IWSC Season 3 Round 7

School and Year: Mahoutokoro, Year 6

Special Rule: Write from a given perspective: a muggle-born

Theme: Write about a character hiding a secret about themselves

Main Prompt: [Word] Invisible

Additional Prompt: [First/Last Line] Once upon a time, the world ended.

Word Count: 2816

Note: Okay so time wise, this would be his fifth year but as he and Colin were pulled out by their parents during the war, I believe that Dennis would've had to redo a year, resulting in this being his fourth year of schooling.

Huge thank you to my beautiful betas: Katie, Selene, Sophie, and Liz. Love you guys so so so much as well as the rest of my talented team. We killed it this season, but it's not over yet. Finals, here we come!

Once upon a time, the world ended. Dennis looked at his open trunk on the bed, ready and waiting to return with him to Hogwarts the next day. However, nothing more did he want than to curl up in his bed, pull the covers over his face, and block out the sunlight for eternity. The world was empty, depleted of the one person that understood him best and loved him most.

Deep inside, some part of him wished that it had been Colin who had survived rather than him. But that thought only stayed with him momentarily before it was drowned out by the knowledge that, if he had been the one to die, Colin would be feeling this pain as well and probably blaming himself. Dennis tossed his last book into the trunk before slamming the lid shut and moving it to the foot of his bed. He wasn't sure what time it was. Recently, he hadn't been that great at keeping track of the time or even what day it was, but the almost-pitch black sky outside with only a thin, waning crescent of light told him it must have been past midnight at least.

A few minutes later, the lights were off, and the window propped open a few inches. Dennis stared at the wall. His old room, the one he had shared with Colin, was down the hall. But without Colin sleeping in the bed across from his, the empty room just felt like a cruel, cruel reminder of what he'd lost.

So, he'd moved into the spare room. The plain room with the plain bed and plain carpet, devoid of any of his or Colin's personal items, free of the constant reminders. As if his own head didn't remind him enough.

Dennis turned onto his stomach, the side of his face pressed into the pillow. Tears slid soundlessly into the fabric as memories of Colin made their way to the surface. Nights were always the worst. An owl hooted somewhere nearby, and Dennis Creevey, feeling a century older than fifteen, squeezed his eyes shut until the memories turned into fading dreams.

Life at Hogwarts was supposed to be full of excitement and adventure, learning new things and hanging out with friends. Granted, Dennis could've done without all the danger in previous years, but his brother had always known how to make him laugh. Even during his second year, when Umbridge had been reigning terror on the school. Dennis hadn't been able to spend time with his friends and could barely smile in the corridors without Umbridge or a member of her stupid Inquisitorial Squad breathing down his neck. And yet, through all of that, Colin always helped keep his spirits high. They'd sneak out onto the Quidditch Pitch where Colin would teach him how to fly. Or sometimes, they'd relax in front of the fire of the common room and work on their homework together. Colin would help him with Transfiguration, and Dennis liked to help Colin with his Astronomy charts when he could.

Dennis's best friend since first year was Orla Quirke. She was a Ravenclaw and she loved Astronomy. Dennis supposed she'd passed a bit of that onto him. Orla was a very unique person. She was kind and quiet at times, but lively and excited at others. She lived a good life with her parents in a small cottage, safe and secluded on the outskirts of a Dutch forest. Her family was Pureblood, safe from harm, and dozens of protection spells were constantly reinstated around her home. However, though she may have been less experienced in the trials of war, that made her no less empathetic. She was well aware that she couldn't even begin to imagine the pains that some of her friends had endured, but that didn't mean she didn't try.

Dennis felt like Orla was the only thing that had kept him from leaping off the Hogwarts Express and escaping to his bed at home. He'd been waving solemn goodbyes to his grim father and sobbing mother, who both would've been perfectly happy to have him never return to that school. However, Orla had been there beside him, clutching his hand tightly in hers.

Now, as Dennis sat at the Gryffindor Table in the Great Hall, he thought once again how there were so many other places he'd have rather been in that moment. Already, there had been four people come up to him and say that they were sorry for his loss. Dennis had a hard time distinguishing the fake niceties from the real ones anymore, so he had said a pleasant 'thank you' to each one and then made his way far away from them. Orla caught his eye from the Ravenclaw table and gave him a small wave. Dennis returned it halfheartedly before the tumultuous sound of cutlery and mass chewing drowned out everything else.

Dennis managed to escape to his dormitory a little while later. Everyone else was still downstairs in the common room, rejoined friends exchanging stories from the summer or prefects showing the new students around. All the first years, looking around with their wide eyes and bright smiles, made Dennis want to scream. He couldn't bear it. They were all so innocent, some of them completely unaware or uncomprehending of the pain and loss their older peers had experienced.

It was early in the evening, so Dennis had the dormitory all to himself. He was fifteen, and tomorrow, he'd be starting his fourth year. He hopped off his bed, not making so much as a creak as he knelt down in front of his trunk. He opened it and fished around for some pajamas. After he withdrew them and tossed them up onto the bed, he made to close the trunk. But then, he saw it. His grandfather's lighter. His grandfather, a Muggle, had been a soldier and fought in World War II. He'd survived countless battles and numerous wounds. Dennis's grandmother had told him that when his grandfather had come back from the war, he'd been different. He'd lost his best friend in battle, seen him shot clear through the neck. He'd been dead before he hit the ground. Dennis's grandfather had had nightmares about that till the day he died.

Dennis took the lighter in his hand. When his grandfather passed away about ten years prior, his grandmother had given it to Colin. The lighter had been the only thing left undamaged by the rubble. Even Colin's wand had been shattered into shreds. Dennis clicked on the lighter and watched it sputter and flicker in the dark. Dennis stared at it for a moment before clicking it shut and tossing it onto his bed and changing into his pajamas.

As he laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, he pulled the curtains around him closed and ignited the flame again. His roommates filed in loudly, indiscreet in their talk. Dennis surmised a couple of them must have been drunk. He didn't judge though. Dennis had gotten drunk himself a few times over the summer. Alcohol did wonders on numbing the pain. The downside, however, was that it returned double the strength the next morning, and the hangover never helped.

After a few minutes more of watching the flame's light dance across the wall, Dennis closed it with a soft click and tucked it under his pillow.

The next day, Orla greeted him at breakfast, and they sat together at the Ravenclaw table.

"You didn't talk much on the train yesterday," Orla commented quietly. "How have you been doing?"

Dennis took a small bite of his toast before dropping it back onto his plate. He shrugged and stared at the table.

"It's okay to talk about it, you know," she added, lowering her head so that she could see his face better. "I know… I know that Colin was really the only person you ever shared things with, but…" She trailed off for a moment as Dennis chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"But since he isn't with us anymore, I just want you to know that you can talk to me. I'll listen, and I'll help in whatever way I can," Orla finished.

Dennis glanced up at her. "What do you want me to say, Orla?" he began, his words coming out much harsher than he intended. "That I'm doing fine? Or, would you rather me pour my every feeling out onto this table until I'm a sobbing mess on the floor? I am hanging on by just the tiniest of threads now, and I really, really would rather not have a mental breakdown right here in the middle of the Great Hall."

He stood up suddenly, grabbing his bag and turning to leave the Hall. Then, just a few moments too late, his heart caught up with his head. "I — I'm sorry, Orla," he mumbled quietly, turning back around to face her. "I shouldn't have said all that."

That was all he managed, then his feet were carrying him out of the hall and into the empty corridor.

When the Battle had started, Dennis had pled with Colin that he stay home and safe. But Colin wouldn't hear of it. Sixteen and raring to fight, he'd promised to return with the wand of a Death Eater as a prize. That was the first and last promise Colin ever broke.

That was also the memory that haunted Dennis the most: the sight of Colin's eyes which had been filled with a blazing Gryffindor fire, and the quick hug they'd shared before his departure. That, and the sight of Colin's broken body laying on the floor of the Great Hall. Dennis couldn't help but see it every time he went into the Hall for a meal. It was one of the reasons he so often skipped lunch, dinner, or sometimes both, and went to the kitchens later to eat. And that was only if he felt hungry at all.

Over the next few weeks, as he tried to fit into a new routine of classes, homework, and meals, Dennis didn't burn himself anew very often. Instead, he would pick and pull at the healing scars. And it hurt. It hurt so badly, but at least it got his mind off his grief and mental pain, forcing him to concentrate on something else. Sometimes, Dennis would even use a bit of magic to quicken the healing process, just so that he needn't wait so long for them to scab over naturally.

There were nearly a dozen small ones littering his calves. Blotchy and messy, sometimes they left behind an ugly, yellowish pus. Other times, they were dry and crackly. Sometimes, the skin would be turned only dark red, sometimes yellow, while one or two of them turned black where Dennis hadn't stopped quickly enough. The pain made his eyes well up, made him bite his lip in pain, but somehow, he couldn't stop.

If someone asked him how it had started, Dennis didn't think he'd have been able to say. It had been accidental at first. He'd been looking at the flame, running his finger just along the edge where it was warm, then warmer, then hot, and then he'd breathed, and the flame had crackled against his skin. He'd dropped the lighter, quickly putting out the fire with a jet of water from his wand before racing to the bathroom to hold his finger under the tap. It wasn't until a few minutes afterwards that he realized: he'd almost enjoyed it. For a brief spell, his mind had been clear of thoughts of his brother. Two days later, he touched his skin to the flame on purpose, and that brief clarity had been granted to him again, driven out by pain.

It was December. Snow fell silently outside the window as Dennis stared out onto the grounds from his bed. He could see the tips of the tallest trees in the Forbidden Forest, coated in white sparkles that glinted in the moonlight.

He could feel his bedsheets sticking to his skin, and he shifted, wincing as the cotton snagged on the light coating of blood. He had tried to clean them as best he could, but sometimes they'd start bleeding randomly, and he was too tired to get up and clean them again.

His mind was racing, conjuring images of Colin looking at him, tears in his eyes as he watched what Dennis was doing to himself. Walking through the corridors alone, extricating himself from all of his old friends except Orla, burning away his skin and pain at the same time, even though both losses were only temporary.

He couldn't anymore. If he didn't do something, he knew he'd burn away half his hand before he was able to stop. Tossing back the covers, Dennis stood up and padded quietly from the room. His feet were bare and his pajamas thin, so he claimed a chill almost as soon as he left the comfort of his bed.

He was shivering by the time he reached the door of the Ravenclaw Common Room and knocked quietly.

The bronze eagle came to life and, in a soft voice, asked, "Can I help you, Mr. Creevey?"

"Could —" Dennis swallowed, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Could someone tell Orla that — that I want —"

"Of course, dear," the eagle interrupted in its singsong voice before turning solid again. Dennis moved a few feet off and sat down, leaning against the staircase. A few minutes later, Orla stepped out into the hall and sat down next to him.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Her voice was soft and steady.

Dennis pondered showing Orla his burns, but he was too tired to think about that, so instead, he started to speak. "I guess… I just didn't want to be alone. I'm sorry I woke you up."

Orla shook her head. "It's alright. I had only just fallen asleep anyways. It's only two a.m."

Dennis chuckled.

"Well, still, you should probably be sleeping now, and I dragged you out here into the cold hallway of a sleeping castle."

Orla smiled and shook her head again. "It's alright, I promise."

Dennis stared at his palms. They were one of the few parts of him that remained unburnt. He could feel Orla staring at him, hard and unwavering.

"Dennis," she began, "please remember that you can tell me anything." She laid a hesitant hand on his arm, and Dennis couldn't help but wince. She'd squeezed his arm just where a small collection of burns and peeled-back scabs rested beneath his pajamas.

Orla took his wince as a withdrawal, and she let go of his arm. "Sorry, I just… I know I'm maybe not the best person for this. But I also know that I'm pretty much the only person you speak to, except our professors. I know that you either ignore or completely lie in your letters to your mother. And I know that you are failing nearly all of your classes including Astronomy."

Dennis looked up. "How do you know that?"

"I've been checking in with the teachers, trying to see where you're at in your homework. You do realize, I've offered to study with you at least a dozen times."

Dennis had heard Orla offer him help with studying a few times, but he supposed his stubbornness kept him from accepting. Or maybe, it was the fact that Dennis usually used his homework time to sit in the bathroom of the empty dormitory and peel dead, cracked skin away from stinging raw flesh.

Dennis shrugged in response.

Orla sighed, crossing her legs and holding her hand out, palm up. Dennis took it.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I can't imagine what you're going through, but I'll help you as much as I can, alright?"

Dennis met her eyes briefly. "Yeah," he muttered.

"You promise to talk to me? Not now, but eventually?" she prompted.

Dennis looked up again and nodded, a brief but true smile playing across his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I will."

Orla returned the smile. "For now, at least let me help you with Astronomy. You're my best friend. If you fail Astronomy, I will never forgive myself."

Dennis couldn't help but laugh. "Deal."

With that, Orla lowered her head and rested it on his shoulder. Luckily, there were no burns there, and her presence brought Dennis a bit of comfort. She deserved to know what was happening and not be shut away in the dark anymore. But he couldn't share, not yet. He didn't know when he'd be able to, but maybe eventually.

For now, he was content to sit in the dark halls of Hogwarts with his best friend. The image of his big brother never left his mind, but this time, at least he was smiling.