Trigger warning: the entire fic is a character dealing with their own death.

A/N: the afterlife is terrifying to me. I look at it like being reborn, but also teetering between existing, and not. The entire process of the beginning of an afterlife event (heaven, hell, valhalla places aside) is just unsettling. This is what I would imagine happened to Colin Creevey after arguably, according to Pottermore, the most tragic of deaths.

Afterlife

He didn't know where he was; none of his senses were working. It was dark, that was all he could tell. All he could hold onto right then was darkness surrounding him like a blanket. It insulated him and left him wondering what was going on.

When his world began to fill up again, the first thing that he saw were lights. Jets of every color were shooting every which way. It didn't feel right, but he didn't know why. He tried to stay away from them, but it didn't matter. He couldn't move, but they never hit him either.

Then came the noise. Big cracks of thunder boomed around him. He could hear high-pitched squeals, and then yelling. When he realized they were words he tried to focus on them. They didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. There was buzzing, and spinning. Then everything stopped.

When the gloomy light of day finally broke through, he could see the clouds of dust from broken gargoyles. He had been circling the area since he came back together, after the spells had stopped swirling, and something of a consciousness began to coalesce. Then he saw himself. A tiny broken body, with limbs at unnatural angles.

"Colin!" he heard someone yell towards him, the him lying on the ground. Wild hair and torn robes descended upon his spune form; her hands were shaking as they pushed against his neck. Then, she was gone. The only evidence of her brief pause were the dark smudges left on his eyelids when she pushed them closed.

His eyes were closed now, but he could still see. He didn't remember looking at the sky, but that's where he had been staring. He couldn't remember anything. Why was he lying there? Who had done this to him? He watched as they picked him up, Neville on one side, and Oliver on the other. Then he watched as Oliver swung him over his shoulder, as though he were a rag doll.

He followed along with his body and watched it be lined up against the wall in what must be the largest room he'd ever seen. People were crying, but no one was helping him. He was just set to the side, as everyone rushed around him.

He watched as a boy, even smaller than he was, grabbed his hand.

Looking around at the Great Hall, for he realised that is where he was. He finally had a memory! It was from earlier that morning. It wasn't much, but it was something. It was odd—not that being dead was anything he was ready to deal with—watching his body from above.

He'd had toast. It was good toast, but still—just toast. On homemade bread, the elves really did make delicious baked goods. The butter was whipped perfectly and melted into those nooks and crannies. The strawberry preserves were okay. They weren't the fresh strawberries like he picked with his family every summer.

Had he known it was going to be his last morning, he would have made sure to have eaten a giant piece of chocolate cake with a dollop of fresh cream on top. Had he known it was his last meal, he would have made sure it was anything but toast.

.o0o.

The Houses Competition

Hufflepuff—Prefect

Drabble

Prompt: Toast

WC: 544

Ravenclaw - Auction

Day 7 - #1

Prompt: Afterlife!AU

Hogwarts Challenges Assignments

House: Ravenclaw

Assignment- Games- Prompt: Write about someone who feels like they have no control over an action/choice

Writing Club

Assorted Appreciation-4

Disney-T3

Em's -Genre: alt— (young adult) Write about the trio era

Liza's Lodes-8

Bex's Basement—Bucky Barnes -2. (Genre) Angst