Colin Creevey clutched his Polaroid camera and slipped through the round doorway of the Gryffindor common room, his footsteps echoing softly as he darted into the corridor. The Fat Lady in her portrait yawned, calling after him lazily, "Curfew's nearly here! Miss it, and you'll be bedding down with the suits of armor."
"Don't worry, Madam," Colin whispered back with a nod. "Just checking on Harry—I'll be quick." The cozy glow of the common room fire faded behind him, replaced by the castle's chill. Rain had battered Hogwarts all day, leaving the stones slick and the air heavy with damp.
The corridors emptied as curfew loomed, shadows stretching long under the flickering torchlight. Colin's every step boomed like thunder in the silence, and he couldn't shake the prickling unease creeping up his spine. Legends of the Chamber of Secrets whispered in his mind—tales of a hidden monster lurking in the walls. He pressed his lips tight, careful not to breathe too loudly.
His heart pounded louder than his footsteps.
"Should I turn back?" The thought flickered, but he shoved it down. Ginny had asked about Harry, and as head of the "Harry Potter Fan Club," backing out now would be a betrayal. Steeling himself, he hurried on—but a shifting staircase threw him off course, landing him in an unfamiliar stretch of fourth-floor hallway.
As he rounded a corner, a blast of icy air hit him like a Dementor's breath, raising the hairs on his neck and sending cold sweat trickling down his back. The chill sharpened his senses, flooding the air with a vague malice that clawed at his throat. Worse, a faint, reptilian stench wafted toward him—fishy and primal, like something slithering from the depths.
"Is that the monster from the Chamber?" Colin's mind raced. He tiptoed backward, camera gripped like a lifeline. Peering through the viewfinder, he scanned the gloom ahead, his pulse thundering in his ears like the Flight of the Bumblebee. The stench grew stronger, closer, but the shadows revealed nothing.
Panic locked his limbs; his fingers froze on the shutter, body rigid as if encased in ice. He wanted to scream, to bolt, but fear pinned him in place. His heartbeat drowned out everything else, a runaway train roaring through his chest.
Then, a bony, cold grip seized his arm—thin and slick with a fleshy chill that sent terror exploding through his veins. Memories flashed: his Muggle childhood, the wonder of his Hogwarts letter, the thrill of Diagon Alley. Death's shadow loomed, raw and inevitable.
Colin gaped, but only a strangled "ho-ho" escaped. A sibilant hiss slithered into his ears: "Found you."
Desperation surged. With a final burst of will, he jammed the shutter down.
Flash!
White light erupted, blinding the corridor.
---
Vizette strode to the desk and pulled out a crumpled parchment. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he murmured. The Marauder's Map unfurled, its ink lines sketching Hogwarts in intricate detail—rooms, passages, and tiny labeled dots for every soul inside.
Dumbledore leaned in beside him, his hand slapping the desk with a sharp crack. A house-elf popped into existence. "Headmaster? How may Winky serve?"
Vizette's gaze flicked across the map, zeroing in on a familiar name: Colin Creevey, isolated on the fourth floor. "Headmaster! Colin's there—with the giant snake!"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "Go to the spot Vizette indicates. Bring Colin back at once."
Crack! The elf vanished.
"The Basilisk struck out of nowhere," Vizette said, brow furrowing. "This corridor was warded..."
As Colin's dot blinked out, the Parseltongue alarms fell silent. "Gone again. We're missing something."
Crack! The elf reappeared, supporting a trembling Colin.
"Ahhh!" Colin shrieked, voice raw.
"Quiet!" Snape snapped, wand slashing to cast a swift Silencing Charm.
"Finite Incantatem," Dumbledore intoned, waving his wand to shatter the lingering tongue-tying curse—Langlock, by the look of it. He knelt with a gentle smile. "You're safe now, my boy."
"Headmaster?" Colin blinked, squinting in the office's warm light. "Vizette? Harry?"
"Out after curfew, stumbling into peril—reckless," Snape drawled, eyebrow arched. "Gryffindor deducts fifty points."
"Fifty?!" Harry and Colin chorused, faces paling.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, smile fading into a pair of coughs. Snape smirked, arms folded, savoring the moment.
Vizette's lips thinned, unsurprised. Snape had dodged the Basilisk's strike this time, at least. But his focus stayed on the serpent. "Colin, your camera—did you have it? Take any photos?"
"I did!" Colin nodded frantically. "Right before they dragged me here—I hit the shutter!"
"Headmaster, this could be key," Vizette urged. "The snake's vanished; no alarms from the Parseltongue wards."
Dumbledore nodded to the elf. "One more task: fetch what Colin left behind."
Crack! Moments later, the elf returned, Polaroid in tow.
"Rest now," Dumbledore said kindly, accepting the camera. He flicked his wand to pop the back cover.
Acharred stench hit first—burnt plastic and acrid smoke billowing out. The film inside was ruined, a blackened husk.
…
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