He didn't know how much of it was a memory and how much was imagination, but he knew there had been hands and eyes and a plush mandrake doll - he still had it somewhere - and he knew he'd felt loved.
And when he woke in the night, sweating, the word, "Mum," was always halfway out of his mouth before he remembered she wasn't there anymore, she was trapped in a nightmare of her own.
(And Neville clenched his fist around the Drooble's wrapper and tried his hardest to remember her voice, but he never quite could.)