notes: this is for sam (MissingMommy) for gge 2014, mayii with the prompt pairing of denniscolin sibling bonding. this is shorter than i would have liked, so i'm sorry for that, and also for any spag errors. bit of an AU, but still in the wizarding world; hope you like this, c:

summary: Lights will guide you home—DennisColin sibling bonding.

world spins madly on

Their father is a milkman, their mother owns an antique shop in town—a life like this was never expected.

(Or maybe it was.)

I'm a wizard! Colin comes bounding into the Creevey household late on a Friday night, July the 3rd, of that year, to be precise; the smell of lavender and jasmine flowers hangs heavily in the humidity of the air, swept away by the light breezes that sweep through the town now and then, through the orange-painted windows and the mahogany doors. I'm a wizard, Dennis, no joke, really.

Dennis's eyes widen, because Colin's never lied to him. But a wizard? Mum always told him that he needed to put away those 'fantasy books' and start doing his homework. Wow! You're a wizard, really? He raises an eyebrow, Prove it to me, then. Do some sort of magic spell thing. How about you make my homework disappear?

Colin only laughs, I can't do magic yet, course. But I'm going to Hogwarts in the fall—if Mum and Dad let me, and they've got to let me go—and then I'll learn how to do anything and everything!

You're leaving for an entire year? Mum and Dad are nice company, but nobody understands him like his older brother does—he's got friends at school, but his friends have other friends, closer friends, and he's felt left out on several occasions, but Dennis has never felt left out of conversations when Colin was around; he won't be around for longer, though. Can't you come back every day?

That's how school is, and school's miles down the road—thirty minutes morning commute every day. How much farther could this Hogwarts place be from home? Colin sighs, I don't think so. I don't think that I'll be able to come home; there's nothing in this letter about the summer hols though, so don't worry Dennis, I'll be back before you can say 'Where's he off to now'?

And he bounds into the kitchen, words flying off his tongue at a mile a minute; the next month flashes by before their hazel eyes—they have their July the 4th fireworks show, with the blinding lights and the magical designs; the customary packing of the suitcases, and Mum gets a little emotional. Dad does too, but he's just better at hiding it than most people are: Dennis doesn't cry because Colin told him that brave people don't cry, and he wants to be brave desperately—he wants to be a wizard too, but what are the chances of that? Two people, siblings, no less, from the same town?

It's impossible, that's what it is.

It's not so impossible when he gets the letter two years later, two weeks before his eleventh birthday.

(HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Creevey,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress)

And, wow. Because it's real, it's really real—he's imagined this moment before, several times in his dreams, joining his brother at Hogwarts—he had only heard of the place and seen in through photographs; the photographs, that was the thing! The photographs were moving, and there were these vanishing staircases and some kids lost their legs and arms because of these staircases! Some people even died!

It was ever so exciting, that's what it is—because it's real, and he was going to Hogwarts, and he wouldn't be left out anymore; he would make new friends just like Colin made new friends, and Colin would be there too, and it's a vision come alive. He comes bounding into the Creevey household's kitchen; the air is less damp now, and outside, in the summer months, it is more arid, though snow had fallen upon the grass only a few weeks before—global warming is what the Muggles call it; he's not a anymore, for starters of why being a wizard is the best thing ever; but Colin tells him differently.

Colin tells him that there's a War coming—that Voldemort, more commonly known as You-Know-Who, is making his way back up, but it's more of a rumour, a conspiracy theory then anything else. Mum, mum! He exclaims, bouncing excitedly on the heels of his muddy feet.

Oh, Dennis, go wash your feet, Mum tells him in an exasperated tone. It's not the first time that you'vMugglee trekked mud into the house; you're going to St. Joseph's next year too, and you'll be away for the rest of the year, and who's going to remind you that you can't get the floors dirty there? Nobody, that's who. You'll just get in trouble unless you get a better memory.

He smiles even brighter, Mum, that's the thing, I'm not going to St. Joseph's! I don't have to go to that blasted school anymore; I've gotten into Hogwarts!

Mum freezes for a moment, setting down her dishes, and then turns silently away from Dennis, pinching the bridge of her nose and inhaling a sigh, You're not going to Hogwarts, dearie.

I am, actually. I'm going to Hogwarts starting on September 1st, and oh, I get to go to King's Cross Station; I should go tell Colin, where is he, anyways? I've never really wanted to go to St. Joseph's anyway.

What about your friends?

Dennis raises an eyebrow, Mum, the only friends that I've had here are Rockwell and Nick Corner, and both of them are rubbish friends anyway—they only wanted me to be friends with them so that I'd do their homework for maths when they got bored with quadratics. It'll be different in Hogwarts, though; I'll meet new people and I'll learn new things; Colin says it's wonderful, and I'll get to experience the place first-hand now!

You're not going! His mother exclaims.

Dennis pauses for a moment, the smile slightly slipping of his face, What do you mean I'm not going? He asks nervously. I've got the letter right here. Unless it's some sort of horrible prank that Colin's set up, but Colin wouldn't do that to him. Would he? It's not a joke, I don't think it is; it's got this signature right here, almost the same as the one that Colin got two years back. We didn't get a Special Messenger this time, though.

Special Messengers were these old wizards, the really old ones, who delivered the letters through the mail, and then came back later that day, and attempted to explain everything to the almost-at-Hogwarts student and their parents, so that their parents wouldn't dismiss it as some sort of freak thing or a practical joke; but Colin had already gone to Hogwarts, and his parents accepted it as some sort of common truth, as a truth such as the Earth is a planet, and maybe that's why? It couldn't be fake, though; that would be horribly disappointing. Dennis, Mum says, You can't go, because you're going to get hurt. The Wizarding World isn't a very save place now; Colin got petrified in his first year, if you can't remember! He was stone!

Dennis remembers; the family had gone to St. Mungo's—Colin had been stone, his blue eyes dull and lifeless. I'll be more careful that Colin was. Colin had wandered the halls with a camera, trying to take a picture of the basilisk; he had wanted to be famous, make his house proud, maybe even get some points in the end of it all, but it hadn't gone right. You can't beat a monster.

Being careful doesn't guarantee that you're going to stay alive! She takes a deep breath, We'll ask your Dad when he comes, to make the final decision, but don't expect the answer to be yes.

The answer is yes, and Mum is highly disgruntled by the fact, but accepts it nonetheless, and sends off her boys to the Hogwarts Express with tears running down her cheeks, pressed into their tufts of messy blonde hair, hastily combed down in the rush that is the morning before, and envelops them in hugs that they're all too reluctant to receive. You'll mail me, she makes them promise, every week, okay?

Okay Mum, they agree in unison, grinning at one another. Every single week.

They've always loved adventures: Hogwarts is the biggest one of them all.

The train ride is long, but it's not long enough to take in everything. Your name's Nigellus then, is it?

The boy sitting across for him is of a mess of strawberry blond hair—he's a Wolpert, course, one of those pure-blood families, but one of the good ones—and walnut-shaped blue eyes, and frowns. It's not Nigellus, it's Nigel. Nigel Wolpert; I'm a Wolpert, and I'm assuming that you've heard of them?

Dennis shrugs, I'm a Muggle, you see. My older brother is Colin; Colin's in Gryffindor, so you have to imagine the shock that my parents had when they realized that both of their children were Wizards, from a non-Wizarding family and all. He peers outside the compartment, searching for the familiar face that is Colin—Colin had said that he would come back to check up on him, and it seems as though he's been treated more like a responsibility than anything, and it sort of sucks.

Oh, Nigel inhales, you're a Muggle, then are you?

Dennis scowls; he's heard of the Muggle Protection Act and how these pureblood families have this huge anti-Muggle policy, and wonders if it's too late to find another compartment and another friend. Yeah, what's it to you?

He shrugs, I don't care, not really. Just if you're a muggle, you're a bit lucky; best of both worlds, isn't it? And don't you have these weird device where you can send messages to one another without having to wait for your owl to deliver it to you? Owls are brilliant really, but they take forever, and the mail's being interfered a lot more often lately.

Owls are brilliant, though! Dennis looks forlorn, staring down at his tawny-colored owl with the rather odd name of Dionysus. It was some sort of Greek God; apparently, once somebody referred to the owl with a name, the owl was stuck with the name forever—his mum had been the one to don that name, sadly enough; he would have gone for something much cooler, if he could come up with something. How far is it to Hogwarts anyway?

The boat rides of the first years are something of tradition.

Rubeus Hagrid, or whatever Caretaker of Hogwarts it may be for that particular year, guides the first-years to the old-fashioned wooden boats; they smell rather horrid, a mix between rotting fruits and Flobberworms is what Nigel claims; four to a boat, and with only the light of the moon and antique lanterns, Hogwarts is illuminated.

It's even more glorious outside of a photograph, with looming steeples; there are flickering lights within and Dennis slowly makes his way to standing upon the boat; Don't do that, a red-haired girl admonishes him, you're going to fall.

Oh, shove off, he smiles in a good-natured fashion, don't pretend that you're not excited too. The girl only shrugs back at him; Dennis peers closer at closer, letting his hand skim across the smooth surface of the water; there's a series of gasps among the first-years, floating lanterns skimming across the surface of the water and he reaches his hand out to touch one of them—

—and promptly falls into the water.

I'm here, I'm here! He comes bursting into the Great Hall thirty minutes later; the collection of three hundred or so students stare blankly at him, and then, slowly but surely, burst into laughter; it's only then when Dennis remembers about his appearance—the fact that his expensive robes are dripping wet and he's drenched, head to toe, but laughs along with the rest of them, only slightly embarrassed by the situation.

At least he made an impression, right?

Hogwarts goes by far too quickly—

We're leaving, his mother tells him sharply; it's in the middle of the night when Dennis and Colin had been called down to the Headmaster's Office—the first of the two had believed that it was because of his poor grades, the latter compltely befuddled by the matter; it's just not safe for you anymore, not at Hogwarts, not in the Wizarding World.

No, Dennis is the first to speak up, I'm not leaving, Mum. I've got friends here, and I have my OWLs that I'll be taking in a few weeks! And I've studied hard for them too, and what, now for nothing?

Mum purses her lips together, There are far more important things in the world than your OWL examinations. You've heard of the Muggle Protection Act, haven't you? Dennis stares up at her blankly, and Colin slowly nods. I doubt that either of you fully understand what that means; Muggleborns just aren't safe anymore at Hogwarts, none of you are safe wherever you go.

I'll be—we'll be safest at Hogwarts, Mum, Colin promises. And it's not as though I'm going to be here for much longer either; just give me a few more weeks so I can finish my NEWTs and then I'll be able to defend myself! I've already learned defense spells and danger has gone down, really. Ever since Harry Potter and his year graduated, everything's almost gone back to normal. Almost.

Fine, Mum almost whispers, finish up this year and then the two of you are coming home.

And then she's gone—Mum really is gone three weeks later, when the Creevey brothers receive the notice in their daily Owl Post at breakfast of how Bellatrix Lestrange Avada'd their parents. Colin is stoic; he pretends as though nothing is wrong, hiding his pain behind a mirthful grin, carrying on as though nothing is different, but Dennis cries, because now, all they've got is each other, and with the threat of the Second Wizard War about to burst at the seas, how much longer is that going to be?

Not very long at all.

You should clean out his room, the funeral service's organizer recites, it would be nice to have some of his things at the funeral, but not everything, mind you, and everything should be, how can I say this, uh, Magic-free?

Dennis snaps his head up then, and shakes it violently, Colin loved magic, and I don't care if magic was the reason he was killed, but magic was as much as a part of him as Muggle life was, a bigger part really, and he wouldn't have wanted the magic part of him to be erased, so I don't care if you have to take back all the invitations that you've sent to non-Wizards, but we're not having a funeral with magic. I'm not doing that.

The woman takes in a breath of the dusty air, Very well, then. Perhaps you can be the one to suggest some people to attend the funeral then? It's not much of a funeral if only two or three people show up.

He barks out a laugh, and the woman looks at him as though he is insane, and perhaps he is. What the hell's that supposed to mean? Every person who has died—I don't care if it's him or even a fucking traitor—has people who loved them, and it doesn't matter how many people show up; I only want people who care about Colin to be there whether it's two or a thousand, you got that? He sighs, I'll go get Colin's stuff.

Colin's room is neat and organized, and for a few moments, Dennis just wants to take all the papers out of the drawers and smash the glass vase on the floor and spread food crumbs all over the bedsheets, because then maybe he could pretend that Colin was still here—his room had never been this neat, not even after he had learned Cleaning charms, and it just feels wrong. Boxes have been packed on the sides, and the closet is completely bare of anything but Wizarding robes and DA shirts.

He ends up taking a pair of particularly horrid dress robes, Colin's collection of Chocolate frog cards, and his treasured camera and sets them beside the coffin; it will get easier, is what he is told, it will.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, shows up at Colin's funeral and apologizes—at the moment of the apology, Dennis does not understand the reason for it; Harry is not the one who killed Colin, and he is not the reason Colin his dead; Colin had chosen to sneak out underage and fight for what he believed in, and it was exactly the type of valiant death he had pictured at the age of eleven, so there was nothing to be sorry for—; You shouldn't be, is what Dennis replied firmly. He shouldn't have died, but do not put the blame on yourself. It'll only get worse if you put on the blame of a thousand deaths upon yourself.

What an ironic thing it is, the boy who lived, and the boys and girls and men and women that died for him in the multitudes; They are up in the stars, is what the speaker says, and Dennis leaves as soon as those words are spoken. Up in the stars in their multitudes, all those who have died.

The volume fades out as he strides quickly away, a thin figure engulfed by shadows and black robes, because he doesn't want to hear the speeches that are repeated at every funeral before this, and will be repeated at every funeral after this. It's not right.

It doesn't get easier.

Sometimes, he's walking down the street and he sees the flash of a camera or an ice cream flavor that Colin had particularly detested—and had made a point of declaring how much he hated this flavor almost daily over the summer holidays—and just pauses, in the middle of the street. Just stands there and takes in the flaws of human nature, and clings desperately into the gaps before he falls into the Darkness below, and then keeps on walking. Keeping calm and carrying on is what Colin would have done.

It will get better, he tells himself. It has to.