The wait seemed interminable Dennis later recalled. He, Cameron, his mother, and Professor sat in the stuffy waiting room and talked very little. Over two hours they waited before two members of the Ministry arrived and requested Cameron go with them. Dennis protested since Cameron did not know the laws of the magi. Vague promises got made the Wizengamot simply wished to discuss the issues with him. Dennis stood to one side, powerless to stop them. Both his mother and the professor made attempts to sooth him, but could offer nothing concrete. Two hours after that, aurors came and got Dennis. Neither his mother nor Professor Flitwick got leave to go with him.
The aurors took him from the Ministry building to another just down the street and into a restaurant. Dennis felt a huge surge of relief when he saw Cameron sitting at table staring at plate of half-eaten food. From all appearances, it looked as if someone dined with him. The aurors took him to the table and sat him down in the spot that seemingly got vacated moments before. Dennis stared at Cameron, who sat and swayed a little. He never looked up or said a word.
"Cam?" Dennis carefully said the name.
Cameron, still dressed in his fine suit for the day, slowly glanced upward. As soon as he saw Dennis' face, his began to change. A range of emotions resonated from him until he narrowed his eyes and darker splotches appeared on his cheeks. Dennis watched in wide-eyed bewilderment.
"You motherfucker!" He growled at Dennis. "So, what? All this time and now you're just dumping me?"
"Dum… what?" Dennis sputtered.
"I knew it. I knew it was too good to be true! All this time you keep coming up to Nottingham because you're still seeing someone down here. The fucking gall!"
Cameron got angrier by the second.
"Cam, you know I'm only dating…"
"Save it, asshole!" Cameron yelled, and the restaurant became absolutely silent.
Dennis noticed over the shoulder of an enraged Cameron the table where four aurors sat. Each carefully aimed their wands to various parts of the restaurant, and one pointed hers directly at Cameron. The pieces started to click to together. Dennis tried to remember how to defeat a Confundis or Imperium charm, but the setting limited his ability to counter-charm Cameron. Moreover, he simply could not whip out his wand without incurring another violation of the secrecy act. Thus, Dennis felt forced to sit and endure whatever they planned for him.
"Jesus! You know you could have told me you didn't want to be exclusive. Sure, I'd've been hacked off, but at least it wouldn't give you the chance to humiliate me like this for fuck's sake!" Cameron bellowed.
He stood and threw his napkin onto his plate. The handsome, dark-skinned young man radiated fury. His dark eyes tried to bore holes into the wizard's head.
"Why couldn't you have been honest with me? Huh? I mightn't be happy about it, but I can handle the truth. All this fucking playing around. Why? Why?"
"Cameron…" Dennis started to say, but then it dawned on him Cameron would not be able to hear him or what he wanted to say. He hung his head down.
"Can't even face me. Jesus, fucking figures. You London lads are so fucking full of yourself and think you can get away with anything," the standing young man sniped.
"I don't live in London," the young wizard heard himself uselessly protest.
"God, go fuck yourself, Dennis," Cameron spat. "And if you ever come back to Nottingham, don't ring me up or come knocking. I won't answer. Ever!"
Like a scene from a movie, Cameron stormed past Dennis, and aimed for the exit. The little bell rang when the door opened. Everyone in the restaurant stared at Dennis. He sat there trying to comprehend exactly what occurred. It did not take long for his clever mind to reach certain conclusions. Like Cameron, he stood as well. Instead of leaving, he faced the aurors. They barely glanced at him.
"This is why people fucking hate you," he said. His voice cracked from holding back emotion. "This is why people don't want to help you and don't care if you get killed. I hope what you just did to me happens to you!"
The fact three of the aurors looked surprised at his words did not affect him. Dennis turned and followed Cameron's path out of the restaurant. The horror of what just occurred filled his mind. The Ministry did not obliviate Cameron: they changed his memories and inserted new ones to ensure the relationship would end. The aurors did not, as far as he knew, use any of the Unforgivable Curses. However, Dennis still considered their actions evil and vile. He walked down the street as he thought and tried to hold himself together, further away from the Ministry, until he found an alley. After stepping inside and placing his back against the wall, Dennis slid down it as his strength failed him. He drew his knees up tight, wrapped his arms around them, buried his head in the space between, and wept for what just got done to both him and Cameron.
It felt like hours that he sat and cried about the injustice done to him. Moreover, Dennis could not understand how or why the Ministry did not convene an actual trial. Part of him said the Ministry knew it would lose given the facts, and especially the ones he raised in using the Aural Picto-Glasses. Dennis felt insignificant and small against the power of the Ministry of Magic that, for all seeming intents and purposes, should actually look out for his welfare. He received a hard lesson in life, and it left him brokenhearted.
"Sweetie?" His mother's voice drifted over his head.
Dennis started as he released his legs and his right hand darted into his jacket in search of his wand. He calmed himself just enough to stand, and then let his mother enfold him in an embrace. Dennis clung to her as new sobs and tears got ripped from him.
"We know what happened," she quietly said into his ear. "We couldn't do anything to stop it, and the professor is filing a formal complaint. He says they violated your rights by not giving you a proper trial."
Dennis nodded his head and continued to cry. They stood in the alleyway, large trash dumpsters to his left exuded the smell of rotting food, and managed to find privacy. The sunlight did not reach down to their level since the sun would need to be directly overhead to do so. They stood in a semi-twilight, mother and son, while the son – a wizard no less – felt his world crashing around him.
"He's gone, then?"
"Cam hates… me," Dennis forced out the words. "Made him… believe I was… just using… him as a bit… on the side. He hates… me for… it."
"Oh, Dennis! There, there," she cooed and patted his head while hugging him with another. "Right awful thing to do to someone."
His mother comforted him, and Dennis took a small amount of solace from it. He loved Cameron Vall rather intensely. His emotions conflicted with the last image of Cameron's face his mind recorded. Little by little he began to see the mastery of the Ministry's plan. They did not need to erase Cameron's mind, problematic since others would remind him of Dennis, or those of scores of other people. Instead, they simply chose to alter his most recent memories to force an end to the relationship. Dennis could not refute what Cameron would say because it would get him in further trouble with the Ministry. Fury and sorrow warred within him knowing he got completely out-maneuvered. He thought their actions moved them one step closer to Lord Voldemort's camp.
"Alright, Love. Let's go home. I think you can probably do with a good meal… and a friendlier atmosphere," his mother suggested.
With barely a thought, Dennis initiated the disapparation. He and his mother folded up into space and traversed the distance from White Hall to the living room of their St. Albans townhouse in three heartbeats. His mother clung tightly to him.
"For the love of god, Dennis! Warn a person when you're going to do that!" She berated him as she stood wobbling in the living room from the sudden translocation.
"Sorry, Mum. Kind of a habit to just do it now," he glumly replied.
"Oh, Sweetie, I know you're distracted. No harm done," his mother gently told him. "Go and get changed. Maybe take a bath if that will help you relax. I'll go put some food on."
"Yeah, right. Thanks, Mum," he mumbled.
Jill Creevey gave her son another fierce hug, and Dennis melted into it for a few seconds. It could not reverse what occurred, but it made him feel as though she stood squarely in his corner. He hugged her in return while tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.
Three days passed as Dennis moodily sat alone in his room. He refused to go to work. He refused to go to Hogwarts. He refused to go to the Ministry to sign paperwork regarding his hearing. Dennis even refused an invitation from Professor Flitwick to join the man for a cup of tea. His brain slowly started to seethe at the unfairness of what the Ministry of Magic did to him. Their case regarding his violation of the International Statute on Wizarding Secrecy seemed paper thin at best. The only saving grace came when his weekly subscription to The Daily Prophet arrived. They continued to print articles regarding the investigation status of the people Dennis' Aural Picto-Glasses recorded. They did not mention him by name, but there seemed to be a public sentiment building against the Ministry regarding the enforcement of the secrecy laws. Dennis devolved into a confused mess of what to believe or think.
"Son," his father said to him early in the morning of the fourth day, "I know you got hurt by all of this, but ignoring the world isn't going to help. Mister Odpadki keeps sending owls, and we're running out of hot dogs."
"What's the point?" Dennis grumbled and did not look up from his hunkered position on his bed. He woke when he heard his father shuffling around getting ready for the day. "You always said work hard and play by the rules, and I'll get ahead. It doesn't work that way, Dad. They keep changing the rules so it'll work out for them. They're as bad a Voldemort."
"Bit extreme, isn't it, Denny, saying that?"
"We're you listening at all when I told you what they put into Cam's head?"
"Watch your tone, son. I'm actually with you on this one!" Duncan Creevey warned him.
"Sorry, Dad. I know you are, but… I don't know what," Dennis responded.
The man walked into his son's room where only the light filtering from behind the drapes and shades provided dim illumination. He often said he did not like entering a place where something that should rightly be inanimate might suddenly spring to life. The act forced Dennis to glance up and regard his father.
"Since when are you a quitter, Denny? Where's that kid who took on his own parents year after year to get them to understand magic isn't the enemy? I know you like to sulk and brood at times, but usually you're making a plan of some sort. You're one of the smartest people I know, son, and I can't believe you're going to let this defeat you," his father said and spoke in a staid, almost taciturn voice.
The magnitude of compliments his father offered stunned Dennis. His head turned slightly to the side like a dog watching something it did not understand, but thought food might be involved at some point. He regard the man who entered his room further than he did in years, and who sneaked peaks around the room with wary attentiveness.
"You can turn on the light, Dad. Nothing in here will go after you," the man's son informed him.
Duncan looked visibly relieved when he flicked the switch, and yellowish-white light flooded downward from the fixture above their heads. In the light, Dennis' room appeared rather plain. The few mementos he kept for himself from his various adventures seemed too ordinary to hint at the connection to the magi world. Perhaps only one other person alive would understand the small block of wood sitting next to Dennis' bed on his nightstand. That block of wood successfully hit him in the head a dozens of times until he learned to listen for it traveling through the air. Dennis sat on his bed waiting to hear what his father really wanted.
"I know you loved Cam. Your mother and I liked him quite a bit, too. You should've seen they would use him to get at you. Those in power don't like being told no, and you got a habit of doing that," the man intoned.
"So… what? I'm just supposed to roll over and do everything they say even when it's wrong? That's what Voldemort wanted people to do. That's why I keep saying there's no difference no between the Dark Lord and the Ministry!" Dennis again reiterated his comparison.
Duncan folded his arms across his chest, took in a deep breath, and said: "And how far is that going to get you, going around talking like that? You're not going to win any friends. The Ministry isn't very fond of you for starters… not since all business with Lord North got started. I honestly don't know what it is the Ministry wants, but maybe…"
"No! I will never fucking give them what they want. Not that at least. Dad, you have no idea how much more evil it will make the Ministry!"
Father and son eyed one another.
"Then should you have it?" His father inquired.
"No, I shouldn't, to be honest," Dennis admitted. "But I don't even know how to use it, don't want to know, but I can keep it hid. If the Ministry tries to interfere with the goblin bank, they'll have a bloody war on their hands, and they know they will. That's why it's safe in my vault right now."
"Denny, I don't understand what you're getting out of all of this? Was Cam a fair price to pay?"
Dennis sat, somewhat stunned by the breadth of the questions, and stared at his father while he thought. It instantly made the young wizard begin to re-evaluate his decisions over the past year. Thomas suffered far more over the course of two and a half centuries than he did the last five years. Dennis could not compare his woes to those of the late nobleman. In the same vein, Peeves also suffered in ways unimaginable to the living. How and why the poltergeist continued to exist without slipping into utter madness seemed impossible to discern. Yet both his post-living friends offered him an example of how life should be lived. The removal of Cameron Vall from Dennis' life proved a very steep price, but then Dennis considered all he learned. The name of horrendous, vicious spell continued to exist in his brain, and he needed to guard that as carefully as he did the Heptagon. The Unbreakable Vow he made with Peeves took care of itself.
"Dad," he sighed the word, "if what I have and what I know gets out, I can't begin to think of how many people are going to die because of it. Thomas died, got killed, before he could pass it along. He gave it to me to keep it safe. I don't know if what they did to Cam, to me, was a fair price to pay, but if I don't pay it, it'll end up costing all of us a lot more."
"Good god, boy, you're too young for this type of responsibility! Why does it have to fall to you?" His father made an emotional but cogent argument.
"For the same reason it fell to Colin. I know you don't think it was worth it, but don't you get Voldemort would've killed us all – you, Mum, and me – if he didn't get defeated? Colin did. I told you all about Harry Potter, Dad, and everything he lost, but he understood what would happen if we didn't stop Voldemort. What I've gotten into isn't nearly as bad, but it really could be."
Dennis saw the old fear well up in his father's eyes. Once again, forces and powers the man did not fully comprehend seemed the rise up and threaten his last remaining son. Dennis could not quell his father's fears. They seemed justified, especially given someone tried to kill him not long before. In the midst of everything his father brought to mind, an idea sparked. It did not fill Dennis with hope he could alter his current circumstances, yet it presented a reason to get out of his bed. He felt something harden within his chest.
"Denny? I've seen that look before," his father said in a wary voice.
"You're right about one thing, Dad: it's not doing anyone any good with me just lying around in bed being angry. There is something I can do… and I think I need to do it."
"Son?"
"This… thing needs to be destroyed. It's no good just hiding it. I'm not going to live forever, and I'd hate to think of what the goblins might do with it," Dennis speculated aloud and began forming his reasons for action.
"Dennis?" Duncan asked a thousand questions with one name.
Dennis slid to the edge of his bed. He then stood up. It never dawned on him in the past he rose half an inch taller than his father. Their eyes met on the same level. Old, worried expressions collected on the man's face. It seemed all to familiar to the young Creevey, and he wondered if his father could see the pain and sorrow in his face. However, he clung to any reason to get out of bed and do something. It also focused on an important issue.
"This isn't going to kill me, Dad," Dennis attempted to assure him. "Only me and Thomas know what I've got locked up. Even Lucia doesn't know. She doesn't want to, and that's why I never told you."
"I truly don't want to know, Denny, so you'll get no argument from me on that, but I don't want you going off half-cocked on some barking mad adventure," his father did argue.
"I'm just going to find the Druids and see if they can tell me how to get rid of this thing."
"Hold on. Those loons dressed up in robes and burning incense over at Stonehenge are magical?"
"No, they're not, and they are loons," Dennis answered without a single trace o humor. "The real Druids are up in Scotland in the far north. I've read they get kind of a laugh out of those nutters at Stonehenge. I know someone who's been to one of the Druid moots, and I'll pay him a visit first."
"Why do I get the distinct impression everything you're planning on doing your mother and I would disapprove of?" His father continued to question his plan without even knowing what it entailed.
"Because it involves magic, and you don't like magic. You want me to do something that makes sense to you… like getting up and heading out on a rubbish run. What I'm planning isn't too far from that," he countered.
His father harrumphed and said: "You scare me sometimes, Denny. Know that?"
Dennis nodded his head. Before the man could move, the young wizard threw his arms around him and squeeze. Duncan gradually returned the embrace. Dennis felt the tension not only in his father, but in himself as well. He squeezed a little harder.
"I know I'm not what you wanted in son, Dad, but you've done all right by me. You made Cam feel welcome," Dennis told him.
"He knew a lot about cars… and plumbing."
"Something you both could understand, and I never got."
The man let a little bitter laugh escape, and then he really hugged his son.
"Please, tell me you're going to be safe. I don't care if it's the biggest lie in the world… just let me think it," Duncan Creevey all but begged.
Dennis squeezed while he spoke: "Honestly, this might be the safest thing I've done in a while, so I'm going to be fine. I'll be safe, Dad. I promise you."
"You're going to have to make the same promise to your mother. Right?"
"Yeah, I know."
Dennis would later think about that moment. His father did not tell him he could not go and do what he thought needed to be done. Duncan treated his son like an adult with adult concerns. Moreover, the notion of magic did not seem to come between them. Once they parted, he followed his father to the mid-level and into the dining area. Unlike his father, his mother seriously questioned his plan – which he did not explain at all – and his motives. She tried to talk him out what he knew he needed to do. Dennis gently refused her pleas every step of the way.
The rest of the morning got spent preparing for his journey. Dennis dressed in some of his sturdiest traveling clothes and put on his favorite pair of boots. Once suitably attired, he went in search of other supplies. His mother trailed him around the house offering a multitude of reasons why he should reconsider. In the midst of her haranguing him, an owl arrived from Mr. Odpadki. Dennis scribbled a note to his employer saying he needed to take an extended leave for personal reasons. He fed the owl part of a cold, leftover meat pie, and the bird looked offended before it departed. By noon, Dennis packed his traveling kit. It bulged more than usual since he did not know how long his venture would take.
"I've got the chalkboard with me, so it's not like you can't contact me, Mum," Dennis told her while he tried to get into the living room around her attempts to block him. "If you're not careful, you're going to disapparate with me."
"Dennis, why? Why now? After everything you already went through…" Jill Creevey began another round of complaints as she stepped to one side to avoid accidental magical travel.
"It's 'cause of what happened to him… me… us that I need to do this, Mum, like I've told you ten times already. If I can finish this, I won't have to worry about anyone trying to hold it over my head anymore. The Ministry is using the people I care about against me."
Mother and son regarded one another for a moment as the truth of that statement too root. Given what Dennis learned about other magi and their relationships with muggles, it became abundantly clear the Ministry targeted him. Moreover, The Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, and the smaller Aurora Times did not disguise the seeming disparity in the treatment of Dennis – although they did not mention him by name – and those who also got revealed. His anger at the Ministry began to bubble again, but he pushed it down. Dennis planned on taking away one of their leverage points.
"Lord North best tell you where he buried his treasure! He owes you, Dennis. He owes you!"
"No, Mum, he doesn't. He's more than paid me in a lot of ways. I'm doing this for me more than for him… and I'm doing it for you and Dad, so none of us ever have to worry about it again. Can't you see that?" The young wizard made his plea.
His mother snagged him by the neck and soundly kissed his cheek. She used it as a method of surrender when she knew he would not be swayed. After half a minute of hanging on him, she released her hold.
"Mum, I don't know how long this is going to take, but I'll make sure to come back every once in a while," he promised her.
"How do you get into these situations, Dennis?" His mother rhetorically inquired in a dark tone.
"I get into them 'cause someone taught me I need to be responsible and think about the welfare of others."
She gave him a sad smile and patted his cheek before she asked: "Check the board every day."
"I will," Dennis agreed. "Love you, Mum."
"Love you, too, Dennis."
He then folded into nothing with a hiss and a pop. It took Dennis his usual four hops to land before the gates of Hogwarts. They swung open after he presented himself. The young man then set out to conduct three different conversations. The first occurred with Professor Flitwick, and they spent an hour and a half talking. First, they discussed what he planned. It did not take long since he would not divulge what he fully intended to do. Second, they recounted the results of the hearing, the trial in abstentia, and the aftermath. Professor Flitwick' formal complaint caused many severe headaches for the Chief Warlock and the Wizengamot. Dennis again compared them to Voldemort, except this time the professor did not rebuke him. By the time he took he last sip of tea, Professor Flitwick implored him to stay in contact. Dennis agreed to the request. In an unusual display, the small man gave him gave him a hug, wished him luck, and demanded he be cautious at all times. Dennis acceded to the demand.
The conversation with Lord Thomas North, the late Ninth Earl of Nottingham, did not take as long. They spoke in code, so as to spare Lucia any direct knowledge. Thomas fully endorsed Dennis' plan. He warned the young wizard to leave the Heptagon in his vault until such time as he secured a real and tested method to destroy it. Dennis went a step further in claiming he would not utter its name, much in the same manner he never spoke the spell name that extinguished the nobleman's life. Dennis chatted briefly with Lucia, who told him she gleaned he undertook an important mission based on her father's reaction. As always, the ghost of the woman thanked him for being a loyal, staunch, and true friend to them.
Lastly, Dennis found himself standing at the bottom of the main stairwell near the cold, dark recess where the mortal remains of the poltergeist lay hid. It acted as a call to the spirit, and Peeves arrived in short order. The glow of the luminos spell highlighted the wicked grin stretched unnaturally across the ghostly face when he saw the young man.
"Thou mayest gaze upon me to your sordid contentment, Snot," Peeves teased him while he rolled in midair from one side of the stairwell to the other.
"You think way too much of yourself, Peeves," Dennis rejoined.
The poltergeist cackled with glee.
"Peeves, I'm going away for a while," the living person began. "I've got to find a way to destroy the Heptagon. It's too dangerous, and it's messing up my life."
"The half… Professor Flitwick informed me of what got done to your man, Creevey. Detestable. Is this what prodded thee to act?" Peeves said as he came to halt lying on his stomach face-to-face with Dennis.
Dennis nodded.
"And thou comes to me gracelessly playing fast and loose with what you know of my once mortal life. For shame, Snot. Thou art a mountebank!"
"Oh, please, Peeves! You're half Druid at best," Dennis whispered his shout at the ghost.
The semi-transparent man zipped closer to his face.
"But a sight more than you," Peeves reminded him.
"And, no, I didn't come trying to get more information from you. I'm going to see Seamus Finnegan for that. He went to a moot back when we were in school. He can tell me where I should go look and maybe give me a name or two," Dennis verbally parried.
"Fie on thee, consorting with the enemy. This is base treachery!"
"Oh, come off it, Peeves! You hate the Britons more than the Irish!"
"There is much truth to be mined from those words if you did pick with care," the living man's spectral friend intoned.
"Such a git."
"Mayhap that is, but what thou seeks to do is not without peril. You search for the means to break their earth magic, and they will be loath to lend thee assistance, Dennis. Thou sets before yourself no mean task, and it will take what paltry cunning you've accumulated of late to secure success," Peeves counseled in his own peculiar fashion.
Dennis did not respond. He pulled apart the sentences and heard the warning. In the cold of the stairwell that never seemed to warm, he shifted from foot to foot as he thought. Peeves presented a rather logical conundrum: the Druids might not appreciate what he wanted to do to one of their ancient devices, yet they, alone, could tell him how to accomplish it. His eyes scanned the smirking visage of the poltergeist.
"Didn't quite think of that," Dennis confessed to his friend following several moments of silence. "I guess it'd be like asking goblins to destroy their silver and gold works."
"Aptly put, though thou might find less of a fight in the crafty little ones. Have you consulted with Profess…
"Say it, and I'll tell people where you hide your goods!"
"Charlatan of comrade!"
Dennis grinned. Peeves shifted around to make himself sit cross-legged. He leaned forward with one of his patented nasty expressions, the kind Dennis since learned to ignore as long as he did not gaze into the black voids of the spirit's eyes.
"But I sought not to salt his wounds, Snot. He is a clever man, brimming and soaked with knowledge of which even you cannot fathom. There are magics in him, boy, that come by way of blood. His work in charms is not accident in contrast to your skill with the same," Peeves hissed at him.
"He said even goblins do not understand Druidic earth magic, and the goblins openly trade with them for minerals and gems. Didn't you tell me it's one of the oldest forms of magic in the world?" Dennis related
"Be still my racing heart that the Snot boy listened and learned," the ghost said as he clutched at his chest.
The young wizard rolled his eyes at the display, and his lack of reaction caused the poltergeist to snicker.
"You know why I'm really doing this, don't you?" Dennis asked when the levity began to fade.
Peeves squarely faced him, the smirk on his ethereal mouth did not convey humor, and he said: "Thy antipathy toward those who robbed you of your heart's desire is plain, Creevey. The wrong committed against thee is grievous and demands retribution!"
"I can't go to war with them… 'les I'm going to be a new Voldemort…"
"Thou art too cavalier with the name and memory of that one," the ghost interjected.
Dennis shrugged and replied: "But I am going to take away something they can use against me. Thomas is all in favor of me destroying it. He said he wanted to do the same thing, but… well, someone killed him before he could."
"And now you serve as his earthly drudge and lackey! My how the fortunes of the entitled continue after death!"
"Sod off, you tosser!"
Peeves clapped his hands and spun in a circle at the successful goading of Dennis, although Dennis merely played the part for the amusement of his friend. In a very subtle fashion, it showed respect to the poltergeist. Knowing what the spirit could do required respect. In the same regard, Peeves' thousand-year existence gave him a rare insight about the world. More often than not Dennis benefited from the spirit's extensive memory.
"Peeves, is what I'm planning on doing dangerous?" Dennis asked the question of the only person who could take a long view of his actions.
The poltergeist grew eerily still as he regard the young man.
"Snot, when wilt thou learn that all things in life are a risk?" Peeves asked without a single drop of humor in his voice. "You strive to undo a powerful magic that existed long ere I came into the world. As you discovered nearly too late, there are those who know, perhaps not in fact but in skillful guessing, thou safeguard this device… and it is mighty one indeed. But you know this, Creevey, and simply wish for me to confirm thy suspicions."
Dennis' head gradually bobbed up and down. His brief history with the contraption already provided one serious threat to his life. Moreover, the Ministry sought to turn his days into torture over it. Lastly, Thomas real fear of what could happen if the wrong people got their hands on it only added to the treacherous legacy.
"Stop playing the simpleton and dullard, boy!" Peeves snapped at him. "You've concerns now greater than thy own miserly misery. Keep your eyes peeled and your wits sharp. Pay attention to all thee hears and sees… if thou value your mortal existence. Have you gained nothing from your days?"
Peeves did not joke. The tone of his voice felt heavy as lead. Once again, Dennis got treated to the very serious side of the poltergeist never on display for others to witness. It served as a mark of their friendship. Moreover, the ghost offered real advice. He also confirmed that Dennis prepared to set off on a dangerous quest quite in opposition the bland trip he presented to his parents.
"I've learned it costs to help others," the young wizard quietly remarked.
"Ah, one of the most useful lessons because, here and now, thou understand thy deeds run afoul of those who seek simply to help themselves. You are a threat to them, Creevey, and what they prize even above the lives of others. Power, child, offers no compassion or loyalty."
"Aren't we a cheery lot," Dennis said in the cold, dim confines of the stairwell. The dirt under his feet felt unyielding.
"Truth has little use for emotion! It is we who imbue it with purpose where none is seen. How oft I have beheld those who believe they hold the truth in their palm of their hand only to have it crumble into dust in the midst of their celebrations. Real truth favors none and spares no one," Peeves rejoined.
The atmosphere seemed to close in around Dennis as he listened. Time and again he wondered how deeply Peeves longed from someone with whom he could exchange a simple conversation. He could not help but recall the number of occasions when he got called upon to help calm Peeves. Since graduating from the school, the poltergeist no long harried Dennis as he did the attending students. They spent their time together in a more adult fashion and for as long as the mischievous ghost could contain himself. Dennis gazed at the semi-transparent man with naked affection. The absence of Cameron left the young wizard with feelings that needed expression.
"I'm going to miss you, Peeves, and these talks."
"Hardly. Some man will pique thy fancy, and the memories thou has of your friend Peeves will be naught but vapor in the ether. I suspect you will go flouncing off through the fields, dainty as a besotted bull, to find what illicit thrills await thee in the world, you cur," Peeves replied and returned to form.
"You are so full of bullocks," Dennis said and joined in the ritual.
"Not as much as you wish for thyself!"
Dennis smirked. Few could best Peeves at word play, and the young wizard knew he would never win on that front. The poltergeist formed a good sounding board, however. His counsel often came wrapped in several layers of insults and taunts, but that did not detract from the useful nuggets found within the sometimes overwrought language Peeves used.
"Do you think I can do this?" Dennis asked before he thought better of the question.
"Shall I trot out for you the old lay regarding belief in thyself?" Peeves answered with his usual snarky tone.
Dennis eyed him for a moment. Peeves drifted a little from side to side, as though pushed by some gentle breeze none but he could feel. Silence and the poltergeist made for strange bedfellows, and it regularly meant he honed a nastier feature of one of his plots.
"You are certainly clever enough for such tasks when the mood fits thee and not nearly as dimwitted as thou would have people believe. You are capable with your magic, Snot, and never shied away from making mistakes that proved instructive," the poltergeist said and paused for a moment. "But methinks this is of another order entirely, and caution should be thy watchword. Do not act hastily or without forethought, and do not tarry or linger in deciding as it will rob you of precious seconds. As I've heard others of your time say, ye'd better be on thy best game."
"You're right. I've read about the Druids, and I don't think I want to go up against them, but they're the only ones who'll know how to do this," the young wizard rejoined.
Peeves then glanced around as if guilt of conspiring, floated closer the living man and said in a dramatic stage whisper: "Look for the disaffected, Weavy Creevey! Find thee a Druid bebothered by the Druids themselves, and there may thou discover a source of information."
"That's not a bad idea."
"Of course it isn't! When have I ever led you astray, Snot?"
Dennis started to open his mouth.
"Except for that occasion. I had no notion thou would carry through with so plainly a cockeyed scheme," Peeves interjected.
Dennis continued to try to speak.
"You misunderstood me that time."
Dennis did not even move.
"You opinion on that occurrence is clearly skewed since it effected thee in a most awkward manner. Had thee the gift of after-sight, you would think nothing of it."
"You forgot to say you are physically incapable of leading anyone anywhere, Peeves," Dennis quickly stated.
"There is that, and… one moment, boy!"
The young living man let a smirk dance along his lips while Peeves feigned insult. However, it only took a few seconds before the ghost began to snicker. None other than Dennis knew Peeves enjoyed being bested in pranks or wordplay every once in while. Granted, his immaterial stated did not lend itself to physical japes, but the ghost did like being caught unawares from time to time.
"Well! I have one last thing to say to you, Weavy Creevey!" The poltergeist snorted at him.
"Oh, this aught to be good," Dennis remarked.
"Quiet!"
Peeves again floated closer to him. Cold lapped at Dennis' skin. He knew the poltergeist somehow survived off of the ambient energies of Hogwarts, as likely did all the other haunts. The wizard seldom encountered such hale and hearty spirits unless they, too, resided near powerful magical fields. Dennis recently began to study muggle science books in an effort to understand the world from their perspective. He found it extremely useful regarding his understanding of magic. Furthermore, some texts helped him discern how a creature like Peeves managed to exist. At the moment, it felt as if Peeves drank all the warmth of the stairwell into his form.
"Do not become known only to thy own company," Peeves said, and his transformation from one mood to the next seemed startling.
"I don't follow," the young wizard intoned.
"I made your acquaintance when thou sought refuge and isolation from your tormentors. Of late I seen thee take to the fields and wilds, and now it seems you return to old habits. Thou are wounded, Dennis, in your heart," the spirit told him, and the use of his proper first name became telling.
"Wouldn't you be?" Dennis snapped.
"The dalliances of the living are of little concern for me except when I may catch them at it and make sport of their condition. But this is not what I intended to say."
The young man frowned.
"It is quite plain you loved this man whom the Ministry saw fit to cleave from you, and did so using most foul means. This is thy wound, and it seems to me you head to untrammeled part of these islands to either escape the pain or nurse grudges. Perhaps both," Peeves grimly stated.
Following a long drought of silence, Dennis replied: "Yeah, maybe."
"Then I warn you, Snot: when hast it ever served you to flee from your travails? No matter where you travel, they will nip at thy heels and bay in the night in the confines of thy mind. Did you learn nothing from the man who chased you and from whom you fled?"
Dennis flinched a little. The very spirit before him saved his life in that confrontation. Thus, the words carried a greater impact.
"Okay, I get what your saying," he conceded after a few seconds. "But… I need to think and get away for a while to do it. Finding the Druids… I guess it was my excuse."
Dennis could feel his ethereal friend scrutinize him. As usual, he avoided staring into the endless black voids of Peeves' eyes. The Poltergeist floated backward half a meter.
"Think, but do not brood!"
"You sound like my dad."
"Why should sound advice only come only from the living?" Peeves grunted the words.
The young wizard nodded is head and said: "Sometimes it hurt, and I mean physically hurt, but you've never given me real bad advice. Some of it was questionable, but… thanks, Peeves."
"Very well. Away with thee, Snot. I fear more words would be wasted in the speaking!"
Before Dennis could respond, Peeves began spinning in a fast, tight circle. A laugh like a demented madman flew out of him as he vaulted upward. Time and again the ghost showed he did not like good-byes, and that day proved no exception. Dennis stood alone in the stairwell. He turned, his feet quietly crunching on the accumulated dirt and dust from ten centuries, and aimed for the stairs. Dennis began to climb.
"You're not done with me yet," he mumbled Hogwarts.
"I should hope not!" A very familiar but invisible voice replied.
The young wizard ginned at the response. As he lifted himself out of the stairwell, Dennis realized he set his feet on a different internal path. He would find a way to heal himself from the damage done by the Ministry as he struggled to discover the means to rid the world of a dangerous piece of magic. In the end, it gave Dennis a sense of purpose and a reason to move forward. Slowly, as he move from one tread to the next, the light began to open above his head.