The Creevey Courtship
Colin Creevey walked down the deserted Hogwarts hallway, camera hanging around his thin neck as it always did. He was seventeen, a seventh year Gryffindor, rather short and skinny for his age, but it didn't bother him. He was generally too thrilled with his surroundings to notice such things. Ever since he'd been accepted to Hogwarts—and such a surprise, as he'd lived a Muggle's life—he'd been enthralled with the magical world. There were trick candies and games on broomsticks, and ordinary boys could be heroes. That was what he'd been most impressed by, he was sure, reading about Harry Potter, who had brought down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was only a baby, and continued to fight him through his school years.
It was disappointing now that Harry, a year ahead of Colin, had graduated, but there was still lots for Colin and his younger brother, Dennis, to do. And Colin had his NEWTs approaching; Dennis was studying for OWLs. Colin was still doing his photography, more than ever now, taking pictures of anything that caught his eye. Some of them he sent home, but there were a few that had seemed more personal that he kept in a photo book in his trunk. He hoped he could be a photographer after school. A girl in his year, Luna, had a father who ran a magazine, and she'd said that she could possibly help him break into the field. Luna, everyone said, was a bit batty, but Colin didn't mind her, and Harry Potter certainly didn't seem to, considering that Colin had seen them snogging on multiple occasions the previous year. And often, in more boring classes, what should've been Luna's notes were actually long letters beginning with "Dear Harry..." and continuing in a slew of funny things that Luna talked about, that Harry probably understood much better than Colin.
Colin did not have a girlfriend, and he never thought much about the subject. There were some nice girls in Gryffindor, of course. Ginny Weasley was one of the prettiest girls in the year. But she had had steady boyfriends since her fourth year, and besides, Colin couldn't see dating her. Ginny was very nice, but he'd never thought of her that way. She was taller than he was, anyhow. There had been one very small girl a year ahead of him, but she'd kept to herself and it was clear that Neville Longbottom had fancied her. Colin heard that they were now dating. Parvati and Padma Patil, who had been the prettiest girls in the school until their graduation the previous year, were now doing ads for Gladrags Wizard Wear, and Lavender Brown—who Colin had actually asked out once, and been sneered at by—was telling fortunes somewhere.
Girls were nice as friends, but Colin had given up on a girlfriend ever since the nasty incident with Lavender.
It was just about curfew, so most of the other students were already in their common rooms, working frantically on their homework. Colin liked the halls when they were nearly empty like this; it gave him a chance to get some really spectacular shots. But he didn't want to get into trouble—he had enough to do without detentions—and so he was just about to head back to the Gryffindor dorms when he heard the music.
It was coming from Professor McGonagall's transfiguration classroom. The door was slightly ajar, and there was light coming from inside. Perhaps the professor was in there doing something, Colin thought, deciding to go and have a quick peek. He tiptoed up and pressed his eye to the crack.
It wasn't McGonagall. A slim girl he recognized as a seventh year Ravenclaw was standing in front of a mirror at the front of the class. She had pale blonde hair up in a bun and was wearing tights, a leotard, and ballet shoes, a black skirt tied around her waist. There was a harp on a desk, and the girl gracefully extended one leg in time to the soft tune it was playing. She was standing on one toe, and turned slightly so that he could see the side of her face. She was a very lovely girl.
He watched for a few minutes more as she continued to dance to the harp's music, watching her reflection in the mirror. He was absolutely fascinated, and his hands fingered the camera around his neck. This he'd definitely like a picture of. And perhaps, he wouldn't use the potions to make the picture move. There was something about the way she was posing, obviously trying to hold herself on her toe as long as she could, that made him think he'd like a picture where she just stayed like that.
He had pushed the door further open a while before and she hadn't noticed, and now he raised the camera to his eye, centered her in the frame and pushed the button. There was a soft click.
She gasped, startled, and slipped, catching her balance at the last second to avoid tipping over. She whirled around glaring at him.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"What d'you think you're doing?" she snapped. "You had no right to-to spy on me, take my picture without my permission."
"Sorry," Colin said, quite sincerely. "I-I didn't think about it. I didn't think you'd mind."
"Yeah, well, I do," she replied.
"It's curfew anyhow," Colin said. "You'd better go back to your common room or you'll be in trouble—does McGonagall know you're in here, anyway?"
"Yes, I have permission. And I'm allowed to stay out and practice a little later." She strode over to a desk where her bag, cloak and wand lay. She picked up the wand and, with a flick of her wrist, the mirror disappeared. She lay her wand back down and began to undo her shoes, getting one off and sticking it into the bag.
"Don't stop on my account," Colin said. "You were really lovely. I'll just go now, see..."
"I reckon I've had enough practice for tonight. You've made me slip up now," she said coldly, sitting on top of the desk and beginning to unwrap a great deal of tape from around her toes, which were fairly battered once she'd gotten it all off.
"That looks painful," Colin said.
"Yeah, well, ballet's tougher than it looks," she said, pulling on flat black Mary Janes and jumping off of the desk. She pulled on her cloak and did up the fastenings, lifting her bag over her shoulder. She silenced the harp with another wave of her wand and put it beneath Professor McGonagall's desk, then blew out the candles that were lit around the room and strode out past him, her cloak fluttering out behind her.
"Sorry again," Colin called as she disappeared down the corridors. But the lovely ballerina did not reply.
Colin Creevey walked down the deserted Hogwarts hallway, camera hanging around his thin neck as it always did. He was seventeen, a seventh year Gryffindor, rather short and skinny for his age, but it didn't bother him. He was generally too thrilled with his surroundings to notice such things. Ever since he'd been accepted to Hogwarts—and such a surprise, as he'd lived a Muggle's life—he'd been enthralled with the magical world. There were trick candies and games on broomsticks, and ordinary boys could be heroes. That was what he'd been most impressed by, he was sure, reading about Harry Potter, who had brought down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was only a baby, and continued to fight him through his school years.
It was disappointing now that Harry, a year ahead of Colin, had graduated, but there was still lots for Colin and his younger brother, Dennis, to do. And Colin had his NEWTs approaching; Dennis was studying for OWLs. Colin was still doing his photography, more than ever now, taking pictures of anything that caught his eye. Some of them he sent home, but there were a few that had seemed more personal that he kept in a photo book in his trunk. He hoped he could be a photographer after school. A girl in his year, Luna, had a father who ran a magazine, and she'd said that she could possibly help him break into the field. Luna, everyone said, was a bit batty, but Colin didn't mind her, and Harry Potter certainly didn't seem to, considering that Colin had seen them snogging on multiple occasions the previous year. And often, in more boring classes, what should've been Luna's notes were actually long letters beginning with "Dear Harry..." and continuing in a slew of funny things that Luna talked about, that Harry probably understood much better than Colin.
Colin did not have a girlfriend, and he never thought much about the subject. There were some nice girls in Gryffindor, of course. Ginny Weasley was one of the prettiest girls in the year. But she had had steady boyfriends since her fourth year, and besides, Colin couldn't see dating her. Ginny was very nice, but he'd never thought of her that way. She was taller than he was, anyhow. There had been one very small girl a year ahead of him, but she'd kept to herself and it was clear that Neville Longbottom had fancied her. Colin heard that they were now dating. Parvati and Padma Patil, who had been the prettiest girls in the school until their graduation the previous year, were now doing ads for Gladrags Wizard Wear, and Lavender Brown—who Colin had actually asked out once, and been sneered at by—was telling fortunes somewhere.
Girls were nice as friends, but Colin had given up on a girlfriend ever since the nasty incident with Lavender.
It was just about curfew, so most of the other students were already in their common rooms, working frantically on their homework. Colin liked the halls when they were nearly empty like this; it gave him a chance to get some really spectacular shots. But he didn't want to get into trouble—he had enough to do without detentions—and so he was just about to head back to the Gryffindor dorms when he heard the music.
It was coming from Professor McGonagall's transfiguration classroom. The door was slightly ajar, and there was light coming from inside. Perhaps the professor was in there doing something, Colin thought, deciding to go and have a quick peek. He tiptoed up and pressed his eye to the crack.
It wasn't McGonagall. A slim girl he recognized as a seventh year Ravenclaw was standing in front of a mirror at the front of the class. She had pale blonde hair up in a bun and was wearing tights, a leotard, and ballet shoes, a black skirt tied around her waist. There was a harp on a desk, and the girl gracefully extended one leg in time to the soft tune it was playing. She was standing on one toe, and turned slightly so that he could see the side of her face. She was a very lovely girl.
He watched for a few minutes more as she continued to dance to the harp's music, watching her reflection in the mirror. He was absolutely fascinated, and his hands fingered the camera around his neck. This he'd definitely like a picture of. And perhaps, he wouldn't use the potions to make the picture move. There was something about the way she was posing, obviously trying to hold herself on her toe as long as she could, that made him think he'd like a picture where she just stayed like that.
He had pushed the door further open a while before and she hadn't noticed, and now he raised the camera to his eye, centered her in the frame and pushed the button. There was a soft click.
She gasped, startled, and slipped, catching her balance at the last second to avoid tipping over. She whirled around glaring at him.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"What d'you think you're doing?" she snapped. "You had no right to-to spy on me, take my picture without my permission."
"Sorry," Colin said, quite sincerely. "I-I didn't think about it. I didn't think you'd mind."
"Yeah, well, I do," she replied.
"It's curfew anyhow," Colin said. "You'd better go back to your common room or you'll be in trouble—does McGonagall know you're in here, anyway?"
"Yes, I have permission. And I'm allowed to stay out and practice a little later." She strode over to a desk where her bag, cloak and wand lay. She picked up the wand and, with a flick of her wrist, the mirror disappeared. She lay her wand back down and began to undo her shoes, getting one off and sticking it into the bag.
"Don't stop on my account," Colin said. "You were really lovely. I'll just go now, see..."
"I reckon I've had enough practice for tonight. You've made me slip up now," she said coldly, sitting on top of the desk and beginning to unwrap a great deal of tape from around her toes, which were fairly battered once she'd gotten it all off.
"That looks painful," Colin said.
"Yeah, well, ballet's tougher than it looks," she said, pulling on flat black Mary Janes and jumping off of the desk. She pulled on her cloak and did up the fastenings, lifting her bag over her shoulder. She silenced the harp with another wave of her wand and put it beneath Professor McGonagall's desk, then blew out the candles that were lit around the room and strode out past him, her cloak fluttering out behind her.
"Sorry again," Colin called as she disappeared down the corridors. But the lovely ballerina did not reply.