Disclaimer: In case you didn't realize it, the characters belong to JKR. Got it? Carry on, dear reader.
Warnings: Major angst, some Muggle born/half-blood bashing.
AN: Follows canon Sixth Year details for the most part but does dive into AU territory. Occasionally switches POV between Draco and Colin.
This is written by request for davros fan, who supplied me with the main ideas and plot line. There will be a sequel, to be published on davros fan's profile. When complete, link will be provided at the end of the last chapter.
He stood hunched over the sink, his hands bracing himself, unable to look at his reflection. He knew what he would see: white hair, greasy from too many days left unwashed, pale, clammy skin, and eyes wide from the bone-deep fear coursing though his body. His breathing came raggedly, and he could feel the tears rushing towards the surface. He was not proud of it. He was, in fact, ashamed of the salty drops that seemed to appear far too often these days.
He waved a silencing charm at the door and gave vent to his frustration and fear, howl after howl that would have made anyone think a werewolf was near, had they been able to hear him.
"This dreadful shrieking is hurting my ears!"
He stopped mid-scream and turned quickly to see Moaning Myrtle floating above a stall. "Why do I care if it hurts your ears?" he snarled. "Get. Out."
"How rude," the ghost huffed. "I don't know why I even bothered." She disappeared, and he could hear a slight splash as she left. He turned back to the sink and his eyes fell on his reflection. He cringed. He looked even worse than he remembered. He looked back at the place where the ghost had vanished, idly wondering if silencing charms work on ghosts or if his wand was malfunctioning.
Either way, he couldn't bring himself to care very much.
He didn't know what day it was anymore. Every day felt the same, each one blending into the next, and he still didn't have a plan that did not rely on his ability for magical carpentry. He could feel the despair once more burn within, and didn't fight it. Harsh sobs ripped from him and shook his body violently, and he made no attempt to wipe the bitter tears as they left tracks upon his cheeks.
Click click click. The sound made him freeze as he looked past his own reflection in the mirror and saw that of another boy, holding a camera in his hands and wearing a shocked expression. "S-sorry," he stammered. "I only wanted a picture of the ghost that haunts the bathroom, you know, to show my parents, and I thought catching her unawares would be best, as I don't know if she'll want her picture taken – " The boy stopped babbling as he saw Draco grab his wand, previously discarded on the side of a sink.
"Get out, you filthy Mudblood," Draco threatened as he threw a nonverbal curse at the boy. He was surprised when his spell was blocked by a quick shield charm. He flicked his wand and sent another curse, but the boy had already disappeared.
He shook his head, trembling with anger. Where the hell did that muggle born learn to cast such strong shields that fast? He recognized him; that was the boy who hero-worshiped Potter. What was his name? Creevey something-or-other, he thought.
Draco slid down to the floor. The adrenaline from the encounter was fading, leaving him feeling even more drained than before.
It was three hours later, among the discarded items in the Room of Hidden Things, that he remembered that Creevey had evidence of his breakdown in his camera.
Colin Creevey was happy.
He knew he should be worried about the threat of – he took a deep breath, almost afraid to think the name – Voldemort, out there somewhere causing havoc in the world. And he was. But here, safely inside Hogwarts, with the mundane tasks of going to class and pursing his passion of photography, he couldn't help but feel contented. Perhaps, of course, this was due to where he currently stood.
It was originally a classroom, he knew. It had been long since abandoned for reasons unknown to him. He was not particularly interested in the reason. He was only interested in the current purpose of the room.
This was his darkroom.
Every good photographer needed one, of course. In his earlier years at Hogwarts he'd simply used random broom closets, bathrooms, and empty classrooms. One too many times of walking in on him, however, led Professor McGonagall to give him permission to set up a permanent residence.
He hummed to himself quietly. He enjoyed the absolute calm and feeling of joy that his slow, steady work with the various solutions needed for developing his photos gave him. He carefully pulled each one out of the mixture and hung them up to dry on a line stretched across the length of the room. Slowly the outlines of people and places appeared, almost as if from magic, although of the muggle variety. He looked at each one in turn, glancing at most and occasionally staring at some, lost in the memory it produced.
He caught his breath when he came to one of the last few pictures he'd taken. Draco Malfoy stood, back turned toward the camera, his face reflected in the mirror, a fraction of a moment before he'd realized Colin was there. The expression was what caught Colin's eye. He looked – broken, inconsolable, and above all, terrified. Colin's heart constricted as he gazed at the photo. It was some moments before he looked at the last two photos, both of Malfoy after he'd realized Colin was behind him. It was Malfoy's eyes that yet again caught his attention more than any other detail. They were filled with rage, yes, but he could also see shame and fear.
He couldn't say why, exactly. But in that moment, Colin vowed to do whatever he could to help Draco Malfoy.
Over the next few days he watched the pale blonde boy, waiting to catch him alone. Curiously, he noticed that Harry was watching Malfoy as well, but dismissed it almost immediately. Their rivalry was well known; Harry was probably looking for ways to pull some prank on him.
At last, five days after his encounter with Malfoy, he saw the boy enter Myrtle's bathroom once more.
Draco slipped into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He'd just come from another round with the cabinet and it had, yet again, been a wasted hour. A letter from his Father this morning had come with more disguised threats ("Our dearest associate sends his regards"), and he had barely been able to keep a blank face for the benefit of his housemates.
"Oh it's you again," the ghost said. Her voice clearly showed her irritation. She gave a huff and disappeared, leaving him very much alone. He sunk to the floor and tucked his knees to his chest, his misery slowly leaking from his eyes. He closed them and tried to shut the world out.
It didn't work. Draco heard the door open and immediately made as if to rise, forgetting that the sink was above his head. "Bloody hell," he swore as he felt the collision.
"Sorry," a voice said hesitantly. "I didn't mean to startle you…again, I guess."
Draco swore again, pulling his wand out and training it on the other boy. "Do you have a death wish, Mudblood?" he snarled. "Get the hell out."
Creevey didn't flinch. "I want to help you."
Draco was on the verge of cursing Creevey when he heard the words, and for a moment stood still, blank shock running though him before reason kicked in. "You're Potter's hero-worshiper. You just want to help him fulfill some plot to humiliate me," he said scathingly.
"If Harry decided to hatch a plot to humiliate you," Creevey said carefully, "I'd be the last person he'd ask."
Draco snorted, but didn't say anything. He considered cursing the younger boy once more. As if he sensed this, Creevey spoke. "I developed my pictures."
Damn him. It's as if he knew exactly what to say to stay Draco's wand hand. "So?" he said with as much force as he could muster.
"So you look like you could use a friendly ear."
"And you're offering." He laughed bitterly. "I don't need some filthy little – "
"I think you do," Creevey broke in. "I think you do, and I want to help. And I'm not going to give up on you."
Draco gave another bitter laugh. "I don't want anyone's help, much less yours, Creevey. Get lost." He didn't give the other boy a chance to respond; with a flick of his wrist he shot a hex at Creevey, who only just barely dodged the jet of light.
"I'll be back," Creevey said as he stood straight once more. "I'll be here for you, whether you want me to or not." He left quietly, his words hanging in the air.
Draco let him go unharmed, more because he couldn't afford to waste time in detention than anything else. Angry, he started to pace back and forth. Who the bloody hell did Creevey think he was anyway, offering his help to a Malfoy? As if he would have anything to do with a Gryffindor, and a muggle born one at that. He stopped pacing as a thought hit him like a thunderbolt. Creevey was going to be a problem. How would he be able to work on his mission without being noticed? It didn't sound like he was put off at all by Draco's uncooperative attitude.