An Unlikely Hero

~*An Unlikely Hero*~

by Keelie

Dennis Creevey checked his watch. 7:02 a. m. Yep, any minute now. . .

Being sixteen and in his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Dennis had a rather set routine. And part of that routine included watching his male housemates make idiots of themselves around, oh, 7:04 every morning.

Ah, yes. Dennis steeled himself against the inevitable, looking down at his plate of eggs and toast. But then he glanced upward.

And he saw her.

Her name was Gabrielle Delacour, and she was a fourth year Ravenclaw. Of course, that wasn't why every bloke in Hogwarts routinely tripped over himself in her presence. Gabrielle happened to be a quarter Veela.

As she walked by the Gryffindor table, her long, pale blonde hair gleamed in the muted sunlight streaming from the enchanted ceiling, Dennis forced himself to train his eyes on the table. There was no sense in making a fool of himself in front of the whole school.

But then something happened that made it impossible for Dennis not to stare.

Ava Nott, a horrible Slytherin sixth year and one of the biggest bullies there was, backed by a gang of followers from the same house, had herself right in front of Gabrielle.

Clearly startled, Gabrielle bit her lip and tried to swerve left around them. Ava, whose frilly robes and thickly applied makeup did little to enhance her plain appearance, stepped in front of her. Gabrielle cut right. Ava was just as quick.

"Excuse me," Gabrielle murmured, her lightly accented voice barely audible. Dennis could see her cheeks beginning to redden.

"Do you have a problem, Veela?" sneered Ava.

Gabrielle blushed harder, apparently aware that nearly everyone's eyes were trained on her. "I-- I have to get by, please." She looked so forlorn and nervous that Dennis felt a rush of anger directed at the snobby Slytherin witches.

"Is that so, you little tart? You think you're entitled to something special? Just because your grandmother was a French whore doesn't mean you're fit to lick the dirt off my shoes!" Ava spat, her dirty brown eyes glinting with malice.

Gabrielle looked down, but not before Dennis could catch a glimpse of the tears glittering in her eyes. "I-- please let me by," she tried again.

Ava snickered, and Dennis looked up and down the Gryffindor table. Everyone appeared to be shocked, yet no one was offering any assistance to poor Gabrielle. "Brave," indeed. The Sorting Hat is bloody misinformed.

The girls behind Ava jostled and laughed, ensuing sneers from the Slytherin table. Dennis looked desperately at the High Table, but none of the teachers had appeared for breakfast. Someone, please, just help her! Ava and her gang of wenches are going to destroy her!

"What's that, tart?" prodded Lyra Zabini. "Speak up, little whore, we can't hear you."

Just as Dennis thought Gabrielle might crying in earnest, something unexpected happened. When she looked up, her dark blue eyes were shining with anger, not tears. "Excuse me," Gabrielle addressed the group frostily. "I thought everyone knew that it was customary to let someone who needed to get by, no matter what race they are, get by. Obviously, they don't teach Slytherin witches manners."

Go, Gabrielle! Dennis thought, totally surprised. Apparently, as quiet as she was, the Ravenclaw didn't take crap from anyone. Of course, there was a repercussion for her spunk-- Ava, Lyra, and the rest of the Slytherin girls had drawn their wands and were aiming them straight at Gabrielle. Considering there were no teachers in the Great Hall and that Lyra was a Prefect and had all the other Prefects (except Dennis and the other Gryffindor Prefect, Evade Ziller) completely whipped, this could be ugly.

The fire in Gabrielle's eyes didn't die and she didn't step back, but Dennis could tell she was fearful. Suddenly, without any warning, he felt himself stand up. Â What the hell am I doing? he thought frantically, even as he stepped in front of Ava.

He was hoping his size would intimidate her. However, though he was tall (and much taller than her), he probably weighed about the same amount Ava did, taking into his lanky frame and her very sturdy one. "Is there a problem?" The words sounded too official for him, but it was too late now.

"What business of it is yours?" snapped Ava, her wand now pointed at his head. Dennis repeatedly told himself that picking her up and hurling her across the Great Hall was not the answer-- not that he would have been able to lift her.

"Well, I am a Prefect, Ms. Nott," he replied as firmly as he could. "And if you're having a problem with Ms. Delacour, then I suggest you tell me."

"Well, I'm a Prefect, too!" retorted Lyra, tossing her black curls over one shoulder. "And I find it completely my business what the Slytherins are doing. So go watch your precious Gryffindors and stop bothering us! What so-called problems we have with 'Ms. Delacour,' as you so stupidly called that Veela harlot, is none of your damn business!"

Dennis felt like he was in shock. How can people be this awful? And to poor Gabrielle, who's probably never hurt a fly in her life and who's only "problem" is her ancestry-- something she can't control.

He regained control of his voice, though, and tried hard to keep it steady. "In fact, it is my business, Ms. Zabini. Or perhaps you think you know better than the Headmaster, who has clearly stated that a Prefects' duties are not limited to his or her own house?"

I've done it now. I'm bloody screwed. Now, Lyra and Ava had their wands aimed at him, while the rest of their cronies had theirs pointed around him at Gabrielle.

"Is there a problem here?" A voice repeated Dennis's words. A teacher's voice. Dennis sighed in relief and turned around.

To face Professor Snape.

Oh what a big bloody help. He'll probably whip out his wand and hex us along with them!

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is," Dennis informed him. "Ms. Delacour was just walking along when--"

"I don't see a problem," Ava cut in. Her wand, of course, was now no where to be seen. "Creevey and Delacour just verbally attacked us when we were walking across the Great Hall."

"I see," Snape responded, his voice as oily as his lank black hair. "Well, in that case, would you agree it's fitting to take twenty points from Gryffindor and another twenty from Ravenclaw?"

"Absolutely," Ava sing-songed.

Snape turned to Dennis and Gabrielle. "Well, then. Consider it done. And I warn you not to start attacking my students again."

With a whirl of black cloak, he was gone, with Ava, Lyra, and the rest of the bullies triumphantly swaggering back to the Slytherin table.

Dennis turned to look down at Gabrielle. She looked enraged. "I can't believe him!" she muttered, then added something in French. Dennis didn't understand it, but he was willing to bet every Galleon, Sickle, and Knut he had that it was an impressive string of curses.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to her. "I mean, I probably just made things worse. And--"

"No," she interrupted him. "Thank you. Thank you a lot." And then she grinned, slightly shyly, at him.

Dennis now fully understood why grown men were prone to fall speechless by simply catching an eyeful of a young, part-Veela smile. Gabrielle had been lovely to begin with. Now, she was-- there was no other word to describe it-- radiant. Her long hair, her eyes, her skin-- they all seemed to take on some kind of rosy glow.

But that wasn't why Dennis was suddenly unable to think, form a word, or breathe. It was because of the fire still raging in her eyes, that spark of attitude. . .

"I-- you're welcome," he managed to stutter. Â Smooth, Dennis, very smooth.

With a one more smile, Gabrielle started the walk back to the Ravenclaw table. Dennis watched her go, still reeling from his encounter.

She is not your normal Veela. Because it's not just the way she looks that gets to me. It's her. Â Her personality, her shyness, yet, her unwillingness to let people walk all over her. . .

And for the first time in his live, Dennis Creevey truly understood the meaning of the word "love."

Because he was head-over-heels for Gabrielle Delacour.