The Quidditch League (Semi-Finals)
Holyhead Harpies - Chaser 1: A Phoenix Lament
Prompts: [genre] angst, [restriction] no adult characters (none over the age of 19), [dialogue] "Can you please just… go?" - "Why would I do that?" - "I don't want you here right now."
A.N. RIP Colin Creevey you would've loved BeReal. Inspo is the general theme of the song, of closing your eyes and hearing your loved ones everywhere you go.
TW for: Mentioned canon character death, depression, sadness, etc.
Word count: 1102
forever winter (now that you've gone)
His brother's laughter haunts his waking nightmares. Everywhere he goes, every corner he turns – Colin is there, always a step ahead. Dennis can't outrun him – not while he's awake, and certainly not while he's asleep. He was never able to, anyway.
These days, his main pastime is traversing the school hallways in a daze. Looking to and fro, filtering voices through his ears, but not really seeing or hearing anything. He's almost like a phantom, a soul stuck in a body he doesn't belong in. He's felt strange and anomalous ever since it happened; ever since he watched Hogwarts fall apart in front of his eyes and his brother go down with it. But there's nothing to be done. Nothing to recover.
Dennis knows he's not the only one who lost someone that day, but somehow, it doesn't make it any easier. The Great Hall was filled with echoes of grief, hushed whispers, and the occasional wail of sorrow that pierces the heavy silence. Professors and students alike move around with a shared burden, a common understanding of loss. But in Dennis's mind, his grief is solitary, an island of pain in a sea of collective mourning.
Classes have resumed, albeit with a somber tone. It didn't take much to fix the castle, not with magic at hand, and ever since, professors have tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, but the lessons are often interrupted by moments of silence and memories that force their way into the present. Dennis sits at the back of the classrooms, his eyes unfocused, staring at a point just beyond the physical world, where he imagines he might catch a glimpse of Colin. It's not fair, he thinks, that life goes on. It's not fair that Colin isn't part of it anymore.
Sometimes, Dennis wanders to the lake, where the water is dark and still, mirroring the turmoil within him. He sits at the edge, knees pulled to his chest, and stares into the depths, hoping for answers that never come. He remembers the stories Colin used to tell him about the giant squid, about the merpeople that lived beneath the surface. Stories that once seemed magical now feel hollow, like everything else in his life.
In the evenings, the common room is a mix of forced cheer and subdued conversations. Dennis avoids it as much as possible, retreating to his dormitory where he lies awake, listening to the sounds of his roommates breathing, envying their ability to sleep. His own rest is fitful, plagued by nightmares that blend memories with horrors his mind creates. Colin is always there, smiling, laughing, and then screaming as the walls of Hogwarts crumble around him.
On particularly bad nights, Dennis finds himself at the portrait hole, sneaking out into the corridors where the silence is heavier, but at least it's his own. He walks aimlessly, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, each step a reminder of the life he can't return to. Sometimes he ends up at the entrance to the Room of Requirement, but he never goes inside. He's afraid of what he might find, or worse, what he might not find.
One night, as Dennis sits in the darkened corridor, he hears footsteps approaching. Panic surges through him, but it's quickly replaced by a strange sense of dread when he recognizes the silhouette. It's Harry Potter, his eyes carrying the weight of his own battles. Harry sits beside him without a word, and for a while, they share the silence, a connection formed through their mutual loss and their unique ways of coping.
Dennis feels the tension build inside him, the presence of Harry both a comfort and a reminder of all he's lost. His hands clench into fists, and the words spill out before he can stop them. "Can you please just… go?"
Harry looks stricken, before his expression morphs into one of understanding and determination. "Why would I do that?"
"I don't want you here right now." Dennis's voice trembles with frustration and grief, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.
Harry doesn't move. "I know what it's like to lose someone you love, Dennis. To feel like the world is moving on without you. But pushing people away won't make it hurt any less."
Dennis turns away, his shoulders shaking. "It's different. Colin was my brother. I couldn't save him."
Harry's voice is gentle but firm. "I couldn't save a lot of people I cared about either. But isolating yourself won't change what happened. It won't bring him back."
For a moment, Dennis is silent, the weight of Harry's words sinking in. He knows Harry is right, but the pain is still raw, the wound too fresh. "I don't know how to do this," he admits finally, his voice barely a whisper.
"Nobody does," Harry replies softly. "But you don't have to do it alone."
Dennis stares into the darkness, tears streaming down his face. "It should've been me. Colin was always the brave one. He deserved to live."
Harry closes his eyes briefly, as if absorbing Dennis's pain. "There's no fairness in who lives and who dies, Dennis. I've asked myself the same question too many times. But blaming yourself won't bring him back. It will only make you lose yourself."
Dennis sobs quietly, his grief overwhelming. "I see him everywhere, Harry. I hear his laughter, and then I remember he's gone. It's like losing him all over again every single day."
Harry places a hand on Dennis's shoulder, a silent offering of comfort. "I know. And it's going to hurt for a long time. But it's okay to miss him. It's okay to feel lost. Just don't shut out the people who care about you."
They sit in the darkness, the silence filled with the echoes of their shared sorrow. Dennis still feels the ache of loss, a gaping hole where his brother used to be. But Harry's presence is a small comfort, a reminder that he's not alone in his grief.
For now, Dennis clings to that tiny flicker of hope, even though the path ahead feels unbearable. He knows he's not ready to move on, not ready to let go. But maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to do it alone.
That knowledge doesn't stop his tears, however, as they continue to fall, mingling with the quiet despair and memories of the cheerful, blue-eyed boy who used to roam these halls with his camera. Laughter and exasperation had followed Colin through these halls. Now, all that is left of him is a grief-stricken brother and too many wistful memories to count.