A/N: Neville Longbottom experiences an unexpected emotion when faced with a family tradgedy. Incredibly short, and not very well-developed, but just see for yourself what you think.

Disclaimer: Characters are property of J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, with the exception of the doctor character, who belongs to me, the author of this piece of fanfiction. The storyline is also the sole property of me. That is all. Have a nice day. And please come again.

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Gran and I are at the hospital. We're in the hall, in the chairs outside of my parents' room. Gran looks worried; she's wringing her hands, and tears are brimming in her eyes. I dig in my pocket and finally fish out a handkerchief, which I pass to her obediently. She takes it gently and wipes her eyes and pats my hand, all without looking at me.

Finally the door opens and a man comes out, a clipboard in his hands. He is all white, his jacket, his shoes, his hair, his eyebrows. His face is sad.

And he doesn't even have to say anything, because we already know what it is. Gran starts crying terribly, and I hate to be see her like that. She buries her face in the handkerchief and trembles in her seat, shaking with sobs.

The doctor tells me with a hand on my shoulder that he's sorry, that he had a feeling it was coming but that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. He assures me that they both died very peaceful deaths, just minutes apart.

Gran is ruined. She cries and cries, and an hour later she is asleep in a hospital bed, sobbing in her sleep. I am in a bed in the adjoining room. I can't stand to hear her crying, but it's not because I am torn up inside as well. It's because, for whatever reason, I am relieved.