She was sure that it was the sound of the Black Lake. Especially down at the edges, where all she could hear was the lapping of the lake, the splashes of thrown pebbles or little creatures who decided to go for a swim. (the beat of her heart inside her chest that doesn’t quite feel real and just echoes everywhere too much) Her shoes, with socks folded neatly inside, were up on dryer shores so that she could dig her toes into the mud. (the squish and the crumble between) Although the water was cold, all of this calmed her. Grounded her.
Outside, far away from tense air of the Great Hall and the destruction of the Ravenclaw Common Room (who would do that to books?), she was free from the overwhelming emotions. It felt like some students were moments away from reaching for throats, she’d spent all of yesterday listening to accusations and tempers had run high (they were angry but what was anger going to do to help it just made other people more angry). And maybe she should be back there, trying to keep the houses calm as a Prefect should (but sometimes the students just want to be angry and they don’t want to listen to her reasonings). However, Glenda felt that if she didn’t walk away, if she didn’t take a moment to forget and to just not feel, she’d lose some modicum of her control and she refused to let that happen. For just a few minutes, just a couple seconds, she needed to be away from all the crazy inside of the halls, because even the most remote rooms were abuzz with the whispers of passing ghosts and pictures (did you hear? who did it? i wonder? they said-? why?). And as useless as she was when it came to other people’s emotions, she’d be even worse if she didn’t have a reign on her own.
She doesn’t feel a part of her own body in those moments, and even when she hears the sound of a person behind her, she can’t bring herself back to the present. Can barely even bother to open her eyes. Just lets herself float and say,
“Who’s there?”