Archive of Our Own

May 1, 1998

He sat in one of the second-floor corridors of a castle that no longer resembled itself: destruction reigned in the air in clouds of dust, stone slabs crumbled, creating a kind of fog that shimmered with hundreds of grains of sand in the light of torches and burning tapestries. The students were screaming: some were chanting spells, others were gasping their last breaths, falling lifeless onto the cold floor. May was freezing. Or maybe it wasn't the weather at all, but the events unfolding around?

His muddy hands gripped the camera tighter. Colin's breathing was still uneven as he tried to make as little noise as possible, not to attract attention. He understood that what he had done was foolish, but only now did a real shiver begin to run through his body. Fear of death: paralyzing his bones, forcing his lungs to catch every breath.

Perhaps he really should have stayed with all the underage students in the shelter, but Creevey was already here, in the middle of the battlefield. The castle he knew so well no longer provided a false sense of security. Thoughts of his brother filled his head, making him even more nervous.

But would Dennis follow his example? Would he run away like his older, reckless and so loving brother? He could only hope that he wouldn't. Hope with every fibre of his soul.

However, the boy from Gryffindor did not believe that he would die. In his mind he already saw himself standing proudly before his little brother, telling him everything that had happened since they were separated and Colin had disappeared in the darkness of the tunnel. He prayed it would all end soon, that their family could finally go home instead of hiding from Death Eaters, fighting to survive this hunt.

Perhaps they shouldn't have come here at all, but Neville's letter announcing the formation of Dumbledore's Army… Despite the fact that they had been expelled during Umbridge's ridiculous law on the Muggle-born Registration Commission, they still ended up at Hogwarts.

Colin lifted the camera to his eye, trying to steady himself, to calm the tremor in his hands. His brown irises told no lies, the device was transmitting the same thing. There were still a couple of frames left on the film… But remembering the previous, cheerful photos of his brother and family, his fingertip froze on the shutter button. He couldn't bring himself to photograph what he was seeing in front of him now.

Creevey hoped that soon it would all turn out to be just a nightmare and everyone would wake up. Frightened, perhaps in tears, but everyone would open their eyes.

Hearing a loud explosion from the other side of the wall, the boy jumped to his feet. The camera swung on its strap around his neck; his fingers closed around the wand he had snatched from the back pocket of his dust-grey trousers. Every hurried step felt surreal — distant and weightless, yet prickling with terrifying closeness.

His legs buckled, his pupils clinging in terror to the wizards running towards him, but Colin could no longer see anything when a green flash flew past him a few feet away. A sharp turn, a spell cast at the Death Eater, it was unclear whether it had hit its target or not. Creevey ran behind the corner of the building. His eyelids twitched; tears welled up unbidden. He couldn’t stop them. They slipped from his lashes and vanished almost instantly.

Seeing an even more disturbing scene before him, his heart skipped a beat: the castle courtyard was littered with lifeless bodies. A chill ran down his spine, but after a moment, gathering his strength, he continued to run. Screams, noise, spells cutting through the air, continuous explosions; everything was mixed up in chaos that could only be avoided at too great of a cost.

Harry… How was he? Was he still all right?

Colin remembered the day they first met — awkward, yet so important. The young man could swear he still remembered Potter’s face when he had asked for a photograph, just so his friends would believe he had truly met the famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Maybe he had been pushy back then, but in his heart Colin had always considered Harry a friend. Where was that photograph now? He had no idea if the albums full of memories had survived — the Gryffindor common room might already be in ruins or ashes.

The lad didn't even notice how he was already running across the yard, trying to position himself as far away from everyone as possible. In an instant, his ears rang, his head began to split with pain, and a black mark lit up the sky. A skull with a snake crawling out of its mouth shimmered with a muted green colour. A quiet, whispering voice echoed in his mind:

Colin froze, clutching his head. Voldemort’s voice sounded so serpentine that the mere sound seemed to drip venom straight into his brain.

The battlefield — or rather, what remained of the castle grounds — fell silent as abruptly as the voice vanished. No cheers of relief, no loud sobs. All the wizards were still trying to comprehend the meaning of the words when the claps of transgressions began to mingle with the wind. Some of the Death Eaters slowly walked away, still glaring maliciously at their enemies...

Creevey's fingers moved toward the camera of their own accord. An old mischievous spark flared in his mind: photograph the backs of the Dark Lord’s retreating servants in this fleeting moment of respite. In his imagination he already saw the newspaper headlines beneath his picture. Maybe this was how he would finally make his name known to the world — his work reaching far beyond the pages of the school weeklies.

One cloaked figure suddenly whirled around. Even through the darkness of night, everything flared so brightly that Colin's finger pressed the shutter by itself. Toxic green seared itself onto the film alongside the silhouette of an outstretched arm. His knees buckled. Eyes squeezed shut against the blinding flash in the lens stayed closed as his body crumpled to the ground.