Munro Bagging

'Lesley Anderson.' As I handed the paperwork I'd printed out over to the stout middle-aged woman at the reception desk, I introduced myself. 'I've booked a six-berth cabin,' I continued, not daring to risk pronouncing the cabin's name. 'Here's my booking form.'

Before reading through the form, the woman glanced meaningfully down at my left hand. 'Recent?' she asked me.

'Two weeks,' I admitted, wondered how long it would take me to become used to the diamond sparkling on the third finger. Her amused glance had made me realise that, once again, I'd been unconsciously playing with it. I removed my thumb from the underside of the ring, and she gave me an understanding smile.

'Thanks, Miss Anderson,' she said after a brief examination of the form. 'Ye're in Càrn a' Bhodaich. I'll be needing a credit card from ye.'

I pulled my Visa card from my purse and handed it over. She slid it through the machine. 'Just the twa o' ye?' the woman asked, looking through the glass door at my fiancé. He was sitting in the car, waiting for me. She was obviously wondering why we'd booked a three-bedroom lodge.

'We're being joined by friends, but they won't get here for a couple of days,' I explained. 'A couple, and their two young kids. We'll need a cot and a high chair when they get here. The website said we should let you know about the cot when we arrived.'

The woman nodded. 'If ye dinnae need it the nicht, I'll leave a note, make sure there's one available for ye on the morrow,' she said as she returned my credit card to me. 'Is this your first visit to Drumnadrochit?'

'It's my first visit to Scotland.' I made my admission guiltily, and stared out of the side window towards Loch Ness and the hills. 'But my boyfriend ... my fiancé went to school not far from here,' I told her. 'He's been trying to persuade me to visit for years. And now I know why.' I waved towards the window, indicating the view.

'It's guid walking country, if that's why you're here,' the woman told me.

I was wearing Merrell boots, Haglöfs pants, and my 66°North parka. It was an easy deduction for her to make.

'It's one reason,' I said. 'But we're here for a memorial service, too.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' the woman said. 'Someone close, is it?'

Realising that I probably shouldn't have mentioned the service, I gave an awkward shrug. 'My fiancé's brother died not far from here. It was ten years ago on Friday coming. I didn't actually know him,' I admitted.

'Càrn a' Bhodaich is up the hill. Take the first left, and it's the last lodge,' the woman told me, giving me an understanding nod. 'If ye need a'thing else, the office is open until six.' She again looked out through the glass door, and her curiosity finally got the better of her. 'Whet kind o' car is that?'

'Gertrude? She's a Caterham Seven, a kit car. Den built her himself; she's my biggest rival for his affections,' I told her with a smile.

The woman chortled. 'Gertrude, eh? Well, she looks a bit low-slung. Tell him tae take it easy,' the woman advised. 'The track up tae the lodge isnae sae guid.'

'I will,' I promised.

It was very early when we climbed into Gertrude the following morning. I was still yawning, and Den noticed.

'Roaming in the gloaming might sound romantic, but we really don't want to be out on these hills when darkness falls,' he reminded me as we set off on our drive to Loch Mullardoch.

We left Gertrude in a small car park on the shore of the loch. I was a little worried about abandoning the car in such a remote location, but Den assured me that it was magically protected. Wondering how long it would take me to become used to the fact that my boyfriend was a wizard, I simply accepted him at his word.

The northern shore was an easy start to our hike, but it wasn't long before we started the first of several long ascents. As it was my first visit to Scotland, and because the Weasleys would severely curtail our walking, our plan was to climb four of the closest Munros in one day. We'd set off so early because we knew that the walk would be challenging, even for experienced hikers like Den and me.

By early afternoon we'd left two of the Munros, An Socach and An Riabhachan, behind us. I was, as my fiancé pointed out, no longer a Munro virgin. With the first two peaks behind us, we were walking along the eastern end of the An Riabhachan ridge towards the rocky peak of Sgurr na Lapaich.

I looked at the map frequently, but it didn't give me any clues as to how to pronounce the names of the peaks. Den said Skur na-lapaich, running the second and third words together. He pronounced the final "ch" as that strange rattling h-ch the Scots use in loch. It was a sound I simply couldn't get my tongue around.

The clouds were high and the air clear; in the distance we could see the summit of our next destination. From the route planning we'd done the previous afternoon and evening I now knew that Sgurr na Lapaich was the highest peak north of the Great Glen. We were heading steadily towards the highest land in the northern part of the Highlands. Beyond that peak lay the last of the Munros we'd planned to conquer, Carn nan Gobhar. It was still three and a half miles away, but we were making good time, and were confident that we'd get back to the car before dusk.

It was the tail end of April, but there were still white patches of snow on the shaded northern side of the ridge. We were well wrapped up, because the cold northerly wind that gusted across the tops nipped at any exposed flesh. Den wore the bright orange beanie I'd bought him, and I wore the bright blue tube scarf he had bought for me. When we'd set off, I'd worn it as a headband, now it was a hat.

'Spectacular, isn't it?' Den asked.

'It is,' I agreed. He took my gloved hand in his, and squeezed it. 'You told me that you started hiking when you were very young. Did your brother go walking with you?' I asked.

'Yeah, haven't I shown you the photographs, Les?' he asked as he stared out over the hills.

I shook my head, but he wasn't looking at me; he was taking in the spectacular view. We were on top if the world, and like him, I couldn't ignore the beauty surrounding me. As I gazed out over the mountains, I wondered if his remark was as innocent as it seemed.

'No,' I said carefully as we continued to gaze into the distance. 'You've always told me that your brother was a keen photographer, but I've never seen any of his photographs.'

'Of course you haven't,' he admitted. 'I couldn't let you see them, not until you knew the truth. Most of them are magical photos.'

Magical photos! I didn't ask, it was simply something else I'd soon be astonished by. I thought back over the four years we'd been together.

I had been going out with Dennis Creevey for four months before he'd even mentioned his brother. I'm an only child, and from our conversations I'd assumed that Den was, too. It was after we'd been to see Rachel Unthank and the Winterset. It was a great gig, and the conversation moved as it does from Rachel and Becky Unthank to siblings. I made some comment about us being similar in so many ways: we're both fans of the same sort of music, we both love hiking, we're both only children. It was then that he told me.

'I /had a brother. His name was Colin, he died.' Den's response had been blunt, almost gruff, and those few words were all he'd said. He certainly hadn't invited me to be sympathetic. Nor had he wanted me to ask any questions; that had been obvious from his tone.

'You don't talk about him, Den,' I said quietly. 'We're going to a memorial service at dawn on Friday, but even when you asked me to attend the service with you, you didn't mention Colin.'

'Let's stop for lunch,' he suggested. 'It looks fairly sheltered down there.' He pointed to a rock outcrop on the leeward side of the ridge.

'Good idea,' I said. 'I could do with something to eat, and a cuppa.'

We worked in silence, postponing our conversation until we were settled and sitting. Den shrugged off his day pack, and I shrugged off mine. We each had a flask of tea, and we'd shared the Coronation chicken wraps, apples, bananas, chocolate, and water between us. Carrying our own provisions was sensible. It was always best to be prepared for anything on the hills; even losing one of the day packs wouldn't result in us losing everything. Den was very particular about safety on the mountains. He'd even left a copy of our route with the woman at the reception desk, just in case we didn't make it back. That, I knew was for my benefit. If something happened to him, I'd be in trouble. If something happened to me, he could … diseparate … or something, and get help.

As we sat on our packs and began to eat, Dennis began to talk. He didn't look at me; he stared out over the Scottish Highlands, and the story of his brother poured forth.

'When we were little, Colin and me, and Mum and Dad, walked all around Weardale and up into the Pennines, and across into the Lakes, too,' he said. He turned, and the intensity of his glance showed that the memories were painful.

'Colin got his first camera when he was eight. It wasn't a good one, but he took it everywhere with him, and he photographed everything. Mum and Dad got him a good 35mm SLR for his eleventh birthday. It wasn't long after his birthday that he got his letter. "You're a wizard, you've got a place at Hogwarts." It was unbelievable. I've never been able to find a magical ancestor in the family, and I've looked. But I've spoken to Hermione, and she couldn't find one in her family, either. And, let's be honest, if Hermione can't find one, what chance do I have?'

'Hermione?' I asked.

'Hermione Granger-Weasley,' he said. 'She's one of the Army. You'll meet her on Friday. You'll meet them all on Friday, Les, so I suppose I should tell you something about them.'

I said nothing, I simply waited.

'I'm the baby of the group,' Den began. 'I was only twelve when Dumbledore's Army met for the first time. Twelve! Of course Harry was only fifteen—which is how old I was at The Battle. At fifteen Harry was already organising, making sure that we could defend ourselves. Hermione had told everyone that dark times were coming, and she was right.

'I was only a second-year, and I was the youngest person there. Then came Ginny, Colin, and Luna, they were all fourth-years. Most of the others were fifth-years, like Harry. There were a few sixth years, like Katie and Cho and a few seventh-years; Fred and George, Angelina, Lee, and Alicia.

'To begin with, it was just a bit of fun. The Ministry had put a woman named Umbridge into the school. She was an evil cow. She's in prison, now.

'The DA only lasted one year, not even that, really, because Umbridge put a stop to us. The following year, Harry didn't continue it, despite the fact that things were worse than ever. I suppose in some ways it was just a silly little secret club for kids, but Colin never forgot. None of us did.' He paused.

'That year, my third year, was terrible. People were dying. When we left for the summer break in ninety-seven, we knew that trouble was coming. During the holidays, Colin got a message from a friend of his, Fenella, she was in the camera club with him. She told him about the Ministry's plans to round up Muggle-borns. That's people like me, Colin, Justin, Dean, and Hermione, people without any obvious magic in their background. Colin managed to warn Justin, but we couldn't contact Dean. Justin helped us to go into hiding with Mum and Dad.

'Colin… Colin was a hero. He couldn't help in the fight, and neither could I because we were underage. We had the trace on us.' Dennis turned and looked at me. 'Have I told you about the trace?' he asked.

'Yes,' I said, although I couldn't remember exactly what it was.

'Right, well, Colin couldn't fight, but he could still use his camera, and he had all of his magical developing equipment with him too. It wasn't long before we were contacted by Fred and George, and some of the others who'd left school. Colin made fake documents for them. I wasn't much help. Colin even went out with them on scouting missions a few times. He photographed various places for them. Then, finally, Harry went back to Hogwarts, and the call to arms went out. Justin Apparated to our place, he was going to take us both to Hogwarts. But Colin didn't want me to go. He said I was too young! I was fifteen, and Colin was only sixteen, because his birthday's at the end of the year. I argued, I shouted, I swore. I was horrible to him. I was really horrible to him! Angry, vile… Colin... He was crying when he Stunned me and left, and...'

Den began to sob. I moved alongside him, placed an arm around his shoulder, and hugged him.

'George knows we argued, and so does Justin.' Den sniffed. 'But I've never told anyone else, Les, not even Mum and Dad,' he whispered.

'He wanted to keep you safe,' I assured him. 'You didn't know that he wasn't going to come back, Den. If he had lived, you'd have made up with each other, you must know that. I know it, I'm certain. You're too good a man not to have made up with him.' I hesitated for a moment. 'It must have been a terrible time,' I added, not knowing what else to say. We sat in silence on the side of the mountain, arms around each other, and I waited. Eventually, he continued.

'Oliver Wood found him—found his body—in the grounds. Colin was all alone when he died. If I'd been there... If I had been with him... If…'

'If...' I interrupted. 'If I hadn't been hiking on Coniston Old Man on the same day you were running it, we'd never have met,' I told him firmly. 'My Granny says "The 'if I had', and the 'if I hadn't' will balance out in the end." I think she's right. We can't change the past, Den. We have to accept it.'

Dennis sighed, and took a deep breath. 'Early on in the Battle, Colin was with Justin, but they got separated. After that, he was with Aurors Tonks—I mean Lupin—and Protheroe for a while.'

'Your boss, Polly Protheroe? The crazy Goth woman?'

'Yeah, Polly was the only Muggle-born in the Auror Office until I joined. She reckons Colin saved her life, I think that's why she asked for me on her team. Polly was knocked unconscious during the battle, and sometime after that Tonks was killed. Colin wasn't with her when she died. The guy who killed Colin... We didn't find out how Colin died for years... The guy who did it... He even bragged about it to Harry, when we finally caught him.'

I had no words. I could do nothing but hold him.

'His name is Gregory Goyle,' Den told me. 'He lost his wand during the battle, but managed to find a broom. He was in school uniform, so Colin thought they were on the same side. He rammed Colin with the broom, stole his wand from him, and... and used the Avada Kedavra. Colin would've died instantly; he wouldn't have felt a thing.'

'The Avada Kedavra?' I asked. The words sounded comical, but Den's obvious grief was enough to force any thoughts of laughter from my mind.

'The Killing Curse,' said Dennis. 'It's illegal, it's very dark magic. Instant death!' He rubbed tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. 'That's why I joined the Auror Office when I left school. That's why I do what I do, Les. I catch dark wizards. I do it for Colin.'

'Oh, Dennis,' I said, hugging him. He sniffed.

'Sorry, Les,' he said sadly. 'I don't usually cry. I don't really know why...'

'You're bound to feel sad, Den. It's only five days until the tenth anniversary of Colin's death,' I reminded him.

'Lots of other people died,' said Dennis, 'You know that George's twin, Fred died at The Battle, too. They were inseparable, but George wasn't with him.' He took a deep breath. 'Now, let's get this walk finished, shall we?'

For the first time, I fully understood Den's peculiar friendship with George Weasley.