From the next day, Harry resolved to keep his distance from Pansy—not physically, but emotionally. Truth be told, they'd never been more than classmates. Yet in Harry's mind, Pansy had sunk to a level of disdain rivaled only by the Dursleys or Voldemort himself. Seeing her cozy up to Draco stirred something bitter in him, a churning resentment that twisted in his gut.
"That's the last person you should trust..." Harry thought grimly. Who'd have thought I'd ever feel like warning someone about her?
Harry was oblivious when it came to romance. Deep down, he couldn't imagine anyone liking him, let alone understand what love even meant. The love potion's effect was nothing more than a chemical rush, a drug-induced delusion. In the end, Harry's first brush with "love" left a rancid taste.
"You're overthinking this love potion nonsense," Azrael scoffed.
While Azrael and Farkas openly despised Pansy, Zabini was more nonchalant. "You let your guard down and drank the potion. That's on you. Forget it and move on."
In the wizarding world, love potion ingredients were easy enough to come by. According to Farkas, they were typically used to muster the courage for a confession or as a playful prank between smitten partners. By that standard, Pansy's actions were downright rude. Zabini, however, shrugged it off. "If you got dosed, that's your loss."
"I never cared about Pansy to begin with," Harry said. "I just learned that the pug I thought she was is actually something far worse—sorry to pugs."
Zabini's laughter was a small mercy, lightening the weight of Harry's thoughts. He pushed the potion-fueled haze to the back of his mind. There was no prejudice in him toward his friends—not ever.
That wasn't me. I'd never think like that. It was the potion's fault.
At the study group, seeing Hermione's slightly bucktoothed smile filled Harry with relief. The potion's grip had faded, and he could face her as a friend again. Nothing could have made him happier.
Harry was headed to the Quidditch pitch, broom in hand, preparing for the upcoming Seeker tryouts against Draco. Farkas had been called to the Duelling Club, so Harry was joined by Azrael and Zabini. The Slytherin Quidditch team hadn't started full practices yet, and the trio was warming up on the field.
Draco was there too, clutching his own Nimbus 2001, methodically preparing for the tryouts. As Harry and his friends finished their warm-up laps and reached for their brooms, a high-pitched voice cut through the air.
"Um, excuse me? Are you okay?"
Three pairs of eyes turned to find a small boy in Gryffindor's scarlet robes staring at Harry. The boy craned his neck, clearly searching for the famous scar on Harry's forehead. Tired of the constant stares, Harry had used a potion to hide the scar's appearance.
"Are you... the one with the glasses... Harry Potter?" the boy asked hesitantly.
"That's me," Harry replied. "What's your name?"
"Harry, I... I'm Colin Creevey!" the boy stammered.
"What do you want with Harry?" Azrael interjected, eyeing the camera in Colin's hands with suspicion. "You're a Gryffindor, right? We're in the middle of practice. And what's with that camera?"
Photographing Harry or the Slytherin team could give Gryffindor's team an edge if they analyzed the footage. Azrael's wariness was justified.
"Relax, Azrael," Zabini said with a grin. "He's just a tiny first-year. Cut him some slack."
"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you!" Colin blurted. "I just... I really need to ask Harry something."
No obligation to hear him out... Harry thought, mildly annoyed but willing to listen. If the request was unreasonable, he'd brush it off, and Colin would leave. The Quidditch pitch was slowly filling with spectators, including Ron and Hermione.
"Your name again?" Harry asked.
"I'm Colin Creevey! Gryffindor!" the boy exclaimed, practically bouncing.
"Nice to meet you, Colin. I'm Harry Potter. These cool guys next to me are—"
"You're Blaise Zabini, and the blond one's Bloom Azrael, right?" Colin interrupted, eyes wide. "I heard the older students talking! They say you're as brave and amazing as Gryffindors!"
"Uh... right," Harry muttered, scratching his neck.
The trio was apparently well-known even in Gryffindor's common room. Harry felt a prickle of discomfort. He was used to strangers knowing him, but being a celebrity to first-years felt... off.
Colin, undeterred, launched into a rapid-fire confession. He was Muggle-born and utterly idolized Harry—right in front of Draco, of all people.
Someone should've warned him! Harry thought, exasperated. Didn't any Gryffindor prefect tell this kid to watch out for Slytherins?
Proclaiming his Muggle-born status in front of Slytherins was like picking a fight. Sure, Harry didn't care about blood status, but not every Slytherin shared his view. It was proof that Gryffindor's prefect, Gaerio Juris, held no prejudice against Slytherins—but also that he was naive about their biases, failing to prepare kids like Colin for potential trouble.
"So, um, I have a favor to ask..." Colin continued, eyes shining. "Could you maybe... take a picture with me? And, uh, sign it?"
Azrael stared at Colin, dumbfounded. "Are you mistaking Gryffindor courage for recklessness?"
To a Slytherin, a Muggle-born openly declaring their status was unthinkable. Even Hermione, cautious as she was, didn't broadcast it so boldly. Colin, however, saw Harry as some perfect hero, his eyes sparkling like polished gems.
He's just like I was with Dumbledore, Harry thought, seeing echoes of his younger self and Hermione in Colin's fervor. Pity outweighed his irritation.
"Sorry, Colin, I'll have to pass," Harry said gently. "I'm not the guy you think I am. And you should head back to your dorm—now."
Colin's face fell, his enthusiasm wilting. Then, a mocking voice cut through.
"Signed photos, Potter?" Draco sneered, eyeing Colin's camera with disdain. "Are you handing out autographs to Gryffindors now?"
He raised his voice to the growing crowd. "Hey, everyone! Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"
"That's not what's happening, Draco," Harry shot back. "I'm busy preparing for our match."
"Pretty cold to a fan, aren't you, Potter?" Draco smirked, turning his attention to Colin. "A naive kid like you? You'll stick out like a sore thumb, even in Gryffindor. Poor thing—Harry's not interested. Guess you don't belong anywhere."
"Draco, that's too far," Harry said sharply. "He's a first-year."
Most kids would've run off in tears. But Colin wasn't most kids.
"You're just jealous of Harry," Colin said defiantly. "That's why you're acting like this."
Azrael averted his gaze, wincing. Zabini muttered under his breath, "This kid's gonna get himself killed."
Colin's words hit a nerve Draco's peers tactfully avoided. A Muggle-born first-year like Colin couldn't grasp the complexities of Draco's family or his fixation on Harry. Expecting him to sugarcoat his words was asking too much.
Draco's face flushed with anger. He hurled insults at Colin, stopping just short of slurs, and nearly sparked a shouting match with Ron. Before it escalated, a dazzling smile intervened.
"Now, now, no fighting on such a fine Quidditch day!" Gilderoy Lockhart strode in, teeth gleaming, and defused the tension. He posed for a photo with Colin, satisfying the boy's excitement. Neither Draco nor Ron was foolish enough to bicker in front of a professor. Harry, though conflicted, thanked Lockhart.
"You're not ready to hand out signed photos, my boy," Lockhart said airily. "Learn some humility, like me, before you become a great wizard."
Lockhart's "kindness" backfired. Emboldened, Colin started snapping photos of Harry mid-flight during practice, ignoring every warning to stop.
This kid... Harry groaned inwardly.
Through McGillis Karo, Harry was introduced to Gryffindor's new prefect, Gaerio Juris, hoping he'd rein Colin in. McGillis warned that Gaerio could be self-righteously overzealous, but Harry brushed it off. It's a prefect's job to handle their first-years, right?
"Please, Juris, do something about Colin," Harry pleaded.
Gaerio was skeptical at first. "Trusting a Slytherin's word, huh..." But seeing Colin's behavior firsthand, he acted swiftly, scolding the boy and apologizing to Harry.
"Sorry for doubting you," Gaerio said. "Slytherins can be rough, so we tend to assume the worst."
"No worries," Harry replied. "This helps a lot. Thanks, Gaerio."
Harry thought the matter was settled. But two days later, Colin was back, snapping photos again.
"Granger, don't stop us," Zabini growled. "Even we're losing patience."
"It's just... this feels like bullying," Hermione said hesitantly.
"No, Hermione," Ron countered. "Colin needs a wake-up call. It'll make him reflect."
Even Hermione couldn't argue when Harry laid out his plan. "If I handle this, Hermione, will you look after Colin afterward? This way, I take the blame, and he can move on as a Gryffindor."
At the study group, they discussed Colin's relentless behavior. When confronted, Colin showed no remorse, his eyes fixed on an idealized Harry.
"You're like a Gryffindor," Colin said brightly. "You don't judge me, and if I ask permission, you'll let me, right? Professor Lockhart said taking photos on school grounds isn't against the rules!"
His unapologetic attitude pushed Harry over the edge. Colin's blind admiration mirrored Harry's own stubbornness a year ago, ignoring Garfeel Gafgarion's warnings. It stung.
I'm getting payback for my own mistakes, Harry thought bitterly.
To avoid alienating Ron and Hermione, Harry cleared his plan with them first. Then he acted.
On a day when faint sunlight pierced the cloudy sky, Harry led Colin to the courtyard. Using Occlumency to mask his true feelings, he approached the boy warmly.
"Learning magic from you is such an honor, Harry!" Colin beamed.
"It's no big spell," Harry said. "Point at that branch and say Wingardium Leviosa. The spell's tricky, but focus on pronunciation."
"Yes! Wingardium Leviosa!" Colin struggled, mispronouncing and flailing his wand six times. Harry waited patiently for the seventh attempt.
"You're getting better," he encouraged.
"Thank you! Wingardium Leviosa!" Colin finally succeeded, trembling with joy.
Then a harsh voice interrupted. "Who's tossing branches at me while I'm napping? You? Magic's banned in the courtyard. Gryffindor, one point deducted."
It was Garfeel Gafgarion, a sixth-year Slytherin prefect, stationed as planned. Gryffindor's prefect, Agrias Beolve, stood nearby, ignoring Colin entirely.
"What?! No way!" Colin wailed.
"Colin, this was a setup," Harry said coldly. "I brought you here to teach you a lesson."
"Why...?" Colin's voice trembled.
"Because I don't like you," Harry replied. "People think I'm not a typical Slytherin, but that's their assumption. You need to face reality."
Colin's eyes brimmed with tears, but he turned and fled. Harry believed this was for the best. He wanted to be a great wizard, not the convenient idol Colin imagined.
Let Lockhart play that role, Harry thought.
Garfeel praised Harry's Slytherin cunning, but the victory felt hollow.
Yet Harry's plan backfired. Colin, undeterred, earned Gryffindor ten points with the spell Harry taught him. Beaming, he begged to join the study group. Harry buried his face in his hands.
Harry, Gaerio, Hermione, and a chorus of students shouted in unison: "Colin, stop! Just stop already!"
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