The boy is here again. The boy that always comes, the boy that looks a little familiar, the boy that looks a little like someone you used to know.
You haven't seen the boy in a long time and you have a nice stack of sweetie papers, all saved up, just for him. Because he looks like someone you used to know and that someone, (you can't remember who, but you do know…) never liked the sweeties inside of the colorful papers.
"Hi mum," the boy says, "It's me, it's Neville."
He looks a little bit scary with the purple colored spot over his eye and another purple patch over his fat lip.
You don't like people who look like this, that much you remember.
But then the boy smiles and you recognize him. Ahh yes, he's your boy, the boy that always visits you.
Such a sweet boy.
"Voldemort's dead mummy. Harry finally killed him"
You don't know what the boy is saying, but you don't like his words. They scare you. Bring back flashes of green light and that name that name is familiar in a nasty way.
You flinch away from the words, scary words. Wouldn't the boy just rather have another sweetie paper? He doesn't need to talk scary words, you'll give him the nice colored paper without them.
The boy holds out his hand to you, and he looks so sad. So much like someone you used to know. So you hand him a sweetie paper, and pat him on the shoulder the way all the nice people in green do to you.
"I helped." The boy says, and it echoes words buried deep within the grey matter of your skull.
Another little boy, with bright pigment on his hands. Proud. "I helped mummy!"
"I cut off the head of his snake, a giant snake that held part of his soul. I helped." The boy's words are scary again, but they echo those of the other, littler boy, and so you pat him on the shoulder again.
"The war is over mum. We won. Voldemort is dead, and so are his followers. I lead the army that defeated him, mum. I lead Dumbledore's Army, and we won the war." The boy has water running down his cheeks; the water is coming from his eyes.
You don't want to see the water coming from his eyes. Don't be sad, you want to say, but your mouth is mushy and you're not even sure if those are the right words. Best not to say them at all then.
"You will never be in danger again mummy. You will live the rest of your life happy and in comfort, I promise. And I'll come to see you every Sunday." The boy's eyes are the color of someone else's, someone who you used to know.
They are very very pretty eyes.
"I just wanted to tell you that Mum. I just wanted you to know."
The boy sits on a chair in the corner, but he has suddenly become very uninteresting. A nice lady in green brought you a box of colors and a book of paper, and so you take them out, spill the colors out onto the table and set to work.
Even though the boy has become uninteresting, sitting in that chair the way he is, doesn't mean you can't color him a pretty picture.
This boy deserves the prettiest picture of all, with all the colors.
Another little boy, on the floor with colors spilled all around him. "Look mummah, look what I drawed! For you mummah!"
A voice answers back, maybe yours? "Good job Nevvie! How beautiful! I'm so proud of you!"
Little boy beams.
Perhaps the sad looking, scary looking boy in the corner would like to hear those words. The other little boy looked so happy with those words, maybe this one would like them too.
If only you could remember how to say them.
Poor Boy, looks so alone.
What he needs are those nice words and a pretty picture with all the colors.
I'm so proud of you!
The boy stands up from his chair. He is suddenly very interesting again.
I'm so proud of you!
You don't know how to say the words, but you really wish you did. Because you bet the Boy would look just like the other little boy if only you could remember those words.
"Goodbye mum." The boy leans down and touches his lips to your cheek. "I love you."
You hand the pretty picture to him. It doesn't have all the colors like it should, but you ran out of time, and he really looks like he needs the picture right now.
I'm so proud of you! You want to say those words so bad. You want to see the boy smile like that other little boy did.
The boy gathers his coat and opens the door.
I'm so proud of you!
"Proud." The word makes its way out of your mushy mouth. You repeat it, just to make sure that the boy heard you. "Proud."
The boy turns from the door.
Looks at you.
You smile, good job! Good for remembering the word!
Water is falling down his cheeks, which is sad, and not something you wanted. But the boy is also smiling. Beaming. Just like that other little boy with the colors all over his hands spilled out all over the floor.
"Proud." The word is a bit mushy, but you're sure he can understand it.
It's also not all of the words you wanted to say. There was more. You can't remember, but you know there was more you wanted to say.
Ohh well, that will have to do.