Assignment 8, Charms, task 2: Write about a thief

Auction: Creevey brothers

Word Count: 1597

"Col," Dennis groans. "Col, I don't feel so good."

Colin resists the urge to roll his eyes. He keeps his gaze straight ahead, refusing to glance over his shoulder at his little brother. "I told you not to eat that apple," he says. "Always messes with your stomach."

"Colin…"

Colin glances at his watch, shaking his head. They still have plenty of daylight left. As tempting as it is to stop and rest, they have to keep going. It's been nearly a week since their last encounter with the Snatchers, but Colin can still remember it like it was yesterday. How long before those ruthless bastards catch up to them again? He can't take any risks. Keeping his brother safe is his top priority.

He's vaguely aware of Dennis whimpering and groaning behind him. It breaks his heart having to be so tough on his little brother, but he has to keep Dennis alive.

"Not much longer," he assures Dennis. "Then we'll be able to set up camp, and—"

His sentence is cut off by the sudden sound of gagging, followed immediately by the wet squelching sound of vomit spilling from his brothers mouth and splattering over the dirt. Now, Colin does turn around, and he wishes he had paid attention sooner. Dennis pale skin is splotchy with a red so dark his freckles have disappeared. His dirty face is beaded with sweat. Dennis shudders and shivers, wrapping his thin arms around his tiny body. He offers Colin an apologetic smile. "Didn't—" He hunches over again, dry heaving for several seconds. "Didn't mean to, Col."

Dennis sways unsteadily, and Colin reaches out, barely managing to catch him before he collapses. He feels the rapid heartbeat within his brother's chest, and he swears loudly. This war has already taken so much from him. There's no way in hell he's letting it take Dennis too.

"Come on," Colin murmurs. "We'll set up camp here."

Maybe there's a part of him that's bitter. It isn't fair; they're supposed to be long gone, and this is so inconvenient. He quickly pushes those thoughts away, though. Dennis needs him. His plans mean nothing if his brother isn't in the picture.

…

Colin hates being underage. If he could use magic freely, he would just produce water from his wand. Unfortunately, at sixteen, he still has he trace. He can feel the metal handle of the heavy bucket cutting into his hand as he treks along. His legs burn from exhaustion and overuse, but he forces himself to quicken his pace. Leaving Dennis alone is terrifying.

His younger brother is exactly where Colin left him. Dennis curls up in his sleeping bag, shivering and whimpering.

"I got some water," Colin announces.

Dennis doesn't respond. Colin kneels beside him, pressing the back of his hand gently against Dennis' forehead. His brother's skin is hot with fever.

"It's okay," Colin murmurs, ripping a strip from his shirt and dipping it in the bucket until it's saturated with cold water. "I've got you."

Dennis lets out a pitiful whine, but he doesn't speak. Colin frowns as he presses the rag to his brothers forehead. Both boys have always been talkative. Their father often remarked that they'd have to be asleep or half dead before they would shut up for more than five minutes.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

He is only met with silence.

…

By the next morning, Dennis seems to be worse. Colin watches helplessly as his brother shakes and shivers. Madam Pomfrey would be able to cure him quickly. But Madam Pomfrey isn't around, and the small village they've left behind is a Muggle one. There will be no potions to make his brother better.

Colin swallows dryly as realization dawns on him. There is no magical remedy, no. But he remembers a life before magic. He remembers his father caring for them and nursing them back to health whenever they were sick. Maybe it wasn't as fast as it is with magic, but they survived.

The village has a little shop with a pharmacy inside…

He shakes his head. His pockets are empty; there is no way to pay for the medicine.

Who said anything about paying? a little voice whispers in his head.

Colin pushes a trembling hand through his fair hair, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists into knots at the thought. Stealing is wrong. His father once grounded him for a month for stealing a chocolate bar on a dare. Even if his father isn't around, Colin can still imagine those dark, disappointed eyes, and the lecture that would follow.

But this isn't a stupid chocolate bar stolen because his mates think it would be funny. This is medicine that could keep his brother alive.

Beside him, Dennis whimpers in his sleep. He tosses and turns, his dirty face twisting into a mask of pain.

Colin doesn't have to consider a moment longer. If becoming a thief means Dennis will survive, he will gladly turn to a life of crime.

…

"Col...in?" Dennis' voice is weak and raw.

Colin kneels beside his brother, offering him a small smile. "Don't worry. I'm just going for a quick walk," he says, grateful his voice doesn't quiver the way his insides do. "I think I saw some wild berries the other day. I'll be back, okay?"

He doesn't dare tell Dennis the truth. This world hasn't yet stripped Dennis of his innocence. Colin is sure his little brother would try to be his moral compass if he knew.

Dennis smiles, wincing as his chapped lips crack. "'Kay."

Colin kisses his brother's forehead. The fever is still there, and he wonders how much longer Dennis can last like this.

It doesn't matter. He won't have to suffer much longer. It will be late by the time he reaches the village, and, under the cover of darkness, he will do what has to be done to keep Dennis safe.

…

Colin's heart races painfully in his chest. He keeps glancing over his shoulder at the window he's managed to pry open. No one has noticed his intrusion yet. Maybe they won't; maybe he's timed this just right, and he'll be able to grab what he needs and go while the villagers go about their night. Still, he would feel much more confident if he could use magic. For a moment, his hand twitches toward the wand in his pocket, but he resists the temptation. Underage magic is risky enough. Underage magic performed by a Muggleborn fugitive is a death wish.

He forces his attention away from the window. He has a job to do, and he can't allow his fear to distract. A small smile tugs at his lips as he approaches the nearest shelf. Once, he had been afraid the Sorting Hat had made a mistake. Now, as he does something reckless and dangerous for the sake of loved one, he decides that he is, in fact, a Gryffindor.

Colin works as nimbly as possible, careful not to make too much noise. Years of photography, of following skittish creatures to get the perfect picture, have helped him master the art of stealth. His footsteps are soft and muffled by the thick carpet. He retrieves each pill bottle slowly and carefully, as though even the slightest rattle will summon the entire village to his location.

Part of him still struggles with what he's doing. He remembers all those mornings at church, being told the difference between right and wrong and being so afraid of going to Hell. Right and wrong has always been presented as such a black or white thing. He wonders if there are grey areas, if God will understand why he's stealing and let it slide.

"I promise," Colin says, his gaze shifting toward the ceiling for a fraction of a second, "it's for a good cause. Okay?"

When he's only met with silence, he resumes the task at hand, moving along and taking what they need.

…

"Whas'zat?" Dennis asks, shivering pitifully.

"Medicine," Colin answers, gently pressing the small, round pill against his brother's lips. "It'll make you feel better."

"Where… Where…?"

Colin helps Dennis take a deep drink of water. "Doesn't matter," he assures him. "All that matters is that you're going to be healthy again."

Dennis blinks several times before finally closing his eyes and sinking back into his sleeping bag. "'Kay."

…

They lose a week. Ordinarily, Colin would be upset. After all, during his time on the run, he's learned how precious minutes are and how quickly the tides can turn.

Now, he doesn't mind it at all. He watches as Dennis slowly gets better until all thoughts of sickness become just an awful memory.

"So," Dennis says, pulling his worn out trainers on as Colin packs, "are you going to tell me where the mysterious medicine came from?"

Colin swallows dryly. He's still torn over his thievery. Even if it had been for a good cause, there's still a voice in the back of his head reminding him that it's wrong.

After a moment of silence, he shrugs, offering his little brother a small smile. "Let's just say I'll have a few things to confess to Father Patrick when this is all over."

And as they begin their trek and leave the sleepy little village far behind them, Colin feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Dennis is alive, everything is looking bright again, and he knows they will survive this, one way or another.