For all she enjoyed being seen, Helga hated being stared at—and it was especially distressing to be stared while in distress.

Something had gone wrong that day. Her chaperon had claimed a curse was the only option, while another passerby suggested it was a reckless prank. No matter what it was, it had caused Helga to be trapped in the most uncomfortable position: stuck in place and as stiff as a statue, with only her facial muscles capable of moving. She could only take consolation in the fact that her skin must now be soft and dewy, as she had spent the last thirty minutes with silent tears running down her face.

Then the auror department had been called, which meant there were no time for tears. She had to act graceful and poised... or as poised as she could be, given the situation.

"I can't remember what I've touched, but I can't imagine it was anything I ate or drank. Nothing unusual has happened today," she explained, feeling her cheeks flush pink as the auror—a taller, noticeably older man probably in his thirties or forties—stared at her.

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