A/N: Dennis Creevey's reaction to his brother's death.
Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #598 (honor)
If You Dare Challenge - #557 (Dead Truth)
Fanfiction Writing Month: October [784]
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all of this beauty.
Dennis heard his brother get up in the middle of the night. Still half asleep, he mumbled, "Colin?"
He felt his older brother move towards him. "Yeah?" he whispered.
"Glass of water?" he muttered. "Please?" He could barely recognize the words coming out of his mouth. He was so tired.
"Sure thing," answered Colin as he left the room. Before Dennis fell back asleep, he heard him say, "Anything for you."
The next morning, he woke up late to find his brother's bed empty, the sheets wrinkled and tossed aside.
Assuming that Colin had gone downstairs for a spot of breakfast, he brushed his teeth, tried to comb down his bedhead, and headed down the stairs. "Mum?" he called out, his voice ringing down the hall. He rubbed his eyes. How long had he slept? "Mum, I—" As he rounded the corner, he saw his mother. She was sitting at the kitchen table, listening unusually intently to a stranger. No, not a stranger. Dennis recognized her. It was... Professor McGonagall? "...battle," she was saying. It was one of the only times he had ever seen the older woman looking nervous.
Dennis looked to his mother. "Mum?" he said. "What—Professor? What are you doing here?"
The woman, draped in emerald green robes, gazed at her former student, looking at him but also staring right through him. Professor McGonagall's eyes were half closed and there were dark circles beneath them. "I—" She swallowed. "Dennis, did you know your brother went off to fight last night?"
"Fight?" Dennis frowned. "I..."
"The battle," she clarified. "Lord—" She swallowed again. "Lord Voldemort attacked Hogwarts last night. I'm not sure how much you know about it, but your brother snuck out last night—"
"—and got himself killed," said his father, who was staring emptily at the door. "He's dead."
Something inside of Dennis was stabbed with the word 'dead.' It pulled out and punctured him again when his mother started to sob. "He's—what?"
Professor McGonagall sighed, looked down, and then looked back up again. "Dennis, your brother was killed last night in battle. He—he was not supposed to fight. He was not old enough. But he—"
Dennis's mind could not wrap around the words 'your brother was killed.' It made no sense to him. How was it possible that his brother, who had been here only hours ago, was not here. "Where is he?"
"He's dead," his father repeated. "He's dead."
"But he—" Dennis stopped speaking. Colin had been here. Colin was here. How could he be dead?
"He didn't suffer, in the end," said Professor McGonagall, and Dennis wanted to pick up his father's shotgun from off of the wall and shoot her in the face. "It was the Killing Curse that did it. He was very brave, your brother. He—he did a service for the whole Wizarding world by sacrificing himself. It's a great honor, truly. He died saving his fellow students, and..." I don't care about the other students! Dennis shouted in his head, but he couldn't force the words into his throat. I want my brother back! "...he was a hero."
Dennis didn't know why he was shaking so badly. He looked at his hands. They were trembling so badly that he could not even hold them upright. His entire torso was shivering. He could not control his movements anymore.
Professor McGonagall was saying something about a memorial and a funeral and dead children, but Dennis was not listening. He turned back around and headed up the stairs, his hand twitching so badly that he couldn't even hold on to the railing. "Dennis?" said his mother. "Dennis! Where are you going?"
"Mister Creevey," said Professor McGonagall.
"Denny, honey," said his mother, but her words were split by her anguished cries.
Dennis no longer cared. It was as if the world had been tinted blue. Everything had changed. His limbs belonged to a robot that moved him forward, into his room. He had to use both of his hands to turn the handle on the door because he felt weak, as if every inch of him was covered in lead. His mouth opened, as if to call out a name, but nothing came out. He licked his lips, blinked, and went back to bed. He curled up, his mind completely blank, beneath the blankets, and stared straight ahead. Before him, on his nightstand, was a glass of crystal clear water. Next to it was a note that read, 'I'll be back.'
He bit his lip until it bled.
He was... not so thirsty anymore.
He climbed back into bed, pulled the covers over himself, closed his eyes, and pictured his brother's smiling face.
A/N: Tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!