Mr Creevey was in a thoughtful mood. An old man now, he was getting ready for his last day as a milkman before he retired. As he put on his boots and collected his keys from his other pocket, he left his small humble home and started up the milk float.
As he drove, he reflected upon his life, how things had played out. His dear old wife had passed away a while back which had left him devestated. Really she had never gotten over the loss of their sons and it was his opinion she had actually died of a broken heart.
Back in 1998 there had been a war of epic proportions. At only sixteen years old, his eldest son had risked his life to save his hero Harry Potter.
As Mr Creevey delivered milk to his first customer, a card and basket of muffins waiting for him, he remembered when Colin had come home at Christmas after his first term at his new school Hogwarts. He had brought home pictures of everything he has seen, and explained in great detail with infectious excitement all about Hogwarts and Harry Potter. And Mr Creevey had gazed in wonder at the pictures and how they moved about the frame . See the thing about his sons, the thing no one realised, was that both his boys were wizards.
It was only two years later when Dennis had recieved an identical letter to Colin's, inviting him to the school. The boys had been so excited, Colin filling Dennis in on everything. Prouder parents there had never been.
Mr Creevey sighed, as his old knees creaked with the weight of his next delivery. Colin had died in his sixth year at Hogwarts. After ordering his little brother away from the historic school, Colin had snuck back to fight. He lost his life dying a heros death and Mr Creevey couldn't be prouder. But still, the pain was like nothing he had felt before. When Dennis heard the news, he broke. The only way it could be explained. He threw himself in to his magic and graduated Hogwarts the top of his class. He went on to work for the ministry, and on the side experimented with bringing back the dead. As bright as he was, he didn't understand that no spell could bring back the dead. One of his experiments backfired and his poor Dennis was found dead in his office. As his office was cleared out, books upon books were found filled with dark magic, and his own ideas to bring his brother back.
As Mr Creevey reflected on his two sons and the different reason they had died, he thought again of his dear wife, and the reasons she had died. As he gathered up his last delivery of his shift, of his career, Mr Creevey felt pain shoot up his arm and a tightening of his chest. Magic had taken his family from him, but right now, this was a very human, muggle experience. His breath caught in his throat, as he stumbled to the floor, the pain making his eyes water. Bottles of milk smashed against the concrete as concerned faces rushed towards him. As Mr Creevey took his final breaths he realised with a grumble that he hadn't finished his final shift. But as quickly as the thought came, it vanished, and he waited for death to take him and reunite him with his family.
The customers of Mr Creevey all mourned that day for the friendly milkman who had died in the streets he had spent his life working on. And all would wonder why a man who had tragically lost all that he loved would die with such a serene smile on his face.
