Colin Creepy

Harry saved me, of course. When I saw those big yellow eyes, I didn't know what they were. Harry found out what they were, and he saved me.

I had been Petrified. My camera was ruined. But Harry had figured out what had attacked me (that Harry!) and he had gone down into the Chamber of Secrets and he had killed it. He killed it just for me. Then I got well, right at the end of the school year. I didn't have to take exams. Thanks to Harry.

I remember one of my classmates telling me, when I was well, that Harry had killed the thing in the Chamber of Secrets because it had attacked the redheaded boy's sister. I didn't believe it. Harry was mad at that thing for attacking his best friend. It had attacked me!

I didn't pay attention to the boy. First-years were stupid. They didn't like me very much, because I was best friends with Harry Potter. I didn't mind. They didn't have a friend like Harry; they were jealous of me.

The school year ended and I went home. I helped Dad with his milkman job over the summer. I told him all about my adventures with Harry. Dad would like Harry very much. Dennis, my little brother, wanted to hear about him too. He wanted to hear about Quidditch mostly, though. He just doesn't understand how important and famous Harry is. But he's young.

I wonder if Dennis will be able to get into Hogwarts. The other day I found him playing with my wand. He had used it to make a crater in the yard. I was mad, but Dad just laughed and laughed. Like Mum used to.

I was bored a lot during the summer. For some reason, Harry and I had both forgotten to give each other our addresses so we could write to each other. I didn't mind so much. I didn't have an owl to send replies with anyway. Dad wouldn't let me get one. He can be such a Muggle sometimes. I read a lot, when I wasn't helping Dad or telling Dennis about Quidditch. I had borrowed a lot of books from the library at Hogwarts, and I kept them over the summer. I didn't think Dumbledore would mind. He had enough books there.

Potions is fascinating. I never knew all of the stuff wizards could make. Some of it's frightening, like the Veritaserum and Polyjuice Potion. I wonder what it would be like to use that Polyjuice Potion. To think I could become Harry Potter for an hour! I could be famous and loved!

I also practiced my Transfiguration. To keep Dennis occupied. I showed him how I could turn buttons into beetles. He was impressed. I started to transfigure bigger things. By the end of the summer, I could transform a desk lamp into a lizard. Dennis REALLY liked that. Dad was mad, though. We only had one desk lamp.

I was glad to get back on the Hogwarts Express. I had missed my best friend Harry. I had missed my classes. I saw him at Nine and Three-Quarters. I waved to him and he waved back. I went to go sit with him, but all of the seats were filled. Harry looked sad; I didn't mind. I wanted to tell him not to worry. Those Weasley boys had taken all the seats. They sure were loud. I went and sat with a few Hufflepuff second-years. I read a fifth-year Potions book, mostly.

A Dementor came around to all the boxcars. Those Hufflepuffs were scared. I knew what Dementors were; I had read about them over the summer. They were going to be at Hogwarts during the year; a man named Sirius Black was on the loose and he was trying to get into my school. I was scared when I heard that. Then I realized that Harry Potter was there too and he would keep me from harm.

The Dementor was scary too. It had a big cloak on and you couldn't see its face. It made me feel all cold inside; I couldn't remember anything happy. All I could remember was when Mum went away. I could see the day she went away. I could see Dad's tears.

The Dementor left after a little while. The Hufflepuffs were shivering on one side of the car. I rolled my eyes. Hufflepuffs sure were dumb. I rummaged around in my knapsack and found a bar of chocolate to share with them. They looked a lot better after they ate it. Obviously, they hadn't read the sixth year Defense Against the Dark Arts book, like I had.

When we finally got to Hogwarts, I got to watch the Sorting. It was fun. All of those little first-years looked so scared. I hadn't looked that scared, had I? I wondered if any of them had had to argue with the Sorting Hat as I had. That stupid Sorting Hat, thinking I should go in Slytherin.

...I wondered what would happen if someone enchanted the Sorting Hat to put all the first-years in Slytherin. I grinned. Everyone would be so mad if somebody did that.

After the Sorting, Dumbledore talked a lot. I didn't really pay attention; Dumbledore was boring. He said something about Quidditch tryouts, though. I listened to that. They would be held in three weeks. I could try out this year; I was going to be on the Gryffindor team. Harry would help me; he was the best player at Hogwarts.

Where was Harry, anyway? He wasn't at the Sorting. I wanted to sit beside him and ask him if he would coach me. I saw the redheaded boy and the girl with the big teeth, though. They were talking quietly. I almost wanted to go ask them where Harry was, but they probably wouldn't know anyway. They weren't very good friends to Harry, I thought. They never came to his Quidditch practices as I did.

Harry was in the Common Room when the feast was over. I talked to him a few minutes; I told him about my new camera. He didn't seem very happy about it; he must've felt bad that my other one was destroyed. That Harry. I didn't get a chance to ask him about coaching me, though. The Mudblood and Muggle-lover (as I called them in private) ran over to him and pushed me out of the way.

I hate them. I took one of the chairs, pulled it over to a window, and plopped down. The sun was setting; the sky was full of reds and purples. It looked like I felt on the inside. I hated them. That stupid, poor, redheaded, sarcastic git, with his older brothers and his chess set. And that girl...the girl with her good grades and frizzy hair and buckteeth and Muggle parents. I HATE them.

What does Harry see in them?

He probably just feels sorry for them. That's it. Harry doesn't want anyone to feel left out, and so he lets them hang around with him. Because they have no one else. That Harry. He's so nice to everyone.

...I wonder how the Muggle-lover would look dancing the Tarantella. During the summer, I learned a spell that would make him dance forever. And I could put an Enlargement Charm on the Mudblood's hair. Or her teeth. That'd be funny. Harry would laugh; I could see him now. He'd laugh and come and clap me on the shoulder and then he'd sit by me and I could ask him to coach me in Quidditch.

I smiled; my reflection in the window smiled back at me. Harry would be my friend. He would.

I didn't get a chance to talk to Harry again that night or for many days after that. We were both very busy with our classes. And Harry had Quidditch practice, of course. I went to as many of them as I could. I was getting very good at picking out different defense tactics. I would make the team, for sure.

But I still hadn't been able to ask Harry to coach me.

I came close, one day at lunch. I went to sit beside Harry at lunch. He was talking to those Weasley twins, about Quidditch. Those Weasley boys left. I was alone with Harry. I could ask him to coach me. We could become best friends.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't talk to Harry Potter about coaching me. Why would he want to coach me? I looked down at my potatoes. I'd have to find another way to get some practice. I'd have to find another way to ask Harry.

I had to make the team. Dad would be so proud. Harry would be so proud.

I had to make the team.

Every time I saw Harry in the hallway, I tried to ask him to help me. But before I could even say one word, Harry would vanish from my view or the crowds of students'd carry me away. It seemed like they were all against my asking Harry to help me. At times, I felt like using my wand to blast them out of the way.

I never did, though.

I could have.

There were only two days to Quidditch tryouts. There weren't any open slots in the Gryffindor team, but I thought I could make the reserve team or something. Dad would proud, just the same. And I'd get red Quidditch robes. Just like Harry's.

My big chance finally came in the Common Room that night. Harry was sitting by himself, going over his Transfiguration book with a puzzled expression on his face. I had read that book at least 10 times. I could help him. And then I could ask him to help me.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Colin?" he looked very harried. A harried Harry. I laughed inwardly.

"D'you need some help?"

"No, that's all right. Besides, this is third-year Transfiguration, you wouldn't've made it this far yet in McGonagall's class."

"Oh, I've read that book before."

"Really? D'you know about turning rabbits into slippers?"

I grinned. Boy, did I. I had made Dennis cry earlier in the summer, when I turned his pet, Fluffy Toes, into a pair of slippers for Father's Day. Dad really liked those slippers.

I pulled a chair over to Harry's, and we spent nearly two hours going over the finer points of Transfiguration. Harry had been putting too much emphasis on the second syllable of the spell. A rather childish mistake, I thought. I was surprised that Harry wasn't a better student.

I spent two hours with my friend Harry. We talked a little about Quidditch. Harry was looking forward to tryouts, just as much as I was. I was gathering the courage to ask him if he'd help me, when Harry suddenly snapped up his book and stood.

"Thanks for helping me, Colin. I really have to go get some sleep. I have an early Potions class tomorrow with Ravenclaw."

He was leaving? So soon? I thought we were having fun.

"Er, Harry?"

"Yes, Colin?"

I opened my mouth to ask him for his help, but again, I couldn't do it. Something inside my throat closed off. I shook my head and waved him away. Harry ran up to his dormitory and shut the door. I slumped into one of the chairs. Only two days away....

I fell asleep in that chair. When I awoke, Harry had already left for his classes. I saw him at lunch, but he seemed to be in a big hurry. Maybe I could talk to him when he got outside in the halls. I followed him when he got up from the Gryffindor table. He sure walked fast; I could barely keep up with him in the halls.

He walked forever. I finally saw him turn a corner, but when I followed, he had disappeared. I could hear his voice behind a door, however. He was talking to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher. I supposed Harry was talking to him about extra credit or something. That Harry. Always going the extra mile.

I smiled. Ah, well. I'd see him that night. Maybe he'd ask me to help him again with his homework. Then he'd introduce me to his Quidditch friends. Maybe they'd like me so much, they'd invite me onto the team without even making me try out.

Tryouts. Tryouts were tomorrow.

I had to talk to Harry. That evening.

I couldn't concentrate in my classes. Professor Snape took ten points from Gryffindor because I accidentally burned a hole in one of his desks. I didn't mean to; I just put a bit too much bicorn horn in my potion. Nigel Garrison tried to put a flobberworm down my robes; I didn't try to curse him. I was too worried about the tryouts. What if I didn't make it?

But I would make it, I told myself. I had Harry Potter on my side, and with him, nothing is impossible. I couldn't wait to see him that evening. I'd ask him to help me and then I'd make the team and then I would see the look of surprise and shame on Nigel Garrison's stupid pudgy face when he saw me soaring around on my Nimbus 2000, just like the one Harry had.

Then I would turn Nigel Garrison into a toad.

Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed to last forever; Professor Lupin looked very tired and he nearly fell asleep during his lecture. No one in the class was listening to him. I didn't even take notes.

When class was finally over, I ran out into the halls, the first one out of the classroom. I nearly ran into Harry.

"Harry? What're you doing here?"

"Oh, I, er...I have to get some help from Professor Lupin."

That Harry. Always working on self-improvement. "Well, y'know, Harry, I'd be happy to help y--"

"Oh, no, it's not that kind of help, Colin. I'll talk to you later," he said, as he walked into the room.

"Er, Harry? Are you going to be in the Common Room later on? There's something I need to ask you," I said nervously.

"Look, Colin, if it's about the autographed pictures, I--"

"No, no. Nothing like that. Will you be there?"

"I think so. I've really got to go now, Colin. I'll talk to you later." And with that, Harry closed the door on me. Harry shut the door on his best friend.

I couldn't help but feel hurt. I trudged back up to the Common Room to wait for my friend Harry. I fiddled with the buttons on my camera and looked at the pictures I had gotten developed. They were mostly of Harry at Quidditch and in the halls, but there were a few of Dad and Dennis. I had to make them proud of me. I would wait all night for Harry, if I had to.

I sat down on one of the overstuffed chairs in the Common Room. All around me, students were running and laughing and studying. I tried to block them out. I took out an old copy of "Quidditch Today" to go over the defense moves I had read about.

I read and reread the articles in the magazines. The students began to disperse; I stayed in my chair, going over moves like the dangerous Wronski Feint. The Muggle-lover and the Mudblood stayed around for a while, but even they succumbed to sleep and went up to bed. Soon I was the only one in the Common Room.

Hours passed. I remember seeing Nearly Headless Nick roam around the Common Room at one point. He and I talked for a few minutes. He didn't know where Harry was either. I grew anxious as the minutes ticked away.

It was past midnight. It was the day of the tryouts.
It was past one. Where could Harry be?

Finally, at 3:14 and twenty-one seconds, my best friend shuffled through the hole to the Common Room. I jumped up, still wide awake, and ran over to him.

"Harry! Harry, I'm so glad you're finally here. Listen, I really need your--"

"Not now, Colin. I'm too tired. I'm going to bed," he yawned. He slumped up the stairs. I heard the door to his dormitory slam.

I was in shock. Harry had ignored me. My best friend had ignored me. Why? Why wouldn't he listen to what I had to say? Why? He just left! He turned and left me alone! After I had helped him with his homework; after I had gone to all his boring Quidditch practices; after I had laughed at his jokes, after I had taken so many pictures of him; he left me alone in the Common Room at night. After I told him I had something important to ask him.

...He wouldn't have done that to the Mudblood or Muggle-lover.

I was shaking with anger. Does he think he's too good for me? Is that what it is? Is it because I'm younger than he is? Is it because Dad is a Muggle? Well, he doesn't have any room to talk! Harry Potter, whose mother was a Mudblood? Harry Potter, who has to live with his Muggle aunt and uncle every summer? Ha! He's no more special than I am! Just because he has that stupid-looking scar on his forehead. Just because some people think he defeated Lord Voldemort. How could a little baby defeat Lord Voldemort anyway? It was probably all a lie. All of it was a lie! Harry hadn't defeated Lord Voldemort! Harry hadn't saved Hogwarts during his first year! Harry hadn't gone into the Chamber of Secrets! He was just a plain, ordinary boy, with a stupid scar on his head! A stupid SCAR! I WISH VOLDEMORT WOULD'VE KILLED HIM! KILLED HIM LIKE HE KILLED HIS STUPID PARENTS!

I snatched the copy of "Quidditch Today" and began to tear pages out. I'd never need to read them again anyway. I wasn't going to make the team. Stupid Harry Potter wasn't going to help me. He was too tired. I ripped page after page after page out of the binding. I tore them into confetti. I'd never need them.

Because of Harry.

It was all because of Harry. I'd never get to wear Quidditch robes and I'd never get to see Dad smiling down at me from the stadium and it was all. Harry's. FAULT.

Another torn page.
And another...
And another...
And another...

My hand stopped at one page, though. It was the article that someone had written about Harry when he had first made the Gryffindor team. I couldn't tear it out.

There was a picture of Harry, a younger Harry I had never seen, flying around on a school broom. The picture was enchanted, of course, and Harry suddenly flew very close to the front of the picture. I could see his scar and his glasses and the green eyes behind them.

The anger slowly drained away. I looked around at the torn pages; the mess I had created.

Harry hadn't meant to hurt me. He was just tired. He had probably gotten back from doing something terribly brave. He was too busy to have time to coach me in Quidditch. How could I have been so stupid? He was probably worried enough about his own studies and Quidditch practice......and Sirius Black. Black was still on the loose.

What had I said? What awful things had I said about my best friend? I covered my face with my hands. How could I have said those awful things? I didn't wish that Vol...You-Know-Who had killed Harry. Harry was my best friend. How could I have said such things about my best friend?

I slowly gathered the torn pages and dumped them in a dustbin. No one would ever know how I had behaved. I was so ashamed.

I went up to my bedroom and flopped down on my bed. Instantly, I fell asleep. I didn't wake up until noon the next day; I had missed most of my classes. I didn't go down to lunch. I didn't go to Quidditch tryouts. I didn't deserve to be on the team anyway. Not after the horrible things I had said.

I sat on my bed and read my books. No one was in the dormitory; it was very peaceful. Every now and then I would glance at the mural I had created on my bedroom wall. Hundreds of Harrys waved back at me. I smiled, and then I thought again of the horrible things I had said.

I vowed never to betray my best friend again.

My plan worked! Harry was a Hogwarts Champion! Well, along with that stupid Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory. I don't know why the Goblet of Fire shot his name out. Probably to keep Harry from being too cocky. Like Harry Potter could ever be cocky anyway.

I don't know how Harry managed to keep up with his schoolwork and the demands of being a Champion. I guess I'll never know. One day, I was sent to get Harry from Professor Snape's class. Since I was his best friend and all, I guess they thought I was the best one for the job. Snape gave me a hard time, but Snape's like that. I wish I could put the Imperius on him. I'd like to see him sing a few show tunes.

I talked to Harry as I walked with him to the Great Hall, where all of the Champions were meeting. He seemed really nervous. What would he need to be nervous about? He was Harry Potter! He was the Boy Who Lived!

Well, I guess even the Boy Who Lived can get nervous. I wouldn't know anything about stuff like that.

Aside from talking to Harry that day, I didn't get to see him much. But we were best friends; we didn't always need to be together. We knew what each other were thinking because we were such good friends.

I was always the first one at the Triwizard Challenges. I made sure I had a first-row seat. It was amazing when Harry beat the dragons; I knew he would do it, of course. It's just amazing to see a genius in action, I guess.

But Harry doesn't like to be called a genius. He's too modest. That Harry.

Oh, at one of the challenges, this lady came up to me and asked me some questions. Her name was Rita Skeeter. She was a reporter for the Daily Prophet. She was really nice; I liked her. She asked me a lot about Harry. I guess someone had told her about my being Harry's best friend.

I guess I should start getting used to people noticing me. I am, after all, Harry Potter's greatest companion.

I told her a lot about how brave Harry was. She didn't seem to want to talk about that much, though. She liked it when I told her about the Mudblood, though. I think she thinks Harry likes the Mudblood. Y'know, like a boy likes a
girl.

I don't think so. Harry doesn't have time for stuff like that.

He barely even has time for me, his best friend. But I'm not complaining.

Sometimes I wish I had put my name in the Goblet of Fire, though. I wish I could see Dad and Dennis, sitting together while I defeated dragons and beat up blast-ended skrewts. Dad would be smiling like when we went to the Muggle football game so many years ago.

I wish they could see me lift the Triwizard Cup high into the air, like I see myself do so many times in my dreams. I wish I could see Dad's face when I hand him the Galleons I won.

Most of all, I wish Mum would be there too. Watching me and smiling at me.

Ah well. Better Harry than me.