Your face is familiar to me, but I’m not quite sure why. I know I remember it from somewhere - though where from is beyond me. I recognise the roundness of your jaw, the fullness of your cheeks, the naivety in your eyes and your anxious expression. It seems all too vague to me; yet I’m convinced that the answer is obvious. It’s staring me in the face - literally. Your rich, hazel eyes mean nothing to me, but I know they should. Recognition stirs somewhere inside of me and I yearn for a distant memory to come within my grasp. Something. Anything. A simple reminiscence to put all the pieces of the puzzle together once and for all. I search your face for a dawning realisation, an epiphany perhaps? However, as usual, my hopes fall short. I sink back onto the pillows with regret as I realise that you will always be just a face to me.

You must be just as disappointed as I am; you perch yourself onto the end of the bed with a weary look etched across your face. I wonder why you are here. I have a feeling that we’ve done this before; you come with anticipation every visit and time after time I unknowingly shatter them. I hope you know that I don’t mean it - I’d give anything to recognise that generous smile of yours. I watch as you slowly remove a packet of sweets from your pocket and extend your arm towards to me. I understand that this is some sort of a tradition, so I accept it.

I examine the present and jump with surprise as I realise that I remember these sweets: Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. I raise my head and catch your eye as you nod encouragingly at me. I slowly unwrap the packet; savouring the memorable crinkle of blue plastic and retract the chewing gum. I place the gum inside of my mouth and a wide smile spreads across my face. I may not remember your face, but I remember the taste of the sweets. It vaguely reminds me of carefree summers and comfortable winters; nothing too specific, but enough for me to associate it with happier times. I glance in your direction and you’re watching me carefully, as if you’re not quite sure what to expect of me. I smile at you through my tears. I don’t know why I’m crying.

Your eyes fill with tears also, and you turn away from me. I can see you gruffly wipe your eyes and although I don’t understand why you’re crying, I wish you wouldn’t hide it. Your hands are balled into fists as they’re clenched in your lap; I’m almost distracted from your shaking shoulders and great, shuddering gasps. Your grief makes me awkward and I feel responsible for it, so I heave myself off the bed and softly pad towards you. I shyly outstretch my hand containing the empty sweet packet; it’s not much, but it’s all I can give you. You consider me for a moment, then take back the rubbish and safely stash it away. I give you a tentative smile and return to bed. I avoid looking at your scrutinizing face and amuse myself by smoothing some microscopic creases in the quilt. Eventually, I trust myself to look at you. Your face bears a million questions, none of which I can provide the answers to. I feel sorry that I can’t help you.

There is a noise from the bed beside me and both of us direct our attentions towards the frail looking man we’ve ignored since you arrived. The man is not looking at either of us, but at the ceiling with sincere interest. I glance at the ceiling too, but it’s just a simple ceiling. The way he stares at it, you’d swear you could see all of the constellations from your bed. Once I get past all of that, I begin to notice. His eyes are the same shape as yours; wide, circular and innocent looking. His mouth is quirked upwards as if he is in on a joke that we’re not aware of; I can see similarities between your mouth and his. His nose is slightly wider than most, and I remember noticing your nose when you came in. My gaze flickers between him and you; your face has flushed red with some emotion I can’t quite put my finger on. I struggle to tie this information together.

I watch as you amble towards this stranger and stand by his bedside. I instantly feel hate for this man for stealing you away from me. I don’t know who you are but I’m fiercely jealous; you’re mine, and mine only. You came to visit me, not him. But grudgingly I observe as you watch over him for a few moments, and eventually lower your lips to his forehead. The man does not look surprised at your affection; just smiles meaningfully at you and returns his gaze to the ceiling. You pat his shoulder warmly before your presence is once more mine. This time, you do not sit at the foot of my bed. You settle yourself down into the spindly chair next to me with an expectant expression on your face. You know that I would have questions; how, I do not know.

I open my mouth to speak but silence ensues. I’ve kept quiet for so long and now that I have something to say, it does not come out. I am frustrated and try to force it out; I can feel the words form and die on my lips. I know exactly what I want to say and how I want to say it, but my mouth opens and closes feebly like a goldfish out of water. I’m confused and begin to struggle helplessly, like a baby lost without its mother. I’m lost without this; I need to speak! I need to ask you questions and I need the answers like I depend on air. Your face has mislaid the calm expression; once more it is replaced with that anxious look I recognise from before. You spring out of your chair as I thrash from underneath the sheets that once seemed so loose, but now they threatened to strangle me. Your eyes are panicked as you try to control my erratic movements. I don’t mean to, but I lash out at you with my arms and legs. I feel trapped, and you are my prison guard; you are the enemy. I have forgotten the present you gave me - all that matters now is escaping.

“Mum, it’s all right! It’s okay, Mum, it’s just me. It’s Neville, your son! Calm down, Mum, or else the Healers will come and kick me out. You don’t want that, do you? You don’t want me to leave, do you, Mum?”

Your voice looses its placid appeal as you begin to panic; I desperately flail about beneath your surprisingly strong arms. You can’t be my son, can you? How on earth can I have a son? You’re far too old anyway to be my son; look at you! Your eyes, although innocent, tell me you’ve seen a lot. You’re tall, too - taller than me, at least. Tall enough and strong enough to hold me down, despite all of my best efforts. If I could scream, I would; but I have to resign myself to silent, violent fits. If you really are my son, I’m sorry. I don’t know how I came to be this way and I don’t mean to act like this in front of you, but I can’t help it. I’m scared.

Someone screams; a piercing, shrill scream that shocks the living daylights out of me. The room is suddenly filled with scattered noises, none of which are from me. I can hear screaming and crying and I don’t know why. I frantically search your eyes for consolation and I’m stunned to see tears freely leaking out of your eyes. This time, you don’t try to brush them away.

“No, Mum, please calm down. They’ll take me away now, Mum; I don’t want to go. Please stop, Mum! I can hear them coming; shush! Stop struggling Mum, please!”

I too can hear frenzied footsteps coming closer and closer and a door is thrown open. The footsteps approach me and a group of unknown faces peer obnoxiously into mine. I start to cry now too; this is all going very wrong.

“We’ll take it from here, Mr Longbottom,” a distant, aloof voice says.

“No, please; I can handle it! She just got a bit upset, she’s okay!”

“She’ll be fine, Mr Longbottom, but I must insist you step back and let us help.”

“Please! She doesn’t need any help; it’s all right. She… she’s just a bit frightened. Please don’t do anything!”

“We’re only going to help her, Mr Longbottom, I assure you.”

I feel your grasp being prised away from me and I clutch desperately at you. You’re right, I am frightened. I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t want you to go. I need you to stay by my side. I need you to watch over me. I need you.

You’re back! Your face glows in a sea of stranger and you lower your face to mine. You kiss my forehead like you kissed that man’s, but this is different. You’re saying goodbye. Why are you saying goodbye?

I watch as your tear-stricken face leaves the sudden ambush. I start to struggle even harder - you can’t go. You can’t leave me.

“Mrs Longbottom, I need you to calm down for me now.” the voice instructs me.

I don’t wane my attacks; I’ll only stop if you come back.

“Mrs Longbottom, if you want to see your son then you’ll have to calm down.”

I admit defeat and cease struggling; I want to see my son. I want to see you. I want to see your face again; your face makes me feel safe.

“Mr Longbottom, you might want to look away for this.”

Why would he want to look away? What are you going to do to me?

My voice cracks as a flashing, blinding light illuminates the room.

“Neville!”

I can feel myself growing weaker and my vision clouds over as I fall limp against the pillows. Your face reappears once more before my world goes dark. Your face is wet with fresh tears.

“I’m sorry.”

Your mouth moves but my ears are filled with a deafening buzz and I can feel my world slipping through my fingers. I’m going and I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m sorry, Neville.

“I love you, Mum…”

Once again, I feel darkness seeping into my world and my precious memories disappear. After all I’ve realised, I know I won’t remember them the next time I wake up. I’m scared. Sound and vision has ebbed away and left me stranded in a big, black hole.

“I love you, Mum!”

Your distant voice is the last thing I hear before I surrender myself to imminent oblivion.

“I love you too, Neville.” I manage to whisper; then black encompasses me into her numbing arms.

Oblivion would always be more familiar to me than your sweet face.