From the way she was carrying on, you would have thought that Skrumpkin's chant was the funniest thing Lindsay had ever heard in her life. She could not stop giggling for anything. The Hufflepuff quidditch team had somehow become a ragtag association of defective handbells, and she was completely tickled by their performance. Stepping out into that thick fog without the accompaniment of their ridiculous ringing might have been daunting, but as long as everyone else was chanting and teasing then Lindsay was somehow okay. Even the eerie fact that she couldn't see the hoops or the stands didn't affect her in the way one might have expected it to. She just kept walking, sure to keep the person directly in front of her in her sights as she laughed her way onto the pitch.

The real fear and accompanying adrenaline rush would sink in once the match actually started, she was sure – there was no way she'd be this relaxed, giggly and easy-going once bludgers were loose in the air and just as likely to come out of nowhere and beam her in the skull as they were anyone else.  If she'd thought it once, she'd thought it a thousand times – this match, even if played with an air of good fun, was going to be dangerous. She was as worried about the spectators as she was about the players. Unfortunately, Lindsay's quidditch-related hunches tended to be fairly accurate, particularly when they were terrible omens of death. She hoped, for the sake of everyone around her – visible and invisible alike – that her hunch was just a hunch. 


we don't realize our faith in the prize unless its been somehow elusive
how swiftly we choose it - the sacred simplicity of you at my side