Disclaimer: Nothing me owns. Word.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning as he skimmed through the air towards them. "Why's that first-year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy trying to find out about our new training programme."

-Oliver Wood, on Colin Creevy. CoS

ooooooo

Oliver looked at the deep green grass of the Hogwarts grounds. It now had patches of dark blood staining it. He sighed heavily; this wasn't how he'd hoped to see the grounds of his beloved school.

"Wood!" a voice called him out of his reverie. He looked around to find Neville Longbottom kneeling on the ground. He motioned for Oliver to come to him then ran his hand through his hair in a grief ridden matter. When Oliver stepped up behind him, he was able to see the body of a young boy. Too young to have been fighting and yet, even in death, the blond boy was clasping his wand in his hand. Oliver shook his head and joined Neville on the ground.

"Colin Creevy." Neville said, looking down at the pale face. "I'll need help carrying him inside." He said looking up at Oliver hopefully. Wordlessly, Oliver nodded and lifted Colin from underneath his armpits while Neville took the boy's dangling legs.

"How old is he?" Oliver said, trying to keep voice steady.

"Sixteen." Neville said, his face contracted slightly from the effort of carrying the limp body. "He used to take a lot of pictures." He said and smiled with some difficulty. "He was also one of the Basilisk victims."

Oliver shifted around to make sure that they were heading in the right direction but stopped suddenly as something hit home. "Is everything alright?" Neville asked. Oliver glanced at Colin's face then looked back up at Neville. "Yeh," he said and continued walking towards the castle.

Colin Creevy. Yes, Oliver did remember him. He'd annoyed the living daylights out of Oliver when he first seen him, clicking away on his camera while Oliver attempted to get his team back in shape for the season… but Colin had proved to be helpful in an indirect way later on. The year after Oliver had graduated from Hogwarts, members of his old Gryffindor team had continued to stay in touch with him and any pictures he'd received had been credited as copies of Colin's original photographs of the team.

"Mind the steps." Neville said. They stepped up the stairs into the castle and stopped at the door.

"You know what? I can manage him alone, Neville." said Oliver, his voice firm. Neville looked him in the eye and then nodded, slowly releasing Colin's feet as Oliver hitched him over his shoulder and carried him into the Great Hall to lay him beside the other bodies.

Oliver Wood took a sharp breath as he walked into the Hall. The number of bodies seemed to have increased rapidly since he'd last been there, no more than twenty minutes ago. He walked past them, trying to find a place to lay Colin down. Oliver clenched his jaw as familiar faces crept into his line on vision, people he'd gone to class with, people whom, at one time, seemed like his ultimate enemy simply because they were on the opposing team in Quidditch and there were also people whom he'd played with.

He couldn't help but glance over to where Fred's body lay. Mrs. Weasley was still crying and holding him while George, Fred's faithful twin, sat by him, his head resting on his knees with his arms crossed across his legs, swaying slightly. Oliver knew that his presence was not yet welcome, he would be imposing… he'd pay his proper respects to Fred later, when this was all over and they were allowed to mourn properly. A little way off from Mrs. Weasley and George, stood Oliver's first Quidditch captain and Fred's older brother, Charlie. Oliver caught his eye and gave a small nod, which was returned to him.

Oliver continued to walk. He found an empty space, not far from where the long Gryffindor table used to be. Slowly and carefully, he got on his knees and places Colin Creevy on the ground. He was a feather of a boy in appearance but he must have had the true heart of a Gryffindor lion to make the choice that he had made. Oliver took the boy's arms and placed his left arm gracefully to his side while the other (Still holding the wand) was put firmly on his chest, a hero's pose.

Oliver stood up and stared down at the boy's calm face. In death he was small, but he would be remembered, just like the many that had fallen that day and long before him. And Oliver would make sure of that. With a small respectful nod of his head to Colin, Oliver turned and walked out of the Great Hall to help with any of the remaining bodies that had fallen.

Authors note: Ok, who else 'aaaawwww'ed when they read that bit with oliver carrying the body in? Well, let me know how I did. This was purely random and I had to get it off my chest so that I could get back to my Doctor Who fic. Well, lemme know it you liked it.