Neville was mostly successful in ridding his mind of Luna Lovegood, the strange but beautiful woman that had taken residence there. She was stuck in his thoughts – and dreams, if he was being truthful – until the early weeks of December, when the first snowfall covered the ground with a powdery blanket of cold.

Freezing, despite his thick and heavy robes, Neville stepped into St. Mungo's. He was very nearly too late to come in – visiting hours ended around ten, leaving him about a half hour window of time to finish what he had come for – but the head Healer recognised him and let him in with no fuss.

"… I swear, that man was the most beautiful I have ever seen!" She nodded enthusiastically, throwing her head back in riotous laughter at whatever her friend – in a much quieter, subdued voice – said in response. She continued babbling excitedly, loud and happy tones permeating the air. And then she noticed him and said, "Hello, Neville." She watched him with eyes that spoke volumes – she wanted to continue gossiping – and felt uncomfortable at knowing he had interrupted their conversation. A good one, if her tone had been any indication.

Then again, she might always speak like that, just not around Neville, who always seemed to bring peoples' spirits down.

"Hello, Healer Karing," answered Neville quietly, nodding at the other, unfamiliar, nurse in passing. He sidestepped them, pushing the door to the ward open. Immediately, the scent of antiseptic and clean filled his nose, making him feel slightly nauseated. The smell was an uncomfortably stifling one, and he wished he could be anywhere else. Neville greeted a few of the other standard Healers he met on almost every occasion he visited, inclining his head in acknowledgment. He felt highly uncomfortable, worrying he would get even the basic, "Hello," wrong.

The ward was silent but for the whirring of some machines he didn't know the names of. Everything was white, bright, rounded out – to prevent injuries – and carefully planned out. The ward appeared entirely under control, there in the corridor. He didn't know what went on in the individual, semi-silenced rooms.

Worrying at a hangnail on his thumb and then sticking it in his mouth as he accidentally made it bleed in his uneasiness, Neville pushed the door of his parents' room open. There was no movement at first glance, but then again there never was, and he heard the soft whoosh and click as the door shut behind him.

"Mum, dad?" Neville called out, feeling extremely self-conscious despite being all but alone, in a room with two people that couldn't speak or move freely.

There was no response from his dad – who hadn't been lucid in weeks, Neville thought – but his mother made a soft, encouraging sound.

As he approached their cots, he took in the sight he had become accustomed to over his many years and innumerable visits. His mother lay there, looking frail, too skinny, unfocused, and confused. His father… it pained Neville to look at his father some days. He looked so weak and unable to defend himself. If only he had known how to, all those years ago…

They had been members of the Order. They had been skilled enough in magic to make their way in the Wizarding world.

They had been to Hogwarts, met there, fallen in love, gotten married, had their future planned out to the tee, or so some of his parents' friends told him.

And then… this.

Nothing.

Neville slumped down into the solitary chair in between their two cots. He took one of their hands in each of his, connecting the Longbottom family. But other than the slight heat emanating from their hands, there was no indication they were even alive.

As it always eventually happened, Neville's eyes brimmed with tears, hot guilt pooling there and threatening to spill over.

"Mum, are you awake?" A soft murmur escaped her lips, unintelligible and likely not anything coherent, anyway. Neville took it as confirmation that she was listening, hoping beyond all hope that she really was. "I hope you're feeling slightly better, mum. The Healers only now took you off of the blood-replenishing potion, after nearly three months. It's wonderful that your body seems to be functioning on its own, once again. They're hoping you don't relapse and seem confident that you're slowly getting a bit stronger. I'm so proud,"

No response; a hollow pain made itself known in his chest.

Tearful, he continued, turning his head the other way. "Dad… I don't know what to say. They say your condition is deteriorating still, that you may be in pain and unable to express it. They tell me we should take you off of the potions that are keeping you alive, to spare you the pain you may be feeling. Your brain activity has also been low, but I know you're listening, right? I don't want to let you die, you know."

Again, the still silence was his only answer.

"I need someone to tell me what to do; tell me, dad!" He despaired quietly. "I can't make these decisions; please help me."

Sniffling, he squeezed their hands tightly, despite the knowledge that he could easily snap their bones with a particularly firm grip. He would never do such a thing, of course, but it was a frightening possibility.

"I don't know what to do with my life anymore," he said, unloading his worries on the barely-conscious woman that was his mother and the oblivious, lifeless man that was his father. "Today I got my eviction notice, just like I knew I would. I don't know what I'm going to do," All he really wanted to do was stick his head in the sand and forget about everything. Ignore everyone and… life itself. "I have no job, either. I am entirely broke and have nowhere to go. I'm sorry if that disappoints you, but know that I had no choice for what I spent my money on."

He released his hold on his mother's hand for a second to wipe the tears away, breathing deeply and trying to calm himself.

"I wish you two would answer me," he said to no one. "I wish I knew for sure you recognised me."

He reasserted his connection to his mother and continued.

"Sometimes I come in here and you two look awake, almost like you understand everything and are aware of your surroundings. You would not believe the hope I feel on those days, only to step in and have you start screaming because you think I will hurt you. Sometimes, you let me in but look at me like you don't recognise your only son," Those days were the worst, with the garbled yelling filling his ears and ripping his heart apart just a little more.

"But-" He composed himself, closing his eyes and letting the last tear fall before firmly telling himself he would finish with the snivelling. "I won't moan on about my life any longer; I don't want to distress you."

He traced circles on the palms of their hands, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't want to leave and face the second part of his trip to St. Mungo's, and wracked his brains for what else to say.

"I haven't been out lately with any friends," he said quietly, nervously. "But I did see an old school acquaintance – Luna Lovegood. I'm sure I've told you about her already, if you remember anything. She's a unique individual, that's for sure. I don't think there will ever be anyone quite like her. I've seen her around Diagon Alley a few times in the past weeks for the first time since I graduated and finished my NEWTs. I am thinking of going to speak with her, just to see if she remembers me. I think it would be nice to catch up, expand my circle of friends. People are always telling me to be more social…"

He trailed off, stuck and at a loss for what to say. He didn't want to leave, but he didn't have much else to speak of.

"I was never best friends with her, but she was there at the Battle at the Ministry, if you remember my story about that… We have spoken, and were both in the DA. She's quite beautiful, I have to say."

Neville blushed slightly, surprised he had said it but knowing it was not a lie.

Patting their hands idly, Neville sat in the heavy silence that shrouded them. He was still for a few minutes, by his count, putting off the inevitable.

"Do me a favour, you two," he said with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. "That you'll mind your Healers and eat your vegetables, yeah?"

He leaned down to kiss his parents on their cheeks, feeling tearful – as he did every time he said goodbye, never knowing if it would be the last time – and smiled a watery smile.

"I'll see you two again tomorrow," he promised, trying to fit false enthusiasm into his tone. "Feel better!"

All in all, maybe fifteen minutes had passed, but Neville felt drained. He both treasured and hated his trips to the hospital. The time he got to spend with his parents was bittersweet, with him enjoying the fact that he could share things with them but hurting terribly because there was no conversation. It was all monologue and hoping desperately that they would one day respond. The hope was fading every day, as his father's condition weakened and his mother's changed little, healing and relapsing and then doing so again.

He hurried up the stairs, aware that he had little time for his second visit. The mood was increasingly more sombre as he pushed open the doors to another, louder, wing of the hospital.

"Hello," said the woman at the front desk without looking up from the piles of paperwork stacked on her desk. "Welcome to the Severe Curse Damage ward of St. Mungo's hospital. Remember visiting hours are only until-"

Neville walked past with a mumbled, "I know,"

~8~8~8~8~

Much later, Neville returned to his flat. He hadn't gone out for a drink, as much as the idea had appealed to him, just for a walk around Diagon Alley. If he was truthful to himself, he had been hoping to spot Luna. He had tried his hardest to get her out of his mind, but the conversation with his parents – if it could really be called that – had returned her to his thoughts.

He despaired momentarily at the boxes he had packed and begun to shrink, full of the things he had slowly accumulated over his life. Clothing, books, assorted knick-knacks, presents he'd received on his birthdays, and other mementos from his life that held meaning to him.

Though the flat had never been particularly homey and cozy, Neville found that the stripped-bare walls depressed him, as did the empty cupboards, and clutter-free counters. The bathroom looked cold, with nothing lying on the counter, taking up space, and his bed looked less than inviting, with the room empty of colour and warmth.

His fireplace flared a bright green colour, alerting him that he had a Floo call from someone. Curious, he all but ran to it, fearing news from St. Mungo's, and knelt in front of the fire.

Muttering the counter-charm to the safety wards, he called out, "Who's there?"

It was someone the wards did not recognise, putting Neville on guard. On the one hand, he knew it couldn't be the hospital, which quietened his racing heart, but on the other frightened him. Who could be calling so late… and why?

Wand raised and at the ready, he waited for the response.

To his immense surprise, Luna's head emerged from the flames. His eyes widened.

"Hello, Neville," she greeted, as though it were something that occurred often and they were fast friends, the late-night call nothing to worry about. "How are you today?"

He was still silent, having been struck mute by her startling appearance.

"Luna-" He stuttered, stumbling over his words. "What do you- How did you- I saw you…" He gave up after the third or fourth try, shrugging at her, in a daze.

"Would you be a dear and let me in?" She asked, filling Neville with fear brought on by her overbearing presumptuousness. Of course, she was just being Luna, but it disquieted him.

He shook his head nervously, also acutely aware what a mess his flat was and uneasy with the idea of her seeing, displayed with the clutter, the disarray and disorder that filled his life. "I- How can I be sure it's really you?" He hedged, trying not to sound overly rude or short and feeling as though his attempt fell short.

She smiled warmly at him, picking up on his insecurity immediately and toning her eagerness and energy down a bit. "Simply ask me a question that only I would know the answer to," she said. Her voice was lovely, he found, struggling to keep up with this unanticipated turn of events. His mind filled in the colour that the fire took away; bright blue eyes, full of unanswered questions and curiosity, the pale skin, the long eyelashes that framed her eyes…

"Er… who was the one that suggested we use Thestrals?" He left the question ambiguous, as – if it really was Luna – she should understand.

Luna nodded indulgently at him, a wide smile pasted on her face. "I did, on our way to the Ministry of Magic, in our fifth year. It was with Ginny, Harry, Hermione, Ron, you, and me."

He nodded, convinced by her long and accurate description.

"Why don't you want to let me in?" She sounded slightly hurt, though it could have been the fire that was known to distort voices on occasion, when the connection was wobbly and not enough Floo Powder had been used.

Neville's eyes grew wide; being put on the spot was not an enjoyable experience for him, and he stumbled over his words, as usual. "It's not that I don't- You're a nice person – But… I don't – it's a mess – Not fit for company, I think…"

"Would you like to come through to my place?" Luna asked kindly, eyebrows wrinkling minutely at his reluctance. "It's the day of the Trembling Hurdler, you know." Luna added, rather off-topic. "The animal that signifies change, I've read," she continued, sounding very sure of herself. "I wanted to honour it by mustering up the courage to speak to you." He thought he saw a slight pink of a blush crawl up to her cheeks, but it could have just been the red of the fire. "Will you celebrate with me?"

Neville wanted to refuse; he could cite his responsibility to pack his things, the worry he had over finding a new place to stay, or even say that he wasn't feeling his best. Try as he might, however, something about her inquiring, beseeching look made him reconsider.

After all, it was the day of the… Trembling thingy, wasn't it? What kind of a person would he be if he refused to celebrate with her? It would be direct disrespect to her requests and beliefs, as wacky as they sometimes were.

As his internal debate continued, Luna waited patiently for a reply, looking up at him with wide, intelligent, kind eyes. He was swayed for a moment, feeling breathless with the idea of leaving everything to spend time with her. But then reality came crashing back around his ears, reminding him that he had mere days to sort out his things in the flat, find a new one, and continue his search for a job.

"Luna," he started, fixing his gaze on hers. Almost instantly, he shifted his gaze away and looked at an obscure location just beside her, uncomfortable. "I don't think-"

He watched as her smile fell and something began to throb inside of him, burning him with renewed desire to make her happy. It was a strange, elusive feeling and Neville decided to follow it, no matter the consequences.

"I don't think I could refuse such a… such an offer." His voice faltered halfway through, hit with a wave of nervous energy as she perked up and sent him a dazzling smile.

Feeling entirely the reckless Gryffindor the Sorting Hat had named him, Neville picked up a pinch of Floo Powder, threw it into the flames, and shouted, "Lovegood residence, recall Floo Call location."

He decided he would ignore how drained he felt, the way a part of him wanted to curl up and fall asleep, and steeled himself for what was sure to come.

Stepping in and feeling the slight disorientation that came with Floo travel, Neville also felt his heart speed up. He had just – out of the blue! – been invited to Luna Lovegood's house… and agreed to go! His palms got slightly moist the way they always did when he began to feel that overpowering sense of anxiety that seemed to follow him wherever he went, like a storm cloud charmed to loom over him, always.

It was slightly different – this feeling – with the butterflies taking residence lower in his stomach and his heart pounding with a kind of eagerness he couldn't place.

Before further opportunity to analyse, Neville landed on the ground in front of Luna, ever the face of outstanding balancing and coordination skills.

Voila, the second chapter of Helping Hand. I hope it was less angsty, as I'd promised, but I suspect not. Also, in case anyone was wondering, the Trembling Hurdler is a terrible name for an animal I came up with that is a cross between a butterfly and a frog, two animals that supposedly signify change. Don't hate me for my terrible names... hehe.

As always, leave me a review to tell me what you think! :) The next chapter should be up quicker than this one was.