Colin Creepy

I look back and remember the evening I was Sorted, the memory stands out clearly in a haze of childhood I never quite understood. I'd never been so nervous; so many eyes were glinting in the darkness of the Great Hall. The candlelight was reflected in them; so many eyes stared at me.

My father would've been proud. He, a milkman, a Muggle, had nearly dropped a carton of the Lockheed's cream when I got my Hogwarts letter. I suppose my mother had a bit of witch in her; I wish I had known her. She died giving birth to my younger brother, Dennis. Life would've been a lot easier with her around. But, as Dumbledore said, what is easy is not always right.

The old fool.

Nervous that I was, I was also excited for the Sorting. So many people were watching me! I was the center of attention! I looked around for Harry; my first friend, the famous Harry Potter. I could tell we would be best friends. Of course we would be. The candlelight was too dim, though. I couldn't find his green eyes. His startlingly green eyes.

"CREEVEY, COLIN!"

My turn. I walked, trembling and grinning just the same, to the old beaten-up wizards' hat on the stool. I knew the score; I knew the protocol. I sat down on the stool and pulled the hat over my ears, waiting to be put into Gryffindor. Harry was in Gryffindor. Everyone knew that.

"Colin Creevey, right?" I nodded my assent. "Well, well, well. Quite an interesting brain you've got here, young Creevey. You're bright.... not Ravenclaw material, though; you wouldn't feel comfortable. Hufflepuff is a little out-of-the-question, too, I think. Hmm. I do love a challenge."

I rolled my eyes. Was the hat just stalling? When was he going to make me a Gryffindor and let me go over to the Gryffindor table? Harry saved a seat for me, of course. How could he not? We were going to be great friends.

"I detect a lot of ambition here, Colin. Have you ever thought of Slytherin? You'd do well there, you know."

...Was he joking? I wasn't going to be put into Slytherin! Harry wasn't in Slytherin!

"Yes, Slytherin'd be good for you, Colin. You'd be able to meet your potential there. But I must warn you that I do sense some darkness, and you'd have to be careful not to--"

NO! I CAN'T BE PUT INTO SLYTHERIN! GRYFFINDOR! I HAVE TO BE IN GRYFFINDOR! CAN YOU HEAR ME, YOU STUPID PIECE OF FELT? GRYFFINDOR GRYFFINDOR GRYFFINDOR! I roared inside my head. Panic coursed through my young body.

"All right, there, no need to shout! My word. Well, if you're that set on it, I'll not stand…er, sit in your way. But don't blame me if you find less than happiness in--

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted to the room. I didn't know it could read my thoughts. I pulled the hat off of my head (nearly ripping my ears off in the process) and stumbled over to the Gryffindor table. Everyone was clapping.... for ME! But where was Harry?

I didn't see him. Where had he gone? Probably doing something heroic and brave. That Harry.

I sat down between two other first-years. The rest of the feast was a haze; I couldn't believe it. I was at Hogwarts. THE Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And what's more, I was in Gryffindor, along with Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

After the feast was over, I got to find out where the Gryffindor Common Room was. The murals talked! I would have to write to Dad and tell him everything that had happened.

Everyone sat in the Common Room for hours. Soon a rumor circulated that Harry and some boy named Ron had crashed a car into a tree on the Hogwarts Grounds. I couldn't believe it. That Harry, always doing something courageous. Why didn't he ask me to come along with him?

The room buzzed with excitement. A few hours later, the secret entrance creaked open and everyone broke into applause. Harry and another redheaded boy fell into the room. Was the redheaded boy Ron? He didn't look so very brave. Harry had probably saved him or something.

I tried to run over to congratulate Harry, but nearly everyone had beaten me to him. Harry certainly had many admirers. How could he not? I grinned at my friend, who was running up the staircase to his dormitory, pushing that boy in front of him. Ah well, let him sleep. A boy as brave as Harry Potter can't be disturbed all of the time. I smiled up at the closed door, wishing Harry a good night. Soon after I went to my own room, wondering if it looked anything like Harry's.

That night I dreamed of flying cars.

Harry Potter was the youngest Quidditch player in a century. He had become the Gryffindor Seeker during his first year and he had never lost a match he'd played in. I found all of this out late one night as I huddled under the covers of my bed, reading old copies of "Witch Weekly" for articles about Harry. He had been in several magazines. "Quidditch Today" had run an article on him when he joined the team. He had also been in the Daily Prophet countless times. I smiled to myself as I read the articles by wand light. To think such a famous boy was going to be my best friend. I couldn't wait to talk to Harry in the morning.

As I reread the November issue of "Witch Weekly" for the twentieth time, I thought I heard a commotion outside, in the common room. Perhaps an intruder was lurking outside! Perhaps this was my big chance to be a hero like Harry, and to get MY name in the paper too! Dad would be so proud! HARRY would be so proud! I jumped out of bed, pulled on my robes, and grabbed my camera. I could always use pictures as evidence for the Daily Prophet. They'd probably thank me.

A faint glow in the east was shining through my dormitory window. The other boys were snoring quietly. I rushed to open the door and clattered down the stairs to the common room. I crashed through the door to the common room and found myself face-to-face with him.

Harry Potter was in the Common Room. My best friend was in the Common Room. My breath hitching in my throat, I walked to him, trying to look at ease. It wasn't working; it's not every day you meet your best friend alone in the Common Room.

Harry looked surprised to see me. He was dressed in red robes, Quidditch robes. He was probably going to a top-secret Gryffindor practice. That Harry. I followed him, of course; he practically begged me to come along. I couldn't wait to see the famous Harry Potter in action. I was so glad I had brought my camera along. I vowed to write a letter to Dad, thanking him for sending it to me.

As we walked, Harry explained the finer rules of Quidditch to me. He seemed in a great rush; he probably didn't want to keep the rest of the Gryffindor team waiting. Harry's so polite. I guess that's why everyone loves him.

I remember, before Mum went away, a football game my father took our whole family to. It was a Muggle game, of course, but as my father gripped me by the hand and escorted me into the "stadium", I gasped as I saw the splendor of the football field. It was a perfect green, level and clear. I remember Dad tightening his grip on my young hand. I remember Mum laughing.

That Muggle field was nothing compared to the green of the Hogwarts Quidditch field.

Harry had to leave me at the Gryffindor team entrance; he seemed really distracted. Nervous, probably. The Gryffindor team WAS just beginning its practice. I went and took a place in the bleachers, clicking away on my camera. A girl in my Transfiguration class told me that if I developed the film in the right potion, the pictures would move.

It took hours for the Gryffindor team to emerge. They had probably been devising lots of new strategies for when they played those horrible Slytherins. Maybe next year I could be on the team with Harry. Then we could share Quidditch secrets and go down to the Gryffindor entrance together, in our matching red robes. Harry and Colin. He'd probably coach me, if I asked him. I'd have to remember.

Harry was an excellent flier. The articles in "Quidditch Today" didn't lie. I wasn't surprised, of course. Harry had to be good at flying. He was good at everything! I had heard a rumor that last year, Harry had saved Hogwarts from Voldemort. I'd have to ask him about it once we were best friends.

Some people said that that boy, Ron, had helped him. And that girl that Harry would always hang out with...Hermione, was it? She had helped too.

I didn't believe the rumors. Harry had done it all himself. He didn't need the help of a redheaded boy and a bucktoothed girl. He was the Boy Who Lived.

I took lots and lots of pictures. Dad would probably want to know what Quidditch was; once I was a member of the Gryffindor team, he would, of course, come to every match. He'd see Harry and me riding our first-class broomsticks around. He'd be so proud. So would Harry.

I could see it now...I would score an amazing point for Gryffindor and Harry would come flying over to me, and he would clap his arm on my shoulder, like I had seen him do to that redheaded boy, and the crowd would roar in appreciation.

That Harry.

Soon after Harry began to practice, those two friends of his came to see what was going on. They were always following Harry around. I don't know how he put up with them. I could see a bunch of green-robed figures entering on the other side of the field.

What was Slytherin doing at Gryffindor's practice? I readied my camera. This would be good. Maybe Harry would put a curse on the whole lot of them. He was a great wizard, of course.

I saw the two teams, joined by those two meddling second-years, meet in the center of the field. I leaned forward in my seat; something was bound to happen.

Pretty soon something did. I saw sparks going up in the middle of the crowd and everyone began to yell. Harry and that girl began to carry the redheaded boy out of the crowd. Something was wrong with him. What had Harry done to the boy? I KNEW he was annoying poor Harry, but really! Attacking him?

I ran down to the balcony on the first row of the stadium. Did Harry need my help? As Harry neared, I could see what had happened to the redheaded boy...Ron. He was belching up slugs. I laughed inwardly. That Harry.

I wanted to take a few pictures to memorialize the moment, but Harry was rather short with me. I didn't expect that. I had, after all, come to his Quidditch practice like he wanted me to. Well, I guess he felt bad for the redheaded boy.

Poor Harry. He was so compassionate. Even if the boy deserved whatever he got, which I'm sure he did.

I got the pictures of Quidditch practice developed. They really did move. It was wonderful. I sent a few of the best to Dad; the others I put on the wall above my bed.

As I closed my eyes to sleep, the last thing I saw was Harry, dodging Bludgers and whipping around on his broomstick. I smiled. My best friend, Harry.

After that morning in the Common Room and the Quidditch practice, I didn't get to see Harry much. Well, we were in different years. But I did sit beside him during breakfast every morning. I laughed at all of his jokes. That Harry was so funny.

I took my camera everywhere. To all of the Quidditch matches, around in the halls of Hogwarts. Harry could do something brave at any time. I wanted to be prepared.

I think one of my teachers thought I was trying to take pictures of him, though. That stupid Lockhart. Why would anyone want a picture of him? I'll bet he didn't even know the difference between a Quaffle and a Snitch.

Like I did. Thanks to Harry.

Quidditch season began and Gryffindor won all of its matches.

Then the weekend came when Gryffindor was to play Slytherin. I had learned to hate the Slytherin, even if I was almost put into their house. I didn't tell anyone about what the Sorting Hat had said to me. Slytherins were bad, bad people.

Besides, Harry wasn't a Slytherin.

I was sure Gryffindor would win. How could they not? Harry was on their side. And he had defeated the Dark Lord. A little git like Malfoy wouldn't be any trouble.

I was the first person in the bleachers at the Quidditch field. I hadn't felt like waiting for the other first-years. They were a stupid lot. Nothing like Harry and his Quidditch friends. I couldn't wait to be introduced to them, when Harry and I were best friends.

I took my camera with me. The bleachers began to fill up with Hogwarts students in their black robes. It was raining. I didn't mind; I liked the rain. Mum had liked the rain too. It had rained when she went away.

I sat on the front row, eager to take pictures of Harry in action. I had taken pictures at every other Quidditch match; there were over 50 pictures on the wall above my bed now. All of Harry.

The match started. I didn't know why everyone was so excited. The Gryffindors were going to win, of course. Why didn't the Slytherins just go back to the castle? Sure, they had new brooms. But that didn't matter. They didn't have Harry.

Harry was perfect, as always. He almost caught the Snitch once, but that stupid prat Malfoy grabbed the end of his broom and made him miss it. I jumped to my feet with the other Gryffindors and howled my discontent. How dare Malfoy do that to my friend Harry? I felt a surge of hatred and wished I had not left my wand on my bed at the castle. I'd love to try out the Furnunculus charm on Malfoy. I had read about it in a book I had borrowed from a fourth-year.

It didn't really matter what Malfoy did to Harry, though. Harry would win anyway. I laughed to myself at the vain efforts of the Slytherin team. They were so stupid.

One of the Bludgers kept going for Harry. It charged him every time; it was ignoring the other players. Those Weasley twins tried to protect him, but the rest of the Quidditch team needed them too. Gryffindor called a time-out.

I'll bet Malfoy had enchanted the Bludger. I wished I was in the huddle, there, with Harry. I contented myself with imagining the day I would be there with Harry. It helped to pass the time.

When the game finally resumed, those Weasley twins left Harry alone. He was flying excellently well; he had to, to avoid that Bludger. I took so many pictures. Harry was the best flier in the world.

Suddenly, the Bludger hit Harry's arm. I could hear it break. I took a lot of pictures; Harry's arm was hanging limply at his side. He stayed on his broom, though. Of course he did. He was the best Quidditch player ever.

Then he charged Malfoy. Good, I thought. Get him back for enchanting that Bludger. But then I saw what Harry was going for. The Snitch was right above Malfoy's head. I saw Harry grab it with his good hand. I saw him fall to the ground. I ran to where he had fallen; it was right below the stands.

That git Lockhart was standing over him, waving his wand around. Harry looked so heroic. I wanted to cheer for him and run down to help my best friend.

I saw Lockhart wave his wand over Harry's head. Harry made a weak little gesture of defiance; he didn't want Lockhart to heal him. That Harry, never wanting to look like a coward. I saw sparks shoot out of Lockhart's wand; the crowd was pressing on me from behind. Stupid nosy gits. They weren't best friends with Harry, like I was. I noticed with some satisfaction that those two second-years were nowhere around. They probably hadn't even come to the match.

The sparks hit Harry's arm. I gasped, and heard so many other gasps behind me. Harry's arm deflated, sort of. I grabbed my camera and clicked away. Lockhart had messed up again. He had removed Harry's bones. Harry was carried away on a stretcher, up to Madam Pomfrey's ward. The crowd dispersed, but I stayed behind.

It was still raining. I didn't mind. I went down to the Quidditch field and stood, dead in the center, and lifted my arms to the sky. Someday, I told myself, someday I would play on this field. And Harry would be my best friend. I was as sure of it as anything.

I had been right. Harry's arm was broken. I tried to visit him, but that old bat, Madam Pomfrey, wouldn't let me see him. She said he needed his rest. He was Harry Potter! He didn't need rest!

I went back to the Gryffindor Common Room to sulk. I grabbed my wand and entertained myself by turning buttons into beetles. I had learned how from a third-year's Transfiguration book. He let me borrow it. It was surprisingly easy.

I devised a plan to visit Harry. I would simply wait until everyone else was asleep, and then I would sneak in to his room and we would have lots of fun talking about the match. I could show him the pictures I had taken; I had developed them. Most of them were already on my wall.

I waited until everyone was gone from the Common Room, even those Weasley boys. They sure were loud. I tucked my camera into my robes and then I had a sudden inspiration. I ran and grabbed the grapes my Dad had sent me. Harry would like them. Infirmary food was no good. I remembered it from when I got sick. After Mum went away.

I quietly exited the Common Room and wandered the halls, taking my time as I went to the Infirmary. Harry would be so glad to see me. We would probably stay up all night talking about the Quidditch match and classes. I smiled as I began to climb a flight of stairs.

We would talk about Quidditch and then I could ask him if he would coach me so I could be on the team with him. And then we'd talk about classes and that Slytherin Professor, Snape, and I could tell him about the pictures. He'd like the pictures. He'd probably want to see them. Yes, we'd finally be best friends, Harry and me.

I could hear something at the top of the steps. Perhaps it was Harry! Harry, better from his injuries, coming down the stairs! I readied my camera in front of my eyes, determined to capture the triumphal march back to the Common Room. Harry would be so flattered.

He came closer and I grinned. He'd be so surprised. He was right at the top of the stairs now. I blinked.

When I opened my eyes, it was not the green eyes of Harry Potter staring at me through the camera. Two huge yellow eyes locked with mine.

.....I can't remember anything else.