I leisurely followed Tonks along the winding white corridors of St Mungo's, occasionally playing a small match of 'I spy' as she introduced me to the different floors and wards. The entire experience was quite interesting, and oftentimes a stark reminder of the danger that magic posed.

For many of the people currently inhabiting the hospital, one mistake had cost them weeks, if not months of their life, although one naturally shouldn't disregard the possibility of it not being their fault.

“And that's mister Jenkins, he's here basically every month. He has a lisp that makes it impossible for him to pronounce accio, the summoning charm, correctly, causing all the objects that he tries to summon to shoot into his stomach at really high speeds. He refuses to stop using the spell however.” Tonks explained. She truly was a fountain of patient trivia.

The information had probably been soaked up from her mother. God knows medical professionals needed someone they could complain about their patients to. It reminded me of the one time my cousin, who had been an orderly at the time, had come to me to complain about a patient whose story involved intestines, explosions, and a new paint job for the inspection room.

“That's pretty dumb.” I said, remarking upon the story of mister Jenkins.

“Wizards.” Tonks commented with a shrug.

“What's that?” I asked, while pointing at the sterile white corridor like any other that I knew led to the long-term residents ward, otherwise known as the Janus Thickey Ward for irrevocable spell damage. A place Tonks had glossed over, probably in an attempt to keep me away from it, it was after all the saddest place in the entire building. Except for maybe intensive care and the emergency room, or the maternity ward.

Tonks winced and rubbed the back of her head, “It's not really a nice place, and, well, nobody who's in there should be made fun of or have their peace disrupted.” She said.

I put on my thinking face, cutesy version #5™. “Do you think they would mind if we went in there to wish them a nice day?” I asked, and was treated to the face a Hufflepuff made when told something completely wholesome.

An imaginary arrow pierced Tonks' heart and she was able to cough out a short “Y-eeah.” through the pain of having her emotional centres and ovaries violently explode at the same time.

And thus we entered the belly of the beast, to do exactly what I had said we'd do, really.

We went from bed to bed, wishing the patients well. Only some were aware enough of their surroundings to reciprocate their greetings, although I liked to think that our visit helped even the ones who did not “truly” notice it.

As I passed a healer, noticeable as they were, dressed completely in lime green, I saw that the last few beds that they wanted to visit already had a visitor, a little one that was. Blonde, short, slightly pudgy, something tickled at the back of my mind. Something about a curvaceous behind? No, no, it was, Longbottom. Which would make the dangerously thin and wispy haired woman Alice Longbottom, the male, Frank Longbottom, the child being Neville of course.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

But where was Augusta? I thought I'd seen an older woman with a vulture hat down at the fundraiser. Leaving her grandson unattended? How horribly foolish. Why, simply anybody could get close to the child in the, by the shaking of the shoulders, emotionally volatile state that he was in and whisper things into his ear.

I felt Tonks weakly grasp my shoulder as I strode purposefully forward, Neville would be one of my future classmates, I couldn't simply leave the boy there, an unscrupulous scoundrel could make a move this very moment!

“They seem happy to see you.” I remarked in a soft voice as I halted to a stop at Neville's left shoulder. It was the truth, Frank and Alice did, in their absent-minded way. Neville turned to me with red eyes and brought out a very articulated sounding, “Huh?”

I continued, not minding the low capacity of understanding shown by the child, he was only seven after all. “You know, people who wake up from comas often report that they were capable of taking in outside stimuli, they were simply incapable of responding.” I patted Neville's shoulder to get his attention and nodded in Alice's direction. “But your parents are doing a bit better than that even, look, she's smiling.”

“Yeah, she is.” Neville muttered while pawing at his eyes with the sleeves of his blue robe.

“They're happy to see you. A bond between a child and a parent is a thing even magic cannot sever. I think there is one thing that would make them even happier though...” I said and trailed off, theatrically staring off at the ceiling, which was too bright, causing me to avert my eyes.

“What would make them happier?” Neville asked, with all the urgency a seven year old could muster.

“You smiling as well, instead of crying of course.” I answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Neville's face turned gloomy again.

“I don't have anything to smile about. They're here because of me,” Neville said, then spent the next several minutes explaining his life's story. He'd only met me a minute or so ago, and everyone was listening in, so I found the whole situation incredibly awkward and unprofessional.

I held fast though, and as Neville was forced to breathe in some air to continue his self-flagellation, I interrupted him.

“They don't have much to smile about either, do they?” I asked, effectively shutting the child up, “But they're still smiling. Your parents are heroes you know? And when you have to save someone, they're usually in a very scary situation, so a true hero tries to not only save a person's life, but also a person's heart. That's what I believe. So no matter how scary a situation gets, no matter the state you're in, you have to give 'em a smile, as if to say “I'm a-ok”. Your parents saved your life, and they're still giving their best to save your heart by always smiling when you're here. The people in this world who can smile in the face of adversity are always the strongest. Your parents, they're probably the strongest people I've ever met, and you.” I trailed off again, putting a finger to Neville's chest, whose eyes were growing wider and wider. “Are the one they determined to carry their will, so instead of crying, give them a big 'ole smile as you work on becoming the best healer ever, so that one day.” I trailed off, again, for dramatic effect, it worked, okay. “You can be their hero instead.”

I pumped my fist on the inside as Neville seemingly taking my words to heart, tried to turn his grimace into a smile, resulting in a combination of the two really. Noticing this the boy put up his hands and forced his mouth corners upwards physically.

As if ordained by god Alice chose this moment to give out a small laugh and clap her hands weakly while staring at her son through half-lidded eyes.

“See, you smiled, and it worked.” I said dramatically.

“You think I can be a healer?” Neville asked, his voice being distorted through the ridiculously wide smile he was giving off.

“Of course you can,” I said instantaneously and feeling the need to amend that statement a bit, added, “just remember, no matter how deep the night, it always turns to day, eventually. Eventually being the key point here. It won't be instantaneous, it will take years even, but your parents will always be cheering you on with their smiles, and there is no fight as easily lost as the one never fought.” I finished and watched in fascination as Neville's whole being seemed to undergo a change, his posture straightened, his eyes seemed to instantly dry up and his smile turned form ridiculous into truly radiant.

I heard a soft sob and was confused, Neville wasn't crying, I knew that I certainly wouldn't be crying in this situation, so I looked behind me to see Tonks tearing up somewhat heavily, face red, running nose and crocodile tears running down her cheeks.

“Tonks are you seriously crying right now, after that speech about smiling, seriously?” I asked exasperatedly.

“Shut up,” She muttered, wiping away her tears and snot with her sleeves, “I'm not crying, you're crying.”