He was fifteen years old, he should'nt have to lose his ablity to walk at such a young age.

Fleamont Potter had fallen off his broomstick at least two hundred feet, landed on the roof of Potter Manor and rolled off the roof onto the balconey.

His legs were at an awkward angle. Twisted in all sorts of angles that should never be possible.

As a result, Fleamont Potter, age fifteen, would never be able to walk again.

Monty is sick of only seeing the walls of his bedroom. He does'nt like staying in bed all day, or sitting at his desk or in the living room or the kitchen. He's sick of it, he wants to walk, be a normal fifteen year old, for fucks sake.

One day, Monty is laying on top of his bed, reading a book. He wants to fly his broomstick, but he can't. He needs to use his legs.

Monty throws his book aside, suddenly making up his mind about something.

His dad, Henry Potter, had always wanted to see Monty walk again. It was his biggest wish. To see Monty walk again.

I'll walk in time for Christmas. Monty thought to himself.

Monty has a new rontinue. Get up early, and excercise his legs. Moving them back and forwards, in all sorts of directions. Then move his legs in walking motions, running motions and sitting motions.

He does everything he can to make his legs stronger.

Three months later, in November, he can stand.

Monty stood up, straigtening his back, and standing like a normal person.

Now all he has to do is try to walk, even a few steps.

He'll walk in time for Christmas, Monty promised himself.

Two weeks into December, Monty can walk again.

He takes a few steps, slow and steady. Baby steps.

He walks from his bed to his wheelchair to his desk. He collaspes into his armchair.

He's walking, and it's not even Christmas.

It's Christmas Day, and Monty is very proud to say he can walk nearly five metres at a time. And counting.

Monty stands up, and his mother, Charlotte, screams.

"Oh, sorry." Monty said, walking over to the Christmas tree rather stiffly. Charlotte screams again. He picked up one of his presents and walked back to his armchair.

"You can't walk!"

"You just saw me walk." Monty said, grinning from ear to ear.

"But-" Charlotts stutters.

Monty smiles.

"Merry Christmas." Monty said, ripping open his present.

Monty looks up again, and his dad is looking at him proudly, tears in his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Dad." Monty said softly.

"Merry Christmas." Henry said