I roll over in my sleep, trying not to think about what I have just seen happen to that spider--the same thing that happened to my parents. But I can’t stop imagining it. In the end, I just end up falling into a strange half-conscious dreamland. Unfortunately, the dreams are terrifyingly real.
* * *
I watch Mum and Dad guarding something… it looks like a house of some sort. They pull out their wands as they hear a sound. Four people in masks come out of nowhere and one of them shouts, –CRUCIO!â€, her wand aimed at Mum. I feel a great surge of anger as I watch Mum writhe in pain on the ground like the spider I saw in Moody’s classroom, screaming. I forget I’m a wizard and just want to kill the woman I now know is Bellatrix Lestrange. I want to strangle her. All I can think is that I want her dead, and she isn’t. Dad casts a curse at one of the others. The Death Eater deflects it and casts his own at Dad. He’s on the ground, writhing in pain, shouting louder than I’ve ever heard anyone shout. My mother’s expression is pure pain and nothing else, as is my father’s. I watch in agony myself, as if I’m the one being cursed. I hear a third scream, but I don’t recognize it as my own straight away. I want to go out there and take the wands of the barbaric Death Eaters. One of them is laughing. I want to kill him. But I know I couldn’t, even if I wasn’t just a spectator of this moment, even if it wasn’t coming from my own head. Actually, maybe I could have before today’s Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, but after watching Moody--the cruel, twisted person he was, not even seeming to care--kill that spider...
* * *
I wake up with a jolt as I hear someone--I recognize the voice as Seamus’--whisper, –Do you think he’s alright?†I feel cold sweat on my face as I roll over and realize I must have been writhing just as my parents were in my vision, for my sheets are on the floor and the curtains around my bed are opened slightly. I close my eyes and fake-snore so that they think I’ve fallen asleep again. But as I try to actually fall asleep--long after Seamus and whoever else was awake have gotten back to bed--I fall into the same dreamland. This time I’m remembering things that I’ve actually witnessed so they are even more real. But much, much happier.
* * *
My mother’s eyes stare up into mine. They look tired and dull, not how they once were--bright and shining with passion, as they were in pictures I’ve seen her in. I look at her and kneel down beside her hospital bed--this is the only place I’ve seen her for as long as I can remember. I hand her a piece of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, hoping that this time--just this once--she will remember me. I’ve tried this many times and it has never worked. She smiles at me, but I can still see the usual confusion in her eyes. I want to cry right there, but I don’t.
–I’m Neville, your son. Remember me?†I ask. She nods in slight understanding. I smile at her, and she smiles back. I open the wrapper for her. She pops the small delicacy into her mouth, the trace of a smile still on her face. I walk over to my father as she’s still chewing on the sweet. His eyes are different to my mothers, but they were before he came here too. His are more distant and far away, as if he’s looking at something that I can’t see. In pictures, his eyes are determined and angry. My visits to him are very different to the visits with my mother. Ours are usually silent, his eyes just staring into mine. I’ve been told that I look like my mother a lot, but I think that I have my father’s eyes. I stay near his bed until my mother beckons to me. I smile.
–Hi, Mum.†She smiles back and hands me the wrapper. I always keep these, knowing that my mother has touched them with her own bony, dry fingers. I’m glad that they’re that way, that they represent her, that the doctors haven’t cared for them to make them look perfect. Some people would think that would mean that they didn’t care, but I think the opposite. Gran always tells me to ‘throw those silly things away’ when she sees mum handing me them, forcing me to sneak them into my pocket. Now I have almost a full box of them. When I need all the courage I can get, the only thing I can do is finger through these, each with a memory of the times she gave them to me. Always to me, never anybody else.
* * *
The next dream I have is the last Christmas we had together. We held it in the small hospital room, which was decorated with Christmas tinsel and a giant Christmas tree. Great-uncle Algie was there, as was Gran. We exchanged gifts, and my gift to my mother was the one I was the most excited about. I give her the same thing every year, but she doesn’t seem to remember.
* * *
When it’s my turn to exchange a gift, I smile and stand up, holding the present and walking to my mother. I hold it out to her and whisper, –It’s me, Neville. Here’s your Christmas present.†I feel like it’s become a tradition for me to say this every year, and for her to smile in understanding. I help her slowly unwrap the ribbon and peel off the paper and tape. She opens the box after every little piece of paper and tape has been taken off, and smiles in surprise as she pulls out a bag of hard Christmas sweets--all individually wrapped, of course. I open the bag for her and she unwraps the candy herself--a new skill she has recently acquired. She puts a green-colored candy in her mouth and hands me the wrapper.
–Now, Neville, throw that away.†Gran shakes her head at Mum. I walk over to the bin and pretend to throw it away. As I’m walking over to my seat, though, I slip it into my pocket. Safe and sound, like a little piece of my mother. And I’ll always have those little pieces of her. If they decay overtime, I’ll keep whatever’s left in the same box. The same place. Always.
Dreams by Theloonyhermione
Chapter Notes: Disclaimer: I'm not J. K. Rowling, which is probably pretty obvious.
Thank you so much to my absolutely AMAZING betas, Maple (Maple_and_PhoenixFeather) and Sophie (Sophie the owl). This story probably would not be here without them.
Chapter Endnotes: A review would be nice, I love to hear your thoughts!