The walk through the halls of the castle was somewhat leisurely. Nigel wasn’t in any particular hurry. Clearly, he had nothing better to do, as he had just been sitting by himself on the stone bridge, lost in introspection. And outrospection. Wondering when the blade would strike, the noose pull tight, the poison spread… but even then, with all alike, try as he might, he’d soon be dead. Yeah. He had a lot of time on his hands. Time probably put to better use by chatting about Quidditch… Or doing anything other than sitting alone and brooding. After all, would he want his last few days spent lonely and alone with only his sullen subconscious for company? Not really.

He was actually trying to be pleasant and a decent walking companion, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was. It wasn’t a natural state for him, and he felt all awkward. Like should he swing his arms while he walked so as to appear carefree? He didn’t think carefree would suit him, really, so he kept both hands clutching the strap of his bag. That felt more natural-like… and behaving unnaturally would probably not come across as pleasant. And might, in fact, scare the poor girl. He was somewhat distracted from his forced pleasantness by her tale of injury. “It popped?!” he echoed. Subtly, he increased the distance between them. While he was fairly sure that rupturing organs wasn’t contagious, he wasn’t taking any chances. When they found his cold dead body on his birthday, he was going to be whole and unsullied, damn it.

“I hate flying in the rain,” said Nigel. His hair got all floppy and fell in his eyes, and he couldn’t tell if the wetness on his face was rain or snot… because rain (during cold weather – and in Scotland, it was nearly always a cold rain) tended to make his nose all runny. It was not fun. Even worse, though, was any and all mud. Whenever there was the slightest chance of a mud puddle, Nigel tended to end up in it. Most often at the hands of Nat. That was an entirely different subject, however, since it was not that likely that Nigel would get muddy while in the air at a Quidditch match. That is, if Nigel were actually in the air at said match, and praise Merlin, that had yet to happen. Apparently, Lindsay was thinking along the same lines, but her next question still caught him slightly off guard.

“Are you going to try and make the starting team next term?”

“Oh, Merlin, no!” he exclaimed, face stricken at the thought. He tried not to think about next term because he knew in the back of his mind somewhere that two of their team members were graduating and that someone had to take their spots, but he didn’t want it to be him. And it wouldn’t. Because he would be dead. He was about to say so, but he hesitated. Discussing his impending death didn’t seem like it would be considered pleasant conversation. “If it came to it, they would choose Will over me,” he finally said. “She’s a lot more… enthusiastic.” Granted, anyone was more enthusiastic than someone who didn’t want to play. “I really only joined because my brother and sister were on the team, but then all of my friends joined, too… so I just stayed.” It was actually a rather difficult plan. He had to be good enough to be accepted as a reserve, enough to be considered a viable alternative if the team was desperate, but not good enough to be a starter. It was a fine balance, but Nigel seemed to have perfected it over the past few years. It was working for him.

Their stroll had taken them far into the depths of the school, and Nigel knew that the Hufflepuff dorms were around here somewhere, but he wasn’t sure about the exact location. Some people were weirdly secretive about their House areas, and Nigel didn’t know the Hufflepuff view on the issue (as he tended not to socialise with Hufflepuffs), so he thought it might be prudent to leave his companion to finish the journey herself. “This is pretty close enough to your dorms, right? I’ll just… take my leave of you here.” The silence after he said that was incredibly awkward. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he kind of inclined his head in a goodbye nod. “I’ll, er, talk to you later. Let me know about that numbers thing,” he said, already backing away. He had done a lot of socialising today, and he was chit-chatted out. It was time to make his escape.