Charged Confrontations PV Aaron Jones Closed

Today was the day. Not a very special day for most people, maybe; it was a regular Saturday morning in June, the school year was nearing its end, and there wasn't anything very remarkable going on, for most people. For Dee... it was slightly different.

A few weeks ago, she had approached Aaron with a request that might have sounded a little odd to some. If he could give her flying lessons, she'd asked, gaze directed stubbornly somewhere just left of his ear and hands balled into fists. A short pause, teeth clenched, then an abrupt please had been tacked onto the question, reluctance heavy in the single syllable.

It might have sounded odd, because most wizards Dee's age knew how to fly. They had mandatory classes for it in their first year, and Dee had not been an exception. So yes, in theory, she had that same knowledge. But she had also hated flying with a passion, fingers getting increasingly sweaty with every metre of distance to the ground, until her vision had gone hazy and her heart had beaten so loudly in her ears that she hadn't been able to make out anything else. Merlin only knew how she had even passed those classes, and it had been with wicked relish that she had thrown her broom into a corner after that very last lesson, vowing never to ride one again. Which she hadn't. Until now.

It had taken her a while to realise that her fear of flying was really just a symptom of something deeper. A fear of the unknown, of trusting herself to something that was out of her control, that she could not charm or manipulate or hex into the shape she wanted it to be. Dee, as a rule, was not very good at self-reflecting, and she hadn't often bothered to be. It was easier to lay blame with others rather than poke at her own weak spots, or even admit their existence. So she'd avoided it, and she'd avoided flying, and she'd done so happily for three years.

But things had changed over the past year. Small things and big things both. Dee had changed, and perhaps even reflected, a little. But not much. Barely enough to decide that it was time to face that particular fear, because being afraid of flying was clearly beneath her.

It was rather obvious that she regretted her decision now, trudging down to the Quidditch training pitch, dragging her Silver Arrow behind her sullenly. The broom was a few years old but had never been used; it was a little dusty, and had clearly not been treated very carefully. She likely wasn't doing it any favours now, either, but she also couldn't bring herself to pretend to care. The only reason she was here was stubbornness, unwilling to admit out loud that she really, really didn't want to do this. That she'd rather have slept in, gone late to breakfast, gossiped with Aly, who was finally back.

At least, from Aaron, she didn't fear judgment. They were friends, of course, had known each other for years and even grown closer over the past few months, commiserating over a shared wound. Perhaps that was the reason she'd asked him; Dealla couldn't imagine asking Jack for help in this, her pride wouldn't let her. It had barely allowed this.

"Hi," she'd greet him when they met on the pitch, unable to summon any semblance of excitement. "Umm." She blinked down at the broom she was holding. Its bristles had been dragging across the ground as she'd walked up. "Thank you for helping me." The words came out with an upwards lilt towards the end, making them a question more than anything. Truly, she was questioning this entire endeavour.

@Aaron Jones