The night the DA gets their Orders of Merlin is a night of stuffy ballrooms and dress robes and uncomfortable robes and expensive champagne that's marked off-limits for the students who aren't yet of age. Just the fact that there are people being honoured who aren't of age yet shows a massive failure on the Ministry's part, but they are all pretending this isn't a political thing.
Dennis is not of age- he's fifteen for God's sake, fifteen- but he downs some butterbeer and refills his cup with something strong-smelling. He catches Hannah giving him a weird look, disappointed and worried, but he takes a swig and stares her down.
He is not happy to be here, but everyone else is here, even Michael Corner who had effectively dropped off the face of the earth after the Battle, so Dennis is stuck here, profoundly uncomfortable.
The Ministry didn't give Orders of Merlin to just any old DA kid, so they didn't give one to Dennis. It wasn't enough to fight in the Battle or to stick it out through the school year, you had to be special. You had to have done something actually worthwhile.
It's cruel that Colin hadn't even gotten a recognition, even posthumously. You'd think that actively dying would at least get him a medal. But the Ministry apparently can't go around awarding every dead teenager, either.
Dennis sidles up to Ginny Weasley, who looks over at him. They are almost the same height- it's anyone's guess who's taller, even though he's two years younger, and she nods at him. "Hey, Dennis."
"Hi."
He doesn't know why he's so desperate to talk to her but he knows Colin had respected her, admired her, and that's enough for him right now.
"It's nice to see you," says Ginny. "How have you been?"
"Good," says Dennis.
"That's good," says Ginny.
Dennis is uncomfortable; maybe Ginny Weasley is too much older than him, or maybe they haven't got enough in common, or maybe they just haven't talked in too long, and maybe the entire DA is spreading itself thin, no longer held together with panic or fear or communal suffering. Maybe this is it.
He says, abruptly, "Good talk," and goes to find Hannah.
She confiscates his glass once he's close enough and swigs the rest. "You're underage," she admonishes, and he shrugs.
"Is the DA falling apart?" he says, and she pauses, frozen in place holding his empty cup.
"Only so much as we let it," she says. "And I won't, Dennis. I won't let it."
Dennis nods, suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful for Hannah Abbott. "Good," he says.