Hey!
This is an odd story. I am aware.
The idea came to me when I was trying to imagine myself as part of the harry potter second-generation world.
I wondered; whose kid would I be?
Colin Creevey! Of course.
Unfortunately, he died. So between the twilight hours of sleep and consciousness, I dreamt up this.
This is Colin's first time.
I know its OC again, and I keep on doing those, but there is no one I could have paired him up with.
In OC's point of view.
Sorry if this is not M. I didn't think it was T, but I didn't think it was M either. Whatever, I'm playing it safe.
I do not own Harry Potter.
It had been our sixth year, I was 17 and he was 16.
It was during the second war, when almost everyone non-Slytherin at Hogwarts was hiding out in the Room of Requirement.
I had been one of the last students to join in Neville's ranks. Colin had been one of the first.
In the beginning I had felt like an outsider. I was one of the few who had not been part Dumbledore's Army.
We all found ways to survive. The room would provide us with the basics of blankets, food, and water.
We barely ever permitted to leave the room, save for when Voldemorts crew had gone to bed. And even then, we only wandered as far as the abandoned classrooms connecting to the same hall as the Room of Requirement.
Colin had found me sitting on the dusty desk in a classroom at the other end of the hall.
I had barely even known him back then, having only talked a few times in shared classes.
I had been crying and he had walked up to me, not even bothering to ask if I was all right. He had climbed onto the desk next to me, wrapping his arms around me.
He held me and rubbed my back until the crying ceased.
I had looked up at him, into his sparkling hazel eyes and he had smiled at me.
He hadn't had to ask what was wrong. It was always the same things back then. Everyone only ever was upset about the war, questioning our futures.
He had been so nice, so sweet to me that I had acted before thinking, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips.
It was a short and innocent peck, but one of my firsts.
When I had pulled back, he had stared at me, eyes wide. A bright shade of pink spread over his cheeks and his mouth was open in an adorable 'o'.
He had looked so cute that I had kissed him again. He had responded that time, moving his lips clumsily against mine.
The kisses that had followed were clumsy too. It had been messy and inexperienced, but perfect.
I had run my fingers through his boyish blond curls and he had tentatively explored my neck.
I had taken the first step forward, reaching for the top buttons of my shirt.
He had looked at me, searching my face, wanting to make sure this was what a wanted. I had smiled slightly and nodded in affirmation, undoing the first few buttons.
He had taken over after that, replacing my hands with his and fumbling until all the buttons were undone.
He had examined me in wonder, experimentally dragging a finger over the top of one breast.
I had gasped at the sensation.
At the sound, he had looked up at me. Both amazement and desire were written across his face.
I had leant down to kiss him again, starting one his shirt.
Things had progressed from there. We had moved slowly and explored each other.
He had held me when I cried out in pain, worry etched in his cherub-like features. He waited until I was ready before moving.
Our movements had been uncoordinated but it didn't matter. We were too lost in the moment to care.
A month later, the battle had arrived.
Everyone had fought, many had died.
I hadn't been able to control the gasp that left me when I saw his body being laid down on the floor.
I had watched from afar as his family surrounded him.
I had been sad, heart broken even. Though we never had a repeat of that night, he had become close to me. He had always tried to make me feel better, snapping photos of me and making a fool out of himself.
I had walked over and introduced myself, offered my condolences. His mother had taken one look at me and pulled me into her arms.
I had sobbed with her and she had understood, patting my hair and soothing me.
I had told her how I knew Colin, how sweet he was and how I felt about him. I had surprised myself, admitting to loving him before shaking with renewed sobs.
Dennis had looked at me and smiled sadly, he had known what had happened.
Colin's father had looked once at me before turning back to his son to shake his head.
Two weeks later I had gone to his funeral, sitting next to his mother. She had accepted me wholeheartedly, offering her support to me.
I had listened to everyone reminisce about Colin and cried.
When the funeral was over and almost everyone had left, Mrs. Creevey had beckoned me closer. She had given me an envelope. Inside were the pictures Colin had taken of me and a few of the both of us, together.
I had cried again and thanked her, hugged her thankfully. She had wiped away my tears and nodded in understanding.
A month after the funeral, I had gotten sick.
I had been forced to see a muggle doctor because St. Mangos and all it's healers had been overworked since the war.
The doctor had run some tests and called me with the results a few days later.
I had dropped the telephone in shock when I had been informed.
I had immediately known what to do.
Mrs. Creevey had for the third time, received me with open arms. She had listened to me explain, nodding in understanding.
For the next months I had spent most of my time at the Creevey residence, getting to know Colin's family.
Dennis had become a very good friend, helping me move around and decorate the nursery.
Mr. Creevey had become less distant, even joking with me on occasion.
Mrs. Creevey had become like a second mother. She took me to all my healer appointments, baked and cooked for me, shopped with me.
When the baby had come, she had held my hand, not even wincing when I squeezed too hard.
The baby had turned out to be a girl.
Alison Heather Creevey.
She looked almost exactly like her father, blond curls and hazel eyes. A little baby cherub.
Odd. I know.
I hope you like it.
Read and Review.