After my brother Colin died, I never spoke to anyone else again. I mean, really, what's the purpose? I wasn't the most talented in school. I was never popular, and everyone merely tolerated me because I was Colin's younger brother.

I wasn't famous like Harry Potter

I wasn't brilliant like Hermione Granger

I didn't have pure blood like Ronald Weasley

I wasn't rich like Draco Malfoy

In fact, I was pretty average even for being a muggleborn. Our father was merely a milk man, our mother was a typical stay at home woman. Kind, but very quiet. Plain. When the war broke out, Colin and I had the fiedleius charm placed over our house by some of the Order members since the roundup was beginning for muggleborns early on in the war. Our parents were rightly terrified of the whole thing, including me.

Not Colin.

Never Colin.

His damn Gryffindor pride.

In fact, the little blighter seemed happy by the whole thing! A chance to be apart of the fighting forces of Harry Merlin Damn Him Potter! I hated hearing his name- I hated seeing his face in the papers after the war ended! Yes, I know he suffered tragic losses, and Merlin knows I wouldn't want his destiny, but…. I lost my brother! I hurt- I ached! Harry barely gave my brother the time of day, and because his stupid fame, Colin was gone forever!

On May 2nd, 1998 when Colin died, I subsequently followed him. I barely ate or drank anything, what was the point? Colin couldn't… so why should I? My father had a breakdown from the stress…. And mother killed herself.

They couldn't live without their precious Colin….

But what about me? Wasn't I worth sticking around for?


I wasn't.

I don't think I ever was.

Thanks to Harry, my simple world was thrown to hell. I hated magic and everything to do with it. I only returned to Hogwarts because I had nowhere else to go. I kept to myself, and on graduation day, I couldn't have gotten out of there fast enough.

I was simply done. I wanted to die. Merlin knows I thought about it countless times, but I wasn't sure how to pull it off.

Muggle ways seemed more surefire, but magic left very little side effects to chance. Slit the wrists, or merely down a well concocted poison? Once I turned seventeen, by magical law, all of Knockturn Alley was at my fingertips- any vial of poison up for grabs if you had the gold for it. Many times I paced outside the stairs leading towards Knockturn Alley.

I never had the courage.... never truly had the feeling, but that didn't stop the urges from creeping into my every thought, bathing my every desire in darkness.

So one day, I decided to do both.

On my twentieth birthday, I slit my wrists and drank a poison I had purchased. I felt like Romeo in that muggle story, except I didn't even have a fucking Juliet waiting for me on the other end of whatever the hell was out there after death.

Apparently, I couldn't even die properly, or even death was against me, because I began to throw up the poison automatically moments after I drank it, and since I'm a wizard, my slashed wrists began to slowly heal… or at least they bleed extremely slow then a muggle's would. If THAT wasn't bad enough, my stupid landlord HAD to pick THAT day to come and demand rent money! He's a sixty something ornery wizard with a penchant for bursting open uninvited…

So guess what he saw?

Yeah… you guessed right. Congratulations.

Before long, I found myself in the lockdown ward of St. Mungo's, pending investigation. My flat was immediately put under watch of the magical enforcement squad, and I was placed under strict protection of the advanced healers in St. Mungo's.


Shit is more like it.

I was never one for catching a break anyways.

So anyways, here I am. I'm barely allowed anything in here, since all the healers are constantly on the lookout in case I try to off myself again. I'm not even allowed a mirror, so I only catch glimpses of myself in the windows when I pass through the halls to the visitors ward- where I wait for no one, since no one even gives a damn about me.

My god…. How did I delve into this self pitying shit? Who knows.

From passing glances in the windows, I can tell that my hair is super long… almost hits my shoulders, which is long for me. None of the men in my family had long hair. I also have a beard, and this tacky looking moustache. No chance of shaving, since I'm not allowed razor, nor can anyone bring me anything because they're afraid I'll go psycho on them.

Guess they really can't tell between a suicidal man and a homicidal maniac. Wizards sure are smart, aren't they?

Fucking wankers. All of them.

Oh yes, back to my incredibly angst filled rant. What? You got something better to do with your time? Didn't think so.

So, after months of living like a rat in a hole, I FINALLY get some visitors. Two of the bloody wankers I never wanted to see again- at least not in this life time. Maybe hell- if there IS such a place as hell that is.

Harry Potter and his sidekick Ron Weasley.

Why them? Why now? Why me? I don't really give a damn, but at least I amuse myself for an hour during visitation week.

I say nothing at all.

Harry's silent for the most part- as if the little fucker's judging me with those pretty eyes of his! I hate those eyes- I just want to gouge them out with my wand half the time. Fuck. He's always looking at me with those damn eyes.

Ron…. That little red headed wanker is worst! He sits there, mumbling platitudes of how great Colin was, and how cool I am, and how he's sorry about my loss, and blah blah blah! I sit in my chair, I rarely move or blink- for cliché dramatic effect. I could care less about what either of those idiots had to say- what could they possible know about my life thus far?!

"I'm sorry for your loss, Dennis." Harry said once. "I know how you feel. Ron does too. T- that's.. why were hell."

For some reason, that hit a cord with me. For the first time in months, I growled. It was the first time I had made a noise. The Healers had either assumed the poison or the trauma had prevented me from speaking- yeah right.

"Did you say something Dennis?" Ron asked, leaning close. I indulged the moron by leaning close, my fingers snapping to grab his collar. Leaning close, I looked into those pretty baby blue eyes of his, and snarled in a low voice;

"You… don't.. know… what… I… fucking… feel!"

That got the bastard's attention. Ron's mouth opened, but no words came out. Harry looked up immediately, and stared at me intently. I shoved Ron back into his chair, and I folded my arms, going back into the trenches of my mind.

"Get out. I don't your sympathy. Get the fuck out." I repeated louder, more clearly. Ron and Harry looked at each other worriedly.

"We're- we're trying to help mate." Ron said slowly. "I lost Fred, Dennis. I know what it's like to lose a brother…."

"Well isn't that just fanfuckintastic! Weasel can sympathize with me! Holy crap! Alert the daily prophet!" I said in a cruel voice- I know I was probably stepping on some tomes, but truth be told, I really didn't care at this moment in time. I saw Ron flush his trademark red color. Good, I thought. Get mad, get really pissed and leave.

"I know what you're trying to do, Dennis. You're mad because of Colin. I know that you hate me." Harry said.

"Hate… is an understatement. I want you dead. If I had my wand, I'd kill you myself… but chances are, you'd fuckin live or something…." I hissed.

I saw Harry sag in the chair. For a moment, he looked so much older than his 22 years. He ran a hand over his eyes.

"sometimes… I get tired of living too. Of being the whole damn world's poster child." Harry said.

I couldn't help but notice the tiredness in his voice, and decided to keep my mouth shut. I was so damn bored of everything, perhaps I could humor them. Just once.

" I'm listening… if you'll just leave me alone…." I relented, exasperated.

Ron took a drink of the water he'd brought and nodded. "Alright then. I know that we've never been on good terms…"

"We weren't on terms at all, Weasel." I countered brazenly. Ron seemed unaffected by my tongue, but continued.

" Well…. I knew Colin, slightly better than I knew you…. And I know we picked on me… and ignored him…. But in truth… I respected him. We all did." Ron said.

"Like hell! Like hell! You only came to the funeral because it was formality!" I seethed, remembering their faces, blurry in the crowd.

"I never wanted Colin to die." Harry said, grasping at anything. "He came on his own free will…"

"No. No. He came because of you!" I growled, feeling my past ideals of being logical blowing away. " I hate both of you! You destroyed my life!"

"Us? No we bloody didn't, Dennis! You did!" Ron snapped back. " Neither one of us killed Colin, and although wer'e sorry about what happened with your mum and dad, it wasn't our fault- and it wasn't yours either!" Ron said heatedly. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Ron quickly and abruptly ordered him quiet.

"If you dare to presume…" I said, but the dark look in Ron's eyes even made me want to be quiet. I squirmed in my seat.

"No one said to kill yourself! You weren't put under the imperious curse- you cut your own wrists, and drank the poison! We're trying to help you!" Ron said. I rolled my eyes.

"You don't think I wanted to die after Fred died? I watched him die, Dennis! I stood mere feet from the wall that blew up. Hell, we were all thrown by the blast, but it killed Fred instead! You don't think I felt guilt? Anger? Remorse? Do you?"

Looking back on it, I saw that Ron and I were more alike than I think either of us cared to admit. Both of us were the younger brothers- both of were dealing individually with the pain of losing our older brothers, whom had died in battle, helping Harry.

Hell…. We were the same…. Reaching out, grasping at straws, trying to make sense of the improbable, trying to understand the impossible.

I understood Ron. He understood me.

I looked at Ron, whose face had gone slightly red from yelling, his chest rising and falling quickly. I looked over at Harry, whom was looking at me like an equal, which surprised me. Only a while ago, I thought I saw animosity.

Was… I the one who was wrong?

"I'm… sorry… Ron… Harry…" I mumbled. It'd be the closest thing they'd get to an apology from me. Ron patted me on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, mate." He said. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, its all in the past. Look, while we're in Auror training, well, Ron is, but I'm not, we got an extra room at our flat…"

"I thought you were living with Hermione and Ginny…" I pointed out. Harry blushed, while Ron looked murderous.

" He's not staying anywhere near my sister until they say I do. Other than that, Hermione and I agreed to do the same. Anyways… we know you want to get the hell out of here, and we could always use a third roomie."

"The rent's cheaper too, only twenty-five galleons a week for the three of us." Harry said, looking eager for me to say yes.

"You…. You idiots really want me as a roomie? I have some bad habits…" I said, cautiously.

"Like?" Ron inquired. Harry rolled his eyes this time.

"I snore- loudly." I said.

"So does Ron." Harry countred.

"I drink milk right out of the carton." I said.

"Ditto for us." Ron said.

I scratched my head.

"I hog the bathroom, and have a knack for wanking." I ventured.

Ron and Harry laughed.

"What bloke doesn't?" they both said, laughing. I laughed too.

"Hell Harry, he'll fit right in with us! We ain't gonna be bachelors forever ya know." Ron said teasingly. Harry laughed, and it was the first time I think even I saw him truly laugh.

"Then I guess you got yourselves a deal." I said.

"Great, I'm sure we can get the healers to work on releasing you form this place." Harry said, rising to his feet.

"I know… I'm not dangerous… I just.. had a moment."

"Harry and I will have to be your 'chaperones' then." Ron said, putting emphasis on the word chaperone. I chuckled to myself.

I realized something about that day. Life isn't easy, it can even kick your ass a few times to teach you a lesson or two. Fate is unpredictable, and it even has a sense of humor now and then. But you have to roll with the punches, take what you get, and try to make the most out of it. Don't hide from the bad times, learn from them. Friends aren't your enemies- they've hit you with some tough love, but they mean well.

The three of us were bonded by that. By life and death. By fate. We shared a common purpose. We shared a common sense of loss. We also shared a purpose to live, and love.


Ha. Looking back, I realize just how true that was.

We were fortune's fools.

We were Commonality's Boys.

Life was just funny like that.


A/N: Wow…. That turned out a lot different than I thought. Please review. Thinking of a sequel in the works….