the winter chill harsh against her cheeks as she stayed up and up near the parapets of the castle, letting the cold seep through her as she hovered in place.

Iola felt as though she was waiting for something to happen, like she was in the limbo of in-betweens and she ought to have been busy with something. There was no schedule for her to follow anymore, not unless she made one for herself, but that never worked out for her in the long run simply because she was far too easy on and reluctant on her own time.

She would never force herself to work as hard as Aveline had, not that she was incapable of seeing to her own training, but she simply couldn't push her limits as her mother could have.

There was efficiency to everything that Aveline did, and now Iola was waking late and blowing off training times, she couldn't properly remember the last time that she had done her morning exercise the way that she was meant to or had--

Being back on her broom once more was good, it was nice. She hadn't been focusing as much on her keeper regime as she should have been, but that was fine... she didn't have any games scheduled lately and unless they called her in it would be fine. As long as she stayed top form, Iola knew that everything would turn out fine.

But after being cleared by both the United Kingdom's ministry and her own French parliament, Iola couldn't shake the feeling that she was lagging behind far too much for the upcoming championship.

If she was to lose now, if she was to come in as anything other than the best, then it was only going to prove them all right about her. Iola was the best. she had to be because she was nothing else if not that.

She swung her leg over the side of her broom, dropping back with knees locked into place as she held herself steady in her upside-down position, hair swaying below her as she stared down at the very distant ground. The drop would kill her if she wasn't quick enough to pull out her wand and slow her own decent.

Part of her wanted to let go just to see, to test herself just for the fun of it.

"You will be sick."

"I won't. How many times have you seen me do this?" She asks, gaze slowly pulling to look at Viktor as he hovers before her.

He wore a thick hat with a heavy scarf that covered up past his chin to just below his mouth.

"You will fall one day."

"Then I will fall. It is important to practice my preferred move."

"It is not the best that you can do. I like when you kick the quaffle, not when you hang over."

"Is that because it makes it easier for Bulgaria National to score against France when I play?"

"I am scared you will fall when playing with QQ."

Iola laughs, shaking her head and with a flex of her stomach, she's flipping herself back up and over. "You have no interest in the French league, Viktor."

"I care what my friends do," he replies easily, pulling back so that they could face each other much more easily.

She smiles softly, gently, as she draws herself to his side and pats his arm gently. "Thank you, Viktor, for caring, but it is not necessary. I am fine on my own."

His expression doesn't change as he looks at her, unwavering with his narrowed eyes and thick, furrowed brows. "I don't see you in the mornings."

"I have been having some trouble sticking to it."

"I will come to wake you tomorrow. We will go together."

Iola's mouth twists into a frown. "It's not necessary."