Pressed Against the Glass
A/N: Wrote this a while ago, before the 5th book was released, changed a few details to keep it up to date with the 5th book.
Disclaimer: Not mine.....

    The young boy clutched his grandmother’s large red handbag, trying desperately not to touch any of the pristine white walls.  A doctor in green robes ran past him, up the long, bare hallway, pulling his wand from his pocket.  He turned right at the end of the hall and disappeared.  Through the slightly open doors, the boy could see thin, dying people lying helplessly in bed.  Heart and soul monitors hovered above them, and nurses rushed from bed to bed, waving wands and arguing with patients.
    His grandmother grabbed his hand and pulled him to the right.  They had reached the end of the hallway.  The small plaque on the wall above him read, “Transfiguration Mishaps, left.  Psychiatric Ward, right.”  The boy dragged his feet and shoved his free hand over his eyes. “Im wunna semah paarrrrrrrsssss......” He sat on the cold tiles of St. Mungo’s and pulled away from his grandmother.  
    His grandmother turned around and knelt in front of him.  “What was all’at mumblin’ about?” she glared at him.
    “I don’t wanna see my parents!” the boy yelled.  He flopped onto the floor and curled into a ball.  She pulled him up, toward her, and trapped his face between her large hands.  
    “Now, look here, Neville,” she said, trying in vain to be comforting.  “You’re finally six, and you can see your parents; you’re old enough.  You’ll have to see ‘em at some point or another, now’s as good a time as any.  Alright?”
    He scowled at her, but got up and started walking down the hall.  His grandmother presently caught up with him, and he smiled up at her.  
    “Do you think they’ll like me?” he asked happily.  “ I hope so -- I even wore clean socks today, so they’d like me.  How can they not like a boy with clean socks?  Will they like me?”
    His grandmother nodded at him.  “I’m sure they’ll love you,” she murmured, her lip quivering slightly.
    “I’ll bet my Mum’s a beautiful princess, with long flowing hair like Rapunzel.  She’ll have roses on her dress and smell like lavender.  Dad’s a secret Auror,” the boy smiled, “and he saves the world.  But the reason I can’t see them is because..... well.... because.....”
    “Because they’re staying undercover, working on a secret mission right now,” his grandmother said, picking him up and carrying him toward the door.  
    A nurse, dressed in a swirling green fabric, opened the door for them, and the grandmother stepped up to the desk.  “Longbottom,” she said in a shaky voice.  “Frank and Alice.”  The nurse looked up, surprised.  
    “Oh,” she said, and her eyes softened into a sympathetic pity. “Them.  down the left hall, second door on the right.”
    They went into the room, a small office with a thin doctor in purple and a glass wall looking into a white room.  The doctor turned and said solemnly, “Ah, yes.  This is the boy you owled about.  Hello, there,” but the boy wasn’t listening.
    He was staring into the room.  It was padded, ghostly white. A man lay twitching and crying in the corner.  Pressed against the glass was a pale, hollowed face.  Her eyes were empty windows portraying a dark room.  Her skin was almost the colour of the room.  Long tresses of matted her stuck wildly about.  Scratches adorned her thin cheeks and her emaciated arms.  Her mouth hung open slightly.  Pressed against the glass was his mum.
    “There are some amazing new potions on the market, you know.  With a daily dose, Frank and Alice could be in the long term ward.  They won’t be a threat anymore,” the doctor was saying.
    Her eyes focused on him, suddenly, and she made a whimpering noise.  She shoved her face against the glass, and tears fell from her lifeless eyes.  She pounded weakly on the glass with her bloodstained fists, then shrieked and fell to the floor.
    “Of course, they won’t be able to recognize the boy anymore, as it dulls senses and memories, but their lives will be so much better...” the doctor was saying.
    The boy walked up to the glass and pressed his face against it.  “Stop, mummy,” he murmured.  “Stop... princesses don’t cry.  Mum...”
    She got up and looked at him.  She pressed her face to the glass, against his.  He began to cry, and tears rolled down the cold glass.  “Prunnzuh no crah...” she murmured through tears, “uf prunnz no crah....”  The small boy smiled and tried to stop crying.  She smiled again.  The last time knew her son.  Pressed against the glass.