Colin, on the run, refused to give up on photographing everything they came across. The Dark Mark over Dorking. The spot where someone had been Crucio-ed ‘til they scratched and bled and pissed themselves and scratched and bled some more. The terrified cast to Muggles’ faces that you could only capture when they thought you weren’t looking, because they didn’t quite know what they were so terrified of. Dennis told him to quit it, but he wouldn’t. He thought that someday someone might want to see these photos. He thought that in days like these, everyone had to see them.
“The moments when— when the world’s gone and fractured? Those are the moments you record,” Colin said. After the Battle, though, it turned out that no one wanted to remember those moments. Everyone wanted to move on. It was all too painful.
Until one hundred years later, actually. Until Dennis, an old man, found the pictures in the attic and donated them to that memorial museum in Harrowyck Alley. A small white placard was put up next to them: Life on the Run During the Second Rise 1997-1998, Colin Creevey (14 June 1981 - 2 May 1996), shot with a Bernhard Mago-Panoptical Instant, graciously donated by Mr. Dennis Creevey of Ottery St. Catchpole.
And people came to see them. Lots of people. Sometimes their eyes would close and reopen, watering at the corners like they were leaking away anger they didn’t know they possessed. Sometimes their mouths would go hard or they would inhale very suddenly like something inside them had broken and only a quick jolt of air could fix it. But they all went away understanding something they hadn’t before.
This was why Colin had recorded the fractured moments.
Incorrect.
hawberries
