A/N: I should say that, yes, there is an OC in this story, one with a tendency to swear and is rather vulgar, and that Draco would seem OOC, but I feel the need to point out why: He's a Slytherin, and while he's a total moron to the other houses, I think he would be friendlier towards those in his own house, and we only ever saw him from Harry point of view.

I don't own Harry Potter. I do own Riley, though.

This story is mostly fluffy, though, with a hint of sadness thrown in for my amusement. This will be at most fifteen chapters, ten of them are already written. This is just for fun.

I'll be there

Chapter 1

It was unfair.

He'd been so young. So inexplicably young… yet he was dead. He'd turned seventeen a month ago. Exactly a month ago – she wondered when he was born, and if it correlated with the time of day.

She looked down at his corpse, where his younger brother was holding on to a cold and already blue and stiffening hand; whispering for his brother to come back, but it was too late. The smaller boy was rocking himself back and forth, and she wanted to put her arms around him, but she knew she couldn't, because it was not her place to do so.

His eyes were glassy, his expression neutral, his mouth agape in a curse it would now never shout, and his wand had fallen next to him. She was surprised that it hadn't been stepped upon. She had no clue as to whether his last moments were happy or not. She thought not – it was a bloody war!

She felt tears burn her eyes, but blinked them away quickly. She couldn't collapse now. She turned her head away, before making her body follow her head. She finally forced her legs into action and walked away.

With every step she took, she was reminded of this very same action that she'd done the last time she saw him. And every step she took broke her heart into the tiniest of pieces that she would never be able to pick up.

She didn't know if she was sorry. And she felt guilty for not knowing too.

. . .

A few months ago

She was sitting on the Quidditch stands, admiring the practice of the Gryffindor team. She always watched all the teams practice, and she made pretty accurate predictions on which team would win. She usually won the interhouse bets too. Colin was watching his house team practice, and he spotted her.

"I've been watching you," He started, "And you're really pretty. You've got one pair of amazing legs," He gestured to her legs, before lifting her arm and placing one hand delicately on his, "lovely hands, beautiful eyes… you are a very pretty girl."

She stared at him. What was he playing at?

He seemed to realise what he'd said, because he blushed and looked back at the match. Weasley just did a very impressive dive, and she gathered it would be another win for Gryffindor that year. Draco bloody Malfoy stood no chance, even if he had the ability to move at the speed of light. He lacked what she called skill, especially the seeker's skill (she thought he would be a better chaser, or he needed to get a few flying lessons), something he couldn't buy or force his father to get him via threatening ministry officials.

That bit gave her pleasure. Not that she had a problem with Draco as a person most days; she just hadn't been able to stand him at the beginning. He was vain and arrogant and a righteous bastard.

Riley did get to know him, but only later.

"I like you," He said next, "I know we've never spoken, but I like you. Not that I follow you around – that's creepy, but I hear you talk with Parkinson, and the way you talk to her – you're very nice, especially to her, did you know that?" He tilted his head to the side the tiniest bit.

She held back her laughter, "She's my best friend, Creevey, what is your point?"

"She's really annoying," He said, before slapping his hand over his mouth, "I'm sorry, that was mean."

She glared at him. He didn't flinch or anything, mostly because she looked like a tired cat when she attempted to glare.

"I'm sorry! But you're a very kind person, if she's your best friend." He tried to redeem himself, but he only made matters worse. She held up a hand to silence her.

"That annoying girl is still my best friend, Creevey; I won't let you badmouth her. I know several hexes, from slicing your toes, to giving you a million small parchment scratches to giving you a rash that may or may not be from this dimension." She threatened him, fingering her wand. She actually did know those hexes, even though she wasn't supposed to.

He held his hands up in surrender, "My apologies, great lady. Please accept my peace offering of…" he rummaged through his pockets, finding only his wand and, for some reason, a teaspoon, which he held out to her, "… a teaspoon."

She started to laugh uncontrollably. A bloody teaspoon? Why on earth was he carrying around a teaspoon? She took it, mostly because of the bizarre nature of the gift and the entire situation.

He smiled, delighted at her response, "Hey," He bent down and looked into her eyes, "You really do have beautiful eyes, you know? They're warm. I mean, they're green, but they're also so so so warm. I can probably be icy cold and when I look into your eyes, I'll get warm."

"Creevey, what the hell are you on about?" She demanded, looking away from his gaze, which was a bit discerning.

"Sorry, you're just… you're so pretty to me. Like I said, you have very nice legs, but I guess you knew that?" He laughed nervously, and she just nodded, if he liked to think she had nice legs, that was his problem. "And your eyes, which I finally saw up close – they're really warm. I'm not trying to make you feel weird, but I probably failed."

"Oh my gosh, Creevey, why are you rambling? If you're trying to compliment me, you could've just said 'you have nice eyes' without the warm eye explanation!" She snapped at him. He laughed again.

"Sorry, again, I just really like you," He blushed deeply, "and it took a lot of guts from me to come up to say that to you."

"Well, Creevey, I admire your balls. Now will you leave me alone?" She said without blinking.

Creevey started to laugh, "You're funny!" He yelled it as if he'd just found out the thirteenth use of dragon's blood. She smiled in spite of herself. He was sort of cute. He was clearly trying to impress her, but it led to, quite predictably, a mass of incoherent sentences and words.

"Do you like Quidditch?" He asked, glancing up at his house's team again, "I think they have a chance this year. Ginny's a good seeker, not Harry though, and Furrow's a decent keeper, he just needs to get over his nerves," Creevey glanced at her, a sly grin covering his features, "Should I lend him my balls?"

She slapped her hand to her forehead. She couldn't believe he had just said that. Yes, it was hilarious, but it was also a very bad attempt at flirting. She wasn't sure what to think of a random Gryffindor attempting to flirt with her. In fact, she wasn't used to being told she was pretty. Her mother and father always told her she was beautiful, but she didn't believe them. It was a rather nice change.

"Yes, Creevey," She sighed, "I like Quidditch. As for the ball thing – he has enough balls to handle in the air without you adding yours in the mix."

He grinned again, "You also have a very nice voice. Was that compliment good enough for you?" He winked at her, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes for probably the twentieth time.

"Can I owl you later?" The boy asked. What was this kid trying to do? She was a year older than he was… Dating a girl older than you wasn't strictly taboo, but it wasn't something in the norm. She had to fit in, that was her idea of survival of the coming war.

"Why do you want to owl me?" She finally spoke, unsure of what else to say. Her companion shrugged.

"Easy – I like you and I would like to get to know you better."

"I'm in Slytherin," she said, pointing to the embroidery on her shirt. He shrugged again, making himself comfortable next to her.

"So?"

She smiled despite herself and returned her attention to the match in the sky. Furrow had finally made a save and she had to tip her figurative hat to him: he was getting better.

"Can I owl you later?" He asked again, tapping her foot with his index finger.

"If I say yes, will you stop annoying me?" She asked, frowning, pretending to be severely annoyed, but she couldn't bring it over her heart to be mad at the grinning face in front of her.

He was kind of cute, after all; and she quite liked being told she was pretty. Plus, what could be the harm in communicating with a fifteen-year-old boy? Or sixteen, it depended.

He didn't move from her side until the end of the practice, where she got up, having to finish her Potions homework. She didn't want Slughorn on her case, he wasn't as bad as Snape had been, but he was strict with all houses, he didn't exclude Slytherins. She liked it that way.

Defence was a sort of nightmare now, what with Carrow playing professor there… she didn't get into trouble with the new professors, and she was glad for that, because for the first time in her life, being invisible and not noteworthy was paying off.

But Creevey had stuck to her side like glue, and he kept talking about random things. At one point he lifted his shirt, showing her a scar in the shape of the letter C that his cousin had given him with a muggle lighter while she was attempting to wake him; needless to say, he now had a new favourite cousin and his old favourite cousin wasn't allowed in his room.

Practice disbanded, and he bowed deeply before her, making her blush. He saw this and stuck out his tongue cheekily before running to the changing rooms.

She just shook her head, her coffee-bean coloured hair blurring her vision temporarily; she was admittedly amused.

. . .

A/N: So, what do you think?