Errand Flickers PV | Bridget C.

@Thora Larkston

Bridget had been in a state the last few weeks. Ever since the spider attack on the Slytherin Common Room where she'd been bitten, the young girl hadn't been herself. At the most basic level, she was now terrified of spiders, a fear that had been nonexistent before. How was it possible to go from ignoring the creatures to having a complete panic attack whenever she saw one? She didn't know.

Beyond just the fear, though, Bridget had been avoiding people far more than usual. Sure, she was an introvert and stumbled through most conversations, but she was always open to seeing people she liked, trusted, and in some cases, considered friends. That fateful night, the walls she'd so carefully built to protect herself and hide her emotions had crumbled, the pain too crippling for her to care if people saw her cry and heard her scream. In its aftermath, Bridget hadn't been able to bring those walls back up. The Slytherin had learned fast she could no longer hide her emotions and the now ever-present fear. Too distrustful of people to let them see how broken she was, she'd done the only thing she could think of until she built her guard back up--she avoided people.

So why was she hurrying towards the Great Hall to partake in an errand where there were sure to be a lot of people? Bridget honestly didn't know. It was as if logic had gone out the window. The five spiders she'd seen so far, although clearly not as big nor a work of dark magic like those spiders, still made her heart hammer, her knees shake, and tears spring to her eyes. The first time, in class, of all places, she'd actually screamed, but had since gotten somewhat better at stifling her reactions. As if that wasn't enough, she freaked out just as much for bits of fuzz and other insects at all resembling arachnids. Her grades had been affected, too, plummeting from consistent E's and O's to A's and even one P. That should've bothered her, but it didn't. She just couldn't focus on her work, always paranoid another cursed spider was coming to torment her.

Her hair was up in a ponytail and braided down the rest of the way. No spiders would get stuck in her long, thick, and often tangled dark tresses. Having the spider lost in her hair had been perhaps the most traumatic part of that night and Bridget was going to make sure it never happened again. She was wearing black leggings with no pockets or folds in the fabric for an eight-legged menace to hide in, and the blue-grey tee shirt she'd worn, despite the still-chilly castle, was a helpful reminder there was no black venom running through her veins. Of course, this left the two scars where the fangs had punctured her right elbow visible, but they were so small they were almost guaranteed to go unnoticed. It was funny for how all the pain the spider had caused her, it only left two tiny scars. Physically, anyways.

Stepping into the Great Hall, Bridget inhaled shakily. She shouldn't have come. The small girl was overwhelmed by all the color, all the people, all the noise, all the places spiders could hide. There were too many places for spiders to hide anywhere, she supposed, so this room was no different than any other in that respect Still, what was the point of being there? The rewards had lost value to the Slytherin. Decorating a dessert, something that should have appealed to her artistic side, didn't. She hadn't sketched once since that night; the activity just didn't interest her anymore. There was no point being there. But just as she turned to leave, her hazel eyes caught on a familiar hoodie.

She instantly knew who it was. Thora. Sitting alone at the end of one of the tables was her friend. Her best friend. They hadn't been hanging out much lately, but the avoidance was mutual. Maybe Thora hadn't been subjected to a bite, but Bridget, despite not being particularly empathetic, knew from experience that was just as damaging. After the Ball, the brunette had been drowning in guilt for not doing enough while others suffered. This time, the roles were reversed and Bridget finally understood what Thora had been through after the Masked Ball. Not that the understanding would've helped. Bridget had no idea how to fix this.

Even if they weren't hanging out much, Thora was the only person in the world that could make Bridget stay in that room. Before she really realizing it, her feet had carried her over to where the other Slytherin sat. Sliding onto the wooden bench next to Thora, she was reminded of when they sat together at the beginning of the year. Back before everything had fallen apart. Resting her head on her elbow, Bridget looked over at Thora. "You here for the errand too?" she asked, attempting at a smile. Her face muscles didn't want to cooperate. "Mind if I join?"

Word Count | 847/1000

@Bridget Collins

Thora'd been attempting to attach a ruffled tip to a piping bag full of white frosting, and doing pretty well, actually, when she heard something. To be exact, a voice. A voice that she'd been trying to avoid for weeks now, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach that told her running was the exact opposite of what she should be doing. So, swallowing hard, she turned to see exactly what she expected. Bridget Collins, head on her elbow, face pulled into something that was in between a grimace and a smile. Green eyes searched her friend's face as Thora, too, gave her a small smile.

Thora's discomfort was invisible, a tension you couldn't tell was there. She'd been in enough pain to learn how to hide her emotions. She'd learned how to appear as a normal, smiling girl despite the constant raging in her head. "Sure, you can join," she finally succeeded in attaching the tip to the bag. Ready. "The supplies are over on that table if you want to grab some cookies or frosting," a pale hand gestured towards the heavily laden table just off to the side.

And with that, the snek tapped a finger to her chin, glancing over the plain cookie in front of her. It was a fresh canvas, a blank piece of parchment, a clean slate. It was something she could create, make her own, and make perfect. Perhaps it was exactly for this reason that Thora loved art so much. She'd barely even touched the sketchbook under her pillow since January for lack of time, but it had long been a hobby of hers. But unlike her life, which seemed only to worsen at every turn in terms of pain and guilt (not in terms of gaining friends, of course), with paper and pencil--or in her case, paint--she could create a masterpiece.

It had been many years since Thora had decorated cookies, and although such a sweet really didn't require specific finesse or materials, the perfectionist in her needed a plan before spontaneously squeezing frosting everywhere. And so, the girl sat and thought. It probably wasn't a great idea to just stop. Thora'd been pushing herself harder than ever, working around the clock and flying when she needed a break. Most people would tell her that it wasn't healthy (if they noticed, anyhow), but for her, keeping busy was a necessity. If she let herself relax for too long, the shattering guilt would return.

Everyone involved in the spider fiasco had been affected, but it was clear that those who had been bitten were literally traumatised. Thora was lucky enough to emerge from the disaster unscathed physically, but she'd practically just stood and watched as her friends went down. She didn't know how to help, but the fact that she didn't even make a move simply disgusted her. A lot. And so, she'd decided to avoid the people whom she appeared to ignore that night to avoid the pain for both herself and others.

But lo and behold, here was Bridget. Thora's friend was one among the many that had been bitten by the cursed spiders, and one that Thora had failed to help. Thora didn't know what to say, didn't know how to apologise, didn't know how to bridge the gap between them. Having invited Bridget to sit by her, though, she supposed she couldn't escape. Her two choices were to pretend that nothing had happened, or confront her failure head-on. Being as timid as she was, Thora opted for the latter.

Of course, the mouth that typically refused to open under any circumstance had to open right then and there, speaking the words Thora wasn't sure would help. If Bridget went to get supplies and returned, Thora, fingers crossed tightly under the table,  would blurt, "I'm sorry. Sorry I failed." There. It was done. It was the most poorly phrased statement ever, but she supposed there would be time for explanations. Hopefully, this would weave their friendship back together, not damage it even further.

WC: 852 + 675 = 1527 [errand complete]

@Thora Larkston

It didn't come as a surprise to Bridget when Thora let her join her cookie decorating. Maybe there had been distance between them since the night of the spider assault, but they were still friends. Thora gave her a much less pathetic smile and directed her towards the errand supplies. Nodding, Bridget told the other Slytherin, "I'll be right back," and headed towards the hub of desserts, frostings, and sprinkles standing out with all its colors. In a way, the eruption of rainbow in front of her was intimidating after the recent lack of color in her life. Reminding herself she was doing this to spend time with Thora, the brunette grabbed a plate of cookies and searched for some of the less overwhelming toppings, settling on green frosting, white and silver sprinkles, and a spoon. Nothing wrong with a little House pride.

Returning to Thora, she laid out her findings and slid back onto the bench. Using the back of the spoon, Bridget spread frosting on the first cookie. She froze, though, when Thora's words hit her ears. Five words, nothing more, but they carried so much weight, so many unspoken syllables. Settling the cookie and spoon back on the table, Bridget turned to face her friend, exhaled, and grasped for the right words.

"Thora... gosh. You didn't fail. I- no one did anything that night. We all had no idea what was going on, and it wasn't like I did anything either. I just sat there and cried, but... but you..." The Slytherin paused, digging through the memories she'd tried to bury, searching for something Thora did she could praise her for. "You kept you head and told Professor Jensen what was happening," she said finally. "Because of that, me and everyone else the sp... everyone that was bitten made it to the Hospital Wing sooner."

From the moment the attempted consolation left her mouth, Bridget knew they weren't going to be enough to make Thora feel better. She wasn't any good with words, anyways. But there was one more thing she needed to say, no matter how badly she said it.

"Look, we can't keep doing this. Something big happens and suddenly we aren't talking anymore and I'm scared we aren't friends anymore. So, I guess, listen. I don't blame you for what happened, I don't think any less of you because you didn't save everyone. So long as you're never the one attacking people, well, we'll still be friends. That's a promise."

Word Count | 416 + 847 = 1263/1000
~Errand Complete~

@Bridget Collins

You didn't fail. Thora knew that the words were meant to help her feel better, but though others could believe whatever they wanted, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had failed. Everything Bridget said was true, though. Thora had communicated to her Head of House what had happened, and offered to help, but that was because she hadn't been bitten. Everyone else had been sitting there and crying simply because they'd been bitten. Being nimble enough to escape the spiders and run to safety didn't make her a hero. It just labeled her a coward.

The consolation seemed to leave the girl emptier than before as the memories of the chaos all came rushing back. Thora knew that it would be a night she'd always associate with pain, guilt, and a lesson she'd never forget. Had it been someone else she was talking to, Thora might have gotten stuck on the points brought up which she thought almost praised her for being someone she wasn't, but this was Bridget Collins. Her best friend. They'd been through enough that Thora knew that the attempt at comfort was genuine and not just a conversation starter with the pathetic kid sitting alone at the end of the table.

So, when Bridget went on about being friends, the little brunette had to stare hard at her cookie, willing her eyes to remain dry and breathing not to speed up. It was her fault she'd been avoiding one of the people she trusted most, and her actions that had made their friendship begin to fall apart. But even though Thora was honestly quite messed up and feared more loss, and so had taken to avoiding people, she couldn't reject Bridget. Not any longer.

"It was my fault that… that I didn't help anyone. But I hope… I hope we're still friends, too," Thora forced her green gaze to lock with the other girl's hazel one, all the while fidgeting with the blunt spreading knife she'd been planning to use to cover her cookie with frosting. "And I'm sorry if I started to ruin that, too," her voice would drop to a mutter as she picked up the piping bag, dotting the edge of her cookie with tiny white rosettes instead. Okay, now she was starting to treat this like a cupcake or even a cake. There were likely much easier ways to do things, like drizzling the cookie with thinner icing, but it really didn't matter right now. Maybe decorating cookies was the point of this errand, but for Thora, this friendship came first. It only felt right.

From the moment she'd met Bridget in the dead of night the previous year, there had been something about her. Something about her company that Thora enjoyed. Something that made the then first year subconsciously feel that she'd found her first real friend. "And I think we are friends," Thora looked up once more, a smile beginning to turn up the corners of her mouth. "Right?" She couldn't play this off like nothing had happened between the two of them in the past year, or pretend that they'd always been best friends, but with time, a few smiles, and maybe a couple cookies, she could begin to fix this.

"Any ideas on how to make this Quidditch themed?" the girl asked. It was a simple question, and perhaps one that would seem like she was trying to avoid the actual problem, but it released a bit of the tension in her face and lightened her heavy heart. Thora might be fearful of doing the wrong thing, but she could take a step in strengthening the bond between them. It had been on her, at least partially, that it had begun falling apart in the first place, and so she felt obligated to build it up again. And since they were both Quidditch players, artists, and had blank slates in front of them, what better to talk about than the sport for which they shared a passion?

WC: 852 + 675 + 671 = 2198 [errand complete]