Clara had been among the fortunate few who were actually in the dormitories when the lights had flickered and died. It had been fairly alarming at first, but she had to admit the presence of a dog, albeit a small one, was helpful at dispelling any sense of unease.
Now, however, she was standing in the common room feeling rather annoyed. It was dark, cold, and she didn't like it. Having grown up in luxury, Clara Avery was, quite simply, spoiled. Professor Kent's letter had done little to help her growing impatience with the situation, so she was rather grateful that Lucius was taking initiative.
She wandered over to where the Head Boy was standing and looked at the matches. Clara had glanced at a few and they looked like... well, twigs. Huh. "Forgive my intrusion, Lucius, but how do we actually light the matches?"