There were very few things that could reasonably go wrong on a morning stroll, yet somehow Helga managed to fall victim to one every now and then. Twisted ankles seemed to be a commonality—as her mother had reasoned, Helga had never been inclined towards serious exercise—but she could hardly explain how she managed to get stuck. She was unlucky, certainly, but not clumsy! Even more embarrassingly, this was not the first time that a passing stranger had stopped to help her.
And not the first time that person had been Mr. Beckett Longbottom.
Cheeks already pink from minutes of trying to tug her ankle out of a narrow root, Helga's face looked as red as a beet when she noticed it was him—in all his handsome (and... sweating?) glory—who had asked her if she was well. Mr. Longbottom would not be daft enough to believe all was well, but he would be kind enough, she believed, not to make her feel silly. She could lie and make excuses all she wanted, but the picture was clear as day: her foot was stuck. In a root. In the ground.
"I'm afraid not," she admitted in defeat. "I have my foot in a root." She opened her mouth to poke fun at herself, to say something along the lines that she wasn't always getting into trouble and that only he happened to be there when she did so, but the words died on her tongue.
"It's either an enchanted root, or a stubborn one. The dirt collapsed while I was on my way to look at the pond," she lamented. She gave a gentle tug of her leg to demonstrate, and, like all the times before, it refused to budge. Helga looked up at him through heavy lashes and gave a small frown. "I think I might have twisted something, too."
And not the first time that person had been Mr. Beckett Longbottom.
Cheeks already pink from minutes of trying to tug her ankle out of a narrow root, Helga's face looked as red as a beet when she noticed it was him—in all his handsome (and... sweating?) glory—who had asked her if she was well. Mr. Longbottom would not be daft enough to believe all was well, but he would be kind enough, she believed, not to make her feel silly. She could lie and make excuses all she wanted, but the picture was clear as day: her foot was stuck. In a root. In the ground.
"I'm afraid not," she admitted in defeat. "I have my foot in a root." She opened her mouth to poke fun at herself, to say something along the lines that she wasn't always getting into trouble and that only he happened to be there when she did so, but the words died on her tongue.
"It's either an enchanted root, or a stubborn one. The dirt collapsed while I was on my way to look at the pond," she lamented. She gave a gentle tug of her leg to demonstrate, and, like all the times before, it refused to budge. Helga looked up at him through heavy lashes and gave a small frown. "I think I might have twisted something, too."
— set by MJ! <3 —