Faded Away ↠H. Potter Twin [Dean Thomas]

ONE: A Late Night Adventure

On a warm July night, when everyone in Godric's Hollow was tucked away in bed, an adventurous spirit sneaked out of a house encased by a stone wall. She had locked the bathroom door from the inside and pulled open the window to reveal her route of escape: the pear tree. If she willed it hard enough and if she was lucky, one of the branches would reach out for her. Then, pretending to be a trapeze artist, she would mount it and carefully cross over to the other side of the tree, which was close enough to the stone wall that she could swing forward to climb on top of it.

Once she had safely scaled down the wall and landed on the pavement, Mary pulled up the hood of her cloak and readjusted the bag slung across her body. She darted through the shadows, weaving her way through the deserted village streets, until she reached the churchyard. Her target was the tool shed at the back. It was never locked, just as the graveyard was never guarded.

Godric's Hollow was a snug, little village where everyone knew everyone, so there was a lot of implicit trust. People could leave their front doors open and not worry about being robbed. There was something about the village, something no one could ever lay a finger on, that made them feel safe, as if some higher power or guardian angels watched over and protected them.

Mary did not know how much truth lay in this supposition. Whether others did indeed have someone watching over them, she had no idea. But she could attest that she had guardian angels of her own.

"I didn't think you would come today," a voice said from behind as she rummaged through the cleaning supplies.

"The tree almost didn't listen today," Mary admitted. "I guess I was a bit happier than usual. Oh, where is it?" She huffed in frustration.

"Big Ben must have forgotten it by the door again," another voice said.

"He's getting old," Mary said bitterly. She stormed to the church's back door. Sure enough, the broom leaned against the wall.

"Now, now," chided the second voice. "There is no need to be disrespectful."

Mary rolled her eyes. "I'm only stating a fact."

"She's not wrong," said the first voice, agreeing initially before hastily adding, "But of course her tone was disrespectful. You're right."

Mary turned to face the two semi-transparent spectres. The woman had her arms crossed and was glaring at the man, who let out a burst of nervous laughter.

"Oh, alright. I'm sorry," said Mary. Maybe she had been a little harsh. It was not Big Ben's fault he was growing forgetful lately. It likely plagued him more gravely than her minor inconvenience.

The man ruffled her hair. "S'long as you don't repeat it again," he said. A mop of equally messy hair covered his own head. He had the habit of combing it over with his fingers to stir it up even more. His eyes, framed by a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, glinted in a perpetual hint of mischief.

The woman looked like an older version of Mary: the same cut of the face, the same almond-shaped eyes, the same smile. The only difference was the woman's straight hair that fell neatly to her shoulders. Mary's hair was so unruly that it tended to stand up at odd angles, so she resembled the man more in that regard. The woman's eyes, kind and curious, followed Mary hungrily as if she feared the girl would vanish any second.

Mary knew who they were. They were the couple whose statue would replace the war memorial in the village square whenever she passed by it. They were the ghosts she had grown up secretly calling "Mummy" and "Daddy". They were her parents - her biological parents.

She didn't know their names. The statue was not inscribed, as if everyone who could see it should know who they were. When Mary had first spotted the war memorial's transformation as a much younger child, she had asked her adoptive father Mr Campbell about the mechanics behind it. He had taken turns staring back and forth between the statue and Mary until Mrs Campbell got wind of the situation and, glancing uneasily up and down the square, forbade her to ever mention it again.