• oOo

    Say my name
    So I will know you're back you're here again
    For a while

    oOo


    He stared down at the man lying on the bed. His eyes not blinking, not moving. Just staring at the still form of the unmoving man. «Neville.» His whisper was soft, gentle. The small sound disappearing quickly in the middle-sized room.

    «Can you say it dad? Neville.» He gripped his father's hand, his grip firm, like he was afraid that if he let go, the man would disappear. He stared into empty, vacant eyes. Wishing, hoping, dreaming to see something there.

    But no. The only thing gleaming in those dead-like eyes was a deep, hollow abyss. If abysses could gleam at all, that is. «Please dad...» He whispered softly, a single tear slipping down his cheek. «I need to know that you're there somewhere...»

    The grip tightened. A soft sob escaped the nine year olds lips. «Say my name...»

    oOo

    Oh let us share
    The memories that only we can share
    Together

    oOo


    She was still beautiful. He ran the brush softly through the woman's long brown hair. Her eyes distant as she stared into the mirror, not really seeing her own reflexion or the reflexion of the child behind her.

    Her face was pale and gaunt, her hair was thin and splinted, her eyes cold and empty with a glimpse of insanity in them. But in his eyes, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. She was his mother, after all.

    «I got an O in Herbology, mum.»

    His voice was gentle, quiet as he talked to her, almost as if he talked to loudly he'd scare her, terrify her, hurt her somehow. Or perhaps he was scared, that if she heard loud noises, she would be driven deeper into the pit of insanity she was already buried so deeply in.

    «Neville?» His grandmothers whisper entered the room. It was only in the company of his parents that Neville never heard her rise her voice. She was also worried about her son and daughter in laws fragile state of mind.

    «Yes grandmother?» He continued to brush his mother's hair. «It's time to go.» Neville looked up at her, with a small sigh of disappointment. «If only you could only show this level of maturity on school Neville.»

    He chose not to respond, his entire focus on the straight brown hair in front of him. He dared not to look into the distant eyes in the mirror. For now, he could pretend that everything was alright.

    oOo

    Tell me about
    The days before I was born
    How we were as children

    oOo


    He smiled at the older man seated next to him. His father was humming a bit for himself. His eyes not focusing more on the present than he had the last time he had been here, or the time before that. Or the time before that again.

    The thirteen year old boy stared mournfully at his father, wishing back to better times, wishing back to times he couldn't remember.

    «Do you remember, father?» Neville whispered softly, as if afraid that any sharp noise would cause his fathers mind to split further apart. And Neville was afraid, so very, very afraid that he could say something, anything, which might cause any further damage to their non-existent sanity.

    The man didn't acknowledge Neville's words, and continued to hum a tune, a tune which wasn't really a tune at all, for the mans mind had spiraled so far into the depths of insanity that all concept of music was lost to him.

    «I wish I could remember, Dad.» The hum was a bit louder now, the empty, toneless hum, which never changed tone, but didn't remain in the same beat. Neville privately thought that the only reason the tone wasn't just monotone but also repeating, was because the mans sense of rythm was just as dead as the mans sense of the different kinds of tone.

    «I wish I could remember the days you were sane. The days before Bellatrix Lestrange» He spat the name like it was poison on his tongue, «attacked you and mother. The days we were a family. I wish I could remember your warm embrace as you held me, and my mums calming lullabies.»

    Neville paused for a while, listening to his fathers monotone humming tone. «Everyone does tell me she was great at singing, after all...» Neville couldn't bear seeing his father's rocking body nor listen to his monotone humming anymore.

    It was a constant reminder of his father's state of mind, after all.

    Neville stood up, and with a last whisper of goodbye, he left the room, only a sound of empty tones following him out.

    oOo

    You touch my hand
    These colors come alive
    In your heart and in your mind
    I cross the borders of time
    Leaving today behind to be with you again

    oOo


    Two pair of empty brown eyes, one pair as dark as chocolate, and the other of cold honey, stared up at the roof. Neither humming, neither speaking.

    It hadn't sunk in yet, Neville realized. This time, there would be no dead humming. This time, there would be no candy paper to bring home.

    His parents conditions had grown worse over the months. Especially his fathers. He was almost non-responsive. And it caused a shiver to run up sixteen year old Neville's spine. It meant that his parents were farther away from recovery now than ever.

    He dragged his chair away from his mother's bed to his father. His hand reached for his father's hand, placing his own over the bigger hand. The older mans hand was so cold. If Neville didn't know better, he would've thought his father was dead.

    A cold shiver ran up his spine, and Neville knew he couldn't stand to be in that cold room any longer. He let go of his fathers hand and walked to the door, staring at the two forms in the two separate beds.

    The thought of neither of them never recovering was now very ideal.

    It was a cold and hard truth. But a truth yet the same. And Neville, being the Gryffindor that he is, would handle it. His father's hand fell off the the mattress, hanging unmoving in the air. Well, he hoped he could.

    oOo

    We breath the air
    Do you remember how you used to touch my hair?

    oOo


    He entered the room, his steps light as not to disturb the unnatural peace in the quiet room. His mother's head moved towards him, her eyes seeing straight through him into unknown realms behind him. Sometimes, he wondered what she saw, in her insane fragile mind.

    Neville knew that he could never ask, though.

    Alice didn't even react to the screeching sound the chair made as he dragged it over the floor, closer to her bed. She just continued to stare at the empty air.

    Neville was tired. So very, very tired. It was Christmas now, and he was attending his seventh year. He laid his head down next to his mother's lying body, trying to relax in the only familiar atmosphere he had left.

    A soft, and slightly cold, hand rested on his head. Neville's breath caught up in his throat. He dared not breathe. He was afraid that if he looked up, the feeling of the cold hand would disappear, and he'd find out that it was only his imagination. So he closed his eyes, and let the small hand stroke his hair.

    Eventually, the visiting hour was over, and Neville had to return to his grandmother's house. And later, return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which had lately turned into a small piece of hell itself.

    oOo

    You're not aware
    Your hands keep still
    You just don't know that I am here

    oOo


    «Dad?» He whispered into the small room, not really expecting a response. «The war is over now, dad. Harry did it!» Neville reached for his father's hand and squeezed it gently. «Bellatrix is dead as well... Molly Weasley killed her, dad.»

    «The monster of a woman tried to kill her daughter, you see... So Mrs. Weasley became furious...» Neville's eyes brimmed with tears. A small part of him had hoped that when Bellatrix died, his parent's would be okay again. But of course, he had known that it was just a silly little hope.

    But even though he knew that it had been silly, why did the limb hand in his cause him to hurt so much?

    oOo

    It hurts too much
    I pray now that soon you're released
    To where you belong

    oOo


    A twenty year old Neville sat at the edge of his mother's bed. He was ecstatic. Just a few hours earlier, he had heard the fantastic news. They had found a cure. Well, kind of.

    A young potion master from Greece had invented a potion which would cure the damage made on the mind by continuous and prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse. And now, they were soon going to administer it to his parents.

    For the first time since Neville started Hogwarts, a flicker of hope for his parents sanity burned in his heart. He hadn't dared hoping anymore when he started Hogwarts, when he realized they had made no progress what so ever.

    oOo

    Please say my name
    Remember who I am
    You will find me in the world of yesterday

    oOo


    «We're going to give them the potion in a week from now.» Neville's heart soared as he heard the news the healer had given him. He practically bounced his way over to the ward his parents resided in.

    Neville rushed into the room his mother laid in, and almost skipped over to the chair by her bed. «Have you heard the news yet, mother? They've found a cure! You can finally return home, mother. You and father can finally return home!»

    The woman at the bed just smiled her usual smile at him, and handed him some candy wraping paper. Neville gave her his most brilliant smile, and gave her a heartfilled thanks.

    oOo


    You drift away again
    Too far from where I am
    When you ask me who I am

    oOo


    A happier day then the day in which Neville could bring his parents home, he was sure he was never going to experience.

    He squished his father's hand when he heard the soft moan escaping the man. «Where... Am I?» The man stared at the roof, blinking. «Dad?» Neville whispered softly, trying to gain the awakening mans attention.

    Neville was met with two brown eyes, and for the first time Neville could remember, those eyes looked at him. Not through him, not above him, not beside him, but actually at him.

    He could feel his heart soaring at the thought.

    «It's me. Neville. Your son..» The man blinked, as if not really grasping what he was saying. «You and mum have been in St. Mungos for twentythree years now.» Neville was speaking as softly as he could. It was after all hard news to break to the other man.

    Brown eyes stared more intently at him than ever. «I... have a son? No, that's not right.»

    As the words escaped his fathers lips, Neville felt his heart leap from the warm bubbly feeling in his chest, to a uncomfertable choking... thing in his throat.

    As the next words passed the lips of the man who hadn't said a word since he had screamed in pain twentythree years previous, Neville stood up and stormed out of the room, tears of sorrow, pain, disappointment and of crushed hopes streaming down his cheeks.

    A feeling of such heart-break which he hadn't experienced since he had realize his parents were never going to be better burned on his chest like the fires of the most fierce dragon.

    «Who... Are you?»

    oOo

    Say my name
    These colors come alive
    In your heart and in your mind
    I cross the borders of time
    Leaving today behind to be with you again

    Say my name

    oOo


    Neville laid in his bed, staring up at the roof, his eyes trailing ever line, memorizing every square of the white roof.

    «I'm afraid that your parents memories are almost completely gone.»

    His eyes met the red wall as he turned around, the ticking of the clock behind him, causing his eyes to narrow slightly in a mild annoyance.

    «When will their memories return?»

    The events of the day had fatigued him. And still he seemed unable to rest.

    «I'm afraid... They won't return. The few memories they have is of each other.»

    Sobs could be heard through the thin walls. Seems like he wasn't the only one distressed over the news of the day. He felt angry. Angry at himself. He had never known them. But now, his grandmother had lost her son and her daughter in law for the second time.

    «I'm afraid, that you can't meet them. We're sending them out of the country. Their minds are too fragile.»

    «Fragile? I thought you had healed their minds?!»

    «We've healed their sanity, yes. But they're still standing on the edge of the abyss.»

    «But.. Why can't we see them?!»

    «It is too risky. I'm afraid I have to forbid it. If you try to come into contact with them, we'll go to court. I'm sorry.»

    Neville's fist curled around a small piece of old candy paper. His thumb stroking the texture softly, imagining it to be rough and warm as his fathers hand. Imagining it to be soft and splintered like his mothers hair.

    A soft sob shook Neville's body. Watery tears streaming down his slightly chubby cheeks.

    He had wished. He had hoped.

    All in vain.

    The small piece of candy paper fell down to the floor, and somewhere, far away, the woman who had given the paper was laughing in the arms of her beloved husband.