Silent Night
It had been more than three long years since the last time he had walked down that street. The sound of skateboard wheels hitting the asphalt of that corner was so embedded into his memory he could almost hear it now; on a night of silence. His jaw loosened, taking a breath as he leaned against the wired fence, eyes set on the dark and empty house he had once called home. Broken milk bottles lined the side of the house, broken windows boarded up, and bright orange notices decorated the front door.
He heard the faint singing of carolers in the distance, probably the irritably peppy Wilson family from down the street, and decided to take off before someone who recognized him could spot him.
Three years ago he wouldn't have dared walked into a pub, whatever his age. Now he made his way into what had once been a home now renovated into a fountain of cheers, removed the familiar token on his head and sat down at the bar and handed the tender his fake i.d. "I'll take a Fosters, on tap, and anything you can tell me about the empty house down the street."
That led him here, armored doors buzzing to open as he stepped into the visitor's room of the penitentiary. He ruffled up his hair up a bit and watched his father being escorted in from the other side of the glass. For a moment he stood with shocked eyes but caught on rather quickly that he should continue to act normal. As the elder man sat down he pointed to the receivers and picked his own up.
Dennis hesitated for a moment but followed suit, leaning closer towards the glass. "Nice way to spend Christmas Eve," he noted with sarcasm. "Went by the house, found out what happened. I should have come sooner."
Dennis has learned that the night he and his brother had gone on the run, the night Death Eaters had come to collect them, that they had killed his mother and left enough of a mess that his father was accused of a murder and possibly a triple with no proof for muggle eyes of the contrary.
"I could come forward, at least... to prove--"
"Are things better?" His father asked but he knew the answer from the tired look on Dennis' face. "Leave it then. I don't want you boys calling attention to yourselves."
Dennis bit his bottom lip at the realization that Robert Creevey didn't know he only had one son that was alive.
"Where is your brother, anyway?"
Dennis considered his options, sighed, then leaned the receiver closer in. "Colin's fine, on a secret mission." He lied. "We've been fighting, trying to fix things." The look of his father's proud face almost broke his heart in two.
"Good. You show'em you've got the right. I know enough about it all to know your mom and I were lucky that both of our boys were blessed with those gifts. That doesn't just happen. You keep fighting Den." He looked at his son for a long moment and blinked. "You've grown up so much..."
Dennis blinked back his tears, "I'll get you out."
"With a team," he added. "There are ways to make it seem like you weren't even hear, like none of this happened. You can come back to the castle with m-us." He nodded at the thought; it was a plan that could work quite easily.
"Don't waste your time and resources on me, kid. You need everything you got for the fight." He placed his hand on the glass. "Seeing you, seeing how much you've grown, is more than enough for now. But you should get going, just in case."
Dennis reached for his father's hand against the glass and looked down at his feet as he nodded, unable to bring himself to say anything. The warmth on the glass faded and he realized his father had gotten up and walked back the guard. Dennis gave himself a few seconds before getting up, looking back at the empty chair. "I'll come back for you."