Chaser 1: save Colin Creevey

He should be dead. Around him, the war rages on, and all Colin can think is how close he had come. One moment, he had been fighting, so proud to be part of the action. The next, Oliver Wood had shoved him to the side, narrowly getting them both out of the path of the green light of the Killing Curse.

He should be dead.

Suddenly it's all just a little too real. Sneaking into the castle had seemed like the natural thing to do. Really, when all is said and done, Colin doesn't regret it one bit. Even so, he's suddenly hit with a crushing realization that everything could be taken away in the blink of an eye.

He should be dead.

That though should terrify him, but it just makes him stand a little taller with his wand gripped firmly in his hands. He is meant to survive this war, to go on and tell his story. His camera hangs around his neck even now, a familiar, comforting weight. Against all odds, he is still here, and he will stay.

…

"You left me!" Dennis stares at him, nostrils flaring and cheeks burning a dark pink. His eyes are wet, and Colin hates that he's made his little brother cry. "You could have been killed, Col!"

Colin flinches guiltily. How does he tell Dennis they he nearly was? What would Dennis think of him if he knew? Maybe it's best to keep it a secret, to never let Dennis know how close he came to being an only child.

So instead, he just smiles and reaches out, ruffling Dennis' hair. "Please. Like you could get rid of me that easily."

But it almost happened. He should be dead. If Oliver Wood hadn't been nearby, hadn't been so quick on his feet, this could have ended completely differently.

The tension between them seems to melt. Dennis relaxes ever so slightly, and his lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. A moment later, he springs forward, wrapping Colin in a tight, bone-shattering hug. It's the sort of hug that comes with not seeing someone in ages, the sort of hug they will give their dad when they finally go home.

It's the sort of hug Dennis almost didn't get to give him.

Colin pats his brother on the back as he manages to break free from the younger boy's grip. He smiles and nods because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Did you get hurt?" Dennis asks. "Did you hurt anyone?"

Colin takes a seat. Under ordinary circumstances, he might call for a round of butterbeers. Not today, though. It doesn't look like Aberforth is anywhere nearby anyway. All he can do is slump forward, his head resting against the cool wood of the bar.

…

Colin wakes with a scream. His shirt is soaked, and he knows it has nothing to do with the warm May heat that manages to creep into his bedroom. He doesn't remember much of his dream, only that it's more of a memory. A memory in which Oliver just narrowly managed to pull him to safety. A memory in which he knew he should be dead.

With trembling hands, he brushes his hair from his eyes, exhaling heavily. Why should it matter what almost happened? He isn't dead; he's still alive. That's all that should count.

But he can't shake it. The chilling realization has found a home in his marrow.

What would Dennis have done if Colin hadn't come home? What would have happened to his father? Colin remembers losing his mother; his father had locked himself away for months, leaving seven-year-old Colin to take care of his little brother.

Colin wipes his eyes. When had he started crying?

He should be dead. The world would have kept turning, just as it's still turning without Fred Weasley or Professor Lupin. Colin knows he is just an insignificant soul in a sea of endless lives. His death would have meant nothing in the long run.

And yet it's still haunting.

He allows himself to sink back into the mattress, wide eyes on the ceiling. Sleep doesn't come for him, and maybe he's more than a little grateful.

…

He attends Professor Lupin's funeral because it's the polite thing to do. Colin hadn't known him well, nor had he known the man's wife. He wonders how many there truly knew him. Harry, of course. Minister Shacklebolt. Professor McGonagall.

It seems like so many of them are lost and drifting aimlessly. Maybe that's why they attend the funerals. Maybe it's the only way they can feel a connection anymore.

Colin watches the caskets drift into the ground. Harry says something, but, for the first time in a long time, Colin doesn't really care about what Harry has to say. His mind is fixed upon the grave, and he knows he could have so easily been the one in a casket. Dennis and his father would be standing where he is, and countless people who hadn't known him at all would have gathered around to listen to loved ones talk about him.

What sort of legacy would he have left behind?

He grips his camera, snaps a picture. It's all he can do to keep from crying.

…

Oliver Wood just so happens to be at the Leaky Cauldron after Fred Weasley's funeral. Colin hadn't stayed at that one long. There's something especially painful about someone so close to his age being the one buried.

"I never thanked you," Colin says.

He expects Oliver to brush him off. Worse yet, maybe Colin is so insignificant that the older man doesn't remember him at all. Instead, Oliver offers him a sad smile. "You're just a kid," he says. "What the hell were you doing there?"

"Harry's a kid too. Mostly."

So many of them had been kids thrown into this hellscape. He knows he and Dennis hadn't been the only ones on the run. Dean Thomas says he'd gotten lucky enough to find a group, but he and a goblin had been the only survivors.

"Thank you," Colin adds.

He should be dead. Maybe that's a feeling he'll never be able to shake. But he will not let it control him anymore. There is a whole world before him, so many things to see and do. It's time to start living.