The day's weather was clear and sunny and beautiful. The grass seemed greener than it had in a very long time and the sky, a piercing blue, seemed to give off as much light as the sun. It's funny, in books the weather always seems to reflect the moods of the characters or the events of the day. Not today. The funeral would be a joint one. So many people had died that day, it seemed as though everyone was in mourning. The girls who cried in the back, the mothers and fathers with tear stained cheeks clinging to one another, the men standing tall as though willing themselves not to cry, then there was me. As I walked to a vacant seat no one really paid much attention to the small fourth year. Mom and Dad were still in hiding, though I tried to tell them that it was safe now, the war was over. They told me not to go, but I, rebellious child, needed to see my brother one last time before he would never again be out in the open. I ran away that night after him. Colin, don't go! You aren't of age, I screamed after him. He never answered me, he just continued on his way. Now, in the light of the bluest sky and the smell of freshest grass, I shivered.
The service began and one by one members of families got up to talk. A red haired man praised his son's bravery, a woman with jet black hair called her daughter and son-in-law heros. On and on it went. No one talked about Colin. I waited patiently as more and more people took there place at the podium. About mid way through I felt a sudden presence near me, turning I saw the unmistakable Harry Potter.
"Hi, Dennis." His green eyes looked so much older than seventeen. There was an adult like quality that can only come from destroying the most vile man in existence only a mere there days prior.
"Hello Harry Potter." My voice was so high, so young. I felt the sadness again. The same sadness that had taken me over since the moments after I heard of Colin's death.
"How are you?" His question was a generic one, but there was something genuine about it. It was as if he was trying to ask me something, but didn't quite know how to state it.
"Is any one going to talk about my-" I cut myself off "Colin?" It was bugging me. As much as I didn't want to believe that my brother, the person whom I looked up to the most, was gone, I couldn't stand having no one say a thing about him. Don't be a prick, Dennis, Colin would say. I'm no one important; now Harry Potter, Dennis, he's a real hero. Here I was with the one person that my brother idealized and I felt so angry. How could Harry not have ever gotten to know Colin? How could he have never known how much of my brother's short life was filled with idealizing him. And now, after his death, Harry hadn't even had the decency to get him a speaker. Harry seemed to notice my suddenly hardened expression.
"I was wondering if you would like to."
"Me?" My voice cracked, showing even more of my youth.
"Yeah, I'm sorry to say that I never really knew Colin well. I wish I had." Harry sincerity made up my mind. I would talk about my brother. I would talk about how Colin died the way he lived, trying to be a hero, like Harry.
When my turn came I made my way towards the stage. My legs shook and I could feel the back of my neck was already wet with sweat, from the heat or the nerves I couldn't tell. Everyone watched as the boy, so much younger than any other speaker, climbed the stairs to the raised platform.
"Hi," I mumbled as my voice was magically magnified a hundred fold. "My name is Dennis Creevey and I lost my brother a couple days ago. He was and remains to this day to be my one and only hero and I have never in my life been more sure of that than I am now."