Casualty

A Colin Creevey Oneshot

This fic is a bit of an experiment for me. It centers around a character who doesn't get a lot of attention at all: Colin Creevey. He's always been vaguely interesting to me, despite his being very definitely a background character. As such, there's some liberty taken with his characterization, mainly with his estimated age, which is my own headcanon.

Also, I would like to note that as of the publication of this fic, I will probably become a lot more active on here and on my ao3 as well as on my fanfiction.net. Lots of stuff. There's a LunaxCho fic that's coming that I'm very excited over. Anyway, as always, it's quantumCellist over there as well.

I do not own Harry Potter. I wish I did.

Colin Creevey was 16. He was only two months shy of his seventeenth birthday when he died. He was a child when he became an unnamed casualty in a war that followed him to school.

At two months from his seventeenth birthday, McGonagall told him to stay behind, that he was too young to fight. "Absolutely not, Creevey, go!" she had said without a second thought. It was funny, thought Colin. He hadn't been to school that year, what with the restrictions on muggleborn wizards, but she wasn't at all surprised to see him. How many other muggleborn students had snuck back into the castle for the battle? He shook the thought from his mind as he moved along with the other underage students. As they turned into another corridor he slipped back into the Great Hall. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to fight.

He ought to have left. McGonagall was right.

He sat down at the back of the Gryffindor table to watch the battle plans be drawn just as the troops were being divided. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McGonagall saying something to Harry Potter before he ran off. For a moment, Colin contemplated following him, only to decide that Harry would likely only send him down with the other underage students again. Instead, he waited for the troops to be divided, and slipped into the group headed by Oliver Wood. Wood's reappearance was slightly nostalgic. Colin hadn't seen him since his first year, when he would follow Harry to quidditch practice and snap photos of the team. He wondered if Wood remembered him, but thought it best not to check lest Wood realize that he was underage.

Oliver Wood did remember him, if only as the boy who snapped photos of the quidditch matches with a muggle camera. When he picked his body off the battlefield, he found a roll of film clutched in his left hand.

As they left the Great Hall and prepared for the battle to begin, he fidgeted with a roll of film he had in his trouser pocket. Before he had left, he promised to bring his brother a picture of Hog warts after they had won. He had left his camera in the Room of Requirement. He made a mental note to go back afterwards and find it.

Years later, Dennis Creevey would go to the Room of Requirement looking for something he had lost. Instead, he found an empty muggle camera with his brother's name scrawled on its underside.

Suddenly, he heard shouts of "Positions! They've broken through the entrances!" and all hell broke loose. He barely had time to draw his wand before curses began exploding around him. Bright lights whirled around him, and they would have been beautiful had they not brought the threat of doom. If they were less dangerous, he might have liked to take a picture of them. He laughed at the thought. A death eater's curse narrowly missed him and he immediately whirled around and shouted "Stupefy!" The death eater fell to the ground with a thud and Colin whooped in excitement. He was smiling when he turned to face the other death eaters.

Colin Creevey was still smiling when he died.

They were everywhere. Too many of them. Colin briefly wondered how long it would be before one of them noticed him for long enough to utter a fatal curse and end him. Too long, and if they did, he would take them down with him. Adrenaline made him fast, and naiveté made him overconfident. War was a game, just like a DA practice. Only, there was no one to catch him if he fell, and he wasn't dueling a friend. He was dueling an enemy who would as soon kill him as look at him. Who would send a government after him simply for his descent. These were his thoughts as he dueled a nameless death eater who stood across from him. Momentarily, he wished for his camera. Wouldn't Dennis love a photo of this? Seconds later, the world exploded around him, and green light flooded his vision.

The force of the blast had thrown his lifeless body against the corridor wall. His eyes remained open and a confident smile remained etched upon his face. It was Oliver Wood who carried him off the battlefield when Voldemort gave them an hour to remove their dead. In Oliver's arms, he looked tiny, childlike. After all, Colin Creevey was 16.