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Footsteps in the hall. Someone was at the door. Whispers, then a scream. More footsteps, the urgency evident in them.

Neville Longbottom sat on the stairs, one pudgy arm wrapped around the banister, the other clutching a teddy bear tightly to himself, as if for reassurance. He peered out from behind the mahogany bars, as a prisoner would. The doorbell had rang, and his grandmother had left him on the stairs, telling him to stay still. He didn't understand why the men who had come looked so somber, or why his grandmother was weeping. He just stared. Staring with his wide eyes, taking everything in, but keeping what he saw inside.

*

Neville sat on the stairs, like he had six years earlier. He watched his grandmother put on her coat and place her hat on her head.

He knew where she was going: to see his parents. Oh, he knew what had happened to them. Yes, he knew. His questions had received answers, but he had never been allowed to visit them. It was always "Not today," or "When you're older." He saw his grandmother light a fire in the grate.

Before he could stop himself, he was running towards her. He held on to her leg, grabbing a fist full of her coat.

"Please, Gran, please. Please let me see them." His voice was breaking as he blinked back his tears and suppressed his sobs. He looked up at his grandmother. "I-I can't remember what they look like, he whispered. The tears were flowing freely now. He clutched desperately at her coat, falling to his knees as his body was wreaked by sobs.

His grandmother stooped down beside him and placed a wrinkled hand on his smooth cheek. There was pain in her eyes. She pursed her lips. "Alright, Neville. I will take you to them."

*

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Everything was so white, so sterile. Solemn looking people marched down the corridors; weepy witches gathered outside doors; children perched uneasily on chairs; delivery wizards carried big bouquets of flowers; mediwizards and witches walked around in long, white robes; wizards huddled in waiting areas, talking in hushed tones, bowing their heads.

Neville held his grandmother's hand tightly. He didn't like the feel of this place. He was glad to have his teddy bear in his other hand. It was a source of comfort. His grandmother was talking to the witch behind the counter. Neville looked around. He saw a frail looking boy with blond hair being pushed in a wheelchair by what looked like his parents. Various tubes and needles were attached to the boy's arms. Neville looked away quickly as the wheelchair rattled past. His eyes settled on a group of mediwizards carrying a stretcher. "Quick! Emergency room!" one of them was yelling. As they turned the corner, Neville caught a glimpse of the person lying on the stretcher. The man had his eyes closed, face contorted with pain. His hand was pressed against his side, and when he moved, Neville could see that his robes were soaked in crimson blood. Neville shuddered and hugged his bear tighter still.

Suddenly a scream pierced the air. Neville spun around. The boy he had seen in the wheelchair had collapsed. His mother was screaming, her handbag and hat lay on the floor as she rushed to her son's aid.

"Come, Neville," his grandmother tugged gently at his hand. As Neville walked with his grandmother, his eyes were fixed on the boy. His father had lifted the diminutive body with ease and was running down the corridor. The boy's face had a deathly pallor. The tubes from his arms were trailing behind as his father carried him.

Neville and his grandmother followed the witch as she led them through the hospital. Her heels clicked sharply on the hard floor as she walked. They walked for a long time, until finally, they came to an abrupt halt. They had stopped outside a door that was painted purple. The witch took out her wand. Tapping the doorknob gently, she said, "Alohomora." Her fingers grasped the knob and turned it. She opened the door slowly. Neville drew breath quickly. He didn't know what to expect.

He stepped into the room, unsure, apprehensive. There were two beds in it, side by side. Nothing else. Lying in those beds were-

"Mum? Dad?" Neville whispered as he approached them slowly. A man with brown hair lay in the first bed. He was wearing a set of gray robes with the words "St. Mungo's" printed on the front. A blue blanket was drawn up to his waist and a black band was strapped across his chest, as if to restrain him. Neville stepped closer, trembling. "Dad?" the word escaped his lips, barely audible. The man continued to stare at something beyond Neville, brown eyes emotionless. Suddenly, an image of those eyes appeared in Neville's mind. An image of those eyes filled with joy, happiness. And for the first time in six years, he remembered that laugh. Loud, booming, but jovial. A single tear slithered down his cheek as he remembered. Memories of the past long gone. He lifted his head to face his father once again. "Dad, it's me, Neville." He placed his hand on his father's. The man did not move, oblivious to the little boy at his side.

Neville stared at him for a while longer before turning to his mother. Her head rested gently on the pillow, locks of hair the color of ripe rye stood out from the white of the pillowcase. Her eyes seemed to mirror the sky. As Neville bent closer to her, he saw that she was whispering to herself. He could barely make out the words. "Frank, no. Don't do this to Frank." Neville shook her gently. "Mum?" No response. He shook her again, harder. "Mum?" The without warning, she lashed out at him. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backwards into the wall. He dropped his bear. "Who are you? Don't call me 'Mum'. You're not my little Neville," she shrieked, pointing a long finger at him. "Stay away from me."

Neville stood there, stunned at this outburst. He felt his knees give way and he slid to the floor. The tears were falling again. Only after the initial shock had ebbed away did the sobs come. He pressed his body against the wall, wanting to disappear into it, wanting to become part of it. His mind was in turmoil. A sharp pain rose in his chest as he reached up to brush the tears away.

As his grandmother led him out of the room, his little body was still convulsing with sobs. He was his mother's vacuous look as he went out of the door.

The purple door snapped shut. On the floor of the room, the teddy bear stared through glass eyes. Staring at the purple door.

END