Author's Note
The following is a one-shot, fairly sad story about Neville Longbottom and his first trip to St. Mungo's Hospital to visit his parents by himself. If, by chance, you have no idea what is wrong with Neville's parents, you have probably not yet finished reading the Harry Potter series. If this is the case, please stop reading this, run to your nearest bookstore, and get to work! For the rest of you: I originally planned to include this as a chapter in another fan fiction (not posted here since I doubt I'll ever finish it) but this stands on its own. I hope that you enjoy reading it, and please do let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: All characters from the Harry Potter series are the sole property of J.K. Rowling and those parties who have bought the rights to them.
What No One Understands:
Neville's first trip to St. Mungo's alone.
The ward reserved for patients whose minds were afflicted with severe spell damage was located on the second-to-last floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. In Neville Longbottom's opinion, St. Mungo quite deserved to be force fed bubotuber pus for situating the closed living quarters directly beneath the hospital's gift shop and café. No thanks to the late healer's ill thought out floor plan, Neville was obliged to endure the elevator ride all the way up to the fourth story along with all the other witches and wizards who were on their ways to lunch. This journey, as far as he was concerned, was entirely too long for comfort. Yet, for some unknown reason that eluded Neville's understanding, his grandmother always seemed to enjoy it.
Perhaps it was because, without fail, some individual would recognize the stately Mrs. Longbottom and want to strike up a conversation with her in the full hearing of every curious woman and man present in the crowded elevator car. Without fail, the aforementioned, unbelievably nosey, witch or wizard would ask Mrs. Longbottom how her son and daughter-in-law were doing, these days. Without fail, he or she would turn their attention to Neville and comment on how very much he looked like his mother, or on what a talented wizard his father used to be. Finally, the elevator would reach Neville and his grandmother's destination and the two would exit the car, but not before the well meaning some ones, once again without fail, shook their heads sadly.
"Such a pity," they said, and then they would all sigh and add, "what a waste."
It never ceased to amaze Neville how many times different people could ask the exact same questions and say the exact same things. His gran never seemed to mind the repetition, though. Maybe she enjoyed the fact that these witches and wizards still recognized her, still respected the name of Longbottom. Neville knew his gran had always enjoyed socializing, although she did less and less of it every year. Could it be that the rides in the elevator were good for her after all, because they provided her with opportunities to talk with fellow members of the wizarding community? It really wouldn't have mattered to Neville, if only she had at least allowed him take the stairway instead.
Neville had long since given up asking permission to go up the back way, however. The last time he mentioned it to his gran, she had come remarkably close to tears. "How can you ask a thing like that, Neville?" She demanded indignantly while dabbing her reddened eyes with a delicately embroidered handkerchief. "Why do you always act embarrassed whenever you are seen at St. Mungo's? Are you ashamed of your father and mother?"
The boy's face had turned bright red at his gran's accusation. Ashamed? Of course he wasn't ashamed of them! "No, gran, I'm not. I'm – I'm sorry." Neville had muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed steadily on a ball of lint resting on their living room floor. He would not mention it again. His gran couldn't understand what Neville went through every time he stepped foot into St. Mungo's. She may have liked all the attention they received, but Neville most certainly did not. He hated having something as personal as his parent's illness discussed by strangers in an elevator. He hated their pitying looks and cliché statements. He just wanted to be left alone, where no one could poke and prod at the wound he felt in his heart – the place he still held onto memories of his parents in their right minds.
Usually, at least, Mrs. Longbottom handled their end of the conversation, so Neville was almost never required to speak to these people. He would simply stand there, smile and nod as the adults chatted amiably. As most people thought the boy was a bit slow anyway, they usually did not press him for comments. Today, on the other hand, Neville's grandmother was sick and in bed, so it fell on him to go and visit his mother and father alone. It was his birthday, after all, and his gran had insisted that he spend it with his family. Besides, he had nothing else to do that day.
Even this unfortunate situation might have been made bearable if only the coveted stairway rout had not been closed off for cleaning. Apparently, some careless intern had dropped an entire bat of shrinking solution all over the steps, leaving them a good ten feet shy of the top floor and getting smaller by the minute. Neville wondered who the shrinking solution had been intended for and amused himself for a moment with thoughts of some poor chap on the second floor with a grossly swollen nose awaiting an antidote that was currently soaking into the emergency stair well.
He tried to hold onto this mental image while ignoring the sideways glances he kept receiving from a middle aged witch in the corner of the crowded elevator. Please don't talk to me, he pleaded to the woman in his mind, don't say anything. Regrettably, today, as was the case with most days, was simply not a lucky day for Neville.
"Excuse me, dear," the witch called to him from across the car "aren't you Alice Longbottom's son?" Neville groaned as every head in the elevator turned to look at him and the woman, who did not, in fact, require a response from the boy to know who he was. "You look just like your mother!" She said cheerfully.
"Thanks," Neville responded politely, his throat tightening at the mention of his mom. He hoped he did not sound rude, but he also prayed that his short response might discourage this lady from pursuing the discussion any further.
"Have you come to visit your parents, dear?" She asked, apparently unaware of Neville's discomfort. He gave a little nod, and she smiled compassionately. "I'm Holly, by the way. Your mother and father were two years ahead of me in Hogwarts. I didn't get to speak with them much, but I always thought they were quite nice. It really is a shame, what happened to them." At the thought of the Death Eaters who tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity, the witch shook her head sadly. "How are they holding up, these days?"
Suppressing the sudden wave of anger that flared up inside of him, surprising even himself, Neville responded, this time more curtly, "Well, they're basically holding up the same as they always have." He refrained from adding that there had, in fact, not been any change in his parents' condition in more than a decade. They are the same as they always have been. He thought, and the complete hopelessness of the situation weighed down on him as his anger died away.
"Well," said the relentless woman, "I'm sure they love to have you visit."
"Yeah," Neville laughed humorlessly. Sure they love to have me visit. They don't even recognize me! He looked away from the woman, not wanting her to see the tears threatening to betray him in the corners of his eyes, but everywhere he looked there was someone else watching. Why wouldn't everyone stop staring? At least the witch seemed to understand that Neville wished to be left alone, for she smiled understandingly and went back to watching the numbers lighting up above the elevator door.
It was with a very tangible feeling of relief that Neville finally stepped out of the elevator and onto the fourth floor landing. The relief, however, was short lived. Walking towards the double doors that led into the closed ward, where his parents had lived for almost all of his life, the boy could feel his heart begin to tighten again. Neville unconsciously stood up straighter, squaring his shoulders, and took a deep breath. He had to be strong here; it wouldn't do for him to start getting emotional while visiting with his parents. They wouldn't understand why he was sad, and it would only upset them.
Fortunately, Neville had long ago learned how to cover up his feelings. It was with incredible strength of will, therefore, that he banished his heartache to the farthest corner of his being. Inhaling deeply one more time, he pushed through the door. Immediately, Neville was greeted by the healer that guarded the exit. "Hello, Neville, how are you doing today? Where is your grandmother?"
"She's sick," Neville replied.
"Is she? Well, I'm sorry to hear it. Please send her my regards." Neville nodded and she added, "I'm glad you came to visit, though, Neville. Your parents will be happy to see you again."
"Sure," the boy grimaced slightly before favoring the kind healer with a brief smile. "See you," he added, and walked on down the corridor towards his parent's room.
Thank you again for reading!