Chapter 102: Colin Creevey

Colin Creevey lived in Chelsea, London, and was eleven years old, having just graduated from primary school; he had successfully passed the entrance exam for Eton College, and his entire family was proud and delighted, as was he—he decided to bring his beloved camera to school to document every moment of his life at Eton...

But one morning, an unexpected letter shattered the peace of his life: a school named Hogwarts had invited him to enroll and learn magic, even attaching a detailed list of required items.

“This is definitely a prank!” Mr. Creevey declared firmly, pouring cereal into his milk. “I’ve never heard of a school called Hogwarts in my life, let alone one that teaches magic.”

Colin agreed with his father—he was old enough to tell right from wrong. Though he longed for those magical wonders, reason told him they were false, mere fantasies.

Though the letter was remarkably authentic and he had examined it repeatedly, he still decided to put the matter out of his mind.

But then something strange happened: identical letters kept appearing in their home, yet they could never figure out how they were getting in.

“This prank is getting worse!” Mr. Creevey shouted, pointing to a line in the letter. “Look here: ‘Wait for your owl to deliver your reply!’ Owls don’t deliver mail! And we don’t even own an owl!”

The turning point came when a strangely dressed “giant” named Hagrid arrived at their door.

He personally delivered another identical letter and gave them a detailed introduction to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr. Creevey tried several times to refute Hagrid and expose him as a fraud, but seeing Hagrid’s massive frame, he swallowed his anger.

Finally, Hagrid left them a guide on where to purchase magical items and departed.

“That big guy’s a fraud—look at his ragged clothes! I don’t believe a single word he said!” Mr. Creevey declared loudly; he disliked Hagrid.

Mrs. Creevey picked up the parchment Hagrid had left and examined it closely. “It says Diagon Alley isn’t far from here—on Charing Cross Road in Westminster. We can drive there in ten minutes.”

Colin now half-believed the letter’s claims. With pleading eyes, he asked his father: “Dad, please take us to see this Diagon Alley!”

Mr. Creevey couldn’t refuse his son. He decided to drive his wife and son to the location described on the parchment.

Colin was about to enter secondary school; he should learn about the harshness of society. Besides, the cost was low. Mr. Creevey thought to himself.

But when they arrived at the location, Mr. and Mrs. Creevey couldn’t find the Leaky Cauldron at all—yet Colin spotted the pub’s entrance immediately, overlooked by his parents.

Inside the pub, they encountered many oddly dressed people; their formal attire made them stand out as outsiders.

They endured the strange stares and handed the letter to the barkeep. The barkeep, upon seeing it, led them to the backyard.

After a series of magical maneuvers, a door suddenly appeared before the family. Beyond it lay Diagon Alley.

Even the most sluggish of the Creeveys now began to suspect magic was real; Colin grew ecstatic, snapping photos nonstop with his camera.

Passersby wore bizarre clothing and carried strange pets, staring at them with odd expressions, leaving the family feeling deeply uneasy.

Shop windows displayed items only found in fairy tales and legends, opening their eyes to a world beyond imagination.

Summoning courage, Mr. Creevey approached a strange man in a wizard’s robe to ask for directions. The man looked at him with contempt, his demeanor icy—as if speaking to him was an insult.

Mr. Creevey wisely stopped asking. He realized the man was discriminating against him.

I’m well-dressed, healthy-skinned, graceful in manner, and speak with a proper London accent—I’m clearly a respectable man. Why am I being discriminated against here? Mr. Creevey suddenly felt deeply wronged.

Fortunately, Diagon Alley was small. They quickly found the wizarding bank using the parchment’s directions and exchanged pounds for Galleons.

Mr. Creevey turned the strange gold coins over in his hands, keenly sensing the business opportunity—until he was told there was a limit on exchanging pounds for Galleons, and only Colin qualified for the allowance. He reluctantly abandoned the idea.

Next, they shopped according to the list, sampling many peculiar magical snacks, which brought them great joy.

They also bought a snowy owl for Colin to deliver his acceptance letter and future correspondence.

After arriving in Diagon Alley, the Creeveys never mentioned “prank” or “fraud” again, nor did they voice support for Colin attending Hogwarts—but their actions had already revealed their stance.

Finally, every item on the list was checked off, and their cart overflowed with strange goods. Colin felt this was the happiest day of his life; he kept snapping photos, nearly exhausting his film.

“We still need a wand!” Mrs. Creevey carefully checked the list.

“I think I saw a tiny shop over there selling wands!” Mr. Creevey strained to recall.

At the word “wand,” Colin forgot all his fatigue. Compared to magical artifacts, actually casting spells was the real thrill.

They quickly reached the shabby little shop. Just as they were about to enter, a family tumbled out, crawling and screaming in terror. The child tripped at the threshold; his parents rushed back, lifted him off the ground, and fled, vanishing from sight.

The Creeveys stared blankly at the direction the family had vanished, bewildered. Whatever was inside that shop must be terrifying—judging by that family’s reaction.

“That family was dressed impeccably—clearly upper-class. Yet they lost all dignity in their fear!” Mr. Creevey observed carefully.

“Maybe it’s just something disgusting but harmless, like the toad eyes we saw in other shops,” Colin couldn’t hide his longing for a wand.

This left the Creeveys hesitating—but a wand was essential. They had to buy one.

“Maybe we should look for another wand shop?” Mrs. Creevey suggested.

“No—this seems to be the only one. And this shop is nearly 2,400 years old! Their wands must be the best!” Mr. Creevey pointed to the shop’s sign.

Colin nodded vigorously—he wanted the best wand.

“Then let’s ask someone else. I’m still uneasy,” Mrs. Creevey said, seeing her son’s pleading eyes.

Mr. Creevey agreed. He politely stopped a man in a strange robe and voiced his concerns.

This man was not as cold as the previous one.

“Mr. Ollivander? He’s a kind wizard,” the man happily explained. “His wands are the finest in Britain—all British wizards buy from him!”

The man’s words eased the Creeveys’ nerves. They thanked him and returned to the shabby shop’s entrance.

Mr. Creevey peered through the window—everything looked normal—but his unease remained.

“Squeak...” Mr. Creevey pushed open the door.

Inside, no one was there. They slowly stepped into the shabby shop...

“Bang!” The door slammed shut behind them. They jumped. The shop grew dim. Scenes from horror films Mr. Creevey had watched flooded his mind.

Just as their unease peaked, a crisp voice rang out: “Ah!”

“Welcome! Are you here to buy a wand?” The voice sounded like a boy’s.

The Creeveys instantly relaxed.

But Mr. Creevey noticed something odd—the voice seemed to come from above, though the shop was clearly only one story. He was baffled.

Maybe it’s just magic, he thought to himself.

“Yes, my son is entering Hogwarts this year—he needs a wand,” Mr. Creevey said calmly.

“Of course! Allow me to measure your son first!” The boy’s voice grew closer.

Then the Creeveys saw a colorful bedsheet floating vertically one meter above the ground, with two holes at its top...

The family stared in astonishment at the bizarre sight—but through the gap between the bedsheet and the floor, they could see the boy’s legs, which calmed them slightly.

Though curious about what lay behind the sheet, they maintained restraint.

But the shop was dim; they couldn’t see through the holes at the top of the sheet.

“Which hand do you use?” The boy’s voice came again.

“Right hand!” Colin Creevey said nervously.

“Good! Raise your right hand!”

Colin obeyed immediately.

Then a silver-ruler tape measure leapt out on its own, measuring: shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, head circumference—and even the distance between his nostrils. Colin held his breath, too tense to breathe.

“Every Ollivander wand contains powerful magical cores: unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon sinew. Each Ollivander wand is unique!” the boy behind the sheet explained to Colin.

Colin was captivated, his eyes filled with longing.

Then came the sound of rummaging behind the sheet, followed by a long, narrow box floating out. Colin caught it quickly.

“Try this one: hawthorn wood, dragon sinew core, eleven and a quarter inches—excellent power!”

Colin pulled out the wand, unsure what to do.

“Wave it!” ordered the voice behind the sheet.

Colin did so, feeling foolish.

“Put it back. Try this one: birch wood, ten and a half inches, phoenix feather core.”

Colin swung the new wand hard—and suddenly, a gale erupted out of nowhere...

The floating bedsheet, directly in its path, vanished instantly...

The Creeveys finally saw what lay behind the sheet...

They tilted their heads upward, staring dumbfounded at the ceiling...

“Aaaah!” The Creeveys finally screamed in terror.

“Click! Click! Click!”—the sound of Colin’s camera shutter, flashing repeatedly. He didn’t know why he kept pressing it, but the flashing light made the sight behind the sheet even more horrifying.

Mr. and Mrs. Creevey scrambled toward the door, yanking Colin, still frozen in shock.

But they discovered the shop’s door was broken—it wouldn’t open.

Mr. Creevey tried to kick it open, but the “monster” behind him seemed to sense his intent: “Don’t break the door!”

Mr. Creevey ignored him, bracing to kick—when the “monster” whispered a phrase. Instantly, Mr. Creevey’s legs snapped together.

He hopped around, turning to face the “monster” advancing slowly, his face filled with despair...

The “monster” had an elongated neck covered in strange patterns. Beneath it was a boy’s body, and atop the neck was a boy’s head—so long was the neck that the head pressed against the ceiling. That explained why the voice came from above, and why the bedsheet had holes at the top...

Mr. Creevey could no longer bear the shock. He clutched his chest and collapsed.

Mrs. Creevey screamed, frantically telling Colin: “Quick, find medicine for your father!” Then she dragged Mr. Creevey toward the corner, trying to distance him from the approaching “monster.”

Allen watched the chaos, wanting to cover his face—but realized his hands couldn’t reach it.

Yes, the “monster” was Allen. Today, his random transformation had granted him a giraffe’s neck—he’d never imagined he could randomly get a neck.

His neck was now one and a half meters long; his head brushed the ceiling.

Seeing his own appearance, he’d planned to ask Mr. Ollivander for the day off—but when he woke up, he found a note left by Ollivander.

The note read: Allen, I’ve had a flare-up of my old ailment and am at St. Mungo’s Hospital. Today is the busiest day of the year—so you’ll have to manage the shop alone. I trust you’ll serve every customer well. —Ollivander.

Allen had no choice but to show up for work.

First came two wizarding families. They weren’t particularly frightened by Allen’s appearance—they already knew about the strange young wizard and even chatted with him at length. The transactions went smoothly, boosting Allen’s confidence...

But then five Muggle families arrived. All were terrified by his appearance and fled in panic.

So Allen had tried using a Levitation Charm to drape a bedsheet over himself—but it still didn’t work.

Watching the Creeveys huddled in the corner, one of them apparently having a heart attack, Allen’s head throbbed—how could he possibly resolve this?