Faded Away ↠H. Potter Twin [Dean Thomas]

NINE: Phobia

Mary examined herself in the full-length mirror. She had finally changed out of the scratchy hospital gown and was now wearing a spare set of her school uniform that Hermione had fetched for her. The sleeves of her robes, the opaque tights she wore under her skirt, and her long hair falling loose on her shoulders all obscured the patches of disfigured skin on her body. Once she was sure that she was properly covered, Mary reached for the crutch leaning against the bedside table. She was being released from the hospital wing three days early under three strict conditions:

1. She must use a crutch to move about.

2. She must not put weight on her right ankle under any circumstances.

3. She must return to the hospital wing at once in the first instance of feeling unwell.

Mary agreed right away – anything for Madam Pomfrey to let her attend the first flying lesson...as an audience. It was better than nothing.

"I can at least learn the theory first-hand: listen to the instructions, rules and whatnot," Mary had explained to the matron. "And also see how things are done, so that I can turn back to memory from a primary source – my own experience, which you have to admit is better than being filled in by a friend who is bound to leave some things out!"

Mary's eyes fell on the cards strewn over the bedside table.

Somehow, the Hufflepuffs had convinced everyone in their year to scribble a "Get Well Soon" card for her on coloured parchment. Well, everyone except Dean Thomas. Mary couldn't figure out why. They had always been nice to each other, and everything had been fine between them the last time she saw him. Even his best friend, Seamus Finnigan, wrote her a note with a little joke in the end. He could have at least managed a simple "Get Well Soon". Mary had tried her best to not let it get to her, but stuck in bed all day with nothing to do, her mind ran around in circles.

She huffed. Why was she getting so worked up about someone who clearly didn't care enough about her to spell out three tiny words? Grabbing the cards in fistfuls, she stuffed them in her battered satchel, not caring that they were being crushed by her meaty hand. She took one last look at her bed to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything and then hobbled towards the training grounds.

Click. Click. Click.

As soon as it touched the grass, the sound of the crutch was muted. While the other first-years gathered on the flying ground, Mary settled on a bench at one of the trestle tables used for broom maintenance. Her friends waved at her. She almost didn't wave back. Deep green envy bubbled inside her. She was supposed to be down there with the others, standing next to one of the old brooms from the school's stock. Instead, here she was sitting off to a side, missing all the action.

Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, marched into the field and ordered everyone to shut their mouths and listen carefully to her instructions. For a few minutes, Mary watched her give them an introduction to the lesson and assigned them their first task: lift their broom up into their hand simply by saying, "Up!"

Mary tilted her head. She had never done that before. The lesson would prove to be useful after all. She reminisced all the times she had sneaked out of the Campbells' house to fly in the dead silence of a graveyard. She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed a boy running into the field. He was huffing and puffing, but he didn't stop.

"M-Mary," he choked out. Pulled suddenly back to reality, Mary blinked at him in surprise. "I –"

But before he could manage to say anything further, he was interrupted by Madam Hooch shouting from across the field. "Mr Thomas, you have the audacity to come late to class and then not even bother joining it! Get down here, boy!"