Colin Creevey hurried down the stairs silently, checking his watch. It was past midnight; he didn't want anyone to see him, as he was out of bed. Clutching grapes in his left hand and his camera in his right, he slinkered down the stairs, one step at a time.
Harry Potter, his hero and role model, had broken his arm in a Quidditch match that afternoon, and Colin, feeling it was his sole duty to watch over the Boy Who Lived, had felt it his responsibility to bring some snacks for Potter; after all, he figured, Harry hadn't gotten any dinner and he was probably starving.
He had reached the third step from the bottom when he heard an odd sound; something was slithering down the corridor below him. Mistaking the sound for a cloak, Colin flattened himself against the wall, breathing silently. Suddenly, a brilliant idea seized him. Swallowing, he pressed his camera to his eyes, the grapes still in his hand, and leaped out into the corridor, only to see, through the lense of his camera, a big pair of yellow eyes. Instinctively, as he crumpled, falling backwards onto the ground, he snapped a picture with his camera, the instrument fizzing under his petrified fingers.