I've been thinking about Colin this week.
Actually, I've been thinking about Colin since we came back. But this week, the pain's faded. It still hurts, knowing he's gone, and knowing all the things I never said because I was sure he didn't want to hear them. But it's like having a toothache, and getting it fixed, and it still aches and you can't quite forget it, but if you poke at it, it's not nearly so raw.
See, a few years ago, somewhere in the middle of my fourth year, I figured out I was bent. Beginning of fifth year I had my first fancy that was something more than a passing oh hey I wonder about that bloke sort of thing. And that was Colin. He never knew, of course. I never really talked about it much to anyone, because Colin was a mate, and I wasn't going to arse that up by making things difficult between us. He had that kind of enthusiasm that made a bloke smile just to be around him. He was full of life in a way that not many folks are.
When I heard he'd died, I was devastated. Miserable. Seeing that spot where he ought to be sitting sent me off-kilter when we got back. A Colin-shaped hole at Gryffindor.
This week the good memories have been sneaking back in, like thinking I see him standing there with his camera, waiting to catch the perfect snapshot. And it makes me smile. Like an old friend's still here.
I've been wondering if I ought to've said something then about how I felt. But it's so bloody complicated, isn't it? He was straight, and I knew I'd never have a chance. It didn't seem right to let that intrude on things. But at the same time, I wish he'd known I thought he was important. Hopefully he figured that out from friendship.