Closed We Need to Talk About Mattie

The day before leaving on the Hogwarts Express had proven to be more eventful than expected already, Aly Salinger ruminated as she wandered throughout the grounds of a snow-covered Hogwarts with one particular redhead. The Ravenclaw had not expected certain revelations from the Gryffindor, nor had she expected to find herself alone with Eve, and she had very nearly expressed revelations herself, words lingering on the tip of her tongue, breath catching in her throat. "Eve, I just wanted to tell you-"

And then, out of the corner of her eye, something from the Owlery window in the distance. Not small and white or brown or black, like most was often seen entering and exiting the curved space so high up, but brilliant pink and copper - a colour scheme Aly had come to recognise all too well in the past years, but especially in the past six months. No one sported those colours at Hogwarts except for one Winnie Harper, but Winnie Harper was not an owl but a human. And one who could not fly at that. The vision in rose blush plummeted, so far away, too far to reach in the necessary heartbeats, and for a moment she did look like she was flying, and Aly half expected her to pull a broomstick out of nowhere and zip off into the cloudy sky - but the ground met her halfway before she could. The gasp tore from her chest as involuntarily as if someone had seized her heart and pulled with all their might, and she broke into a run without a second thought, the treads of her boots slipping somewhat on the snowy ground. She reached for Eve's hand. "Eve. That's Winnie."

By the time the pair made it to the ground outside the Owlery, the battered, broken form of their friend - no, only Aly's friend, she was something much more than that to Eve - had already been joined by a roaring force of matching ginger (and a young child, a first-year probably, but Aly ignored him, her eyes set only upon the disliked fiancé). The sneer that crossed Aly's face immediately was tamped down by her better conscience, and the bitter distaste in her mouth faded as she saw the pain evident on Matthias' face - pain that became only stronger as he cried for help and screamed Episkey over and over, as if the louder he shouted the less chance she had at dying. Dying. Aly had seen stab wounds and Quidditch injuries and plenty more, both in her time as a normal student and back when she had interned in the Hospital Wing, but never in her life had she seen someone so close to the veil - someone who had not yet crossed it, that was.

A pale, thin face flashed into her mind for not the first time in the last few years. Her own screams echoed in her head: I need to clean his glasses. He hates when his glasses are dirty. Please, someone. We have to clean his glasses. Please…

Saving Benjamin had been beyond her meager control. But Winnie's heart still beat, and in that moment, Aly saw not Matthias, but herself, at fourteen, begging for someone to clean her father's lenses as he lay still in his coffin. Hesper had cleaned his glasses. And so Aly would help, feeling something other than disdain for Matthias for the first time.

Rushing to his side, her year-ish of Healer intern training bubbled through her as easily as a flowing river, though she had not called upon it in quite some time. She knelt beside him, yanking her wand from where it had pinned up her hair in a messy updo, and curls dropped around her shoulders like the hanged man on a tarot card, predicting surrender and sacrifice and brokenness beyond all else: "Try not to move her. If she's got a broken neck, or a spine injury, that'll only make it worse. Someone should go get Nurse Sabo - now. Why did she..." Green eyes glanced upward, catching a movement of golden hair above in the window (@Gideon Athanatos: going off my Keen Eye ability/the fact that Matthias and Aamon saw you, but if you would like me to actually roll for this please let me know), and Aly recoiled for a moment. She had not heard the call about her jumping, and so jumped herself, but to the conclusion: whether Winnie had left the window herself or had been assisted, there had been someone up there with her. Aly looked behind her, to Eve, and jerked her head in the direction of the window. The message was clear: Someone's up there. Perhaps Eve had already seen the stranger above, or perhaps not, but Aly would clue her into their presence nevertheless.

In the meantime, she turned back to the now-unconscious Winnie on the ground, noticing for the first time the blood smeared on her collar. Shit. "Don't worry, Win, we've got you," she whispered, aiming the wand at her wounds to gently trace them and beginning to hum a sing-song incantation: "Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur..."

Interrogating Matthias about what had happened could wait. For the first time, it could wait. He was here, trying to help their shared cared-for, and judging by the pure suffering in his voice, he'd had nothing to do with it. Suddenly, Aly's friend's betrothed was not quite so bad in her book.

Roll for Keen Eye
10% chance to identify Gideon as the culprit.

1-10 results in Gideon';s evil misdeed being identified.

Roll: 74, unsuccessful.

Gideon Athanatos stood at the edge of the crowd, eyes wide and innocent.

Too innocent.

His hands gripped the straps of his satchel as though he were holding on for dear life, knuckles just the faintest shade of white. His gaze flitted with hungry anticipation between the huddled students, lingering on Winnie Harper’s crumpled form sprawled across the frozen ground.

Alive.

Relief pulsed through him, sharp and sudden, as though he had narrowly avoided ruining everything. If she had died, it wouldn’t have been fun anymore. No one to tease. No one to push. No one to drag her tangled threads of fear and rage through the loom of his games.

And games were so much better when they took time.

When people thought they could escape.

When they thought they could win.

But this? This was perfect.

Almost too perfect.

He let himself breathe again, a long, shuddering exhale that trembled just enough to look real. Concerned. Sweet. Harmless. They were too far to see the nuanced gestures, the feigned concern but it was a part of the game and you do not skip out on playing just because a game of poker turned into solitaire.

"I can’t believe it," he uttered in case anyone was hidden near. "She—she just jumped! Did you see it? Did you see what happened?"

His voice cracked just right, breaking like glass as his fingers twisted together. "I—oh Merlin, what if she…?"

He let his voice trail off, let his body tremble as though he were holding back tears. He wasn’t.

Because Winnie Harper was alive. And that meant the game wasn’t over.

It meant he still had time.

Time to pull on every loose thread she had left. Time to watch her fray at the edges and unravel until there was nothing left but fear and panic and the sound of her heartbeat in his hands.

"Someone should get the nurse!" he called out, just loud enough to be heard, his voice rising with a careful note of panic. "She’s not moving!"

Except she was. He saw it. The twitch of her hand. The shallow rise and fall of her chest.

And he smiled.

Not outwardly. No, outwardly he was just poor little Giddy, frightened and shaken and so very sweet.

But inside?

Inside, he was already planning the next move. He would slink away, "far too shaken" to remain.

Mathias Pride was on his knees.

The snow soaked into his trousers, biting cold against skin he couldn’t feel. His breath came in sharp bursts—frosted, ragged clouds that matched the shallow rise and fall of Winnie’s chest. She was breathing.

Thank the gods.

His hand hovered over her pale cheek but didn’t touch it. Couldn’t. Not when his fingers were trembling so violently he thought they might bruise her. Instead, his knuckles brushed against the frozen ground beside her like a man fumbling for the edge of a cliff.

He wanted to scream. At her. At the gods. At himself. But most of all at Gideon.

But no words came. Only a single rasped whisper through clenched teeth.

“Don’t you dare.”

She wasn’t leaving him. She wasn’t going to leave him like his mother had, like everyone always did when he wasn’t good enough to keep them. He had made sure. He had promised himself. Threats and glamour and golden chains of control—he’d wrapped them around her, around them both, until there was no space for anything but forever.

“You’re going to be fine.”

He didn’t know if he was speaking to her or himself.

A whimper. Or maybe a prayer.

His broken arm throbbed still healing despite magical remedies which took time, hung uselessly at his side, but it didn’t matter. Not now. Not with blood smudging her lips and pearls scattered across the stone like shattered teeth. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to look so small, so fragile.

Not his Winnie.

“She’s not moving!”

Mathias’ head snapped toward the voice. That voice.

Fucking Gideon.

A jolt of panic shot through him so fast it made his ribs ache. For one terrible, suffocating second, he thought her chest had stopped rising. He thought she was already gone.

But then—a shallow breath.

Alive.

Barely.

He tore his eyes away from Gideon and back to her. Blood and silk and snow. Rage burned at the edges of his vision, bright and blinding and—no. Not now. Not here. His shaking hands moved over her, brushing tangled curls from her face and pausing just long enough to feel the flutter of her pulse.

“You’re breathing. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

She had to be.

She had to be.

A sharp cry jolted him out of his trance—Aly. And Eve was there too. Somewhere. He couldn’t tell. It was all too loud. Too fast. They were right next to him, well her. He was just adjacent. He didn’t even notice when his lips moved, but the words fell out anyway.

“Thank you.”

A whisper. A prayer. A plea.

Because Winnie needed to make it.

And if she didn’t—

If she didn’t—

His free hand clenched into a fist so tight it split the knuckles.

If she didn’t, there wouldn’t be a soul left alive in this school to take the blame.

It was his fault.

Aamon Athanatos shivered, his knees pressed firmly into the snow beside her broken body, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

No. No, no, no, no, no—

He couldn’t stop the word from spinning in his head, couldn’t shut out the sight of her lying there—so pale, so still—couldn’t drown the sound of her shallow, wheezing breaths clawing at the frozen air like fingers against stone.

He did this.

His hands trembled as he hovered over her, useless and shaking and filthy. She was bleeding—she was bleeding, and it was his fault.

“Winnie,” he choked, her name breaking against his teeth like glass.

He wanted to fix her. But his hands wouldn’t stop trembling, and his head wouldn’t stop spinning, and he—he couldn’t.

Because he did not know how. Because he was the monster.

His eyes burned, tears streaming down his cheeks as his mind twisted and turned, wrapping itself around the jagged edges of what he had done.

The dolls. The dolls.

He shouldn’t have had them—shouldn’t have had them. But the whispers had been too loud, and the strings had pulled too tight, and the knots—he couldn’t untie them. He never could.

And now Winnie was broken.

Just like the dolls.

He pressed his hands to his head, rocking slightly, trying to make it stop.

The weight of it crushed him—the guilt, the horror, the awful, clawing certainty that this was his fault.

Because he was an Athanatos.

Because he was cursed.

Because there was something wrong inside of him—something rotten.

And he had tried—Merlin, he had tried—to be good, to be better, to be normal. But it didn’t matter. It had never mattered. Because no matter how hard he tried to fight it, the darkness always won.

It always won.

He sobbed, his whole body trembling as the weight of it threatened to pull him under.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t save her.

Because monsters didn’t save people.

They destroyed them.

And he—

He was the monster.

A red flash of light broke through the sky, eliminating the otherwise cloudy day. Periculum. The signal for distress. It was the first spell he taught his students after they had arrived at Hogwarts as tiny eleven year olds, but a spell that would serve them for years to come.

Black leather boots crunched against the snow as the Frenchman hurried towards the spell's source. This was quickly becoming a habit, and he was half expecting to find Aamon Athanatos crumpled on the ground again, instead he found a group of students circling around something—someone.

"Step aside." It was not a command, not spoken in a harsh tone. He could see the panic and pure grief flashing across the group's features. The sight waiting for him was enough to make even his stomach tighten—a girl's body, crumpled and broken in the snow, a mass of red hair fanned out like a mockery of a halo, crimson red staining the snow and her pink coat.

He recognized the student; Winifred Harper. Ravenclaw. Fifth year. Usually a cheerful little thing. A decent student, despite her tendency to forget homework assignments. He had given her extra credit work before to help her bring her grades up. She often spoke too much, her eyes sparkling as she told him how she wanted to be a healer, or a Quidditch player. The innocent dreams of a child.

Now that spark was extinguished.

A memory flashed before his eyes. (Eve you are welcome to see this if you are not already overloaded, if you are no worries, just a bit of background from Orion).

Reducio

A mane of red hair, a woman lay lifeless face down on the ground below him, as a pool of blood bordered her body. Her vibrance was a stark comparison to the dull gray of the alley, the sheen of rain soaked pathway reflected the dim moonlight.

She was only a muggle. One he had spoken to often during his visits to his favourite muggle pub. She had only been targeted because of him.

His heart hammered against his chest, a decade and a half younger as he clenched his elderwood wand in his hands, "Drop the wand, now!"

A cloaked figure turned, his dark hood slipping back to reveal a twisted looking smile plastered on the face of a gaunt, pale wizard. He laughed, the cruelty of it sending a shiver down his spine.

Expelliarmus. The wand flew out of the cloaked man's hands, a Stupefy followed. The sound of his partner's shoes slapping against the wet stone echoed behind him as he raced over to cuff the offender.

His knees hit the ground, his hand trying to turn the woman over, "Stay with me, come on..." Glossy eyes stared up at him, "Vulnera Sanentur! Live! Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur—"

His stomach lurched, his eyes blinking the memory away. A hand slid into his pocket, a square of chocolate popped into his mouth as he knelt on the ground next to the injured student. "Ms. Salinger, assist me with healing spells. Ms. Decipio, continue to keep her warm."

His eyes flickered up to watch the redhead boy's panic. He recognized him, another one of Athanatos' litter, yet he did not share a surname with his brothers. He had been prowling around the Harper girl since their first year, teenaged sweethearts, it seemed, so his distress did not come as a surprise. His voice was soft as he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, "Mr. Pride, keep her still and stop shaking. You need to be strong for her."

He was not a healer; he was a killer. Still, he had learned enough from his time as an Auror. Basic wizarding healing, enough to keep his partners alive so he could transport them to St. Mungo's. He could do the same for the Harper girl.

A raise of his hand, tracing a circular movement over her wounds, but the words would not be spoken. Vulnera Sanentur. The flow of blood loss stopped, but it wasn't enough; she had lost too much blood. It was a complicated spell, and had to be cast three times in a row before it really helped. Vulnera Sanentur. Blood retracted from the stained white snow, as if it were seeping back into the girl's form, the colour started to return to her face, the blood staining her face drawing itself back beneath her skin. Vulnera Sanentur. The third time the spell was cast, her chest rose with a deep, laboured breath, the tips of her fingers trembling.

"If any of you have essence of dittany on you, I'd suggest applying some to her wounds. I can't fix scars." The evidence was there in front of them; Orion had several wispy scars on his hands, but the most noticeable had always been the scar across his left cheek.

"We're getting there. Stay with us, Ms. Harper." Satisfied with her breathing, the Frenchman would instead focus on her mangled legs. Brackium Emendo. Her left arm snapped back into its natural form with a sickening crack. Brackium Emendo. Her right arm followed. Brackium Emendo. Her left leg— He frowned. It did nothing. The spell was not powerful enough to heal whatever damage had been done; she would need a proper healer to help mend her leg bones.

"This is all I can do for her," Orion admitted to the group, "She will live, but she needs a proper healer with supplies so she can recover fully without any permanent damage. I can transport her to the Hospital Wing, from there the school can transport her to St. Mungo's."

He turned his attention back to the Pride boy, regardless of what he was doing in the moment. His broken hand had not gone unnoticed by Orion, "We can get your hand looked at while we're at it, Mr. Pride. For now, support her head for me."

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xx

xxxxIt was winter break, and, having finished all of her homework a few days before, Yougle Crenshaw put on her heavy winter cloak, wand in her pocket, and decided to take a simple, nice stroll on the Hogwarts grounds. xxxxHere and there, she observed the occasional blobs of moving color (students) littered with the white specks of delightful snow, which was mildly interesting to watch. Yougle had always liked snow; it was, at the very least, pretty. So who cares about the freezing sensation that would embrace her hand whenever she tried to build a snowman? In fact, Yougle felt like she might as well build one right now, using the Levitation Charm she had learned not too long ago. xxxxBut before there was enough time for her to take another step forwards, a sudden sound jolted her from her thoughts and made her freeze in her tracks, a wince flashing on her face; the sound of a distance crunch, of something splintering. It sounded very unusual, too loud for the strongest stomp, and too quiet for—actually, now that she thought of it, Yougle didn't really know what impacting the snow could be louder. xxxxShe looked around her; the people nearby all seemed either engrossed in conversation or—were those two people about to make out? Yougle's face grew slightly warm as she quickly whipped her head in another direction. xxxxNobody had seemed to notice anything; had Yougle been hallucinating? Perhaps it had just been my own footsteps, she thought, but she couldn't quite bring herself to believe it. After a few seconds, Yougle's curiosity got the best of her, and she headed towards where the sound appeared to have come from. Somewhere below the Owlery. xxxxShe walked left for a few seconds. Then she heard a scream. xxxxOh shoot, the logical part of her brain that was actually not annoying this time thought. I bet this was all your fault, I told you that you shouldn't jinx it - the very annoying part of her brain scolded. xxxxIf I remember correctly, YOU were the one who said that 'Something isn't going to happen or not happen just because you think about it slightly more or less'. Yougle shot back - xxxx“NO! OH GODS, NO! WINNIE—SHE JUMPED!” A voice screeched. Both Yougle and the annoying part of her brain were immediately silenced. xxxxYougle's heart stopped for a moment, as if deliberating between freezing entirely or doing a full workout. Once the moment passed, it immediately started hammering hard in her chest. Adrenaline rushed in her veins and her pace increased. This voice came from the Owlery. As far as anyone knew, the Owlery was very high up. xxxx“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP! SHE—SHE JUST JUMPED!” xxxxYougle started to break into a run, her brain and heart numb from something that had nothing to do with the cold. She was starting to feel lightheaded and more panicked than she ever thought someone could feel - death at Hogwarts? Was this why nothing too unusual had happened in the last 3-4 months? To all save up for one big 'event'? Was this some cruel joke? Supposedly, somebody had jumped. But - it didn't add up. xxxxShe knew that when someone was dead or possibly dying, she should focus on saving the injured first (but a human falling from the Owlery surviving? Yougle wasn't an expert in medical fields, but she thought she could safely assume that it was unlikely). Yet as she approached the source of the sound, she saw a boy—definitely not a first year—already kneeling above a bloody mess of broken bones. Yougle let out half a breath of relief; if the more experienced boy couldn't save her, then Yougle definitely couldn't either. Then she winced. How did that make her feel any better? She sucked back in the breath she had exhaled. xxxxShe heard the screams perfectly clearly and had mentally braced herself for the worst as she ran, but it still wasn't nearly enough to prepare her for the sight; a mass of red seeping into white, the unnatural angles of the girl's limbs. Yougle heard a voice scream and scream in terror, a never-ending cry (more like gasps of hyperventilation) of horrified shock. She felt like it was coming from her, but she wasn't sure. Yougle felt like she couldn't breathe at all. Her brain that was so clear before grew hazy with fear and shock. xxxxHoly cow, she thought, falling bottom-first into a big heap of snow. Yougle tried to reassure herself again and again that it was attempted suicide, not attempted murder. She was fine; there wasn't a murderous psychopath loose in the school. Loose at Hogwarts, the one place that surely would always be safe. But the more she thought of it, the more her mind cleared up, and the more her confusions grew. xxxxShe still had half the instinct to rush over and at least see if the girl were alive, but the more rational part of her brain told Yougle there was nothing she could do, healing-wise. Another boy and two more girls had rushed over anyways, and one had casted a Periculum. Yougle mentally scolded herself; in her haze of fear, she had forgotten. Are you stupid? The annoying part of her brain thought. First you forget something that was taught in your first DADA class, then you don't even think properly. Obviously - Yougle had no patience left. IF YOU DONT MIND, I'LL DO THE THINKING HERE THIS TIME! xxxxWhat, if anything, was off? Yougle asked herself. The wording of the boy's pleas, psychology, and the contradictions. Her vision glazed over as her mind entered its complicated webs of logic. The specific wording had been, xxxx“NO! OH GODS, NO! WINNIE—SHE JUMPED! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP! SHE—SHE JUST JUMPED!” xxxxGiven that it was hollered only a few seconds after the crunch, the boy probably saw at least some part of the supposed attempted suicide. Since Winnie was probably not a surname, Yougle supposed they were pretty familiar with each other. The fact that he didn't scream or holler, "Winnie, wait!" or "Stop!" or "Somebody help! Winnie's about to jump!" or anything of that sort was highly suspicious and unlikely. Why would the scream be a few seconds after the fall, and not during or before it? xxxxUnless...she had fallen from the Ravenclaw commons or dorms, and the boy was simply in the owlery, looking out the window when he heard the crunch. But she knew perfectly fine, as a Ravenclaw and somebody with eyesight that she used right then, that the windows were barred (probably to prevent something like this from happening), so that possibility was ruled out. xxxxWell, back to thinking deeper about her initial theory. Assuming it was attempted suicide, the boy had either seen the girl jump or had burst into the owlery as she fell and immediately looked out the window when he heard the crunch. xxxxIf it were the first possibility, the boy had seen the girl jump, so the utter lack of sound before the fall was uncanny. And the fact that you would scream only a few seconds after the impact and not as you saw someone fall, right before your eyes, into, like, fifty feet below...no, that possibility was ruled out. The screeching voice had sounded shrill and panicked too, so the boy was not one without/lacking emotion. If he truly saw her jump, he would surely scream instinctively. xxxxIf it were the second possibility, the boy had walked in the owlery, heard the crunch, and peered out the window, then what kind of person would just blindly believe and accept that someone they know pretty well had jumped and had not fallen or anything else? If someone you pretty well know falls, you wouldn't think immediately, "oh my gosh she jumped!" Basic psychology. If you really witnessed what you believed to be a dead body for the first time, then you would not have the chance to ponder too deeply as to what had really happened, so "she jumped" and not "she fell" or just "Winnie is dying" seemed like a well thought out response. In moments of direness, you would scream what you are thinking in your mind. That possibility was also ruled out. xxxxYougle felt as though her blood had turned into ice. Her eyes returned to their normal state, unglazed and sharp. She shakily stood up and walked over to the group of people which now consisted of also a professor, who was probably transporting the injured girl to the hospital wing. Yougle had to tell the professor. Or else more people might get hurt. xxxxSure, the girl would recover and recount the events, but logic would help further convince the teachers that the boy, who was a bad logician but not a very bad actor, had attempted to murder someone. Worst case scenario, the boy could fully murder the girl before she even recovered. xxxxBut before she could open her mouth, she hesitated. If it really were murder at Hogwarts, wouldn't accusing the guilty out loud just make her a target too? What if there were more than just one person involved? If, by any chance at all, she wasn't immediately successful in getting the culprit caught, then all she would do is put herself in more danger. Yougle hated what she saw in herself: a coward who only cared about self-preservation. But the risk was too much. xxxxNo, Yougle would not tell anyone. She would write her thinking in her diary. She would learn duelling, so she can defend herself in the future if anything ever happens. She would walk away. Maybe she would visit the injured girl sometime. Maybe she wouldn't. Oh dear...

xx

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Mentioning: @Winnie Harper, @Gideon Athanatos, @Mathias Pride, @Aly Salinger, @Evelynn Decipio, @Aamon Athanatos, @Orion Lécuyer Interacting with: @Winnie Harper, @Gideon Athanatos, @Mathias Pride, @Aly Salinger, @Evelynn Decipio, @Aamon Athanatos, @Orion Lécuyer Word count: 1599/200

Yougle's Speech: #1E90FF All Other Speech: #7B68EE All Thoughts: italics

December 22, 2024

For the sake of those in the thread.
1. Gideon throwing Winnie from the tower was unwitnessed as there were no other users in the thread when this happened. While a stretch I did allow keen eye to be utilized, this was never a private thread.
2. Gideon was in the tower after Winnie fell, he did not jump out after her. He called out the window above her broken form claiming she jumped. As readers we may know otherwise, but as players we have the context of a person we may or may not know being injured and unconscious in the snow and someone claiming a sequence of events.
3. The users kneeling next to Winnie would be Mathias Pride, Aamon Athanatos, Evelyn Decipio and Aly Salinger.
4. Orion arrived in response to Periculum being cast.

A note to those entering, you are welcome to have your own IC theories, but please remember we have rules against metagaming.

The bright shimmer of a conjured Pluvia Velo umbrella kept her safe from the snow as Maisie took a wee walk around the grounds. The bright snow always brought a smile to her face and lightness to her step. Even Mischief with his head poking out of her satchel seemed to enjoy the beauty of these conditions. The pair expected a pleasant time.

But this was not to be as the glow of red sparks reflected against the conjured umbrella.

Near the owlery the shouts and screams ran out and like an idiot, Maisie ran towards them. Common sense safety was to move away from chaos, but Maisie liked to make sense of things and to protect people. (Perhaps that was why @Saunders Napier was so annoying as her encounters with him challenged this world view.) Her feet picked up as her cloak billowed behind her.

Until she saw the people allow coalesced together—around a body. "Oh my goodness," she gasped as she seemed to freeze in place. As traumatic as the event with the grindylows was for her, everyone was safe. This seemed like a stark escalation in her Hogwarts career. And all of a sudden, the girl who planned felt not a single plan come to mind.

If the injury was serious—something she suspected based on the scene—there was no point in crowded. But it felt awful just standing there too. Still, she looked over the group and recognized exactly two people: the older Ravenclaw (@Aly Salinger) who defined exactly what 'cool' meant, and Professor Lécuyer, whom she respected as instructor in one of her favorite subjects.

As she watched another young student (@Yougle Crenshaw) head in his direction, Maisie was unsure what to do. Surely, her magic could not out do a professor's prowess. And she was no healer. Her eyes darted around as she tried to come up with a plan.

"Should—" she started approaching the group with her umbrella tipped slightly behind her, "—should I get someone?" She didn't really expect any answer. They were all busy and rightly so. Red sparks had already been deployed. Everything was moving so fast, and Maisie could scarcely register what was happening. She only lifted her heel ready to run if that was what was required.