Post by Neville Longbottom on Jul 15, 2009 17:21:28 GMT -5
Dust covered just about every inch of the deserted room, silver spiderwebs stuck on the corners. A certain old smell lingered, the light faintly coming in through the window that was covered by boards. Old beds stacked to the sides, the sheets torn and dirty, some bloody. The pieces of the shattered windows, scattered all over the granite floor. Books, picture frames, and other memorabilia were torn and broken, their resting place on the floor. These were the only things that were left behind, since the battle that had taken place when Voldemort decided to take down St. Mungos. And the people you might wonder, where might they be? Dead of course, all thanks to the evil forces. Absolutely no one was spared, except for the very few who managed to escape.
Since the battle had taken place and the building was torn down, no one had really come back. It was alone and deserted, abandoned. That is until the Order of The Phoenix took over and decided this would become their new secret hideout. Everywhere they went, they were always tracked down and nearly killed. For now, this place would do, until Voldemort once again knew where they were hiding of course.
Neville entered the main floor of Spell Damage, where years ago those who had obviously been damaged by spells resided. It was also years ago that in this same section of the building Nevile's parents were taken care of. He owed it all to the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange, that now, to his joy, she was finally dead. Although Neville felt joy that the wicked woman had finally gotten what she deserved he couldn't deny he pitied her. She had been a very bad woman all her life, and she never repented. Only God knew where she was now. At the thought he sighed, and walked around the main lobby for a minute, then made his way into one of the many rooms that was destroyed.
It had really been a long time since Neville was last at the hospital. He had not visited his parents in so many years, and now they were both dead. He took another look around, then made his way to where the window used to be. Of course now it was all boarded up and he could only see through a crack, to the outside. Nothing was there though.
Neville stuffed his hands inside his pockets, he hung his head low. He stared at the granite floor, and closed his eyes. The haunting memories of the Death Eaters torturing his parents came back, the image of his mother and his father's face vivid in his mind. It haunted him every day and night of his life, and in his mind he could almost hear them crying out loud, begging and pleading for mercy. Why he tortured himself this way? Neville did not know why. All he knew was that he needed justice, and justice would be served.
A moment later he opened up his eyes, and noticed a broken picture frame on the floor. Dust covered up the picture, but he was curious. Neville picked it up and blew the dust away, revealing the moving image of an elderly woman. She had the most grandmotherly smile, her eyes aged and old. She reminded him of his own grandmother Augusta. Neville had not heard from her in a few years, since Voldemort tried kidnapping her into telling him where Neville was hiding. Whether she was dead or alive, Neville did not know. All the memories of his past made him grow morose and nostalgic, he wondered what life would have been like if none of this would have ever happened. Trailing off into his thoughts once more, Neville lost track of time.
On the bottom floors, the members of the Order chatted, meanwhile Neville upstairs, distracted. It was perhaps the reason he did not realize someone was walking along the hallways outside the room.
Since the battle had taken place and the building was torn down, no one had really come back. It was alone and deserted, abandoned. That is until the Order of The Phoenix took over and decided this would become their new secret hideout. Everywhere they went, they were always tracked down and nearly killed. For now, this place would do, until Voldemort once again knew where they were hiding of course.
Neville entered the main floor of Spell Damage, where years ago those who had obviously been damaged by spells resided. It was also years ago that in this same section of the building Nevile's parents were taken care of. He owed it all to the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange, that now, to his joy, she was finally dead. Although Neville felt joy that the wicked woman had finally gotten what she deserved he couldn't deny he pitied her. She had been a very bad woman all her life, and she never repented. Only God knew where she was now. At the thought he sighed, and walked around the main lobby for a minute, then made his way into one of the many rooms that was destroyed.
It had really been a long time since Neville was last at the hospital. He had not visited his parents in so many years, and now they were both dead. He took another look around, then made his way to where the window used to be. Of course now it was all boarded up and he could only see through a crack, to the outside. Nothing was there though.
Neville stuffed his hands inside his pockets, he hung his head low. He stared at the granite floor, and closed his eyes. The haunting memories of the Death Eaters torturing his parents came back, the image of his mother and his father's face vivid in his mind. It haunted him every day and night of his life, and in his mind he could almost hear them crying out loud, begging and pleading for mercy. Why he tortured himself this way? Neville did not know why. All he knew was that he needed justice, and justice would be served.
A moment later he opened up his eyes, and noticed a broken picture frame on the floor. Dust covered up the picture, but he was curious. Neville picked it up and blew the dust away, revealing the moving image of an elderly woman. She had the most grandmotherly smile, her eyes aged and old. She reminded him of his own grandmother Augusta. Neville had not heard from her in a few years, since Voldemort tried kidnapping her into telling him where Neville was hiding. Whether she was dead or alive, Neville did not know. All the memories of his past made him grow morose and nostalgic, he wondered what life would have been like if none of this would have ever happened. Trailing off into his thoughts once more, Neville lost track of time.
On the bottom floors, the members of the Order chatted, meanwhile Neville upstairs, distracted. It was perhaps the reason he did not realize someone was walking along the hallways outside the room.
