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The walls of the Janus Thickey Ward in St. Mungo's seemed to press in from all sides even more than they normally did, and the frigid winter air outside seeped through ever-so-slightly, chilling the room. Neville fidgeted with his green-and-red sweater as he sat beside his mum's bed, feeling exceptionally lonely despite being here with his parents.
It was the first Christmas without his Gran, and never before had the ward felt so quiet.
"I miss her," he told his parents, who didn't respond at all.
He had pushed their beds together, and they were now holding hands as they lay side-by-side, and occasionally smiling fondly at each other. The sight brought some warmth to Neville's heart, although it never managed to push away the grief.
The door of the ward opened, but he didn't turn to look. All of the healers here knew him by now. They wouldn't disturb him.
"Good afternoon, Professor Longbottom," said a gentle and shockingly familiar voice. His eyes went wide and his head swiveled around to see his former Head of House and now mentor and boss arrive beside him. She was carrying two steaming mugs, one of which she held out for him. He accepted it without a thought, and the pleasant scent of hot cocoa reached his nose.
"Headmistress?"
"I thought that, perhaps, you could use some company today." With her newly free hand, she drew her wand and summoned another of the visitors' chairs, and then effortlessly transfigured it into a comfortable armchair. She sat down with some difficulty that underscored her advancing age.
"Thank you," he replied, still firmly in the grip of surprise. He breathed in the steam from the cocoa and felt it warm his lungs. "You didn't have to come."
She stared into her own steaming mug for a long moment, her expression growing wistful. "I have some experience with spending Christmas alone," she finally said, and it was a quiet confession that took his breath away. "I do not wish it on anyone else."
She looked over at his parents, who were now watching her silently with vacant expressions, their hands still clasped. "Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. You would be very proud of your son if you could know him."
Neville watched his parents' gazes shift back to him, and felt himself blush. "Thank you," he repeated quietly.
"And Augusta was very proud of you, as well, even though she was rarely inclined to ever say as much."
Neville took a long sip of cocoa, and the warmth spread through his blood. "I know that she was, in the end," he replied somewhat belatedly. "That makes it hurt more now, though."
"I understand, Professor."
They fell into a quiet that was far more comfortable than the one that preceded her arrival. The grief lingered still—it always would—but it was blunted and warmed by the new company. Eventually, soft conversation started about nothing in particular, and the rest of the Christmas afternoon passed in a far lighter mood than he had expected it would.