A/N: The credit of the Harry Potter plot and characters belongs solely to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing of it but my own words.
This is a little different than what I normally write. I'm not even sure if it counts as a proper defense. You can decide.
Starstruck: In Defense of Colin Creevey
On 3 May, 1998, Harry Potter walked away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dennis Creevey walked into it. Hours after Voldemort had died, fifteen year old Dennis went to collect a beat up camera and a dead body. He stood there, staring at the rows of people who'd never get up again, and he remembered.
"A magic school?" asked Dennis eagerly, desperately trying to arrange himself in a way that showcased all of his 9 1/2 years (and maybe older). "And Colin gets to go? Because he has magic? Do I have magic? D'ya have to be eleven to go? Can I visit?"
"I'm sure you can go too, Dennis, someday," Colin promised. "Anything I can do, you can do better." He turned to the old, severe-looking lady in the weird dress. "Professor McGonagall, is it possible for there to be two wizards from the same M-Muggle family?" he asked, struggling over the strange word.
"Why, anything is possible," mused the lady, peering at Dennis through almost cat-like eyes. "I'll admit, I have rarely heard of such a thing in all of my career, but I most certainly don't doubt that it could happen."
"It will," Colin insisted respectfully. "Dennis got all the talent in the family. You should expect him in two years. I mean," he turned to look at Dad, "it's not too much, is it? I'll do some chores for the Henstridges next door to help pay, but if you have to choose between sending me and sending Dennis, it's him who ought to go."
"Don't worry about it," replied Dad. "Professor, if I may see you in another room?"
"Certainly, Mr. Creevey," she agreed.
Dennis grabbed the phone off the wall and pointed it at the couch. "Abracadabra!" The fact that nothing happened didn't seem to faze him.
Colin laughed. "We're wizards, not magicians, remember?"
"Well, what do wizards say?" retorted Dennis.
Colin seemed stumped. "Alright, fine. You win. But when I get there, I'll write you letters every single day telling you about everything, and then we'll know."
"Your handwriting is rubbish, Colin," Dennis pointed out.
Colin frowned. "Email? Maybe there's a spell?"
Dennis shrugged. Colin glanced nervously at the door Dad and the McGonagack woman had gone though.
"Do you think there'll be money enough for us both?" he whispered. "Milkmanning doesn't pay a fortune."
"Of course there will be," Dennis answered, unable to imagine a world where they couldn't go for a reason so stupid as money. He blinked. "Oh, you didn't mean it, Colin, did you? You wouldn't stay home so I could go?"
Colin smiled. "Of course I would. Mum told me it would be my job to take care of you from now on, and what kind of brother would I be if I left you alone for long?"
Dennis gasped. "Maybe we can bring her back! Professor Mackygall said anything was possible!"
Colin shook his head. "Just because something can be done doesn't mean it should be, Dennis."
He was buried next to her. CAROLINE CREEVEY, LOVING MOTHER, and COLIN CREEVEY, DUTIFUL SON AND BROTHER. For a long time after everyone else had gone, Dennis stood there, peering down at the mother he barely remembered and thinking that one day no one would know who either of them were. In one hand, he held a photo album, filled with moving and still pictures alike. In the other, that same old camera.
"Are you nearly finished packing, Colin?" echoed their father's voice from outside.
"As soon as Dennis gives back my wand, I will be!" he yelled back.
"Dennis, give your brother his wand!"
"But it's not fair! Why do I have to stay and wait for another two years? Eleven is a stupid age, anyway!"
"You won't think that in two years!" Colin shot back.
"One-and-a-half!" corrected Dennis before realizing he wasn't helping himself. "Or something like that!"
Dad came into the room where Colin was chasing Dennis, who was gripping the wand so tightly his knuckles were white. He picked up the younger boy, plucked the wand out of his hands, handed it to Colin, and said, "Two years will come by soon enough. And when it does, Colin will already know everything about Hogwarts, so he'll be able to show you everything. Just imagine the advantage you'll have with an older sibling there!"
"I guess," mumbled Dennis.
"Now, as for you," Dad said, turning to Colin. "Here."
Colin stared at the gift in awe. "It's Mum's camera," he marveled.
"An Argus C3 Matchmatic," said Dad fondly. "I bought you all the film you could possibly want too."
"Dad, no," he protested weakly. "This is too much."
"Nonsense. You have always been too responsible, and I've appreciated everything you've done for me and for Dennis since Mum died, really, I have. But you've had to grow up so fast. Now you have the chance to be a kid again. It's not much, but you're going to make memories that we, Dennis and I, are not going to be there for, so make sure we see them. Besides," he added, "you have awful handwriting."
"Oh, thank you!" Colin squeaked. "I'll take so many pictures you won't miss a single thing! It'll be like you're there already, Dennis!"
"It better be," Dennis grumbled.
Dad found him sitting on the floor, flipping through the album. Every letter Colin had written to accompany the photos was fanned out around him. There was a noticeable gap between the end of Colin's first year and the beginning of his second.
"He used to tell me horror stories about that big, yellow eye, y'know. To this day, I think it scared him more than me."
"Well, it scared me plenty," Dad replied after a long while. "It's enough to accept the existence of a magical world without having your son almost die in it."
"Why'd you send him back?" asked Dennis.
Dad pointed at Dennis' lap. "He wanted to finish that book. That's what he told me, at least. I always thought it had a little more to do with the book's main occupant."
Dennis knew what he meant. Colin had seriously calmed down with the obsessive picture-taking after his first year, but 90% of the book still featured Harry Potter at differing ages, in differing settings. On the Quidditch field. In the Room of Requirement. Even the ones of the last night, which Dennis had developed and inserted himself, showed Harry, exhausted and haunted but with a sort of steely determination in his eyes. Hermione and Ron were there too, beautifully captured, seeming to support each other's weight, and the rest of the DA makes some appearance in one form or another, but they all seem an afterthought. Consistently, Harry is the center of attention.
"The older he got, the less moving pictures he made," remarked Dennis. "When he first learned how to make them, he sent us so many I thought he was trying to make a movie."
"He got better," replied Dad simply.
He got better. He learned the value of capturing a single instance in time, rather than a clip. He learned how to tell a story without showing all of it. He learned to pick his moments and to appreciate imperfection. But he never stopped focusing on Harry.
"Dennis, I need to tell you something."
"No, you just dragged me out of the Great Hall, mid-meal, to play a round of two-person Quidditch, didn't you?"
Colin flushed. "I'm not good at excuses. But listen, and please don't be mad. I-I think I like Harry."
"That's a very badly kept secret, Colin," answered Dennis, fighting to keep a serious face.
"But I think I like him!" whined Colin. He paused. "And I don't think I like girls. Not like that, anyway."
Dennis shrugged. He didn't really see how it was a big deal, and it was kind of weird to talk about this with his brother, but he could sense Colin's anxiety. "I'll just have to like enough for the both of us, I suppose."
Colin broke into a relieved grin. "Really? You mean you're not mad or - or ashamed of me?"
"You're talking to the kid who fell into the lake just getting here," joked Dennis. He smiled. "And do you know who still welcomed my sopping wet self?"
"Me?" guessed Colin.
"Exactly." Dennis started heading back to the Great Hall. He was just sure someone had already eaten some of his food. Probably Alexander. "But you might want to be a little more discreet about it. You gushed about Harry so much that I was convinced I was in love with him by the time I showed up to Hogwarts."
Colin paused. "You really grew up, didn't you? You don't need me anymore."
"I'll always need you," replied Dennis distractedly. "So what'd'ya going to do about Harry?"
Colin's shoulders slumped. "Nothing. I think the fact that he asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball speaks for itself. Have you seen the way he looks at her?"
Dennis fought back what little breakfast he'd managed to consume. "I'd give anything to have missed it."
Colin sighed. "I'd give anything to be at the receiving end of it."
"Gross!"
Their laughter rang through the halls.
"I thought you might want this. I already made a copy of it, so don't feel bad about taking it. He'd want you to have it, y'know?"
Harry gingerly took the photo. Dennis couldn't help thinking that he looked so different from the weary kid in the shot, a little happier, better rested, somewhat taller. What a difference a couple of months could make. But Colin would never change again.
Harry let out a breath as he studied the image. "I had no idea he still thought of me like this. So . . . put together. A superhero." He shook his head. "He was the hero, not me."
"I agree," said Dennis. "But he would've told you that he was a hero because of you." He turned to go.
"Er, Dennis?" Harry said nervously. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. If I had known, I never would've let him go. He shouldn't have fought. He was underage. We — well, McGonagall — sent them away, but I didn't think to check. It didn't occur to me that he'd come back. It's my fault he died."
"I knew," said Dennis quietly. "I sent him back."
"You want me to join an illegal organization with you to impress your crush?"
"No," Colin protested. "I want us to join it so we can learn how to defend ourselves. Actually learn. If things go the way I keep hearing, we're going to need it."
"But what if — and I know it's hard for you to believe this is possible — what if Harry's wrong? Plenty of people believe so, and —"
"I just know, Dennis, okay?"
"Okay, but I'm not going to go easy on you to impress him."
Colin laughed. "You couldn't keep up with me."
"Maybe I'll summon the Giant Squid for assistance. We're kind of mates, y'know?"
He paused, looking at the two fake Galleons. Dennis vaguely remembered finding Colin's in the pocket of his jeans after the coroner had returned the clothes. He remembered flinging it — and his — across the room much more vividly. The Galleons seemed to burn in his hand, a phantom pain of the last night they had.
"You should take them," said a voice from behind him, startling Dennis into almost dropping them. "To remember him by."
"I'm going to Hogwarts, Dad," he said sadly. "I'll have plenty of things to remember him by."
"Are you sure you want to, after everything that's happened?"
"He died, Dad," Dennis snapped. "That's what happened." They stood silently for awhile. "I'm sorry."
"No," Dad insisted. "I need to learn how to say it. I just worry, you know. It can't be good for you, to live there again."
"Maybe not," conceded Dennis. "But I need to finish this book," he said, running his finger along the blank pages.
He left the coins, side by side, on his desk at home. Colin would have taken a picture of them. He didn't.
"Why'd you bring your camera, anyway?" Dennis asked. "There's nothing worth taking a picture of or safe enough to keep."
"Habit, I guess," replied Colin, tuning into the latest broadcast of Potterwatch.
"How long do you think we can stay here before we have to move again?"
"A couple days at most," Dad answered. "We don't know much, but Potterwatch says that their methods of detecting us are improving. It's nice to receive even this much news."
"Do you think we'll ever stop hiding?" asked Dennis numbly.
"I think the better question is if they'll ever drop searching," Dad responded, knowing that they might always hide now, in one form or another.
"It'll get better, I know it," Colin said confidently. "As soon as Harry gets back. He'll save us."
That night, Colin took his only picture in months. It was of the moon. There was nothing much remarkable about it, but Dennis knew what he meant. Wherever Harry was, wherever anyone was, and wherever they might go, they were all under the same moon.
At first he was like Colin, capturing every little thing, more blurry photos than not. Then little things began to stick out to him, and he would instinctively reach for the camera and snap a shot. Thestrals from the carriages outside, though they didn't show up in the pictures. (It didn't matter. More kids than ever seemed to see them, that year. One kid, a seventh year, asked him how he could. The Creeveys had spent the last year expelled, running.
"We got captured, once. This other family we didn't even know was near us, killed right there. We only got away because this camera," he said, holding it up, "has a blinding flash.")
The Sorting Hat, still as alive and functional as ever, but the slightest bit burnt. Trelawney, tired and mournful, sharing a crystal ball and two cups of tea with no one. Luna Lovegood fingering a necklace with the Deathly Hallows symbol. A tube of bright red lipstick against a mirror in the Room of Requirement.
Harry, Ron, and Neville visited once, too, to wish Hermione luck before her NEWTs and to say hi to Luna and the other DA members. Duly, Dennis took a photo of Harry, staring in pain at the too-clean Great Hall floor. He caught one of Ron gazing fondly at a faucet with a snake engraved on it once when passing the first floor girls' room. Another of him very pointedly turned away from an area outside the Room. He photographed the reflection of Neville's eyes in Gryffindor's sword and got a candid of him helping Professor Sprout plant seeds in a greenhouse.
Whatever he did, he avoided the Room. It had healed, somehow, but he didn't need to know what it might show him, and he didn't want to.
"What if it's a trap?"
"It's not. D'you see the message on the coin? Harry's back! We have to go to help!"
"It could still be a trap," Dennis argued. "What can we even expect to do? We're underage. We haven't learned anything new or even practiced what Harry taught us in well over a year."
"We're members of Dumbledore's Army," Colin said firmly, "and that still means something to me. I'm going, whether you support it or not."
"I don't support it," Dennis said brashly, "but I support you. I'll cover you with Dad," he promised, checking to make sure he was still out gathering food. "Can you find a way there?"
Colin nodded. He picked up his camera, lips pressed firmly together, eyes set, hugged his brother, and walked away. Dennis didn't ask why he had taken it. People like Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, they wore makeup like armor, but Colin had his camera.
"Colin!" he yelled after him. His older brother, his hero, turned around. "Don't let anyone hold you back! You go in there, and you make those Death Eaters sorry they ever messed with us!"
Colin saluted.
On 2 May, 2003, Dennis sat at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron. A photo album sat on the stool next to him, completed, but he was still taking pictures. He copied some and waited for the right person to give them to. He'd just given one to Hannah Abbott of herself scrubbing down the counter, her hand absentmindedly tugging at her hair. He'd also given her the two he'd taken of Neville three years before (she'd smiled and said she liked the second one best) to give him at the memorial.
The fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Dennis reckoned he should spend it like he had done that night: not at Hogwarts, not surrounded by dozens of other sober people mourning their lost ones and definitely nowhere near the "heroes" of the war. So here he sat, with an old, worn camera and a newly finished album, drinking firewhisky and trying desperately to forget for one night.
"Nice album," a woman with a blunt voice said. He looked and saw Parvati Patil gazing at him steadily, two stools over, wearing a fake Galleon around her neck and bright red lipstick. "Can I look at it?"
He nodded.
She took her time, not saying anything, just turning page after page until she reached the point where Colin's work stopped and his began. The shift was obvious; Dennis had never been one for heavy symbolism. Colin's pictures orated untold stories, saw beauty in mundanity. Dennis' rehashed known tales, though perhaps through a different light, highlighted how wrong everything felt, and expected you to keep up.
Sometimes, though, sometimes Dennis took a photo with Colin in it, just a little hint of Colin's compassion mingled in with his harsh truths.
Parvati stopped at the page with Trelawney and the lipstick, running the tips of her fingers over both until Dennis said, "You can keep them. I have copies."
"No," she said faintly. "They belong here. This — this is good. You should publish it."
"No," he said firmly. "Neither Colin nor I did it for attention."
"Why'd you do it then?" asked Parvati, arching an eyebrow.
Dennis shrugged. "He had horrid handwriting."