Colin Creepy

"Quite right, my boy. I am Lord Voldemort ..."

Should I shake his hand? Did he have hands?

"... And you are Colin Creevey. My Ally," Voldemort said, prodding a long finger in my chest. I noticed my mouth hanging open and promptly shut it. The Dark Lord (I shivered as I thought of the title) chuckled softly.

I was standing in the presence of the most powerful wizard to live since the Four Founders of Hogwarts. In the presence of a man whose mere name could cause grown men to weep. Inadvertently, I wondered what The Boy Who Lived would do in my situation. Probably soil himself, I smirked. Well, score one for The Boy Who Snapped, then, because I was acting rather nonchalant about the whole occasion. I was quite enjoying the savor of fear through through my veins. I felt as though the lines of my being were becoming hazy, were dissolving slightly. It was
a delicious feeling.

"Why Are you smiling, boy? Are you not frightened?" Voldemort asked suddenly, surveying me critically. I stood tall, straightening my shoulders, ready to apologize and make up a polite fib. But I found I couldn't. I had to tell this man the truth. His eyes compelled me to do so.

"No sir, I'm not frightened. I was wondering what Harry Potter would do if he were in my situation, sir," I said clearly, shutting my eyes and bracing myself for the pain that would inevitably follow.

It didn't come.

I opened my confused eyes and saw Lord Voldemort smiling at me.

"He'd probably soil himself," the man said evenly. I stared at him incredulously, and laughed before I could stop myself. Voldemort joined my laughter, surprisingly. Imagine–a Dark Lord with a sense of humor! His laugh, though ... high and cold, just as Harry had said it was. It froze the marrow in my bones.

Voldemort turned and began to walk down a long hall, beckoning me with a wave of his hand. As we walked, I gazed at the long, tapered candles flickering as we swept past. I glanced at the disapproving glares the Muggle portraits gave me, and I smiled. Smiled that even the portraits distrusted me as I walked shoulder to shoulder with the greatest Dark wizard since Salazar Slytherin himself.

I was home.

Lord Voldemort took me to a large room at the end of the manor. As we entered, he cast a lighting spell and I gasped, in awe of the scene before me. We had entered the largest library I had ever seen. Far larger than Hogwarts' library. Madam Pince would give her gold-plated bookstamp to run a place like this, I thought with satisfaction. Thousands of shelves, thousands of books, millions of words in each book. It was a temple, a shrine to language. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

"This was my father's library. He loved it," Voldemort said slowly, thoughtfully. Bitterly. "Much more than he loved his family, I'm afraid." After finishing, he grabbed a book from a nearby shelf and opened it. I glanced at it. Illuminated manuscript, hand-written on parchment, 12^th century. Most likely the work of Franciscan monks, judging from the script. It was priceless.

I heard Voldemort utter a spell. For a moment, all was still. Then an explosion reverberated off the walls. I ducked and clamped my hands to my ears. He was still holding the book, but the ancient pages were ripping themselves out of their binding, fluttering madly in the air like colorful, wounded birds before they exploded into confetti.

A thousand pieces of literary shrapnel floated to the ground. I lifted up my palm and caught a few, reading the latin text on them ... Something about the Sleep of Peace and a royal army ... I looked over at Voldemort. He was standing perfectly still, holding the empty book covers, his eyes shut, a serene look on his aging face. He was almost transfixed. I stared. After a few moments of comparative calm, Voldemort opened his eyes and looked down at me.

"My father was a horrible person, unworthy of the life given to him," he said quietly, as hate flashed through his eyes. They glowed a bright, compelling red as Voldemort grinned horribly and said, "Luckily, I was able to relieve him of that burden.

"He never read one of these books. They were mere possessions to him."

I continued to stare. Voldemort glanced at me, a shrewd look replacing the combination of pain and hate previously on his face.

"I expect you have many questions, son. Care to air any of them?"

Suddenly, my mind was filled with all sorts of questions. What did the Dark Lord want from me? Why was I here? Why was his lackey missing a finger? (Hey, where had old Yellow Eyes gone, anyway?) That wasn't some sort of initiation, was it? Because I rather liked all my fingers...

"D'you believe in feeding your guests, or is that going against some ancient prophecy?" I asked rather petulantly. I winced. I suppose I should've been flattered; not everyone's subconscious repeatedly attempted to honk off Powerful and Half-Cracked Dark Lords with Big Wands. I must be very special, indeed ...

He merely smirked at me. "WORMTAIL!" he barked, and I felt a rush of air as someone behind me ran up and kissed Voldemort's robes. Ugh, how degrading. Alternating waves of pity and disgust coursed through me.

"Get your new lord some food. And hurry–there's much to be said," Voldemort commanded. The man made some sort of simpering reply to which Voldemort responded by rolling his eyes and kicking the man away. The man uttered a small yelp, but then got up and straightened his robes. I caught sight of his face and laughed freely. The man looked at me with contempt.

"Better find something faster than that old Shooting Star if you're going to make it to town and back by sunrise," I sneered at my old "friend." He glared at me, unmasked hatred in his eyes.

"Yes, m'lord," he muttered, shoving past me. Ooh, that was fun, having people call me "lord." I turned and shouted after him:

"I'm allergic to onions! Remember that!"

Lord Voldemort's laughter mingled with my own as we watched Wormtail's retreating form.

An exploded set of Encyclopedia Brittanica and five double chiliburgers later, Voldemort turned to me and said seriously, "Boy, our time is growing short. We must discuss your task."

I gulped down the last of my burger nervously and threw the wrapper at a sleeping Wormtail. The impact woke him and he glared at me before turning around and resuming his snoring. "Stupid adolescent Hogwarts prat," I heard him grumble. I threw another wrapper at him. He looked positively murderous. It was very amusing.

"If you've quite finished torturing one of my oldest supporters," Voldemort said, a bit impatiently. Oops. Not a good thing to keep a Dark Lord waiting. I turned and gave a little bow. Voldemort walked near the fireplace, which suddenly sprang alive as he shot a fire spell at the hearth. He sat down in an old armchair. I followed him there, and stood beside his chair, watching the fire flicker and dance.

"Stand before me, Boy. You must learn to always look an enemy in the eyes."

Was I his enemy? I moved warily into his line of sight and met his eyes. He stared at me, testing me, looking directly into my pupils. I didn't break my gaze. Finally, he seemed satisfied.

"You don't even know why you're here, do you, Boy?"

"No, sir," I said quietly.

"You are here because you have exhibited immense magical powers. And you are here because it is your destiny."

"It's my destiny to ride antique brooms and throw things at Wormtail?"

His eyes narrowed and turned a deep, boiling blood red. "Now is not a time for jokes, Boy. You are here because you made it rain in the Great Hall and because you are a Gryffindor.

"There is an old text, a prophecy, written by Helga Hufflepuff shortly before her death, that states that there will be two Hogwarts students who will have the ability to escape the House they were meant to join. These two students, if they should join forces, would be as powerful as the Founding Four, more powerful than any wizard before them. They would be invincible.

"I am one of these students.

"You are the other."

I choked, unable to find my voice. "Y-you weren't supposed to be in Slytherin?"

"No. The Sorting Hat saw what I would become and wanted to put me in Gryffindor. To save me from myself. I had to threaten to reduce it to felt pulp before it consented," Voldemort smiled at the memory.

Oh, it was too much ... the memory of my own Sorting flashed through my brain ... "I have to be in Gryffindor! Can you hear me, you stupid piece of felt?"...

"What House were you supposed to be in?" he asked suddenly.

"Slytherin," I said weakly.

"I thought as much. Why did you want to be in Gryffindor so badly?" he asked conversationally.

I couldn't tell him. It was too embarrassing. Tell Lord Voldemort that the reason I shunned his old House was so I could run after the bloody Boy Who Lived with a camera for three years? I couldn't lie, though. His eyes made sure of that ...

"Potter," I said miserably. The Dark Lord merely raised his eyebrows, so I continued. "I hero- worshipped Potter for nearly four years, sir. I took pictures of him playing Quidditch, I managed to convince myself I was his best friend. But now I know better. He's just a stupid boy, immortalized because of a damned scar on his forehead. He has everything because of that scar. He has girls, friends, admirers, fan clubs. And I ..." my voice faltered slightly, "I have nothing. Because of that scar."

"I know the feeling," Voldemort said sardonically. His words didn't register. I was too far-gone in my anger.

"I hate him," I whispered. "He doesn't deserve any of it. He didn't work for any of it. He didn't work at Quidditch, he doesn't work at his lessons, he doesn't work–" I gulped, "he doesn't work to hear her laugh. It all just happens for him." I lowered my brimming eyes to the fireplace. It just wasn't fair.

"Boy," Voldemort began, leaning forward in his chair, fingertips pressed together, "Colin, I can change that. You are my Ally and I can teach you. Anything. I can give you anything. With my help, you could be as famous, as loved as Potter. You could be a Quidditch hero, you could be Head Boy. You could make her love you. You could be the smartest student ever to walk the halls of Hogwarts. Everything that Potter has now, can one day be yours," he said quietly, intently.

He sat, I stood in silence for a moment. The only sound was that of Wormtail's heavy breathing in the corner.

"Colin, what is it that you want most? What would make this worthwhile?" Voldemort asked suddenly, his tone thoughtful, expectant.

My mind raced. So many possibilities ... money, fame, a townhouse, fast cars, doll's eyes, Quidditch brooms, box tickets for the World Cup, a cottage in the country, copper-penny hair, new dress robes for Dennis, stock in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, fast women ... a trophy in the Hogwarts trophy room ... what did I want most?

My eyes turned to the rows of books surrounding me, the millions of facts that reached the ceiling. I studied the books in the dim firelight, a new appreciation growing in me for their solidity, for the universal respect and admiration they could inspire. Facts inspired respect. Respect inspired power. Power inspired me. I knew what I wanted. I turned to Voldemort.

"I want to know everything in every one of these books, and more. I want to be able to remember everything I hear, everything I see, everything I read. I want to be remembered for my intelligence. I want," a flash of inspiration shot through me, "I want to be as smart as Tom Riddle was."

Lord Voldemort smiled triumphantly. "You do not disappoint, Colin. That is a very worthy wish. It will be done.

"You are so much like your mother, Creevey ..." he trailed off. My head snapped up; my reverie broken.

"What do you know of my mother?" I asked quickly. This was completely unexpected.

Lord Voldemort cleared his throat. He had not been expecting this. "She was a very loyal servant. And very smart. I remember when she gave birth to you, shortly before I visited the Potters, she told me you would eclipse all her hopes and dreams. She said you had a great destiny. I understand the Aurors attempted to arrest her after my downfall. Morgana Rosen–erm Creevey would never have allowed herself to be brought before the Ministry. She died fighting," Voldemort said softly.

I couldn't speak. Mum ... my mum ... Dad never talked of her, he had known. He had known what she was. He never told me ... she was a Death Eater. My dreams. She always screamed in my dreams, and the green light ... it had to be the Killing Curse. And in my dreams, Dad always cried at her funeral. I remembered that no one had come to her funeral, it had just been me and Dad and Dennis. Oh God ... Mum ... my knees gave way and I sat on the floor, in shock.

I could hear Lord Voldemort speaking to me, but I felt as if I were underwater. He reached for my left arm, and I offered it without struggling, still insensate, my mother's screams drowning out Voldemort's words. He pressed his wand to my skin and I remember my own screams joining my mother's before everything went black.

"Your mother would be very proud of you, Boy."

I awoke to the sensation of my hair being ruffled in a very light breeze. As I yawned and stretched, I opened my eyes completely and screamed in terror as I grabbed onto the closest thing I could find.

I was on a broom (a very old broom, judging by how fast it was traveling) and I was a few hundred feet in the air. Ugh, I also had my fingernails dug deep into the arm of Wormtail. He sniggered as I gained my balance and hastily dropped my arms.

"I didn't know you cared, m'lord," he smirked. God, I wanted to hit him. But since he was controlling the broom, I settled for glaring evilly at his rather expansive backside.

"Ugh, don't get any ideas, you kinky git. Doesn't ‘Master' have some sort of ‘don't-ask-don't- tell' policy?" That confused him. We rode in silence for a few moments.

"I swear I just saw a bird overtake us ..." I began.

"And your point is?"

"It had one wing."

"It's really too bad I couldn't find any rope to tie you to the broom earlier; that was very dangerous of me. I'm so lucky you have such a sense of balance, because otherwise you'd have fallen 200 feet to your death and I'd have no one to entertain me with witty anecdotes."

"Merlin's beard, Wormtail just said something that could pass as wit."

"... shame you didn't fall, you pre-pubescent prat ..."

"Envisioning the death of Voldemort's much-prophesied Ally, are we? Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty," I smirked.

"Oh, go to h–"

"Hey, Wormtail, how d'you spell pre-pubescent?"

" ..."

"Ah, silence."

"Shut up."

"Wormtail, what happened when I blacked out?" I asked suddenly. The question caught him off- guard; he very nearly lost control of the broom.

"Well, Master finished giving you the Dark Mark. Then he told me to tell you what you were to do and take you back to Hogwarts."

"He gave me WHAT?!" I asked, bewildered.

"The Dark Mark."

I grabbed my left sleeve and pushed it back to the elbow. I nearly shouted in surprise as I saw the eerily familiar mark branded onto my arm. "Well, I'll be damned," I breathed.

"With that mark on you, it's quite probable."

"Wow, score two for Wormtail. I'd say I'm rubbing off on you, but it appears to be only my wit. You're still as ugly as ever. Ah well."

"Since you've already damned yourself with that mark on your arm, you probably wouldn't need my help in furthering the cause, but can I offer it anyway?"

"Shut up, Wormtail."

"Oh dear, no hamburger wrappers to throw at me this time."

"Shut UP!"

"Yes, m'lord ..."

"That's better."

"... damn you."

"Too late!" I smirked, thrusting my forearm in his face.

As we neared Hogwarts, I began to get a little nervous. It had been a very eventful night, after all. I was a branded Death Eater and Voldemort's Second-in-Command. Lucius Malfoy would be thoroughly brassed off; I had taken his precious son's birthright. I grinned.

"So what are my orders from His Snakiness?" I asked Wormtail. He looked shocked at my lax behavior towards "Master."

"You are to become friends with Harry Potter and gain his trust. As Voldemort's Ally, you are in the best position to deliver him the Potter boy when the Dark Lord makes his triumphant return."

"So I'm just supposed to make nice with Bulletproof, is that it?"

"And his group of friends, yes."

"Gah," I said vehemently. "Make friends with the Mudblood and Muggle-lover? That'll take some work. They hate me."

"They will come to like you. It is non-negotiable."

"Oh. Sorta like how you HAVE to have fun at Disneyland or they throw you into a Goofy suit." Wormtail's eyes glazed over. I could tell I had lost him with that last comment.

We rode in silence over the Forbidden Forest. I saw the familiar turrets and banners of Hogwarts Castle and my stomach churned. I could do this. I had to do this. I wanted to do this. I grinned as I imagined myself as the smartest man alive, dragged down by the weight of ten Nobel prizes and my beautiful wife's enormous--

"Here you are, Boy. Home." I frowned. How Wormtail could always interrupt my Happy Thoughts with such pinpoint accuracy was beyond me. I stared coldly at him.

"This is not my home. Not anymore. We both know where it is," I said haughtily as I stepped onto the balcony. Wormtail gave me an appraising glance and then he looked at the sky.

"This will not be easy, Boy. You must fool your House mates, your professors, and Albus Dumbledore. More importantly, you must not fool yourself. Keep in mind that you are only to pretend to be their friends. It ..." Wormtail gulped as pain from an old memory flitted across his features, "It is very difficult to stay objective and not to involve yourself emotionally. Remember what you owe to Voldemort. Remember the Mark on your arm.

"I must leave you now. Master will be in touch," he concluded. Wormtail turned to face the rising sun and puttered off on his broom.

I rolled my eyes and opened the balcony doors to go inside. I was no longer nervous. As I walked into my still-darkened dormitory, I decided not to waste any time. The faster I moved, the sooner I would have everything I ever wanted. I threw open the curtains and let the sunlight pour in. The boys, still in bed, sat up, blinking and rubbing their eyes.

"Good morning, boys!" Race you to breakfast!" I shouted as I ran to the Common Room entrance. I bounded down the stairs to the Common Room. Maybe I'd see Potter at breakfast, maybe I could start this morning, maybe I could--

"Colin!"

I stopped dead in my tracks. Harry Potter was standing in front of me, a wide smile on his face. Behind him, the Mudblood and Muggle-lover and Virginia (her hair was especially shiny today) occupied a Common Room couch. What did he ... ? I stared at Potter expectantly.

"Well, er ... I remember that you said we could be friends, Colin, and Ron and Ginny and Hermione and I are planning a trip to Hogsmeade after breakfast today, and I was ... I mean, we were wondering if you'd like to come," Potter said hurriedly, embarrassed. He knew I'd say yes, though. I could see the expectation on his face as plainly as I could see that ruddy scar.

Oh, bless his "good folks" ethics! They were making my job so much easier! For once, the urge to hug him almost outweighed the urge to chop him into pieces and sell the pieces on an Infomercial. ("Now you too can conquer the Killing Curse with only three easy payments of $39.99!")

I gave Harry a shy "new kid" sort of smile and quietly said, "Yes, Harry. I'd like that very much." With a touch of self-doubt thrown in for good measure. Oh, damn, I was good! I crowed to myself. Harry grinned and clapped me on the shoulder and steered me over to the couch, to his friends. This was going to be the hard part; Ron and Hermione wouldn't look at me and obviously disapproved of Harry's inviting me to Hogsmeade.

"Um ... hi, Ron," I said a little nervously. "I saw you get into that fight with Malfoy last Thursday. He had no right to say that about your mum," I said disapprovingly, and then I grinned. "You sure let him have it, though! I heard Madam Pomfrey say there's no way she could heal both his black eyes!"

Ron looked up at me, surprise in his eyebrows. For one tense moment, I thought he had seen through me. Then he grinned. "Yeah, I bet Malfoy will remember that the next time he starts to say something about my family. Did you see his face when ..."

... I wonder what Lord Voldemort has in store for you, Weasel. Maybe a nice long dose of the Imperius? You never could fight it off like Potter, could you? Yes, maybe he'll have you torture Potter. That'd be nice and ironic ...

"... and then he almost started crying! I swear there were tears in his eyes!" Weasley grinned. I burst out laughing and turned to Hermione.

"Hi, Hermione. Um, I have a question. We were studying goblin rebellions Wednesday in Binn's class, and I don't quite understand why Emeric the Evil attacked Cadbury in 1362. And I know you got the highest marks on the History of Magic exam last year ... so can you explain it to me?"

Hermione glanced at Ron, who shrugged, and then she turned to me and said, "Well, Emeric the Evil wasn't originally from Cadbury, and so ..."

... Yes, that's right, the Creevey boy isn't all that bad. Rather bright, actually. You know what's so hilarious, Granger? You won't be able to remember anything, any facts, any dates, after Voldemort uses the Cruciatus on you. All those long hours in the library, for nothing. Tsk, tsk, tsk ...

"... and Emeric responded by attacking Cadbury," Hermione ended. I nodded my head sagely.

"Well, that makes sense! Honestly, why don't they just make you the teacher, Hermione? You're so much better than Professor Binns," I stated. Hermione colored and grinned at Harry. Harry smiled genuinely at me. Oh, things were going so well.

Still one more obstacle. I faced Virginia, willing myself to breathe. Oh, please ... I was so close ...

"Hi, Colin."

"H'lo, Virginia."

She smiled and patted the seat next to her. Well, twist my arm! I ran to sit beside her. I looked up, the Dream Team were all busy making plans for Hogsmeade. Good. I turned to Virginia and gave her an insecure, crooked smile.

"How are you doing, Col?"

Oh, she had a nickname for me. A good sign. A very good sign. "I'm ... I'm okay."

"You sure?" She looked worried. About me. About me!

"Yeah," I sighed. "Sometimes I miss my mum, and today's one of those days." Well, it was true. I did miss her. She would be so proud of me.

"Oh," she said, looking a little awkward, pulling at a strand of her hair in a decidedly cute fashion. I gathered my strength.

"I remember, my mum would sometimes take a piece of her hair ... she had black hair ... and twirl it around her fingers. In a sort of figure eight. It would hypnotize me," I said quietly. Then I did the unthinkable. Haltingly, wonderingly, I reached out and took a strand of her hair in my fingers. Looped it around my fingers in a figure eight. It was so soft, like spun silk. Or spider webs. I let the strand of hair loop around my fingers, a tiny copper waterfall, mesmerizing us both. Then I met her eyes.

I let go of her hair and allowed my hands to drop into my lap. "I'm so sorry, Virginia. I don't know what came over me. I won't do it again," I said softly, despairingly.

Virginia looked about to cry. "Colin, it's okay," she whispered. And then she pulled me into a tight hug. Oh yes ... hugs were good. A very nice jumping-off point. I smiled and closed my eyes and breathed her in. She smelled like eucalyptus and mint. Healing, invigorating. Yes, this would work. Mum would have loved her.

"Colin, I'm so glad Harry invited you to Hogsmeade with us," Virginia whispered suddenly, not withdrawing from the hug. My eyes snapped open. She just HAD to mention Harry ... well, that's okay, there'll come a time when she'll think of nothing but me. I grinned lazily as I studied my and Virginia's reflection in the gilded mirror strategically placed behind the couch.

"Yes, I am too, Virginia ..." I said softly as I toyed with ringlets of her hair. I glanced in the mirror again and, startled, smiled at my reflection. Wide.

My eyes. They were a dark, bloody, vibrant, glowing ... red.

And I whispered in her ear.

"... That Harry."