Chapter 8: C.C.
The night was darker than usual, or maybe it just seemed that way to a nervous eye. At King's Cross Railway Station, only the shadows and midnight train catchers were alive. The relentless silence created an awkward, anxious stillness that seemed to bear down on innocent bystanders. It made the arrivals hurry home and the departures wish they were somewhere else. Yet for some reason, one person seemed to defy the odds and walk into the black hole instead of shrink away from it. The red-haired conqueror was none other than Ronald Weasley.
With a large, sealed envelope in one hand and his wand in the other, Ron was on a mission that he wouldn't be distracted from. He wanted—no!--he needed to find out who could have possibly sent these disturbing photographs to him. His best friend and his girlfriend had died mysteriously and terribly and whoever this person was had the nerve to take pictures of the entire deal and send them to him. What was worse was that the photos showed their cause of death before it had even happened. It was sick—just some sick, cruel joke. Ron was not going to stand for it.
Looking around at the few who occupied the station, Ron walked to an empty bench and sat down. He didn't know how long he had been sitting for when the train came into the station. The lights coming from inside of the transport system added to the dim hanging lights and lit up the station. It came to a stop and the minimal number of people littering the other benches boarded it. The few that came off were quickly out of sight, and the train departed soon after. Ron continued to sit in silence. Could it be possible he had been set up? Was C.C. not going to show? Whatever doubts he had on being stood up quickly vanished with the clear, somewhat girlish voice.
"Did you bring the pictures?"
Ron jumped and turned in his seat. A figure with a long, gray cloak and floppy gray hat covering his face stood behind him. How and when it got there, Ron didn't know. He stood up quickly and backed up a couple steps. It seemed to be looking at him, or at least in his direction. He couldn't quite tell with the dim light casting shadows inside the hat. He swallowed and tensed slightly.
"Yes."
"Good. Please take a seat, Ron. What I'm going to tell you isn't going to be easy to comprehend or believe, for that matter."
Ron took the couple steps back to the bench, but he refused to sit down. He stared at the figure, his anger suddenly returning and drowning out his fear. His grasp on the envelope of pictures tightened slightly.
"How do you know my name? Who are you? What do you want? Why the Hell would you," he waved the envelope up, "send these horrid pictures to me? Are you some kind of sick freak?"
Ron had been almost shouting and the figure put up his hands to quiet the boy down. The hat turned left then right, seeming to look for any spying pedestrians or people that could have overheard them. Then it turned back to face Ron.
"Please, don't shout," the accented voice whispered. "Spies could be anywhere. We don't want him to know about this meeting. Who knows what he could do?"
"'He?'" Ron asked. "Are you working for Lord Voldemort? Are you the one who helped murder Harry?"
Again Ron had started to shout, and again the figure put up his hands to silence him. Ron's fists were clenched tightly. The envelope was crumbling up in his hand.
"I would never even wish harm upon Harry Potter. You could say he was my idol back in school."
Ron's face screwed up and his tense muscles relaxed slightly. The figure reached up with a gloved hand and removed the hat. The shadows still engulfed him, so Ron still couldn't identify the character. Sensing this, the figure inhaled sharply and looked around.
"It's me, Ron. Colin," it said, almost inaudibly.
"Colin?" Ron whispered.
The figure took one step closer, light washing over him. Instantly the blonde, wavy locks were recognizable. The big blue eyes were suspicious, curious, and somewhat drained from lack of sleep, but they were still familiar. His skin still looked smooth, but aged around the eyes and forehead. It was an older, matured version of the annoying boy from Hogwarts. Ron remembered well now. He had never left Harry alone. Always clicking. Always around.
"Colin Creevey."
Ron's eyes lit up and all his features and muscles relaxed.
"Colin," Ron said breathlessly. "You're C.C.?"
"Well, I thought it might be kind of obvious," the boy replied shamefully.
Ron was silent a moment then laughed slightly. He shook his head and rubbed the knots from his forehead. He took a seat and leaned forward, elbows on knees. His smile soon disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. He held the envelope in front of him as if he had x-ray vision and was actually examining the photos inside.
"Colin, why did you take these? Why are they so horrible?"
"That's the thing, Ron," Colin began. He swiftly sat next to Ron and looked over at him. "When I took the pictures, nothing was wrong with them. The people in them were happy and perfectly fine. Then I developed them and that was how they turned out."
Ron closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He buried his face in his hands.
"I know it is hard to believe, but that's what happened. I didn't even believe it myself. I thought maybe something was screwing up my camera. Then Hermione-"
"Don't say it," Ron cut in.
Colin nodded, then continued, "And what was in the picture and what had happened just seemed so coincidental. I brushed that off. But then came Harry."
Ron looked up and at Colin. "Are you trying to say that your picture can predict who is going to die?"
Colin laughed unintentionally. He quickly caught himself and cleared his throat as a sort of apology. "No. That would be insane.'
Ron's expression was screwed up again. "Then what are you trying to say?"
Colin grabbed the envelope out of Ron's hands and opened it. He took out the pictures and held them out. Ron grimaced slightly.
"I think Harry's and Hermione's death are related somehow."
"What!"
"Just hear me out. The night I took this picture of Harry, he had had a slight quarrel with your sister."
"Were you spying on her?"
"I'll get to that later. Anyway, Damien had walked in on them fighting. In this picture of Hermione, you can see she is with Damien. It was only when Ginny took him from her that she, well, you know. That's why I was outside your house when Harry…"
Ron readjusted his position. "So, are you trying to tell me that you think Damien killed Harry and Hermione?"
"Yes. Well, in a sense. I don't think he killed them, but I think he had something to do with their deaths."
Ron shook his head and stood up. "Colin, I think you have gone insane." He whirled around and faced the sitting boy. "Damien is a child. He can barely read let alone murder someone!"
Colin stood up slowly. "I told you it would be difficult to comprehend."
"Don't send me anymore photographs, Colin." Ron turned and began to walk briskly away. "Keep the envelope. You've gone fucking nuts."
Colin watched Ron until he was out of sight. Then he reached into his trench coat and pulled out some snapshots. He looked down at them. The first was of Harry's closed casket at the funeral. He watched some of the flowers blowing in the wind, then blood began to slide out of the sides of the coffin. He quickly flipped to the next picture, which was of Ginny and Damien after the ceremony. Ginny was shaking her son. A very light cloaked figure was standing behind her. Colin switched to the next photo. It was of Ron and Ginny, talking. As they came together to form a hug, a very translucent line was coming out of Ron's back. Its shape looked like a dagger if one looked closely.
Colin put the photos and envelope back inside his coat. Placing the hat back on top of his head, he looked around, then slowly walked out of the train station.
