They'd wanted him to stay for a few more days, but Thomas could not handle any more poking and prodding by the healers of St. Mungo's. He'd been locked up in their Spell Damage ward for hours, then sent to Potion and Plant Poisoning and then Magical Bugs, but---no one could seem to find the answer. He'd been all fixed up, his bruises melted away and the blood wiped clean from his hands, but no one could figure out why he couldn't perform any magic. He couldn't perform magic. Thomas had felt it immediately, he felt lopsided, ready to keel over because something was missing, but no one had believed him. It wasn't until an attempt to apparate down the corridor, for tests caused every muscle in his body to spasm and cramp that the healers grew concerned.
It only got worse. They'd brought him wands, but nothing ever sparked. They'd had him attempt to do a ward on a journal, but he got nothing but ink all over his fingers. They'd brought his broom, and it did nothing, as if waiting to sweep the floor. His broom wouldn't fly, which meant he couldn't---
The keys to his flat jumbled in his hands. Thomas had refused to stay with his parents, even his sister had offered her guest room. There was no way he could live under their pitying eyes; whatever this block on his magic was, it was completely mentally and physically draining and he didn't need the added hovering of his family. Thomas could not remember the last time he had used his keys to open his flat, but there he was, unable to figure out the right key and growing more frustrated by the second.
"Just----bloody open!" he snapped, kicking the door. The car ride from St. Mungo's had been bad enough, now he couldn't even handle a set of keys. How the hell was he supposed to function in a world without magic? He'd known nothing else, he'd never bothered to figure it out---why would he have to? Who would have imagined that someone would have figured out a way to---to steal a wizard's magic?
Thomas let out a breath, shutting his eyes and dropping his head to the door. He needed a moment.
It only got worse. They'd brought him wands, but nothing ever sparked. They'd had him attempt to do a ward on a journal, but he got nothing but ink all over his fingers. They'd brought his broom, and it did nothing, as if waiting to sweep the floor. His broom wouldn't fly, which meant he couldn't---
The keys to his flat jumbled in his hands. Thomas had refused to stay with his parents, even his sister had offered her guest room. There was no way he could live under their pitying eyes; whatever this block on his magic was, it was completely mentally and physically draining and he didn't need the added hovering of his family. Thomas could not remember the last time he had used his keys to open his flat, but there he was, unable to figure out the right key and growing more frustrated by the second.
"Just----bloody open!" he snapped, kicking the door. The car ride from St. Mungo's had been bad enough, now he couldn't even handle a set of keys. How the hell was he supposed to function in a world without magic? He'd known nothing else, he'd never bothered to figure it out---why would he have to? Who would have imagined that someone would have figured out a way to---to steal a wizard's magic?
Thomas let out a breath, shutting his eyes and dropping his head to the door. He needed a moment.
10 comments | Leave a comment