Hello my dear readers! This is the rewritten and revised chapter one! I do hope you all like it. I will be rewriting chapters and replacing them as I go along so the rest of the chapters are the same for now-I should be updating in the next couple of days. And just so it's all clear you'll know if it's been rewritten because I'll say that in the a/n. Also, I fixed a few things. For one, Dennis is 20 in this and not 22. Second, I changed Teddy so he would sound a bit more mature. I feel that I made him too childlike partly because I was imagining him younger and not thinking about how hold he would be by the date I was using. I wasn't thrilled with the amount of mistakes in my other chapters so I will be proofreading better. Unlike before, I'm taking the parts of Dramione out, I had been reading a lot of Dramione fics so I wanted to include it but now I'm over it lol. There's no pairings as of the beginning but I have plans for some characters. Finally, I do hope this is a much better fic than before. If you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you guys could review and tell me if you like it or not. Anyway, enough rambling lol enjoy!

Dennis Creevey liked to think he had done well for himself since leaving Hogwarts.

After losing his brother, Colin, he'd taken Colin's beloved camera and began taking pictures with it. While not as an avid photographer as his brother was, he did enjoy it as a hobby. Before long, he started working for the Daily Prophet. It never failed to amaze him that his pictures were in the newspaper. He knew Colin would have been so proud of him.

Dennis soon got bored with the job. He really couldn't see himself as a reporter for the rest of his life. For the first few months of summer, he worked odd jobs just to make some decent money. During his brief job at the Leaky Cauldron, he ran into Seamus Finnigan. The Irish man hadn't changed a bit. Still goofy and still managed to blow up stuff. The two men talked for a bit while Dennis was on break. He admitted to Seamus that he was looking for a new job.

"Why? You don't like it here?" Seamus frowned.

"It's not that," Dennis shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "It's just not what I want to do for the rest of my life, you know?"

Seamus was quiet before a grin spread over his face. "I'm teaching at Hogwarts."

"Okay..?" Dennis blinked.

"I can get you a job!" Seamus beamed. "We need a professor for Muggle Studies."

Hmm, Muggle Studies. Dennis had to admit it sounded promising. He enjoyed being around kids and it always amused him the reactions wizards had about Muggle items.

"You think I'll get the job?" he asked quietly.

"Of course! I'll write you a recommendation letter and give it to McGonagall," Seamus said excitedly.

Dennis smiled warmly. "Thank you, Seamus. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, mate." Seamus glanced at his watch and cursed. "I was supposed to pick up Teddy. Andy's gonna kill me for being late."

"Teddy?" Dennis asked curiously.

"Harry's godson. I'm close to him and I usually watch Teddy for a month or so in summer. He loves to watch me blow stuff up."

Dennis snorted. Of course he did.

"Well, gotta go. You should hear from McGonagall soon if you get the job. Bye Dennis!" Seamus waved as he exited.

"Goodbye Seamus!"

That had been two years ago. Now, at the age of twenty, Dennis was a successful part time photographer and Professor of Muggle Studies. He loved teaching. He loved to see students' reactions and their genuine love for the class. He also loved his colleagues; especially Neville Longbottom and, of course, Seamus. Neville taught herbology while Seamus taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dennis privately wondered how much pleading and bargaining it took to convince McGonagall he wouldn't blow the classroom up.

It was hard; teaching was, at first. His first class was a group of over excited first years that strongly reminded him of Colin. They chatted too much and asked questions not pertaining to the lesson. But that was okay, he could handle it. He took it all in stride until one tiny boy asked if he was related to the Creevey on the memorial for the war victims. Dennis had choked up, hastily excused himself and ran out to the courtyard where he sobbed for the next hour.

It wasn't fair. Colin was just sixteen. Yet, he wound up trapped in a war that wasn't his own and died unjustly. He wondered that wherever Colin was, if he was watching him. DId he see his near daily breakdowns? Did he see how broken Dennis was and how much it took to put himself together for a single day? Did he see how alone he was and how no friend nor girlfriend would ever fill that spot?

Seamus encouraged him to think of the positives. Colin would be absolutely ecstatic for him having a teaching job. Dennis remembered Colin's words when they were young: "You'll do great at anything, Denny."

Those words haunted him. He could still distantly hear his brother's voice. But even that was beginning to fade. Dennis knew eventually he'd forget what he sounded like, and that was something that would pain his already broken heart. Dennis didn't want to forget him but it just hurt too much to think about him. Even though it was years since his death, it was just like opening a fresh wound.

That wasn't his only issue, either. In the years since, Dennis became a little more angry, a little more closed off and a little more hardened. He hated how people seemed to forget his brother had been apart of the war. Everyone wept over Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Dumbledore and the like; but they were oblivious to the small sixteen year old Gryffindor boy who risked, and ultimately lost, his life for Harry bloody Potter.

Potter. Colin worshiped the ground Harry walked on. Of course, Harry had never been overly friendly with his brother but Dennis couldn't blame him. If someone stuck a camera in his face, begging for a photo and constantly jabbering to him, he would've been annoyed too. He didn't even blame Harry when Colin died. The older boy actually cried over his death, secretly though. Dennis found him on accident in the Room of Requirement when he, himself, needed a place to cry. While it didn't mean they were the best of friends, they consoled each other that night with Harry sharing his stories of Colin during their years at Hogwarts. Dennis was moved by the gesture-even at twenty years of age.

It was May now, May 12, 2004. Six years had past since Colin's demise. Life still wasn't any easier for Dennis. During term, he taught, hung out with Neville and Seamus and acted like a normal twenty year old wizard. On the outside, he was seemingly unaffected and had returned to his normal state. During the summer months however, he secluded himself from the world. It wasn't like he had to try hard, though. Not many people visited him. He rarely visited his parents anymore because they lived as though Colin never existed. He knew it was their way of coping but he still hated it. They'd taken down every last picture of Colin, every last piece of artwork he created in primary school and practically closed off his room. They'd begged him not to return to Hogwarts when it reopened that upcoming fall. They pleaded with him, threatened to ground him but he stood his ground. He stated that it was what Colin would've wanted and they never spoke about his magic again.

Dennis buried his face in his hands as they all too familiar feeling crept up. It was mid morning and he was already close to tears. He needed an escape.

Leaning on the kitchen table, his thoughts wandered to Seamus. His best mate was dealing with grief of his own. Death Eaters had invaded the Finnigan house and murdered Seamus' parents and some magical relatives who were staying for refuge at the time. Seamus handled it all well. He didn't cry or have mental breakdowns. He didn't let it define him. He rose up after the war and became a wonderful professor who many respected. Dennis yearned to be like that. He wanted to be strong and fearless. He wanted to prove that his brother's death didn't cause him to sink into a deep depression. But no. He was spineless and weak.

"One day you'll have to get over it," his mom told him.

He was utterly astounded by her statement. How was he supposed to get over the death of his best friend, his brother, his mentor?

I need to see Seamus, he thought. He never saw the Irishman over the holidays but maybe he needed a change. He glanced at his mantel; he was getting low on floo powder. Oh well, he shrugged. He'd just apparate. He flicked his wrist to the right and felt himself being forced in a tight tube. He landed in Seamus' living room, falling clumsily and knocking a pretty vase down; smashing it into smithereens.

He winched at the noise. Murmuring a quick, "Repairo," it returned to its original state in mere seconds. He really needed to practice apparating more. He whirled around when he heard a gasp. A little boy, about ten or so, stood there with wide eyes. His hair was sandy like Seamus' and his eyes were a deep blue color. He wore thick framed glasses that reminded him of Harry Potter's.

"Oh, hello," Dennis greeted, picking himself off of the floor. "Is Seamus here?"

The little boy nodded, his eyes narrowed.

"I'm Dennis Creevey," he offered. Still nothing. "Do you know where he is?"

Another nod. Dennis expected him to say where he was but he didn't; instead just continued to stare.

"Where is he?" Dennis asked gently.

"Uncle Seamus!" the child bellowed, startling Dennis. "You have a visitor!" He turned his attention back onto Dennis. "I'm Teddy Lupin," he introduced. "I'm ten years old." He extended his hand politely.

"It's nice to meet you, Teddy," he shook his hand, smiling for the first time that day.

"Teddy, there's no need to shout," Seamus' Irish brogue echoed. He was taken aback by Dennis' presence. "Hey, Dennis. What's up? You never come see me. Who died?" he joked, then winched at his poor choice of words.

Dennis ignored the feeble attempt at humor. He smiled tightly, saying, "Can we talk about it in, you know, private?" He motioned to Teddy.

Seamus understood at once. "Go outside and play with Patrick," he instructed. "I'm sure he'll play fetch with you now." The child whooped with joy and bolted out the door, leaving the two men to themselves.

"Sooo," Seamus sat on the arm of the nearest chair. Dennis collapsed on the couch. "What did you need to talk about?"

"It's been six years," Dennis said in a hollow voice. He didn't have to say anything else, Seamus knew exactly as to what he was referring to.

"I'm sorry," he sighed.

"It's not fair," the younger man said miserably. "Why did he have to die, Shay?" he asked in a small voice.

Seamus' heart went out for him. It was true when the muggles said "Only the good die young." He got up, wrapped his arms around Dennis, letting his head tuck under his chin. He gently rocked him back and forth as he wept. "It's okay," he said soothingly. "It's okay..."

Seamus was the only one Dennis was comfortable having a breakdown in front of. They'd gotten extremely close after the battle. Even Neville, his other best mate, hadn't done what Seamus had done. Seamus saved him. He saved him from completely throwing his life away. When Dennis contemplated suicide, Seamus was there to comfort him and reassure him that there were better options. Dennis owed his life to him.

"I miss him," Dennis' voice cracked. "I miss him so much..."

"I know you do," Seamus said softly.

"I want to die," he whispered so soft that his friend barely heard him.

Seamus stiffened. "No you don't," he countered.

"I do," Dennis insisted. "If I died I could be with him again."

"Dennis-" Seamus started but he wasn't listening.

"Please Shay...Don't worry. It's just a thought."

"Thoughts lead to actions," Seamus said fiercely. Dennis flinched at his tone.

"I won't..I promise."

Seamus relaxed, if just a little bit. Dennis didn't lie. He decided to change the subject. "What do you think Colin would be doing now if he was alive?" he murmured.

Dennis' crying lessoned up. He was still leaning onto his friend for dear life. Just for a moment, a tiny smile made its way on his face. "I think he'd be a reporter," he began in a whisper. "He'd work for the Quibbler, 'cause the Prophet's rubbish and he'd be a darn good one. He'd be dating Luna Lovegood because I always thought they'd end up together. And we'd share a flat until he got married. Maybe he'd have kids first I dunno but either way one of us would have kids and we would be the best uncles ever."

Seamus smiled. "That sounds great, Den."

Dennis's heart stopped for a moment. Colin had been the only one to call him Den or Denny; not even their parents did. It was sort of their special thing.

"Yeah," he murmured.

The two stayed in the embrace for a few more minutes, each deep within their own thoughts. They didn't even hear the screen door screech as it was opened nor the pitter patter of feet. "Uncle Seamus?" Their heads turned at the sound. Teddy stood before them, his expression concerned. "Is he okay?"

Seamus considered shooing him away, he didn't need to see this. "Teddy, go to your room, please."

"No, it's okay," Dennis lifted himself from the embrace, stretching slightly. He addressed Teddy. "No. I'm not okay."

The child's mouthed formed and 'o'. "Why not?" he frowned.

"Why don't you sit down next to me," Dennis patted the spot to his right. Teddy obeyed. "I'm sure Harry told you about the battle of Hogwarts?"

Teddy nodded. "My parents died in the battle," he said solemnly.

Dennis didn't know that. "I'm sorry. My brother, Colin, died too. He was sixteen."

Teddy did something unexpected; he hugged him. Dennis froze but relaxed into the hug. Teddy's head was buried in his neck. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Dennis advised. He stroked the ten year old's hair. "I should be sorry for you. I can't imagine being without my parents."

"And I can't imagine being without my brother if I had one."

Dennis smiled weakly.

"Dennis, would you like to stay for dinner?" Seamus offered. "I'm ordering pizza," he paused when Teddy whooped.

"No, thank you," he declined the offer. "I have stuff to do." Seamus knew exactly what he meant.

"Okay," the Irishman said. "Well, Teddy and I will be expecting you sometime within the next week," he winked.

"I'm sure you will," Dennis chuckled. He rose to his feet after giving Teddy a quick goodbye hug and headed over to the fireplace. "Mind if I use some?" he gestured to the floo powder.

"Go ahead," his friend shrugged. "I don't use it much."

"Mr. Creevey," Teddy jumped up. "Wait!"

"Dennis," the older man corrected. "Call me Dennis."

"Dennis," Teddy tried it out. "Can you show me a picture of Colin sometime? I'll show you some of my parents, you know, if you don't mind..."

Dennis thought about it. Did he mind? He never showed anyone pictures of his brother but somehow it would feel right to do with Teddy. Perhaps because they both lost people special to them. Or maybe perhaps it was Teddy's genuine interest. "Sure. I'll bring it over next time i come over."

The child beamed and thanked him. Dennis bid them both goodbye and flooed back to his flat. Upon his return, he slowly made his way to the bedroom, both dreading and longing for what he was about to do. He opened his closet, carefully picking up an old photo album and a camera; Colin's camera. He set them on his bed in perfect positions: the album was in the middle with the camera to its right. His breath hitched as he pulled the album open. Every picture had a slot in a plastic covering to protect it. He slid each one out, arranging them on his bed according to their date. After they're all laid about, he observed them. He imagined each story behind every photo. He glanced at the first picture Colin ever took of Harry. He hadn't been expecting it, which was evident by his stunned facial expression. He remembered Colin had told him all about Harry; how great he was, how humble he was, how he didn't act like the typical muggle celebrity.

Soon it became time to put the photographs back in their place. He had to be extra careful when handling the album; it was old. It was beginning to break and tear but he knew he had to keep it. He could never get rid of it; never. Colin would've kept it.

So he does too.

After he finished, he closed it and for a few minutes, his tearstained eyes turned to stare at Colin's beloved camera. It's old as well, but unlike the photo album, it's not breaking just yet. He spots some dust on the lense and he obligated to clean it. He accico-d a couple tissues and some rubbing alcohol. He wipes the lense ever so gently; as if scared he would break.

After he finished doing that, he picked up everything and gently set it back in the closet. He slammed the door with a bang and fell on his bed, suddenly feeling downright exhausted. He wasn't sure why he did it every year; maybe it was a coping method. Whatever it was, he just started it the first anniversary of Colin's death. It became ritual that he couldn't stop. It happened every year. Every bloody year. He tortured himself by staring at those bloody pictures until he wanted to drop down crying. And every single time he promised himself it was the last time.

It never was.

He stared up at the ceiling with sullen eyes. His eyelids were droopy and his body begged for sleep. As he was beginning to fall in a deep sleep, he whispered to the air, "I love you Colin..."