Harry Potter One Shots (Vol. I)

Picture Perfect (Dennis Creevey)

Before I knew it, I was speaking in detail about my friend, without ever naming him or going into too much detail about him. I managed to keep it light, not wanting to go into too much detail about Colin in case it would cheapen the memories I shared with him. Exchanging my memories with him for money was too much. I waited only until the deal had been made, thanked the buyer before making a quick exit towards the drink table. Picking up the first glass I saw, I drank it down in one go, wishing it was something much stronger. It had been three years and still, it was too painful.

"Ortega," the call of my surname had me returning the empty glass to the table. I turned on my feet, expecting to see Cora approaching me once more with yet another buyer that I needed to pour my soul out to. But it wasn't Cora. Rather, it was a stranger, who walked through the crowd with hands that fidgeted anxiously. Easing the furrow between my brows, I continued to wait for him to come toward me. Finally, standing in front of me, he stopped fidgeting with his hands and said again, "Ortega."

When he said nothing else and simply continued to look at me, there were multiple questions on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to ask who he was, how he knew my name and if he recognised me as the artist. I didn't ask any of that, instead, I asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"No," he said after a moment, shaking his head. Then, he gestured vaguely towards the paintings, "They're beautiful. You're still talented."

"Still?" I considered him with curious eyes. How –

"Three years must be long enough for you not to recognise me." There was no blame in his soft words. "It's me, Dennis."

Now that he'd introduced himself, I could see a fragment of the old Dennis in the now 19-year-old. He had grown taller, but he was also carrying himself differently – more sombre and more withdrawn in the way he walked. Grief would do that to a person. But, his eyes, sometimes in the right light, were just as warm and comforting as when he'd been nothing more than a boy.

Smiling honestly for the first time that night, I asked, "How did you even find out about tonight?"

"I saw a poster and just thought I'd drop by – in case I saw you."

"I'm glad you came." I'd said those words countless times tonight, but for the first time, I meant them.

***********

Sometimes fate was the strangest thing; it always seemed to bring people you never thought you'd see again back into your life. Dennis, who I hadn't seen for two years since I'd left Hogwarts was someone who could've easily slipped once more back out of my life after our little meeting during my exhibition. We could've had that one enjoyable meeting with him being my single ray of hope amongst a night full of overly intrusive strangers, but he hadn't remained as just that. Rather, he was someone I continued to bump into. Whether it was something like bumping into him on my way home after having spent a day working in the studio or even like today, happening to spy him as he left the shop across the road from the one that I had left. Helga, sometimes there were people who were just supposed to become part of your life again.

Stepping out from the art supply store with my haul of acrylic paints tucked away in my bag, I happened to look across the road and spy Dennis as he left a technology repair store. He stopped in the doorway, saying something to the person inside the shop before he too walked out onto the street. I would've let him walk right past me, thinking he must've been busy and not wanting to hold him up. But I knew it was supposed to happen when, absentmindedly, he cast a glance around and happened to spy me where I remained perched on the doorstep of the art supply shop. And just like that, he was smiling and crossing the street to join me.