Hey, what up everyone? I wrote another Colin Creevey fic because I'm trash.
September 1, 1997:
They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. I guess that if that's true, I've got enough words to last a lifetime. All the same, I like seeing my words on paper. It's more organized than snapshots, and anyways, I can't always take photos. I have a feeling that I won't have a chance to take many starting very soon.
I'm leaving today. Dennis and I are. Dad thinks that we're going to Hogwarts. I wish that we were. Or that we could, I suppose. We're not allowed anymore; none of the muggleborns are. I think that you-know-who took the ministry, but I don't want to believe it, and no one can tell me what's really happening. I don't think I have a choice in believing that the ministry has fallen though. It's the ony logical solution at this point. I would guess that they've maybe got control of the Daily Prophet as well. It's all full of If Dennis and I were to stay here the ministry could come after Dad, and there's no way in hell that would end well. So we're leaving. Not sure where, but we're getting out. As far as we can go. Maybe I'll find some nice scenery for photos, although I like shooting photos of people better.
I've expanded my chest to be able to fit supplies. Food, a tent, my camera, some film, a few books, some muggle first aid supplies- I never have been any good at healing spells- in a kit, and extra clothing. We could be gone for anywhere from days to months, however long it takes for Harry to take out you-know-who. It should be quickly, Harry's really good at defense, and at any rate, he hasn't lost yet! With luck we should be back safely in Hogwarts in no time.
I haven't told Dad about any of this stuff yet. I probably should have, but it's safer like this. And he would probably make us stay with him if he knew.
-Colin
Colin Creevey was lying on his bed, a thin brown leather journal in one hand and a quill pen in his other. The pen was stopped with its tip to the paper, ink slowly pooling on paper in a shiny black dot. He closed the journal with a dry snap and looked around his room for what could very well be the last time in months. A large brown trunk sat beside him atop the messy blue sheets of his bed, and a silver Polaroid camera sat on the corner of his trunk, precariously close to tipping and falling off. His walls were covered in Polaroid photographs, some of them moving, others not.
A voice shouted up at Colin from downstairs, "Are you ready yet, Colin?"
Colin ducked his head out of the window and shouted back, "Yeah, Dad! I'll be down in a moment, just lemme finish packing my clothes."
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you down to King's Cross? It's no trouble," his father's voice sounded concerned, which was no small wonder. Any muggle parent would be taken aback by the prospect of letting their children ride the knight bus. As a rule, muggle parents and magical two story buses don't generally mix well.
Colin had expected this kind of resistance, although the suggestion of driving to King's Cross scared him a bit. There were probably going to be ministry agents there, and god knows how fast a facade will fall when the government is there to topple it.
"No!" he replied, slightly too quickly, "Er… The Knight Bus will take us straight to the station, and I wanted to show Dennis anyways. Besides, I can maybe get some nice pictures on the bus."
The bus did not take them straight to the station, although Colin did get some good pictures.
He ducked back into his room and let out a quiet sigh. He'd never been much good at keeping secrets, and never at lying. Especially lying or keeping secrets from his father. His father didn't deserve to be kept in the dark, but Colin simply couldn't afford to tell him.
A nervous laugh escaped his lips, the echo bouncing around the room loudly. Too loudly. He clapped his hands over his mouth in a futile gesture and waited for something, anything. For his father to open the door and question his behavior, for Dennis to come and ask why he was laughing. Nothing happened, and he regained his composure. What did he have to fear? Nothing but a parent's suspicion and a plot's failure. Yes, he had nothing to fear, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something out there that he was missing out on. Something to fear that he simply hadn't found yet.
He was just thinking that he should have taken Divination when Dennis opened the door. "C'mon. We've got to go before Dad starts getting suspicious. He was just asking me where my school letter was."
Colin was relieved to see that Dennis looked as nervous as he felt, if not more so. "Dammit. What did you tell him?"
"I told him that we didn't get one this year," he whispered, "McGonagall already told us what to get and we can buy books in Hogsmeade."
Their father would believe that. It wasn't as if he had an extensive understanding of how the wizarding school system worked anyways. He was happy to go along with whatever he was told. Perhaps this would be easier than he and Dennis had expected.
Colin smiled, "Brilliant. We had better go down and catch the bus."
Dennis immediately looked infinitely more cheerful, "What is it like? One of my classmates said that it lurches around so much you can barely stay in one spot!"
Colin ruffled his younger brother's hair and grabbed his own trunk. "I don't know," he said, "I've never actually ridden it before."
"Really?" Dennis glanced at him. "Are you going to get photos?"
"Probably. I can give you a few of them if you like. If any of them are good I can send them in to the Daily Prophet after this is all done with and see if I can get a job."
Mr. Creevey called his children downstairs once again, and they made their way down the stairs, lugging trunks that bump and crash in the stairwell. It was a good thing that they had no owl, had they had one it would surely have been crushed by the onslaught of luggage. They had only been carrying their trunks, but the trunks alone managed to fill the stairwell. It was a narrow stairwell with a steep staircase that was separated from the floor below it only by a dark wooden railing that continued upstairs to run the length of the hallway passing the brothers' rooms. The railing was covered in scuff-marks when it reached the stairwell. 5 years of Creevey children haphazardly dragging their school trunks down the stairs had taken its toll on the architecture. It seemed strange to Colin that he was once again taking his trunk down the stairs for something that wasn't school, almost surreal and vaguely foreboding.
As they made their way down the stairwell he became acutely aware of his father's murky brown eyes watching him. They seemed to be staring through him, seeing past the facade of innocent schoolchildren and finding runaways and refugees.
Now that he thought about it, he wasn't actually sure how much his father knew about the war. During the summer, he had been ordering the Daily Prophet, and although it was horribly corrupt and displayed an obvious bias, it contained enough information for his father to realized that something was going on. Where had he put the papers? He couldn't remember even attempting to maintain any semblance of secrecy. It was only a newspaper after all, why would he do that? Too late, he realized that he should have begun hiding them in August, when all they began to do was spew anti-muggleborn propaganda. He should have hid the one that announced the Muggleborn Registry Commission; that one was important, full of too much information, information that would make the situation apparent to anyone, even a muggle. Even his father.
He almost jumped when he heard his father's voice.
"Dennis, why don't you make sure you haven't forgotten any of your textbooks? We don't want a repeat of last year, do we?," said Mr. Creevey, "And I want to talk to you, Colin."
Colin froze at the bottom of the stairs, almost dropping his trunk. His father looked at him and said, "Come with me. I need some help getting everything organized before you two leave."
Putting down his trunk gently, Colin apprehensively followed him into the kitchen, which was brightly lit by windows that showed the side of the neighbors' house, although it was very nearly totally blocked by overgrown shrubbery. Mr. Creevey pulled the blinds shut one by one and switched on a ceiling light, bathing the room in a slightly yellowed fluorescent glow. In the corner nearest to the windows, there was a circular wooden table surrounded by three matching chairs. When they came to the kitchen table, motioned for him to take a seat. He did, and his father pulled up a chair across from him. This wasn't good. His father only ever sat him down at the kitchen table when he had something serious to discuss, and what else could he possibly have to discuss besides his plan?
Colin's suspicions were confirmed when his father placed a copy of what looked to be a muggle newspaper on the table beside him and asked plainly, "What's going on, Colin?" When no response was forthcoming he sighed and said, "Please. I need to know so that I can keep you and Dennis safe."
Briefly, Colin contemplated whether or not to respond truthfully. No, the whole truth could only get them all in trouble. He looked his father in the eye and spoke. "I told you already, Dad. We're going to Hogwarts again. It's just going to be sort of an odd year, that's all. Nothing bad, just… odd." He studied his father's face, which was directly across from his own, and was surprised to find anxiety etched across his pale skin. His eyes were opened wide, and his eyebrows were arched above them, higher up on his forehead than they usually were. The expression was one of nervousness, yes, but there was something else underneath it, something that Colin couldn't quite recognize. It was almost like fear. "It's really no big deal, Dad, but we have to leave soon or we'll miss the train." He got up to leave, hoping to leave the topic behind. Before he could even move out from behind the table, his father's hand closed gently around his arm.
"Colin, please." His grip tightened slightly.
He shook his arm from his father's grip, "I told you it's nothing."
It was Mr. Creevey's turn to stand up now. "I'm not blind, you know." He moved the newspaper over and Colin was able to see the moving pictures on its front page for the first time. The image of a ministry decree stared back at him, and all at once he realized at what he was looking. The words "Muggleborn Registration Commitee" stood out from the image in bold black lettering. "I need to know what's really happening."
This time, it was Colin who plead with his father. "Dad, please. Just let it go." He paused momentarily, as if considering honesty before deciding on secrecy. "I can't tell you." He pushed the paper aside and locked eyes with his father. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't." He glanced at the paper. "You might know too much already."
Mr. Creevey ran a frustrated hand through his thinning hair. "Too much for what? What's happening that's so bad you can't tell me about it?"
Colin sighed, "It's for our own safety. I can't let you know."
At this point, his father came very close to an outburst. "If it's for our safety, I need to know! I can't let you and Dennis go god knows where with no more explanation than 'It's for our own safety.'" His voice was dangerously close to shouting, and it echoed softly around the kitchen.
"Shh!" Colin motioned for his father to quiet down. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible, "Look, if you'll keep your voice down, I'll tell you as much as I can." He waited for his father to nod so he knew that he was listening. "It's dangerous for muggleborns right now. There's a history of blood prejudice in the wizarding world, and there's dozens of precedents of dark wizards doing horrible things while trying for blood purity. It's what Grindelwald was after when he was in power, and what You-Know-Who still is after." He paused. "You remember who You-Know-Who is, right?"
His father nodded. "Yes. Keep going."
"Well, I think that there's been a coup in the ministry, and he's behind it. This isn't something that Scrimgeour would do." Colin paused when he saw the look of confusion on his father's face. "He's the minister of magic." He waited to see that his father understood before going on. "There's been a bunch of restrictions placed on muggleborns, and they all match You-Know-Who's ideal of blood purity. So now muggleborn students aren't allowed to go to Hogwarts, and there's a decree requiring all muggleborns to be registered. Except the problem with that is that it's probably just a ruse to get rid of all the muggleborns, so we really don't want to get caught. The ministry knows where we live, meaning they're already a step closer to finding us if we don't show up for registry, which we won't. We're going to go to the countryside, probably, or someplace with forests and a lot of cover. We'll try to find Harry Potter and join him if we can. If we're lucky though, he'll get to You-Know-Who before we do and take him out." He glanced at his father. "You need to stay here, in case ministry officials show up and ask where we are. We weren't going to tell you anything, just so you would think we were at Hogwarts if anyone asked. Do you understand now?"
Silence hung in the air after Colin finished. "I think I do." He paused and seemed to be contemplating his next words for a moment. "Do you have everything that you need?"
Colin nodded, relief washing over him.
A voice called after them from outside the kitchen, "Hurry up, Dad! We'll miss the train if we don't go now!"
Looking back at his father, Colin walked out of the kitchen and stood by Dennis. His father followed them through the front door and out into their driveway, where Colin stuck out his wand to call the Knight Bus. Mr. Creevey hugged Dennis first, sending him on his way to load his trunk into the bus, and Colin second.
When he wrapped his arms around his oldest son he whispered in his ear, "Take care of Dennis." He paused. "And not everyone comes back after a war." He released his son, hands still sitting upon his shoulders, and looked him in the eye, "Make sure you do."
Colin nodded, smiled, and left him to go board the bus, where Dennis was shouting loudly for him. He climbed into the bus and sat in the seat beside his brother.
"All right, Colin?" asked Dennis.
"Yeah..." replied Colin.
He looked out of the window and watched his father waving at them. After a moment he waved back, and his father turned his back and walked through the front door of their home, leaving Colin to wonder at his words. What could possibly go wrong? It was only war.