Topic #27
What have you most regretted losing?
July 30, 1996
Neville flipped up the bedcovers and crawled underneath, reaching as far as he could into the dark corners. He emerged a moment later, covered in dust, trying to shake the refuse from his hair and only ending up rearranging it. Dust never really went away, after all, just got shuffled from place to place. And right now, its place was inside Neville's nose.
Stifling a sneeze, he muttered a couple of swear words under his breath, hoping Gran didn't hear. It didn't matter, anyway. If he had found it there, it's not like he could have given it to them now.
A muffled croak from somewhere underneath his pillow allowed Neville to shake the cobwebs from his head; Trevor had somehow gotten himself tangled in the sheets, one webbed foot impossibly tangled in the linen. Sighing, Neville freed his pet from his three-hundred thread count prison, then sighed again when Trevor promptly gave Neville a dirty look before hopping off to sun himself on the windowsill.
"Yes!" crowed Neville, following Trevor's path. He snatched the package from its hiding place behind his curtain and shoved it into his pocket, hurrying down the stairs.
Gran was already downstairs and ready, but this was unsurprising. No matter how quickly Neville got dressed, she was always a little bit faster, just so she could say...
"You're late," Gran admonished, glaring. The vulture atop her head glared, too.
Neville hung his head and scuffed his foot against the varnished floor. "Sorry," he mumbled, making sure the package was still in his pocket. It wouldn't do to lose it now, not after all the trouble he'd gone through.
"Don't ruin the floor, Neville," said Gran crisply, handing him a pinch of Floo powder. He stepped through the welcome grate of St Mungo's, feeling slightly nauseous from the ride. Typically, the Floo didn't affect him, but he wasn't sure if it was the route the network took from his house to the hospital or just dread over the destination. He suspected the latter. A moment after he stumbled out, smiling sheepishly at nurses who recognised him, his Gran Apparated in, practically dragging him bodily up the stairs to the Janus Thickey ward.
When they got there, Mum was sitting up, rocking lightly and humming a song under her breath. Neville recognised it as one she used to sing to him when he was small. That was always so odd; he wasn't used to pieces of memory floating to the surface. He wasn't used to remembering anything at all, in fact. His father was walking around, the back of his hospital gown revealing a line of skin with each step, causing Neville to blush and look away. His grandmother wasn't deterred, though, hustling over to his dad's side and leading him back to his bed. "There, there, Frankie. That's a good boy."
The four of them sat around awkwardly for awhile -- rather, Neville sat awkwardly, slumped over as Gran spoke briskly about her bridge circle and how Neville disgraced them by breaking his father's only wand, while Neville sunk lower and lower in his seat.
After an age, his grandmother excused herself to powder her nose, and Neville took advantage of the situation, digging into his pocket and triumphantly emerging with his parents' gifts. Pulling open a drawer, he surreptitiously sneaked the sweets into their bedside table.
"Drooble's for you, Mum," he said placing a kiss on one pale, doughy cheek. "Frogs for you, Dad." He didn't know if his father liked Chocolate Frogs, but Neville liked them and he thought his father might have collected the cards, just like he did. Not that Neville knew for sure and he wasn't about to ask. All Gran would tell him was all the brave acts his parents had done.
His parents just stared off into space, making the occasional growl or squawk. Neville wondered if they even knew if he was there. He wished he knew more about them. Wished he had parents at all. It was his birthday, but he was the one giving the presents.
July 30, 1996
Neville flipped up the bedcovers and crawled underneath, reaching as far as he could into the dark corners. He emerged a moment later, covered in dust, trying to shake the refuse from his hair and only ending up rearranging it. Dust never really went away, after all, just got shuffled from place to place. And right now, its place was inside Neville's nose.
Stifling a sneeze, he muttered a couple of swear words under his breath, hoping Gran didn't hear. It didn't matter, anyway. If he had found it there, it's not like he could have given it to them now.
A muffled croak from somewhere underneath his pillow allowed Neville to shake the cobwebs from his head; Trevor had somehow gotten himself tangled in the sheets, one webbed foot impossibly tangled in the linen. Sighing, Neville freed his pet from his three-hundred thread count prison, then sighed again when Trevor promptly gave Neville a dirty look before hopping off to sun himself on the windowsill.
"Yes!" crowed Neville, following Trevor's path. He snatched the package from its hiding place behind his curtain and shoved it into his pocket, hurrying down the stairs.
Gran was already downstairs and ready, but this was unsurprising. No matter how quickly Neville got dressed, she was always a little bit faster, just so she could say...
"You're late," Gran admonished, glaring. The vulture atop her head glared, too.
Neville hung his head and scuffed his foot against the varnished floor. "Sorry," he mumbled, making sure the package was still in his pocket. It wouldn't do to lose it now, not after all the trouble he'd gone through.
"Don't ruin the floor, Neville," said Gran crisply, handing him a pinch of Floo powder. He stepped through the welcome grate of St Mungo's, feeling slightly nauseous from the ride. Typically, the Floo didn't affect him, but he wasn't sure if it was the route the network took from his house to the hospital or just dread over the destination. He suspected the latter. A moment after he stumbled out, smiling sheepishly at nurses who recognised him, his Gran Apparated in, practically dragging him bodily up the stairs to the Janus Thickey ward.
When they got there, Mum was sitting up, rocking lightly and humming a song under her breath. Neville recognised it as one she used to sing to him when he was small. That was always so odd; he wasn't used to pieces of memory floating to the surface. He wasn't used to remembering anything at all, in fact. His father was walking around, the back of his hospital gown revealing a line of skin with each step, causing Neville to blush and look away. His grandmother wasn't deterred, though, hustling over to his dad's side and leading him back to his bed. "There, there, Frankie. That's a good boy."
The four of them sat around awkwardly for awhile -- rather, Neville sat awkwardly, slumped over as Gran spoke briskly about her bridge circle and how Neville disgraced them by breaking his father's only wand, while Neville sunk lower and lower in his seat.
After an age, his grandmother excused herself to powder her nose, and Neville took advantage of the situation, digging into his pocket and triumphantly emerging with his parents' gifts. Pulling open a drawer, he surreptitiously sneaked the sweets into their bedside table.
"Drooble's for you, Mum," he said placing a kiss on one pale, doughy cheek. "Frogs for you, Dad." He didn't know if his father liked Chocolate Frogs, but Neville liked them and he thought his father might have collected the cards, just like he did. Not that Neville knew for sure and he wasn't about to ask. All Gran would tell him was all the brave acts his parents had done.
His parents just stared off into space, making the occasional growl or squawk. Neville wondered if they even knew if he was there. He wished he knew more about them. Wished he had parents at all. It was his birthday, but he was the one giving the presents.