A/N this is my entry for round three of the Quidditch League. It celebrates a character who, I believe, was never given the recognition he deserved.

Quidditch League Round Three: Truth or Dare

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Chaser 1 - A dare saving someone's life

Prompts:

2 – Scared

3 – You don't have a choice, it's do or die

14 - Rabbit

Word count before A/N: 2478

An Homage to Colin Creevey

It had been a long, hard spring. I know that's not the sort of thing usually said about the season. It's supposed to be a joyous time. The world gently awakens from the bleakness of winter, flowers bloom, and lambs frolic. It's a time of rebirth and regeneration. But when you've spent the last six months hiding in a cave in North Yorkshire and the snow hasn't even melted off the Dales yet it's hard to feel optimistic about anything.

Nobody ever asks what happened to us that year. Why would they? When the great Harry Potter was on the run, Lord Voldemort was rising to power, and Severus Snape was cutting a swathe of terror through the halls of Hogwarts, why would anybody ask what had happened to two Mudblood boys?

I don't mean to sound bitter. It was the fact that Colin and I were so eminently forgettable that kept us safe for so long. We didn't have to Obliviate our parents. Our house wasn't razed to the ground. For the first three months of what would have been Harry's final year at Hogwarts, we simply stayed at home. Our parents didn't really understand what was going on and Colin and I kept it that way. We told them that there had been a catchment area change and that we were no longer eligible for Hogwarts. They were trying to enroll us for the oversubscribed local comp but, Muggle bureaucracy being what it was, we weren't offered a place. Honestly, it was probably a good thing, considering we'd had no muggle education since we were eleven. We mostly spent those months sitting around at home, playing football in the back garden, constantly checking our D.A. galleons, and thinking about magic.

Eventually, an owl came from Professor McGonagall. She warned us that Hogwarts was no longer safe for Muggleborn witches and wizards. As if we hadn't already worked that out! She advised us to leave the country if we could. But where were we supposed to go? Dad was a milkman; it wasn't as if he could up and move to Australia. As far as we knew, milkmen weren't exactly sought after over there. Mum and Dad were beginning to ask more and more questions and, once the attacks on London started, we knew it was only a matter of time. Colin and I had become a liability and if we wanted to protect our parents, we had to leave.

I'll never forget the night we left. It was Bonfire Night and the London skyline was on fire. I think we both felt the excitement, as if the city was giving us a fitting send-off; blowing a bugle as its brave troops headed off into battle. If Harry Potter was on the run then why not the Creevey Brothers? Perhaps it was finally our time to contribute to the war.

It wasn't.

I've read accounts of how the Golden Trio lived during those months when we were all on the run. Rita Skeeter wrote a particularly lurid tell-all describing their cramped sleeping conditions and poor standards of hygiene. What can I say? At least they had magic.

We didn't.

Colin wouldn't turn seventeen until the middle of May and it became quickly apparent that the Trace was very much still in effect. It didn't matter how forgettable the Creevey Brothers were, any Snatcher worth their salt was out to pick up a couple of underage Mudbloods. On our very first night, Colin Apparated us out of London and almost got us killed.

Had we been planning an overnight camping trip in August then we would have been reasonably well equipped. For six months during the British winter, we might as well not have bothered. Our cheap two man tent was barely waterproof and our three season sleeping bags were clearly equipped for summer, spring and autumn. At least we had some money; at first anyway. Colin had drained our bank accounts before we left, and this meant we could afford to eat reasonably well. Not by Hogwarts standards of course, or normal human standards, even. We mainly got by on spam sandwiches, bananas, and Coke. We had a muggle camping stove and sometimes we would treat ourselves to a lukewarm can of tomato soup, but Colin said we had to make the money last, so even that luxury was a rarity.

We were bored. So bored. And when we weren't bored we were scared. At first, we would take shelter in public buildings. We spent our days reading quietly in village libraries, lurking in community centres, or wandering endlessly up and down department store aisles in order to keep warm and make use of the toilets. But, as time wore on, our appearances began to deteriorate to the point where we weren't welcome in John Lewis anymore. Then the librarians started to look uncomfortable at our presence. Soon, pretty much the only place we were welcome was soup kitchens. On the bright side, we no longer had to pay for the luxury of a hot meal.

The Snatchers had become more prevalent in the cities too. It seemed like they had hoovered up all the easy catches and were now actively working harder to mop up the remaining Muggleborn witches and wizards. All of us who had been at Hogwarts were easy targets, our photos were regularly circulated in the Daily Prophet. Even Colin and I were recognisable, we were nondescript, but not that nondescript.

We started to hide in the countryside, only venturing into civilization to buy food or the odd newspaper. Our money was running out, so we tried snaring rabbits and catching fish. We weren't particularly good at either. By the time we returned to Hogwarts we were probably both suffering from scurvy and I don't want to think about the things we had eaten. It's a lot easier to catch a rat than a rabbit, and it's amazing how much almost-fresh food you can find in a rubbish bin.

During those terrible, terrifying months, Colin remained the wonderful, protective older brother he had always been. From the day I was born, he had taken it upon himself to look out for me, and our circumstances that year only seemed to strengthen his resolve to do just that. I was always given the larger share of food, the warmer sleeping bag, the shorter watch. I was a liability, a terrified child, but Colin never treated me as such. Every morning I woke up safe in the knowledge that I was the continuing reason for his existence.

He never lost faith in Harry Potter. Potterwatch was our only link to reality and we listened every night. The brief broadcasts left us feeling connected to the wizarding world once more. After they were over Colin would regale me with tales of Harry's bravery, or we would reminisce together over our time in the DA.

Colin chronicled our entire six months on the run. We had neither the time nor the money to develop his numerous rolls of film, but he kept them all in a Tupperware box. After the Battle of Hogwarts, I retrieved our possessions from the cave and developed the photographs. They depicted our time together with that curious sense of optimism that Colin seemed to instil in every aspect of life. It hurts too much to look at them often.

We were both more than ready when the call came. We were cold, tired, and miserable. Life had become a repetitive daily grind and there seemed little point in opening our eyes each morning. Then our coins began to glow and we knew. We knew that our time had come, that now was our chance to go back and make a difference; to fight for the world we were both so proud to be part of.

We came into the Room of Requirement to a hero's welcome. Everyone we had ever looked up to was there; the Weasley twins, their sister Ginny, Neville, (who had somehow become the leader of the Hogwarts resistance) and, eventually, Harry Potter himself. And then our bubble was sharply and abruptly burst. We were herded down to the Great Hall and told in no uncertain terms to leave the castle. It was for our own safety, Professor McGonagall said, as if she knew anything about what it was like out there, living on cold rat and day old burgers and sleeping with one eye open for the Snatchers.

Colin was adamant we wouldn't leave until Professor McGonagall unerringly found his Achilles heel. I always was and always would be my brother's Kryptonite.

"Really, Mr Creevey, I would think you of all people would know better than to endanger your brother in such a manner."

His ears went red and before we knew it we were shuffling back towards Hogsmeade, leaving everyone we admired to fight the battle for us.

It was chaos in the village. Hundreds of children were stumbling out of the Hogshead. They milled around, waiting to be Apparated away in small groups by those who were able. There was little adult supervision and nobody knew Colin and I were even there. It was easy to slip away from the crowd. We stood together looking in the direction of the castle where, already, the sky was lit up rather like London the night we had left home.

"Let's go back," I whispered. "We could sneak up the road, if the wards come down then we can get back in."

Colin shook his head firmly. "You heard McGonagall, I've spent the last six months keeping you alive, Dennis. I'm not going to throw that away now."

"Then what are we going to do?" I rarely argued with my brother, I worshiped him, but this time I thought he was wrong. "Shall we run and hide again? Wait and see if there's anybody left to broadcast Potterwatch tomorrow? We can't live like this forever."

I tell myself that he wanted to be persuaded and that he didn't just go back for me, because the alternative is too horrible to contemplate.

It was easy to find our way back to the castle. We'd walked the road a hundred times before, although on this evening we kept to the shadows at its side. Six months of hiding had made us adept at sneaking around. Once we reached the gates, we hid for a while. The place was crawling with Death Eaters focused on what was going on beyond the walls, not on two terrified teenaged boys hiding in a gorse bush outside the gates.

Then the wards fell and the Death Eaters stormed the grounds. I almost followed them in but Colin held me back.

"C'mon Colin, you don't have a choice- it's do or die!"

"I do have a choice." I'd never heard him sound so mature. "My choice is to keep you alive; we stay here."

"And watch our friends be killed?" I was beginning to see people I recognised fighting on the grounds. "No, Colin. That's not us."

He shook his head and I despaired of ever getting through to him, until it hit me.

"Colin Creevey, I dare you to go back to the castle and fight for Harry Potter."

He just stared at me. It was the number one Creevey rule. We never ever refused a dare. For a moment I thought he would turn it down, that Colin Creevey, my brother, had truly been replaced by the grim looking boy beside me, but then his face hardened and he stood up.

"Alright." He gripped his wand firmly. "We go back in, but you'd better not die, d'you hear me?"

"I promise," I said. How I wish I'd extracted the same vow from him.

It was like being on the set of a horror film. Colin and I weren't ever the best of fighters. But we stuck together and did our best, and we took down the odd Death Eater, or at least got in their way. Colin cast a mean Impedimenta. Suddenly we found ourselves right in the heart of the fighting and I was scared and wished to hell that I hadn't talked Colin into this. Neville Longbottom was right next to us; he was duelling this massive Death Eater and all I could think was how awesome he had become. I was so proud to be fighting alongside him. Colin must have felt the same way because when Neville went down, my brother didn't even hesitate. He threw himself right in front of the killing curse meant for Neville.

I know what happened next. I know Neville got back up and finished off the Death Eater. I know I kept on fighting. I know Neville killed Nagini, the final Horcrux. I know without my brother, none of this would have happened. But sometimes I feel like I'm the only one.

Eventually, I was allowed to take Colin home to my parents. Nobody seemed to care that I'd been doing underage magic; not at this point. We had a quiet ceremony for him. Weeks later, Harry turned up. I was grateful, I really was. Harry knew what Colin had done, that he had saved Neville's life; that my brother was as responsible for saving the world as he himself was. All Colin had ever wanted was Harry's approval and finally, in death, he had it. Harry Potter knew my brother was a hero.

But I'm the only one who knows about the dare.

I'll never forgive myself for daring Colin to go back. Even though that dare undoubtedly saved Neville's life and perhaps the world; I'd take it back in a heartbeat.

Years later, when the dust had settled, they released a new edition of Hogwarts: a History. I don't know what I expected as I turned to the account of the Battle of Hogwarts. Did I hope to see my brother resurrected within its pages? Maybe. Perhaps I thought that his final sacrifice would somehow have made its way into the annals of history. But of course, it hadn't. Only Harry Potter was credited with dying for the cause, and he came back to life.

Colin didn't.

But he's there, immortalised forever as part of a footnote at the end of chapter 75, which lists the death toll in the Battle of Hogwarts.

To the rest of the world, Colin Creevey is just a footnote; a forgotten grave in a Muggle cemetery. But to me, he's the boy who saved the world.

My brother. My hero.