Huffily Puffily || Golden Trio

Follow the Spiders || xlvii

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Lucy did not consider herself a very negative person.

Her emotions, as she found through the years, were quite predictable. She was easily excited and pleased, and she let herself get caught up in adventures on a whim. If she had an idea in her head, she'd follow through without much concern for the consequences. She was not one to hold grudges.

She could get annoyed, sure, but it never lasted. Even sadness had its way of trickling away after a while. Quirrell's death was no longer a sharp pain in her gut, instead a somber ache when she happened to think of it. Her falling out with her friends was a quiet discontentment.

The point being, she did not know much of somberness or fear; she always figured she could work her way out of any mess given enough effort.

And then she saw her friends laying, frozen in terror in hospital beds. There was nothing righteous about the feeling in her chest; it was cold, it was ugly, and it was staying. Ten minutes passed since McGonagall left with Ron and Harry, and she stood there with her hand linked through Tom's staring at the bodies.

She wasn't sure if she should say anything. There was no one around to hear her, but she feared that if she opened her mouth, only a flood would come out. She struggled to contain the lump at the back of her throat. She fought the goosebumps travelling their way up her spine.

She felt terrible when Colin was petrified, and she was unhappy with Megan, Susan, and Justin's case, too. But she never in a million years would have expected something to happen to Anthony. It was inconceivable; he was Anthony Rickett. He was the smartest, most caring person Lucy had ever known; he was the older brother she'd never had. She imagined him to be an unstoppable force, standing in the face of evil and laughing. And if something managed to petrify him— not only him, but Daisy and Hermione, the smartest witches in the school— then what chance did she have? What chance did Harry and Ron have? It was only a matter of time before someone else died, just like last year. She was terrified that it might be one of her remaining friends.

She forced herself to walk closer to their bodies, calculating. The sight was terrible, but she owed it to them to try and make sense of everything. Hermione was clearly terrified. She must have seen whatever was coming at her and found it horrible. Daisy's expression was frozen in concentration. Her spare hand held a wand, which was pointed straight ahead of her. She'd been about to cast a spell at whatever they faced. And Anthony, brave Anthony, looked furious. His lips were pulled up in a snarl, and his spare fist was clenched at his side.

"Why was there a mirror?" she asked aloud, without thinking. She picked the mirror off the bedside table and examined it. There was nothing exciting about it. It had a plain, silver backing and it was no bigger than her fist.

She put the mirror down and furrowed her brow. She looked over to Hermione again, thinking. She wasn't doing her makeup, that was for certain— surely, she had a reason to have a mirror on her. That much was obvious. The tricky part, she found throughout the year, was figuring out why this was all happening. It was a question that for the life of her she couldn't pin an answer to. It was mostly her friends being petrified, pureblood and muggleborn alike.

McGonagall returned before she could do any more investigating. When the professor saw Lucy standing beside her friends, she struggled to contain her emotions. She finally cleared her throat and nodded at the student.

Lucy nodded back. With one last glance at Anthony, she allowed McGonagall to escort her back.

The journey was silent, and when she stepped into the common room, it was packed with terrified Hufflepuffs huddling together. They had a good reason, too. Five Hufflepuffs had been attacked, two of which were purebloods.