Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Round 5
Team: Chudley Cannons
Position: Chaser 3
Prompt: Selfishness
Optional Prompts: 8. (character) Dennis Creevey; 14. (restriction) no female characters; 15. (quote) "Some nights are made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness."- Poppy Z. Brite
AN: Thanks to Ashleigh for betaing!
In his dreams, Colin was always selfish.
But that was what I wanted, he considered as he sank into the nearly scalding water with a slight hiss escaping his clenched teeth. He tipped his head back onto the edge of the tub, the knobs of his spine still protruding from his too-thin body, bumping against the white porcelain. He slid lower until the water wavered just below his chin, almost swallowing him whole.
(He wished it would swallow him.)
His face was angled just right for the moonlight to wash over him through the tiny window. It painted Dennis's pale skin even paler, rendering it almost ghostly. The one scar he'd received during the battle, stretching over his left eye to the corner of his lips, glowed a faint but angry red under the revealing moonlight. He had been told that he was lucky he hadn't lost his eye—lucky, of all things.
Dennis nearly scoffed at the reminder. There were many things you could say about him, but he considered himself to be anything but lucky. Luck was for those who could look past what the world had served them, luck was for those who walked the thin line between risk and reward.
Luck was for Colin Creevey—had been, until it had run out.
Dennis wished suddenly that he hadn't chosen to stay home. It wasn't as if it had been his only choice. His friends often asked him to come over for dinner, leaving a flurry of owls and unanswered letters at his window, and his parents urged him to go.
But he hadn't been able to step out without the thought that the last time he'd left his house, it was for Colin's funeral, draped in black robes, the morning fog hanging heavy around him.
In fact, that was the last time Dennis had seen his friends.
Perhaps it was a little selfish of him to not want to leave. He knew that they were all trying to move on—or at least, a semblance of moving on. That was all that most people could manage.
Dennis couldn't even manage that.
He had been told by so many that a time would come when it would feel okay to move on, and Dennis knew that they were probably right, that he was just waiting for that time to come, for that moment where he could breath and not feel the absence of his brother crushing him with each exhale.
But he wondered why no one had told him how hard the wait would be.
They had told him that some nights, all he would want to do was lay back and remember how things had been, but no one had told him that some nights could turn into all nights, until he was back here, sitting in the bathtub in water that was starting to cool.
He felt like he ought to get up now, get dressed, and leave his room. Talk to his parents. Help his father pack the leftover food into tidy containers and wash the dishes. Sit in front of the television with his mother, the both of them forcing a laugh at some sitcom.
But Dennis was feeling selfish today, just as he always was, so he reached for his wand, murmured a heating charm—the Ministry was far too busy to monitor underage magic right now—and leaned back, closing his eyes.
He knew it wasn't right to drag Colin out from the depths of his memory and give him this crude personality, but he did it anyway.
He was in the Hog's Head now, his knees clutched to his chest, eyes wide as he watched people file into the passage behind the portrait of a young girl. Colin sat beside him, his camera lying forgotten in his lap.
"You're not going to go, are you?" Dennis asked.
He knew the answer that was supposed to come, and he reveled in the fact that he could change it here, in the safety of his dreams.
Even if by doing so, this Colin became a mere charade of his real brother.
"No," Colin said, shaking his head, "I'm going to stay with you." Colin's figure wavered, as if the words had altered him somehow.
They had, but Dennis ignored it, just as he did every night.
At the funeral, everyone had told him that his brother had been so selfless, such a hero.
But they didn't understand that Dennis didn't want a brother who was a hero. He never had. He wanted a brother who was alive, and that was all.
If that meant Colin had to be selfish, so be it. Even if it went against everything Colin had been.
So Dennis continued the dream, screwing his eyes shut. "Do you promise that you'll stay?" he asked, peering over at his brother.
Colin's face had shed its prior steeliness, leaving an uneasy, resigned look in its place. He reached over and took Dennis's hand. "I promise."
"Can we leave, then?" Dennis had never liked the Hog's Head, and he knew the lure of the passage and what lurked beyond was strong. He could already catch Colin's gaze drifting over to the witches and wizards that disappeared behind the portrait. Involuntarily, he was muttering defensive and offensive spells under his breath, preparing for a battle he would never fight in this dream.
After all, there were some things that Dennis couldn't change in his dreams. That was expected. But he could change enough.
Dennis pulled on his brother's hand. "Colin, can we leave?"
Colin pulled his eyes away, his body slightly slumped. "Yeah, alright." His voice still held some uncertainty.
"We want to live, Colin," Dennis said, a little too pointedly. "You can't go. You're too young." He tugged on his brother's hand again in encouragement.
The bathwater was turning cold again, just as Colin's hand was, despite all of Dennis's effort to keep the dream as real as possible.
"Right…" Colin nodded slowly. "I can't go. Something could happen to me."
Before he could change his mind, Dennis pulled him up and led him away from the portrait.
"Something could happen to me," Colin repeated again, his voice dazed.
In his dreams, Colin was always selfish, and if that made Dennis a little selfish, too, he didn't mind.