Snapshots and Thundersnow
Prologue: Realization

A/N- probably three very strange characters to be writing about, especially together, but hey, it works. I hope. Prologue during CoS, everything else post-OotP. Elementalists are mine (well, this particular Potter-ish take on them is), but if I owned the rest of it, this wouldn't be fanfiction now would it?

It was hard to gauge the mood in the Slytherin common room. Theodore Nott didn't bother trying. He sat immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, pretending he wasn't even listening to the conversation ringing through the dungeon.

Malfoy, the self-absorbed prat, was going on about how 'Saint Potter' had once again saved his precious Muggleborns (Malfoy used a bit more crude language), but sooner or later they'd all get what was coming to them. This was the opinion of quite a lot of the Slytherins really, and Theo knew better than to ask what exactly Potter and the Muggleborns were asking for.

He knew how children of Death Eaters were supposed to think, he was one.

While one could, on this basis, have said an air of disappointment filled the common room, Theo knew better than that, too. Nobody wanted Hogwarts shut down. Malfoy's hated Saint Potter had kept the school open and as far as Theo was concerned, that was the end of the matter. A few other Slytherins seemed to share that opinion. They were the ones who kept their mouths shut, but the lack of outrage was noticeable. Yet even from Malfoy's gang, their relief in the school's remaining open was palpable.

Theo understood the problem, and wasn't sure whether he met it with sympathy or disgust. They were so dead-set on hating Harry Potter that they couldn't admit he had done something, anything good. Yet what had happened in the dungeons was good...

Whatever had happened in the dungeons.

The stories were wild. Theo had dismissed some of the more outlandish tellings—one version of the story said Potter had defeated the basilisk by stabbing an enchanted diary with a sword.

Enchanted diary? It was hard not to laugh at that one.

Of course there had been a basilisk, though. It was planted there by Salazar Slytherin, for Merlin's sake! What were they expecting, a griffin? And he could certainly believe Potter had stabbed that with a sword, though where he would have gotten a sword, who knew...

He realized he'd been on the same page for fifteen minutes. Nobody had noticed of course—now it was Pansy Parkinson railing about how Granger and all the other Muggleborns (she, too, had stooped to vulgarity) had been cured from their Petrification, and why had they bothered reviving those pitiful excuses for wizards?

Now that was immature, unrealistic, and in Theo's mind rather stupid. Anyone with a marginally developed sense of reality could see why they had bothered. Hogwarts would get a rather bad reputation if it allowed students to be Petrified and left uncured just because certain people didn't like them.

No, it was all just more posturing. The other Slytherins were always doing that. He pitied them... and not for the first time, wished he'd taken the Sorting Hat's advice and gone to Ravenclaw. Son of a Death Eater or not, he wasn't so sure he belonged here.

Percy Weasley lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His parents had explained everything, once Dumbledore told them, but all of it was still so... so...

He closed his eyes. "Why?" he snarled to the room in general. There was no answer of course. Nobody else was in the dorms right now, the Gryffindors were all partying. Parties... at a time like this... "Why didn't I see it!"

She'd been acting so strange... had he not pressed her enough? Was it wrong to try to give her a bit of privacy? If he'd questioned just a bit further, fought her insistence that she was fine just a bit more, would this have happened?

What had happened, exactly? In the end? Some people had been Petrified, but they were cured now. Ginny was fine... physically. Lockhart had lost his mind, as if there'd ever been much to lose. Harry and Ron were the heroes of the school again.

It all seemed so very... minor. In theory. What of the reality? Penny had been petrified. He shivered, feeling guilty that he wasn't thinking more about her, yet... she was fine now! But poor Ginny... unhurt, yet... one could only imagine what she had to be feeling.

If only he could imagine.

If only.

Why hadn't he seen...

A somewhat more disturbing thought entered Percy's mind. Why hadn't she told him? Not wanting to admit to being possessed by Lord V—erm—He Who Must Not Be Named's old diary was understandable, and yet... had he done something wrong, to lose her trust? Growing up she'd always come to him for help... always depended on her big brother...

The only one who depended on him...

No, she was growing up. She could take care of herself. And in the end, what had he done for her? He'd locked himself in his room while Ron and Harry went to rescue her from the Chamber.

He let a tear slide down his cheek, then flicked his wand and froze it before brushing it away. The success of the spell didn't even register, though usually he would have been proud. All he could see right now was that Ginny had others to watch out for her...

She didn't need Perfect Percy anymore.

Colin Creevey woke up.

It was an odd sensation. His eyes were open. Yet he woke up. This was especially strange since, well, he hadn't gone to sleep. One moment he'd been sneaking down the corridor—heard an odd noise, raised his camera to get a picture, seen a great pair of eyes through the lens—there was a stretch of time where it was all black, that could've been seconds or days or years as far as he knew—and then he woke up somewhere completely different.

The hospital wing, he determined, as his thoughts cleared a bit and he recognized Madam Pomfrey's face hovering above him. "Uhh..."

"How are you feeling, Mr. Creevey?"

He giggled slightly, as usual, at being called 'Mr.' "I'm fine," he offered, then sat up and went very lightheaded. "...Not fine?"

The nurse smiled, but her voice was stern. "You lie back down and rest a bit, you've only just been cured! Don't tax yourself!" She bustled away and Colin noticed, with some alarm, a curly-haired Ravenclaw girl in the next bed over. She was in what looked like a very uncomfortable position... and she was completely stiff.

Madam Pomfrey took a piece of cloth, poured some sort of potion on it, and pressed it against the girl's mouth. After what seemed like a very long time, she removed the cloth and poured a bit more of the potion down the girl's throat.

For the first time since waking up, he noted the foul aftertaste in his own mouth, and wondered if it was the same potion. Had he been like that, stiff and lifeless, clutching his camera—

His camera!

He would later learn the camera was quite destroyed by the... thing that had Petrified him. The basilisk, McGonagall would name it, leaving Colin to wonder just what a basilisk was.

The camera, she would continue, had saved his life. If he'd met the basilisk's stare directly, he would have died. Instantly. He shivered involuntarily. Coming so close to death... and not even realizing it... Colin was afraid.

Why should he be afraid now? It was over! Harry Potter had saved him!

He couldn't always depend on Harry Potter.

For some reason, that insight made him feel quite satisfied.

Colin walked out of the hospital wing, his wand in one hand and the broken camera in the other. He would never let that happen again, never allow himself to nearly die without even knowing it...

He would be a great wizard. As great as Harry Potter.