Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Written for;
The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Finals Round 1.
Holyhead Harpies, Beater 1.
Main Prompt - Set your story in Carkitt Market
Optional Prompts - Obsession, Feature, Equipment.
Authors Note - Hagpipes are apparently a thing, according to wiki, so it isn't a typo.
All the love to my wife and Sam for making this work.
Developing Passions
The camera was heavier than he'd have expected. He'd held it before, always carefully, always under the weight of his big brother's watchful eyes, and it had never seemed this heavy.
He walked slowly, looking at the signs above the shop doors, searching for the one he wanted and dreading it at the same time. He knew he needed to do this, knew he wouldn't rest until he did, but a prickle of uncertainty had wormed its way inside him.
Was he really ready for this?
Shaking his head at the thoughts, he continued moving, determined to see this excursion through until the end.
He hadn't know where he was supposed to go at first, since Colin had always developed his own photos. Dennis hadn't really shared his brother's love of photography, and while he'd always been proud of Colin's talent, he'd never bothered to learn the ins and outs of the process.
It was Ginny Weasley who'd set him on the track for Shutterbutton's Photography Studio in Carkitt Market.
He'd already spotted a sign for Concordia Plunkett Musical Instruments, though he'd forgone the curiosity he felt in favour of continuing his mission. He made a mental note to go back to that shop on another day. He'd also passed Dr Filibuster's, though of course, if one wanted fireworks these days, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was the place to go.
Finally, he spotted the sign for Shutterbutton's nestled in the corner. He was pleased to find it in the same building as Concordia's — his own passion for music side by side with his brother's passion for photography.
With a deep breath, he entered the shop, glancing around as he did. Had Colin ever been here? He hated that he didn't know. There were so many things he didn't know, and no more time to ask them. He wished he'd had the forethought to ask more questions when he'd had the chance.
"Can I help you, young man?"
Dennis jumped, the camera almost slipping from his hands. He gripped it tighter, his heart pounding at the idea that it could have broken, that he could have lost this final shred of connection to his brother.
The speaker was an old man who'd appeared behind the counter. He had tufty white hair and a kind smile as he surveyed Dennis over his glasses. Dennis had a fleeting view of Dumbledore, though this man didn't emanate the same kind of power the Headmaster had.
"I, uh, this camera is, was, my brother's. I think there's photos on the film… I'd like to have them developed. Please."
Dennis stumbled over the words, perhaps not quite as ready for this moment as he'd thought.
"Can I take a look?" the old man asked kindly, holding his hand out to take the camera from Dennis.
With only a brief hesitation, Dennis handed the camera over the counter into the man's wrinkled hands. He was pleased to see the man hold the camera delicately, turning it around in his hands as he looked over it appreciatively.
"This is a beautiful piece of equipment," the man complimented. "Your brother's, you said?"
Dennis nodded. "He loved taking photos," he choked out, forcing the words past the sudden lump in his throat.
"Well, he clearly took good care of his camera. Now, you said you wanted the film developed?"
"Please," Dennis replied, his hands already itching for the weight of the camera. He didn't like seeing it in someone else's hands, no matter that it was a necessity.
"If you've time to wait, I can do them for you now. It'll take about an hour," the man offered, his gaze back on Dennis.
Nodding once more, Dennis agreed to wait. He was happy he would be taking the camera home with him, as the idea of having to leave it here overnight was enough to make him break out in panicked sweats.
"If I could take a name?"
"Creevy. Um, Dennis."
The man looked up sharply. "You're Colin's little brother."
"You knew him?" Dennis asked, edging closer to the counter.
"I met him once," the man confirmed, a smile tilting his lips. "He was very enthusiastic about his photos, I remember. I taught him how to make the potion to develop his own pictures while he was away at school."
Dennis couldn't stop the smile blooming on his face, though it was short lived when the man added "He's…?"
"The Battle," Dennis replied bitterly. "He snuck in when we got the alert that the battle was happening; he wanted to fight."
"I'm very sorry to hear that," the man murmured, and Dennis believed him. For once, it wasn't a meaningless platitude of someone who had no idea what made Colin so special. "He was a very talented young man."
Fighting back the threat of tears, Dennis attempted to bring his smile back. "He was. Photography was his passion and obsession, for as long as I can remember."
"It is rare that I meet someone so passionate," the man agreed quietly, his eyes sad. "I'll do these immediately, young man. If you return in an hour, I'll have your photos ready for you."
"Thank you," Dennis whispered, exiting the shop quickly. He took a moment to settle himself, cursing his brother in his mind once more.
Why had he gone back to -
No. He wouldn't think like that. He'd pushed away his anger following the funeral, determined to remember his brother for the good, and not the bad, and he wouldn't succumb to it again. Colin's memory was worth more than that.
He wandered Carkitt Market absently, his eyes drifting over the different shop signs and posters, pausing briefly on a Jellied Eel Shop, because why was that even a thing? There were shops for everything— magical bags, clockmakers, and even a travel agents.
With half an hour left until he could pick up the pictures, he found himself back in front of Shutterbuttons. Instead of re-entering the shop, he moved left, slipping instead into Concordia Plunkett Musical Instruments.
This was his idea of heaven. Guitars and violins lined the walls, sheets and sheets of bows and picks lay in display cases, and in the corner, a baby grand piano played itself softly, the most beautiful music coming from it.
He looked around carefully, stopping to read a feature on an exploding tuba. There were musical saws and flutes, mouth organs and even a set of hagpipes.
What caught Dennis' attention though, was a guitar bracketed on the wall. He gazed at it longingly for a few minutes, taking in every beautiful detail of it. He felt a shiver down his spine as he thought about playing it.
He'd never wanted something so much in his life, but the price tag, a hefty sixty five galleons, was well outside his price range.
Checking his watch, he realised the time had come to collect his brother's camera. Exiting the music shop, he returned to Shutterbuttons to find the old man waiting for him with a thoughtful look on his face.
Dennis moved to stand by the counter, ready to accept the camera and whatever photos had been on it, but the old man made no effort to hand either of them over.
After a moment's pause, he finally spoke.
"Your brother was more talented than even I knew," he murmured. "There are a set of pictures taken, during the Battle of Hogwarts. I'd like to feature them in the Gallery for the anniversary. With your permission, of course."
"May I see?" Dennis asked, holding out a hand for the stack of pictures. He flipped through them slowly, marvelling at the horror caught on film.
Green light streaking across the photo and a body crumpling to the floor.
An acromantula, running across the grounds, its many legs skittering.
Bellatrix Lestrange, her face contorted with glee, swirling and spinning with her wand in her hand.
Stone falling from high walls, turning to rubble as it buried three people in one fell swoop.
Dennis felt nauseous yet oddly compelled to keep looking through the photos as they told a story of fear and terror, but also one of support and friendship. It was the final photo that tore a gasp from him, that caused tears to fall unabashedly down his face.
It was taken before the battle. Colin hadn't even taken the photo, because he was in it, his arm slung around Dennis' shoulders, both of them smiling at the camera. Their father had taken this photo, making them smile even while they were in hiding for the crime of being Muggleborns.
"I'll pay you five Galleons per photo," the old man offered. "And you'll get them all back, once the feature is over. It will be a good way to commemorate Colin's memory, I feel, and it will give people a chance to remember what happens when ignorance and fear inserts itself into the world."
Part of Dennis wanted to take the pictures and run, keep them private and for his eyes only. Another part, a larger part, knew that what the old man said was true - and Colin would love nothing more than for the world to see and appreciate his talent.
He nodded slowly, putting the photos on the counter. "How many of them would you like to feature?" he asked, nodding to the pile.
"All of them," the man replied immediately. "They tell a story far better than words could."
As the two of them worked out prices and time limits, Dennis held the camera in a tight grip, almost feeling that by holding the camera, he was holding a part of Colin, that Colin was approving of what he was doing.
"A pleasure to meet you, young man," the old man said, when their business was complete. "I'll be seeing you soon, I'm sure, and I'll certainly send an own when the gallery opens the feature."
Dennis nodded his appreciation, taking the sack of galleons offered. He left the shop with Colin's camera, and the sack, and began walking his way back to where he could floo home. He was almost at the end of Carkitt when he stopped, turning back to look at the barely visible sign that had caught his eye on his way to search for Shutterbuttons.
The sack of galleons practically burnt in his hand, begging to be spent, and Dennis suddenly knew exactly how he should spend it, moving back the way he'd just come.
With a smile, he pushed open the door to Concordia's for a second time. It was time to follow his own passion.