The dark wood of the chair felt abused, ancient, and, most of all, suffering. The timber seemed unyielding and nearly hostile. The cracked, old leather-clad cushioning lent little comfort, and the seat felt unforgiving. The back rose high above the head of whoever occupied it, but whether for the protection of the occupant or to make the person feel trapped remained a debate. The chair sat on a dais of stone, bolted to it, and faced down the long gallery toward high desk of either the Chief Warlock or whatever Ministry official needed to use it. It, too, got constructed out of the same dark wood, ebony perhaps, but certainly as unyielding.
Along all sides of the octagonal-shape chamber benches rose nearly to the ceiling. The rows formed the gallery for other witches and wizards to use when called to attendance for Ministry business, a trial, or the Wizengamot. The beautifully inlaid stone floor, even the dais on which the chair sat, could not detract from the severity of the chamber. The gallery seats dully gleamed in the light from the overhead chandeliers, and the very dark mahogany finish appeared to keep untold secrets. If ever a room got designed to declare itself an important and serious domain, then the Wizengamot chamber amply succeeded in that task.
"Mister Creevey," Chief Warlock Cyrus Fiawander, although routinely called Cy, said in a mild tenor voice. His words trilled with his Welsh origins. "This is not a trial, so why are you calling Professor Flitwick your counsel?"
"Enough people said I'd be mad if I came here without representation," Dennis replied, and his voice shook.
"This is merely an investigative hearing."
"So… you're saying I shouldn't have a counselor?"
The Chief Warlock sat back the in seat perched high above all others. He clasped his gnarled hands into a small knot and appeared to lose himself in thought. Cyrus Fiawander became Chief Warlock less than two years before as the Ministry of Magic reorganized once the emergency measures got dispelled by the Wizengamot. One of Voldemort's principal goals came in subverting the legal system in the wizarding world. Although arcane and Byzantine by muggle standards, it managed to operate for almost three hundred years to the satisfaction of most witches and wizards. Under Voldemort, the Wizengamot existed solely to hand out the punishments predetermined by the dark wizard's cadre of installed cronies. Both the Ministry and the Wizengamot lost credibility. Under the emergency ordinances, the institutions sought to reestablish themselves. Only when Cyrus Fiawander agreed to become the Chief Warlock did people start to trust the legal system.
"No, Mister Creevey, I am not saying that, but it does raise the question as to why you think you need it," the elderly wizard stated.
"'Cause you and this place are… terrifying," the somewhat slender young man with a thatch of strawberry-blonde hair atop his head replied while his gray eyes nervously darted around. Dennis tried to maintain his composure, but his nerves jangled and almost forced a giggle out of his mouth. "Everyone knows if you get called here, they think you're guilty of something."
"And who is they?"
"You. The aurors. The Ministry."
"Do you think yours is a common perception?" The Chief Warlock inquired.
Dennis nodded his head. Chief Warlock Fiawander gazed at him, and the wrinkly face appeared to sag a little. The young man sitting in the inquisition chair glanced about. Only a dozen witches and wizards clustered around the far end where the Chief Warlock presided. Filius Flitwick, dressed in his standard and oddly formal attire, occupied a lone chair and small table placed next to the dock seat. The arrangement seemed to make him appear even smaller than normal.
"That saddens me. We've toiled at trying to prove ourselves fair and impartial after the disgrace of Lord Voldemort's horrific reign," the old man intoned and said the dark wizard's name without even the slightest hesitation. "Tell me, did you come here voluntarily?"
"No. I wasn't given no choice. The summons said I had to be here today. Even the auror who delivered it said I needed to make certain I showed," Dennis truthfully answered.
The Chief Warlock turned and several witches and wizards, all wearing the traditional red robes of their office, gathered around the man. Cyrus Fiawander eschewed the normally staid black robes of his position and wore tones of navy blue. His stoop-shouldered frame and long, gray locks of hair seemed in contrast to the neat trim of his pointed goatee and mustache. The dark brown eyes appeared alert, mysterious, and piercing. In Dennis' mind, it made the Chief Warlock seem fiercer as it attempted to make him look normal. It became a ruse of sorts. Dennis watched the sidebar until it dissolved.
"It is unfortunate you were lead to believe that, Mister Creevey. You were invited and not compelled…"
"Who in their right mind is going to ignore a bloody summons from the Wizengamot?" Dennis barked out the question and successfully interrupted the Chief Warlock. His voiced echoed through the largely unoccupied chamber.
Many of the attending witches and wizards settled into a dour demeanor, and they also looked away from him. By growing degrees Dennis felt set upon. His hands trembled as he attempted to smooth his pressed white Oxford shirt and dark gray dress pants, attire his mother insisted he wear under his open robes. As the short silence reigned, Dennis recalled his tenure at Hogwarts where he became overly familiar with gang mentality. The assembled in the Wizengamot lent an air of the most ferocious gang one might confront. They could destroy him in deeds, magic, and words with hardly a thought.
"Your point is well made, young man, but I would like to remind you again this isn't a trial. It is a fact-finding mission."
"And what becomes of your facts when you're finished?" Professor Flitwick asked in the brief pause that followed. His voice carried clearly through the chamber.
"Yes, Professor Flitwick, charges can arise from the fact finding, but only if warranted," Wizard Fiawander stated.
"Then you and the Wizengamot could… would use Dennis' words against him?"
Denis sighed in relief. Both Professor McGonagall and Hermione Granger tried to talk Dennis out of seeking a counselor to help represent him. Most others said it would be a mark of insanity if he did not. In the scant few days granted him before the Wizengamot met, Dennis plied himself to reading about the rules of the august body. What he read bred a deep fear in him. Peeves, when consulted, only filled the young man's head with more horror stories about various outcomes from past hearings, tribunals, and trials. Thus, Dennis beseeched Professor Flitwick to act as his counselor. It did not take much to convince the diminutive man after all that happened in the preceding five years in the wizarding world.
"You misread our intent, Professor Flitwick," Chief Warlock Fiawander replied.
"Then, please, enlighten us," the small man requested.
Another sidebar took place before the Chief Warlock could answer. The hushed whispers sounded as if they came from every corner due to the acoustic, and some argued intentional, design of the room. Overhead paper airplanes darted and zipped along the ceiling as the magicked missives sought the shortest route to their destinations. The aerial memos created a strange susurration hovering over everyone's head. Thus, even the vaunted chamber did not get spared use as a transit tunnel. Dennis watched the colored pieces of paper wend their way along the vaulted ceiling.
"It is our hope to dispel the need for any formal charges by learning about the circumstances surrounding this situation. However, I concede that any testimony Mister Creevey gives could form the basis for charges. But I would like to remind you we are not here to render any verdict of guilt or innocence. Mister Creevey will not suffer any punitive effects by his participation in this hearing," Cyrus Fiawander said and slowly leaned forward over bench.
"How is forwarding a recommendation for charges against Dennis not punitive?" Flitwick all but incredulously gasped the question. He squirmed in his chair as if barely able to contain himself.
Dennis' head twitched back and forth as his friend and mentor, and now legal counselor, debated with the Chief Warlock. It lent further evidence he followed a wiser course of action by enlisting the aid of his former professor. Although the man stood at three and a half feet, he developed and displayed the internal strength of a giant. During the occupation of Hogwarts by forces loyal to Voldemort, Filius Flitwick worked tirelessly to undermine their authority and disrupt their actions. Dolores Umbridge sought to remove Flitwick on numerous occasions, but they could not find a suitable replacement as the charms' instructor. They needed him to maintain the thin veneer of educational respectability. Hence, Flitwick waged his own form of warfare against Voldemort from inside the castle. As a result, Dennis did not see much fear in the man as he squared off against the Chief Warlock.
"Do you think it would be better if we reached conclusions without his input?"
"It all depends on how you decide to twist his testimony around!"
The gasp from the gallery did not need translation. It hearkened back to the tactics used by Voldemort and his forces when they insinuated themselves inside the Ministry of Magic and eventually took over. The hundreds of show trials they enacted, often resulting in either binding a person's powers or outright making them disappear forever, remained a hallmark of Voldemort's reign. The memory did not dim in the intervening years.
"That is an unfair characterization, Professor," Fiawander said in a gruff manner.
"Is it? Are you saying Dennis has absolutely nothing to fear by taking part in this… hearing?" Professor Flitwick countered, and the slight pause in his question got silently filled with all sorts of negative adjectives.
"No," the man sitting on the high bench quietly affirmed. "I cannot say that. We aim to reveal the truth, sir, and it is our hope Mister Creevey would seek the same."
"Objective or subjective truth?"
"You are splitting hairs, Professor," the elderly man warned.
"Am I? Doesn't this come down to interpretation or… or… how you decide to view his actions?" Flitwick argued.
"A serious breach of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy cannot be treated lightly in case you forgot why we assembled this hearing. We need to determine if Mister Creevey's actions or inaction directly resulted in exposure of wizarding kind to non-magical persons!"
Professor Flitwick turned his head and gazed directly at Dennis before he said: "Do it now."
"I want a full Wizengamot hearing!" Dennis demanded as he stood. "It's my right to call for one, and I want one!"
The grumbles that issued from the far end of the gallery confirmed to anyone listening the assembled witches and wizards hoped to avoid provoking Dennis into exercising his rights. Although uncommon for a hearing, it became settled law following Voldemort's reign of terror that the more ears and eyes applied to a hearing, the greater the likelihood of a fair rendering. Too few minds applied to a situation often resulted in hidden biases exerting undue influence. Dennis and Professor Flitwick discussed his possible alternatives, and they agreed to let the older man decide if the most drastic course of action should be invoked.
The Chief Warlock seemed to deflate into resignation as he said: "Very well. As is your right, Mister Creevey, we will convene a full Wizengamot for your hearing. It may take us several weeks organize, and you are reminded to maintain isolation from any and all non-magical persons."
"I thought you said this wasn't a punitive hearing?" Professor Flitwick interjected.
"And do you wish your… client to further implicate himself?" Fiawander queried.
"I take your point."
"Very wise of you, Professor," the man droned before turning his attention to Dennis. "This hearing stands adjourned pending a reconvening of the Wizengamot. Time and date to be determined."
Before anyone else could speak, Chief Warlock Fiawander banged the butt end of his wand on the lectern. Ruby colored sparks shot out of the tip. It signaled the conclusion of the hearing. The assembled members stood and converged on the Chief Warlock. The man, himself, climbed down from his perch. Dennis watched until he felt a tug on his arm.
"We should go," Professor Flitwick gently instructed him.
Dennis rose while keeping his eyes focused on the gathering at the far end of the chamber. The muted conversation sounded oddly threatening for all Dennis could not make out the words. It seemed as if the witches and wizards conspired against him. Old feelings of paranoia, honed while at Hogwarts, started to reemerge. Another tug on his arm ensued.
"Now," his friend ordered.
The left the chamber and the Ministry altogether without saying a single word to one another. They used the Flu Network to return to the Professor's apartments at the castle. The access would be terminated after that trip due to the increased security around the castle. The terrorist events in the muggle world argued for greater caution in the wizarding one. Images of the recent calamity in New York City still dominated all the news outlets, including The Daily Prophet, The Quibbler, and the wizarding wireless networks. The Irish Republic Army bombings in England also remained a prime topic with renewed interest. Muggles, when afraid, tended to pose a greater threat than normal. Hence, when they arrived and stamped their feet to free themselves of soot, Professor Flitwick lead Dennis to the sitting room.
"Great Merlin, what I am going to do, Professor?" Dennis moaned as he sank into a chair.
Professor Flitwick busied himself at a side table. He returned with two small glasses of sherry. He handed one to his former student and said: "You might need this, but… you know."
"Won't tell a soul, and thanks," the younger man rejoined and accepted the little glass.
When the small man took his seat, they tilted their glasses toward one another, and then tossed back the sherry as if taking a shot of whiskey. The sweet flavor cascaded over Dennis' tongue along with the tang of the alcohol. The young man did find it calming, but he also knew better than to get intoxicated. However, he felt certain his friend and mentor would not allow the situation to reach that stage. At the same time the logs in the fireplace ignited as the connection to the network ceased.
"Dennis, I need to ask again: are you sure you didn't give it away somehow?" Professor Flitwick inquired half a minute later.
"Cam figured it out on his own, Professor. I know he did, but not exactly know how… except for how he explained it to me. I swear I did everything I could to conceal it, but Cam's not stupid. He put the pieces together without my help," Dennis again explained what he knew and understood.
Professor Flitwick raised his ever-expanding eyebrows,
"Honestly, I never did one bit of magic in front of him… that he would notice."
"Dennis?"
"Well, that one time walking back from a pub when those guys wanted to beat us up, but nothing showed. 'Sides, I reported it as I needed to, and the Auror Office told me they closed the case on that one. Said I acted within the rules," Dennis defended himself.
"It will come up in the hearing," Flitwick almost needlessly reminded him.
"Even Cam said he didn't notice it. He just thought I had a really good right and left hook."
Behind the glasses, the professor's eyes closed into slits as he chuckled. Every witch or wizard could name at least a dozen instances when they used undetectable magic in front of muggles. Sitting in the room before a fireplace that glowed with a merry little fire eased the young man. Flitwick's quarters routinely offered a sanctuary from the maddening world around Dennis. During his last years as a student, the professor provided him a safe harbor away from the taunts and torments of his detractors. In return, Dennis defended Professor Flitwick at every turn. He even got Peeves to speak in kinder terms about the man.
"From what you told me it was a justified use. Plus, it sounds like you really contained yourself," his friend replied.
"Didn't even have my wand with me," Dennis admitted.
Flitwick's eyes rose a bit.
"A little something Professor Artura taught me. Did you know she specialized in non-verbal magic?"
The man shook his head back and forth. Dennis then proceeded to inform his former professor about some of the more exotic and off-beat training he received from the ghosts and pictures in the castle. Since graduating from the school, Dennis became more inclined to share what he learned with his living friend. Even Thomas North, the late Earl of Nottingham, gave instruction on using a few of the artifacts he bequeathed to Dennis. That, in and of itself, proved a point of contention between Dennis and Ministry of Magic. It added to the fact Dennis would not tell them what he knew about Peeves the Poltergeist. Thoughts assailed the young man.
"Professor, do you think maybe the Ministry is trying get back at me for what I won't tell them about… the other things?" The younger wizard questioned.
"It's possible. The Ministry likes to keep secrets, but it's got a long history of not liking secrets being kept from them. They'll probably raise those issues as well during your next hearing, Dennis," the older wizard rejoined. "Good thinking getting a vault at Gringotts. The goblins will never let the Ministry violate their grounds. Did you hear they got a small squadron of dragons to guard their tunnels… and they're volunteers?"
Dennis nodded his head. Everyone knew the goblins went to considerable lengths to protect their interests. The losses they suffered during the second Voldemort war taught them valuable lessons they put into effect with great speed. The goblins revamped their entire security posture, and the process included finding a fleets of willing dragons to patrol the subterranean portions of the banks. Rumor persisted the creatures would be allowed to eat whatever interloper they encountered. Attempted thefts at any Gringotts branch reached zero in record time.
"One other thing, Dennis, does Cam know what he faces?" Professor Flitwick queried.
Dennis nodded his head as he said: "Yeah, I told him the aurors would obliviate his mind… and then I had to explain that. It put a right fear in him. He would never talk to anyone about what he knows."
"And you do realize they will obliviate portions of his memories regardless of the outcome of your hearing… or trial… or whatever the next meeting happens to be. You need to prepare yourself, my boy, for that."
The strawberry-blonde haired young man lowered his head and stared at the area rug protecting his shod feet from the cold flagstones. Time and again Dennis tried to forget what lay in store for the man who captured his heart. Everybody except the professor avoided talking about that eventuality. Dennis felt tears spring to his eyes. He blinked a few times, and one ran down his left cheek.
"So… why don't they blank the memories of the muggle parents of witches or wizards? What's to stop them from blabbing the truth to everyone?" Dennis grumbled his logical complaints with a rough voice. "It's not fair."
"No, it isn't. Considering you come from muggle parents, perhaps you need to voice that thought. Coming from someone else, it might not make much of an impact. Maybe you can find a path of hope by relating your own experiences being raised in a muggle house. Most of our kind can't understand… fathom what that must be like, and here you navigate between our two worlds with such skill and ease," Professor Flitwick told him, his words oozing sincerity and sympathy.
Dennis shrugged.
"Well, we can talk about our strategy for the next hearing once they announce the date."
"I… Professor, I honestly don't know how to thank you for all the help."
"You're my friend, Dennis, and I believe in your cause," the man firmly stated. "I've watched you transform these last eight months into someone I'm even more proud to know. You've aided the ghosts in ways no one ever thought of, and not without cost to yourself. Your friendship with Peeves astonishes even me, and it quite something to behold the way he acts around you. That poltergeist truly cares for you, and I know you've something of a soft spot for him."
"He's my friend as much as you are, but in a different way," Dennis confessed. "Strange, really, when you think about it."
"Your loyalty to him… did you really become his secret keeper?"
The younger wizard nodded and then added: "'Cept it's a bit more…"
"You did not?" Professor Flitwick hissed in shock as he apparently second-guessed Dennis.
"Yeah, I did. He has a right to his privacy, and I don't want to be threat to his existence. I'd do it again without question."
"But an Unbreakable Vow, Dennis… with a ghost? You can't outlive him."
"Doesn't that mean his secret truly is safe with me?" Dennis conjectured.
His mentor stared at him with a slightly horrified expression. After a few seconds, his face reflected something close to morose curiosity. Dennis smirked at the man.
"I'd think after what you went through with Umbridge, you'd understand."
"And what do you mean by that, young man?" Flitwick challenged in his teacher voice.
"What it's like to be hated for something you can't control," Dennis answered without missing a beat. "Come on, Professor! Do you really think Peeves planned on becoming the most famous haunt at Hogwarts? Do you think that was his ambition and life goal?"
Professor Flitwick shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"But he made do, didn't he?"
"I supposed he did," the elder wizard quietly agreed.
"And he's the… I guess living memory of Hogwarts. Peeves's seen everything, and he remembers most of it. He's a part of the castle, and even you said we don't have the right to dislodge him if doesn't harm anyone," Dennis reminded his friend.
"And I stand by that assessment. I must say, Dennis, you are a man of convictions and with a cause. Now, if we can show the Ministry your relationship with Mister Vall is no threat to anyone…"
"'Cept we're gay."
"And you're gay. There is that, and there might be some bias against you because of it," the professor muttered. "We might want to line up some witnesses to speak on your behalf."
"Who?"
With that the two began to strategize without considering the fact they did not know when his hearing would be scheduled. They talked deep into the afternoon. Even though they did not formulate any real plans, the session made Dennis feel much better. Thus, when he departed for home after a brief chat with Peeves, he did so with a greater sense of optimism.
"Good lord, Dennis!" His mother quailed when he popped into the living. "Give us a warning, would you!"
"Didn't have the blackboard with me," he explained.
"How'd it go, son?" His father asked from where he lounged in front of the television.
Dennis went and flopped onto the love seat, the couch furthest from the television, and let a frown form on his face. He gave a concise and quick summary of the proceedings. His parents attentively listened and did not interrupt. When he finished explaining the long talk with Professor Flitwick, they appeared slightly mollified.
"Going to erase his brain?" Duncan Creevey said and shuddered. "That's… medieval."
"Tell me about it, but they think it's humane," Dennis concurred with his father.
"It's no wonder you don't want to go work for them," his mother joined into the chorus.
"Ever since the World Trade Center and the IRA, it's like the Ministry is afraid someone else is behind it all. I'm waiting for them to brand me a terrorist 'cause I fell in love with a muggle!"
"Ooh, hush up! You're no terrorist, and look at all the wonderful things you've done for those people at your school," the woman called out from the dining room where she sat scanning the newspaper. She wore her hair in a newly coiffed bob and accented it with a loud print shirt dotted with cabbage roses the size of casaba melons.
"Jill, that's part it, or did you forget?" Her husband rejoined.
"Lord North made Dennis his inheritor fair and square. Even Headmistress McGonagall is a witness to it besides us!"
The small row house occupied by the Creeveys resounded with their voices. Dennis marveled anew at the slow transformation, albeit very painful at times, his family undertook. They began to put Colin's death into perspective in both magi and muggle terms. His father grew less hostile toward magic, especially after Dennis shared the patronus experience with both his parents. They got to feel magic in very real physical terms. Yet the sadness over the loss of his older brother could not be dispelled in a single day, week, month, or even a year. For three years they actively avoided dealing with the repercussions, and now they needed mitigate the lingering effects of that as well. Progress came in fits and starts, but Dennis felt closer to his parents for the effort. Despite the emotional and psychological advances, he continued to miss Colin with a keen intensity. He guessed he would for the rest of his life.
"Got a plate for you in the oven," his mother said. "Nothing special. Just some ham and carrots with biscuits, and a pudding for afters."
"Thanks, Mum," Dennis replied, and he began to pull himself up from the love seat.
"Did they get down on you again 'bout your vault?" His father queried while managing to keep one eye on the television. The man still wore his dairy delivery uniform.
"Not yet, but give 'em time. The Professor thinks it will come up."
"Such a wonderful man that Professor Flitwick. We should have him for dinner again," Jill Creevey announced.
"I'll ask him next time I go to Hogwarts. He enjoyed his last visit here. I don't think he's spent much time in mug… your… this part of the world. Plus, not sure if he's got any family around, and I know he's not married," her son spoke as he walked toward the kitchen.
"Does he play on your and Cam's team?" His father inquired and used his favorite euphemism for his son's sexuality.
"Not that I know of," Dennis loudly answered.
"Would it really matter, Duncan?" Dennis' mother inquired of her husband.
"S'pose not."
"You're learning, Dad!"
Dennis grinned to himself as he imagined his father's exasperated expression while pulling open the hob door and fished out the covered plate. Ham, carrots, and a biscuit awaited him. Although not entirely warm, he took the plate to the dining room after securing a fork and knife. He sat diagonally from his mother.
"Did he call?" He queried in a hushed voice.
"Yes, and he's doing fine. Cam understands why you can't see him right now, and he's more worried about you than himself," his mother informed him.
Dennis stared blankly at his plate as he listened.
"He's not afraid of what you are in case that's worrying you. I think he's rather excited about the whole prospect of you being a wizard and all."
"Not a lot scares Cam after the way he got forced to grow up, and he's not a fool."
Dennis stabbed a piece of ham and folded it into his mouth. His mother gave him a look, but he kept on chewing. The saltiness of the meat appealed to him. At the same time, Dennis wished he remembered to get something to drink.
"Neither one of you are fools," she told him, "but how long did you think you could keep it secret from him?"
The young man swallowed and replied: "At least a couple of years 'til we figured out if this relationship is going to work. Can't believe he started following me to the train station."
"Can you blame him? He wondered why you never let him walk along with you when you'd head home," his father commented from the living room. The man proved again working with cows and heavy machinery did not rob him of his hearing.
Duncan Creevey highlighted an aspect of Dennis' time spent in Nottingham that left one behavior in question. He consistently told Cameron he did not want his boyfriend unnecessarily walking back and forth to the train station. Sometimes Dennis took the bus to the main terminal instead of walking, and he then would secret himself away in order to disapparate to the Nottingham Apparation Station. He learned long after the fact Cameron witnessed him folding into space and disappearing. Not just once, but several times before he confronted Dennis. Since Cameron acted in a clandestine fashion, it did not automatically alert the Ministry of Magic because Dennis never reacted to being found out. However, when Cameron revealed what he knew and Dennis made a small display of magic, the aurors arrived within minutes. It took amazingly fast talking to keep the aurors from obliviating Cameron right then and there.
"But spying on me?" Dennis complained.
"Love, he was curious. Cam cares about you, so I wouldn't call it spying so much as making sure you were safe and got home without a problem," the matron of the house rejoined. "You've yourself to blame for making him like you so much!"
The young wizard chuckled in an ironic manner and began gnawing on the biscuit that went a little hard after sitting for a while. His mother bought prepared tinned dough and simply followed the instructions. It tasted fine to Dennis. Hunger won out, and he consumed it non-stop.
"Want a glass of milk?" She asked him.
"Wouldn't mind a Fanta," he requested a substitute.
"Going to have Cam give testimony?" His father questioned during a station pause in his program.
"I think he has to. The aurors and Ministry are going to want to know how he figured me out, and you know I was being very careful," Dennis replied.
"Thought you already told them what he did?"
"Yeah, but they don't trust anyone. They want to hear it for themselves. 'Sides, what he says is going to decide how the Ministry views what I did. Professor Flitwick and me both agree on that."
"Harrumph," Jill Creevey harrumphed and absentmindedly flipped to a new page of the newspaper. She seemed to forget about the Fanta.
"Mum?" Her son asked.
"It's like they think we're stupid… us non-magic folk," she told him in a slightly sour tone. "We knew for a couple of years something was different about you and Colin. Packages of biscuits locked in a cupboard would come up missing. Trash finding its way to the collection bin when neither of you went 'round back. A broken plate fixing itself. It's not as if you magic people can really hide what you do."
"We try… how'd you know about the plate?" He inquired and shoveled a forkful of carrots into his maw.
"Dennis, the bits disappeared from the bin and reappeared in the cupboard overnight. Your father and I thought you and Colin did a bang-up job gluing the pieces together."
"We should've known when we couldn't even find a hairline crack," his father relayed from the living room. "How is it you and him didn't fix everything you two broke?"
"'Cause Mum went mental…"
"It was some of the best China your grandmother Clara gave us for our wedding," his mother injected. "We already lost a few pieces, but a plate…."
Dennis could feel the old heat and scorn from that specific incident as he chewed on the last bite of ham. He and his brother, a year before Colin left for Hogwarts, lived in fear for a solid day their mother might send them to military or reform school. The young man recalled wishing with all his might the plate might be restored to wholeness. Colin did the same. The piece miraculously repaired itself, and his brother later contended Dennis as the cause since he displayed a finer control with charms from the start.
"So, your aurors thinking we don't know something funny is going on is daft. Sooner or later you're going to have to stop hiding yourself and just come right out and admit you're witches and wizards. Would do the lot of us a world of good," she said to him.
"I don't know about that," Dennis rejoined and glanced in his father's direction.
His mother lightly slapped at his arm.
"What do you think, Dad? Think it'd be better if you knew who every witch and wizard is?" He asked his father.
A long, pregnant pause followed before the man replied: "Not sure about that, Denny. It can be a bit… unsettling finding out what your kind can do. Could lead to a panic when people hear you've been hiding among us all along. Might be better if the truth comes out slowly."
Dennis glanced back at his mother, and she shook her head a tiny amount. He could see she read as much into his father's statements as he did. More often than not, Duncan Creevey easily stood in for the rest of society. The man truly represented what the common people thought.
"I say slowly," Duncan continued, "because I wouldn't want any harm to come to you or your kind, son. More than a few non-magical blokes would go benders if they found out, and they might get it into their heads they need to take your kind out before you take them out. A real strong chance it could get messy."
"It's not like the magical ever planned on anything like that and…"
"What about that dark wizard fellow? Huh? He didn't seem too keen on non-magical people," his father immediately interjected over the sound of the television. "Every now and then I read about the police trying to figure out all those disappearances… the ones you said Voldy-mort did in. Can you honestly tell me some wizard… or witch isn't getting a little funny in the head and planning on going dark?"
"No," Dennis barely breathed the word.
"It happens in our world, Denny. Look at them boys what flew the jets into the buildings in America. Look at the new bombings going on. Seems like it's a part of who we as humans, and your side happens to have some powers we don't."
The young man watched as a sad expression crossed his mother's face. Regardless of how much she wished to see the best in people, the world consistently and constantly presented counter examples. Dennis' father, whether by inclination or events over the past seven years, appeared fully aware of the implications on both sides. Part of the sorrow his parents experienced over the death of their son resulted from the fact they could not properly openly grieve. Colin died fighting in a war, yet Duncan and Jill Creevey could not explain the truth to their extended family or their friends. Colin died in a freak accident at his boarding school as far as the Creevey clan knew. It diminished the sacrifice the elder of the two brothers made for two different worlds. In one world he got hailed as a hero, but in the other Colin got viewed as the victim of bad structural engineering.
Dennis started to open his mouth when a hand landed on his arm and his mother's voice quietly said: "Let it be for now, Dennis. He's scared for you."
"I see your point, Dad," Dennis stated after a few seconds.
His mother nodded in an approving manner. Silence lingered as everyone in the small house seemed to retreat into their private thoughts. It seemed they would never be able to dislodge the link between death and magic. The photos on the walls, ones that did not move, gave testament to what magic cost the small family. Dennis sighed and applied himself to the last of his meal.
"Working or mucking about tomorrow?" His father inquired after a lengthy period of silence.
"Half day with Mister Odpadki, and then I'm off to Winchester for the afternoon. Seems I can learn something from one of the angels on the high alter according to Madame Soonsby," Dennis rejoined from the kitchen where he cleaned his plate and gulped down an orange soda.
"How are you getting paid for this one?" Duncan asked his son. "And you'll get in trouble for nosing around the cathedral."
The issue of receiving compensation for assisting the ghosts, paintings, and spirits at Hogwarts became something of an issue between them. His mother withheld her opinion, but let it slip she thought her son performed a grand service in lending comfort to the deceased. His father thought his son should get some sort of reward for the work entailed in sorting out mysteries sometimes hundreds of years old. Although Dennis told them what he did with a few of the items he inherited form Lord North, he did not reveal the thousands of galleons in profit he earned from a small number of very private sales. Dennis always conferred with the late earl before closing a deal, and Lord North's insights often boosted the value. However, his friend and ghost reminded him to keep one piece under wraps and to leave it be until Dennis acquired more magical skill.
"Something always turns up, Dad. You know that. You forget the Halvershams gave me a nice little fee for letting 'em know about their great-grandaunt," Dennis reminded his father. "'Sides, you know I'm not doing this for money. It's not the point."
"You're a good lad when it comes to that," his mother whispered ahead of his father.
"Living or dead doesn't matter, Denny. They're taking advantage of your legs and feet!" His father quailed at him.
"Are you forgetting how many of them helped me at Hogwarts and kept me sane? I wouldn't be half the wizard I am now without everything they showed and taught me."
Since assisting Lord North in breaking the silence curse placed on him and reuniting the man with his daughter, the specters of Hogwarts starting seeking out Dennis to assist them with matters that continued to haunt them in the afterlife. For many, the young wizard realized he could not offer any real assistance other than listening. Sometimes he lacked the skill to help, others proved so ancient he could not find any further information on the matter, and more than few hinted at old dark magic he did not wish to confront. Dennis sometimes conferred with Professor Flitwick, Lord North, and Peeves regarding certain cases. He learned to follow their advice. Of the three cases he accepted, two came to successful and swift resolution. One continued to become stranger with each turn, and it taxed Dennis' mind and time.
"No, son, I'm not," the man sighed in a resigned manner as if he did not like being reminded of his youngest son's somewhat tumultuous history.
"And I'm not shirking my duties with Mister Odpadki either, Dad. Have I missed a single rent payment or failed to chip in with bills?"
"No, Denny, you haven't."
The aggravated edge to his father's voice informed Dennis he came close to instigating an argument, but the younger Creevey wanted to dispense with the constant second-guessing of why he opted to assist the spirits at Hogwarts.
"Then what I do on my own time…"
"Yes, I get it! You're doing this out of the goodness of your heart even though you get in trouble over it," his father cut him short, and the chair under the man squeaked as he shifted about. "Your troubles with the Ministry started 'cause you helped Lord North, Denny, or are you forgetting that?"
The father seemed to take particular delight in reminding the son the troubles started after solving the cause of Lord North's appearance at Hogwarts. Firstly, it raised ugly questions about peerage internecine murder and speculation as to what Lord North's private magical study held. Secondly. Dennis would not confirm or deny the existence of a singular object Thomas North told him to keep well hid. Dennis followed the advice of his spectral friend. In both cases the Ministry of Magic took piqued interest. They did not like the fact Dennis unearthed history revealing muggle-magi interaction whereby muggles hired a wizard to kill another wizard. Moreover, they would not tell him why they wanted to see the contents of his vault, and Dennis suspected they simply wished to fish around for antiquities of interest. Hence, the young wizard stood at loggerheads with the government that oversaw his people.
"It's not their fault the Ministry is a boggart's ass," Dennis complained. "Who am I hurting? No one, that's who. Who am I helping? People the Ministry'd rather forget about. So, are you saying I should just forget about these souls who are suffering because it might cause me a little trouble?"
Dennis heard his father snort, a sure indication the man grew extremely frustrated, and yelling would ensue in the next round. He glanced at his mother. Jill Creevey appeared flummoxed at both her husband and son. She shook her head and laid bare her thoughts through her expression. Dennis stared down at his now empty plate.
"Thanks for saving me dinner, Mom," he quietly stated.
"Yes, love," she rejoined, but she gave him the eye meant to caution him.