~Israel Zangwill
Small flecks of rain fell from the sky, coming to rest on the grass and embellishing each blade like a jewel. The cold felt nice on the back of Dennis’s neck; the bitter weather allowed him to feel something other than the awful thrashes of guilt and pain that whipped at him relentlessly. Perhaps this was why his parents had insisted on performing the funeral outdoors ” though even Dennis could not imagine saying good bye to his brother in a stuffy, closed room. He knew Colin would not have wanted that.
Huddled under a large, sweeping black tarp, groups of guests crowded around the coffin ” a deep, mahogany colour that Dennis knew had emptied his dad’s savings account. It was as though they never planned to leave this moment, as if they couldn’t expect their own lives to carry on when their son’s had ended so abruptly.
“Pity it’s raining,” his aunt whispered, squeezing his shoulder for a moment before approaching the coffin herself.
Dennis closed his eyes tightly. ‘You know what’s nice about overcast weather, Dennis?’ Colin asked. ‘It makes for wonderful pictures. The dullness of the clouds make the rest of the colours look deep and rich.’ He shook his head, shifting the sudden memory of Colin to the unreachable depths of his mind.
The crowd around the coffin cleared, and several pairs of eyes stared at Dennis expectantly. It took him a few moments to comprehend that it was his turn to go up there, his turn to say good bye to his brother and look at him one last time. His palms began to sweat and his knees wobbled as he started forward. This was harder than anything he had faced during the months he had spent in the Underground. It hurt even more than it had to return Will to his parents with the knowledge that the chances of meeting him again were unlikely.
He moved his gaze towards his brother. The last time he had seen Colin was just before they separated at the London Underground, and looking at his still form now, he marvelled at the subtle differences that made Colin seem like an entirely new person.
His blond hair was combed neatly, sweeping across his forehead. His eyes were closed, his almost girlishly long eyelashes grazing his cheeks like feathers. He was dressed in Muggle clothing ” his best jeans, and a pale green button-up. The only indication that he had ever been a wizard was the thin black wand that he gripped in his left hand, though it was barely visible to ward off unwanted questions from their nosy relatives. Dennis noted a thin, red scar on Colin’s cheek and had to bite his lower lip to banish the smile that tickled at the corners of his mouth. Colin had always wanted a scar like Harry’s, a mark that he had done something to make the world a better place.
He heard someone cough behind him, and realised he had been at the coffin for far longer than anyone else had. He didn’t see why this should matter ” Colin was his brother after all. No one else could claim that connection to him.
Dennis reached a hand inside, and slowly pulled Colin’s wand away from his left hand. He placed it on his brother’s chest, and folded his pale hands around it, as they had done to the rest of the wizards and witches that lost their lives in the Battle.
“Good bye, Colin,” he whispered. He felt that was inadequate somehow, as though he shouldn’t leave his brother in such a generic way. “You are my hero.”
He stepped back, his eyes never leaving Colin, even as the coffin was closed and lowered down into the depths of the earth. He remained staring at the little mound of dirt as a group of men covered the tomb with a small grey plaque. It felt as though a part of him was being buried too, as though he could never quite be whole without Colin.
He never knew living could hurt this much.
“You’re Dennis?”
Dennis looked up, dully assessing the brown-haired boy in front of him. “Who are you?” he asked, knowing he sounded rude and wishing he cared.
The boy smiled and sat down beside Dennis in the dewy grass. “My name’s Henry. Your brother saved my life.”
At the moment, Dennis did not really care if Colin had saved the life of the Minister of Magic. He hadn’t been able to save his own life, and that was what mattered to Dennis. He hugged his knees closer to his chest, noting with disinterest that his nice pants were now ruined with grass stains.
“I didn’t know Colin for very long,” Henry went on, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers. “But it didn’t take much time to realise what a great bloke he was.”
“Did you meet him at the Battle, then?” Dennis asked, glancing over at the empty chairs and wondering why Henry hadn’t left yet.
“Oh, no,” Henry said. “I met up with your brother in early August. We were…travel companions, I suppose you could say. You know Justin Finch-Fletchley?”
“Barely.”
Henry grinned, as though he had been waiting for the slightest opportunity to smile. It was infectious, and Dennis couldn’t help but give a small smile back. “He was here earlier. The three of us met up during a raid, and we stuck together for a while. We all wanted to fight. But Colin…” Henry’s voice hitched. “Colin was the real hero. He was the best at organising our plans. And he was a good friend. He never, ever left anyone behind.”
“That sounds like him,” Dennis murmured.
Henry rubbed at his eyes, and the pain etched on his face smoothed away. “He talked about you all the time, you know. It made it easier for him, I think, knowing that you were safe. But he missed you, Dennis, he missed you like hell and he’d have gone back if we’d have given him half a chance to.”
It hurt to hear these words spill out of Henry’s mouth when Dennis knew that his brother had chosen to leave him. But it was a different kind of hurt, a dull sort of ache in his heart that somewhat alleviated the incessant stabs of pain that had plagued him since he heard the news of Colin’s death.
Henry stood up and brushed off his robes. “If you ever want to hear about it, about our adventures on the run…you can come by and see me whenever you want.”
“Thank you.” Dennis’s voice was stiff, but a tiny, gentle thought told him that maybe seeing Henry again wouldn’t be so bad.
Henry turned to leave but hesitated for a moment, and fixed Dennis with a square gaze. “Everyone needed a reason to fight, Dennis. And you were Colin’s.”