Lindsay didn't think that she and Pete were one of those couples who spent every waking moment of their lives in one another's presence – and if they were, nobody had ever bothered to tell Lindsay. They only had half of their classes together, lived in different dormitories, played and practiced with different quidditch teams at different times of the day, and ate only a handful of meals together during the week. She went running on her own, did much of her schoolwork on her own, and took care of prefect responsibilities on her own. Granted, they'd probably spend more time together overall if they were in the same house, but they weren't and they didn't and that was that. Sometimes it felt like they actually spent more time apart than together. They stole what time they could whenever they could, though, and perhaps it was their insistence on making time for one another despite their nearly incompatible schedules that made Nigel think they were attached at the hip.

She was by herself now, though, and she didn't think that was especially strange. What she did find strange, however, was that he wanted to know why she was on the bridge. Didn't people walk from place to place sometimes? Hogwarts Castle was a confusing structure, and when there was an architectural element that you could count on being in the same place one hundred percent of the time, she thought it was a good idea to take advantage of that. The bridge was way more reliable than the staircases. “I was just, um, I was crossing to the other side,” she explained in her simple way, wondering why an explanation was even necessary. She hadn't realized the bridge was a destination in itself. “Did you, um... do you want me to go?” she asked, feeling awkward and intrusive now that he'd pointed out his own reasons for loitering on the bridge. If he'd come out onto the bridge to be alone, who was she to stop him? She wasn't planning on lingering, anyway. He kept talking, though, and his questions only became more peculiar. 

”Do you think becoming a ghost is worth it? Or do you think they actually wish they had moved on to the afterlife, or whatever?”

“Um...” she replied, caught entirely off guard by the unusual change of subject. “I'm not sure,” she offered hesitantly, glancing over at his face to try and glean some information from his expression. She hadn't really thought about ghosts much. Or the afterlife. Or dying. Lindsay was just your typical teenager who imagined that she was invincible. It was that mindset that birthed your average quidditch player, sucking them in while they were still certain they'd live forever and keeping them hooked until they finally kicked off. “Ghosts are a lot like people, kind of, when you talk to them,” she mused, “so maybe everybody is different. Maybe some of them like it and some of them don't,” she guessed. “You can talk to them sometimes. They're nice. The fat friar is nice when you talk to him. I bet you could ask him,” she added, trying to sound at least slightly helpful. 

There was just something a little too odd about the sudden morbid turn in conversation, and even if Nigel looked the way Nigel always looked, Lindsay had to wonder if something had happened, or if he was upset about something. Some people loved to talk about death, but Lindsay had never been one of them. She preferred people alive, generally. “Is everything okay?” she asked him, clasping her hands tightly in front of her to try and prevent herself from reaching out and touching him. “Nothing... nothing happened, did it?” she pried a bit, wanting to make sure she wasn't giving out dumb advice when she could be comforting him, or just listening. 


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
Last Edited By: VeelaBabe89 Feb 23 12 10:27 PM. Edited 1 times.