This collection of snapshots was written as part of a "Whose Fic Is It Anyway?" improv writing challenge on Livejournal. Participants had three hours to answer as many random prompts as humanly possible in real time, so everything written here is completely unplanned, unbetaed, and probably somewhat unsane. However, I had a wonderful time writing them, they all managed to somehow remain DAYDverse compliant, and I hope that you at least get an enjoyable eye-roll out of reading them.

Prompt: Autumn, Hufflepuff Chorus, Learning to do something (allie_potter)

"The buttons are good, I think, but I can't help but think we should do more." Justin shrugged off his bookbag, letting it drop beside the bench as they all sat down. The new button was in his hand, flashing merrily back and forth between "Support Cedric Diggory!" and "Potter Stinks," but he was frowning, chewing his lip in contemplation. "Cedric's most public backer properly shouldn't be a Slytherin, you know."

"We could make our own buttons," Hannah suggested, "or book-covers or something like that."

"Maybe put together a bit of a Quidditch cheer, even," Ernie offered. "For his go of things at the Tasks."

"I don't want it to be mean-spirited," Justin warned. "That's the problem with these."

"Bloody mean-spirited of Potter to shove in!" Hannah snorted, crossing her arms fiercely as she tossed back her pigtails. "I think he likes it, too. Makes a big show of not, but see him light up when his mates are petting him."

"Nothing wrong with having friends."

"Perhaps, dear boy, but we're to show Cedric has more, aye?" Ernie began to pace, kicking at the newly-fallen autumn leaves. "I'm still for the Quidditch chant."

Justin considered it a moment, then his face lit eagerly. "Or a song! Like a team chant! A victory song!"

"You could write it," Hannah beamed. "You've a lovely voice, Justin, and you could teach it to the rest of us! We could get a whole Hufflepuff chorus going next time Cedric goes up!"

"Quite." Justin's smile had a vicious edge, but he couldn't help it, and he dived for his bag, already rummaging for a quill and fresh parchment. "What do you think rhymes better with 'Gryffindor', my fine chums, 'Awful Bore' or 'Attention Wh--"

He stopped, biting down hard on his own tongue in disbelief at what had nearly come out of his mouth, but Ernie and Hannah were already rolling with laughter. "Oh, the second one, Justin! The second one!"

Prompt: "Little pitchers have big ears" (VegaBlack62)

"Ya foul, pox-faced, gibberin' cunt! I'll bugger ya with a feckin' shiv o' your own shite-stuffed intestines, I will, and so hard your grandchildren'll be walkin' queer and spittin' turds! Feckin' mother o' Mary's bleedin' minge!" The outburst rang with staggering clarity across the Platform, and everyone within earshot - and that was, it seemed, at least three miles - turned to stare in shock at the red-faced eleven year-old clutching his toe.

And at his parents.

Seamus tried his utmost to look as appalled as everyone else, and at least the surprise at Tommy actually saying those things was enough to drop his jaw. It did not, however, change the looks, and he cleared his throat, shaking his head in disapproval. "Don't know where he'dve heard such language, I don't."

Susan seemed torn between which of her boys she wanted to kill first, but her shoulders were already shaking with laughter despite herself. "Can't imagine it, but you know what they say about little pitchers and big ears."

Prompt: Justin, Cedric, the Fat Friar (allie_potter)

"Mr. Diggory, you in there? Cedric?" Justin tapped hesitantly on the door of the Prefect's bathroom. "You've been an hour, Mr. Diggory, are you quite all right?"

"And what," the jovial voice still held an edge of rebuke, and Justin startled guiltily, whirling around to find the silvery figure of the Fat Friar hovering only a few feet behind him, "is a fourth-year doing up and about at this time of night?"

"I...I...I..." He drew a deep breath, his head dropping as he stared, shame-faced, at his feet. "I had something to give Mr. Diggory."

The kindly, transparent face creased in concern. "Not cheating, I hope."

"I don't..." he began, then stopped. "Maybe. I don't know. I just wanted to tell him if there was anything he needed - a broom like Potter's, or some rare charm or some such - that, not to be crass, but neither Ernie nor myself are precisely hurting financially speaking, and...."

"A lovely offer, child." The hand on his shoulder was ice-cold, and Justin shivered, feeling as though he had just been touched with a live electrical wire. "But best to bed with you."

He obeyed, but he couldn't help looking back in one last protest. "I just want him to win."

"And win he shall," the Fat Friar beamed, folding his hands almost smugly across his ample belly. "But he'll win because he's the best, and without a whisper or a Knut out of place. Leave the fancy brooms to those who need them, I say!"

Despite himself, Justin grinned. "Like a certain green-robed Quidditch team?"


Prompt: "All the colors of hell" (duck_or_rabbit)

Blue scattered pink. Yellow torn scarlet. Red charred black and flared green. Flashes across impossible spectrums. Purple dusted gray. Hazel rolled white.

He had heard it asked if one dreamed in color, but his nightmares, at least, held all the colors of hell.

Prompt: Neville/Hannah, Draco, broomstick (vegablack62)

"He's a guest at our establishment, Neville, how could you do that?"
"I didn't."
"They're OUR children, how could you allow it to happen, then?"
"Oh, for goodness sakes, Hannah, I can't be everywhere at once, and it wasn't so bad...just a simple little Lubricating Charm, and the look on his face!"
"I'm sorry."
"You should be. Was it wonderful?"
"Priceless. Worth every Knut he'll never spend here again and then some."
"I think I just might love you."
"Because Ernie greased Draco Malfoy's broom?"
"Because I know who taught him the spell."

Prompt: Harry, Cactus, iambic pentameter (ceredwensirius)

The theory of a friendship
Is rarely like the practice
Far less so when the girl you like
Finds you assaulted by a cactus

Prompt: Minister of Magic Fudge talking to Percy Weasley. Must consist of 26 sentences, each starting with a different letter of the alphabet. (bluealoe)

"Are you ready, Wetherby?"
"Begin at your leisure, Minister."
"Certain matters --"
"Dear Sir? Excuse me, I mean, shouldn't there be a salutation?"
"First things first, of course. Go on, I expect you can take care of that, Wetherby?"
"Happily. I'm ready."
"Just try to stay with me. 'Keeping in mind your gamekeeper's current status with the Department of Magical Creatures, you may want to reconsider your recent transaction which has come to our attention for the purchase of one thousand Finnish Doxies ostensibly for the school. Little educational value, according to our experts, can be found from these beings, however they are highly toxic. Mr. Malfoy in particular has expressed the gravest concern regarding the previous incident with the Hippogriff and his son. Need I remind you how poorly that resulted for everyone concerned? Obviously, it is the welfare of the student body which we all hold nearest and dearest, and I would request, Dumbledore, that you keep this in mind as I must reject your request at the highest levels, and insist that all further requisitions for the school be approved by my office. Previously submitted requisitions will also be subject to review and possible revocation. Quite sincerely --"
"Regards, maybe, Minister? Sounds more formal."
"The little bits are your job to clean up, Wetherby, I said that already! Ultimately, I have far more important things to do than play 'mother-may-I' with that old fool."
"Very true, Minister."
"Well then, with that taken care of - and you'll cross all the i's and dot all the t's - what's next on the agenda?"
"Xenophilius Lovegood, sir...he has named you in a lawsuit directly claiming that the Quibbler is suffering financial hardship due to your conspiracy with the Goblins and general mind-control efforts over the wizarding world."
"Yaxley was supposed to take care of that, wasn't he?"
"Zimbabwian Flu, sir, it's going around again, but I'll be happy to generate the response for you...always glad to be of any help I can."

Prompt: Colin Creevey, what could have been (bluealoe)

He didn't really notice it until the third year. It was all too new, all too strange, this not-life he had chosen in the split-second panic over the one he had lost, and there was so much more to do than he had expected for being dead. As the House Ghost, in particular, there were all manner of responsibilities, and it wasn't until he floated through a wall and entirely accidentally came upon Walter and Emma so....

It wasn't even about sex, though he knew no one would believe him if he had said so. He hadn't died a virgin, and you couldn't really even miss it that much without a body to ache for it.

But Walter had been in Dennis' year. A kid, even by the definition they had stretched until it bled. Not even Walter. Wally. Waz.

Not this wizard, wholly of age, his limbs long and lean-muscled with the growth spurt Colin had still been waiting for, stubble on his face and his moans a deep, effortless baritone that only wavered with passion. This man.

It was in seeing the kids grow up that the could-have-beens first began to sting. And it was when he greeted the first of their children that he crossed the grounds to the monument in the heart of night, and the silver droplets that vanished to nothing the moment they fell from his cheeks were at last for himself.

For who he had never been.

Prompt: Colin Creevey

Will some cold woman in this desert land
Make me feel like a real man?
- Young Lust, by Pink Floyd


"The Carrows won't like that when I tell them." The blood seemed to freeze in Colin's veins, but his heart was pounding as he turned, licking lips as suddenly dry as sandpaper.


"Defacing school property. Tsk tsk..." She shook her head slowly, her lips pursed in mocking rebuke, but her wand did not waver from where she had it aimed directly at the center of his chest. "Just what were you writing, anyway? Beyond the 'S', I mean."

"Hadn't entirely decided." A reckless thrill had overtaken him at the awareness that he had been caught, whipping the still-vivid terror into a courage he didn't know quite how to handle. "Slytherin girls something or's just a matter of how I wanted to phrase the part about being completely frigid bitches."

Astoria's blue eyes narrowed fiercely, and she made an eerily catlike hiss as she tossed back her long blonde hair. "As opposed to a Gryffindor slut, I guess!"

She took a step towards him, closing the distance to jab her wand into his neck, forcing his chin up as he was pushed back against the wall. "I wouldn't have Mudblood scum like you if you paid me."

Colin closed his eyes, refusing to allow himself to flinch. "What's your going rate?"


It was too angry, too inexperienced to work properly, but it still knocked him to his knees, left him breathless, gasping, moaning as he clutched at his jaw. God, it felt like taking a roundhouse from Adams. He shook his head, surprised not to see blood when he spat on the stone floor, but she hadn't gone for Carrow, not yet, and the grin on her face was strangely heady when he looked up. "Couldn't handle me anyway."

For a moment, she seemed rattled that he had recovered so quickly, but then the sneer was back. "I don't fancy little boys."

"I'm the same age as you, Greengrass." Colin pushed himself to his feet, pretending to be more unsteady than he was, leaning heavily against the wall with a carefully pitiful whimper. Her wand was at her side. It was his chance.

He moved like lightning, the hard-shouldered tackle that Bagman had taught them and that he'd never imagined using against a girl, and then she was down, her wand clattering away down the dark hall, and he was on top of her...and this was a complication of attacking a girl he had never expected. Because her face was flushed, her lips parted, her chest heaving her breasts against him with every breath, and he could feel the baffling thrill through both of them like electricity.

"You...." She was too angry for words, her hands biting hard into his shoulders, but she wasn't really trying to get away.

His face lowered, his mouth an inch from hers. "Little boy? You going to make a man out of me, then, Slytherin?"

There was a long, long pause, this dangerous territory explored one heartbeat of treason at a time, and then she reared up, her mouth crushing into his, biting down hard on his lower lip, but not quite to blood, and he knew it was wrong, knew it was taking advantage of her in so many ways, knew it wasn't how war was supposed to go, but he did it anyway.

His arm lashed back, his wand jabbing hard into her side. "STUPIFY! OBLIVIATE!"

Prompt: An Unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde Variety, Madame Rosmerta, Justin (allie_potter)

"Here you are, dearie." Madame Rosmerta set the glass of wine on the table with a friendly but somewhat odd wink, and Justin looked up from the Potion's homework he was double-checking for Ernie, frowning at it bemusedly.

"Pardon me, ma'am, but I think there has been a mistake. I only ordered the one." He checked just to make sure, wondering for an instant if it had spilled without his knowledge, but the claret was still there, and still scarcely touched, at that.

"This one's from the gentleman over there." Her smile widened, her dark eyes sparkling, and Justin's confusion deepened for a few seconds, but then his gaze followed hers, and it all came together with the grace of a rhinocerous falling down a flight of stairs.

"Oh...oh dear." His voice sounded higher and tighter than he wanted it to, and it was entirely inappropriate to feel this panicky, he knew. He didn't even have any particular problem with homosexuality or homosexuals, per se, it was simply...

"You've never turned down anyone before, have you, boy?" Madame Rosmerta's amusement was still there, but there was a more maternal quality to it now, and she had pitched her voice thankfully so low that he could be reasonably sure they were the only ones in the busy pub who had heard.

"No, ma'am," he shook his head, then his eyes widened, and he nearly choked on the sip of wine he had taken to buy himself time as he realized how that could be read. "I mean," he amended hastily, "nor am I in the habit of saying --"

"Don't worry, I'll handle this. Part of the job. You can keep the second glass, though...'spect you might need it." She patted him on the shoulder, her skirt flipping sassily with the sway of her hips as she turned away, sidling so quickly into the crowd that he almost missed her parting words. "He won't bother you again after I mention the fifteen-stone Scotsman you usually come here with."