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: Renny and Malcolm in the Slytherin common room. (allie_potter)
"Where are you going?" Renny put out a hand to block his classmate's attempt to slip past him into their dorm, scowling down at the smaller boy with the most intimidating look he could muster. It seemed to work, because Malcolm shrank back, swallowing hard, his eyes wide as he clutched his bag protectively to his chest.
"I thought --"
"I thought we had agreed to go to the library to get that essay in for Slughorn by tomorrow, or did you forget?" Several heads turned at his sharp tone, and Malcolm turned a shade whiter, but he didn't care. This was the second time in a row, and damned if he was going to have this little jellywand make Slytherin look like cowards when bloody Hufflepuffs were willing to risk the Carrows' wrath.
"I'm tired." It was an open plea, and Malcolm glanced back over his shoulder towards where Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in the other corner of the common room, rummaging Travers' bag for 'contraband'...or anything they wanted to take for themselves. Please, he mouthed silently, they're in a bad mood tonight.
Renny gave a disgusted snort, grabbing Malcolm unceremoniously by the elbow and frog-marching him towards the high, arched door that lead to the dungeons beyond. "Tired later. Library now," he announced, then dropped his voice to a tight hiss that spat directly into his companion's ear. "Stay or leave, Braddock, but if you don't think I like half-measures, you don't want to know what the Dark Lord thinks of them!"
Prompt: Terry and anyone (except Michael) "You have beautiful eyes." (Kaellite)
"You don't need vision correction, do you?" Terry jumped nearly a foot off the common room chair as the voice sounded out of nowhere directly in his ear, the book slamming to the floor.
"DON'T DO THAT!" He turned, trying to piece together some shreds of dignity as Luna merely tilted her head at him curiously. "I was reading,Lovegood. Scare me half to --"
"I'm sorry," she said airily, and he heard someone stifle a giggle, though he didn't really want to look to see who. He was already embarrased enough. "I just caught a glimpse through them when I was passing behind you and noticed that --"
He cut her off before she could finish, all too sure what she was about to reveal to half the House. "I wouldn't think you'd pick on someone for wearing glasses, being friends with Potter and all." Terry felt the flush deepen as he yanked them off, clearing his throat as he made a show of scrubbing the lenses on his shirttail.
"Yes," Luna agreed calmly, "but he actually - "
"So do I." His tone was apparently obvious enough even to break through to whatever planet she resided on, and she shrugged, already floating away towards the sixth-year girl's dormitory.
"I think it's silly for you to wear them. It's distracting, and you have beautiful eyes."
The door opened, shut, and Luna was gone, leaving only a very heavy, very uncomfortable silence in her wake. Terry bent down, picking up the book and trying to find where he had left off as if nothing had happened, but then Stephen gave a soft, pointed cough. "You know, I think Lovegood just hit on you, Terry. In her own flirting-by-heart-attack sort of way."
"No." He sat back down, shaking his head firmly as he located the page at last. "Absolutely not."
"It's not so impossible," Stephen pressed. "I mean, she's right, even if you don't want to consider that anyone could see past that Witch Weekly centerfold you hang out with."
"It has nothing to do with right or wrong," Terry murmured distractedly, already half-immersed again in the particulars of medieval seige magic. "It has to do with it being Lovegood, and telling a boy that you find something attractive about him would be entirely too normal."
Prompt: Susan, physical prowess (Queen_bunny)
She watched them for several minutes, arms crossed, trying not to laugh out loud as Ernie and the two other equally-brawny young farm hands struggled with the heavy boulder that had tumbled down the tor to smash a section of fencing. It did not escape her notice that her new husband had ever so casually made sure that she could see him, nor that he had stripped off his shirt even in the chill weather. As if I'm not already quite aware of what his body looks like.
For a moment, it seemed like they had almost gotten it to budge, but then the slick moss and mud-covered sides slid through their hands, and it went stolidly back into place not so much with a crash as a dull, squishy, petulent thud. The three men stood back, panting, messy hands wiped across sweat-dripping foreheads, and she decided that she had had quite enough.
Pulling up the hem of her robes to avoid the mud, she stepped primly between them, then picked up a broken section of the fence rail. It was only a few seconds' work to push it into the soft ground on the uphill side of the boulder, then she leaned into it. Her feet left the ground briefly...but then so did the boulder, popping free to roll amiably the rest of the way down the valley.
Susan grinned at the utterly dumbstruck looks that surrounded her, brushing off her hands as she tossed the rail lightly aside. "It's not always about physical prowess, children."
Prompt: "Is that a bear?" (Teesh_ee)
"Is that a BEAR?" Colin froze halfway into the bed, but even though he shoved the traitorous fuzzy leg immediately beneath the blanket, it was too late. Jack was already pulling the sheet back, grinning far too broadly. "Why yes, I do believe it is." He shook his head, moving his lips in the disconcerting mimickry of what he didn't know was supposed to be a 'tsk-tsk' noise. "At sixteen...."
"You saw nothing."
"Oh, I most certainly did!" Jack insisted, reaching for the bear, but Colin snatched it away before his fingers could do more than brush the soft tan fur.
"Well then," now Jack's smile was met with one of Colin's own, and just as poisonously sugar-sweet. "If you want to talk about who I sleep with, I guess I can feel free to talk about who you sleep with."
Jack's mouth opened, then shut again, and this time it was a genuine loss of words. At last, he took a step back, looking very deliberately up and away as innocently as Colin had ever seen. "You know, on second thought, I guess I didn't see anything after all. Maybe my eyes are going too."
"Exactly," Colin nodded in satisfaction, tucking Paddington down by his side and safely out of sight as he got into the bed. "Pleasure not seeing things with you tonight, Mr. Sloper."
Prompt: Slytherins as angels of mercy post battle of Hogwarts (Suttonwriter)
"It's simply not humane! The battle is over! They have a right to retain their status as non-combatants, ESPECIALLY the underage!" Professor Slughorn was purple in the face, puffed up so much that he looked all but spherical, but Shacklebolt was unmoved as he pointed sternly back towards the devestation beyond the doors.
"I'm not telling them to fight, but the battlefield needs to be cleared before the heat of the day arrives, and perhaps it will help them consider whether we are going to wind up with a generation of young Slytherins growing up to want to be just like Riddle after all."
"Sir?" Shacklebolt turned, not surprised to see Longbottom approaching him again, the worn and crumpled list of names in his hand, looking if at all possible a little more tired and a little more filthy than the last time.
He held up a hand to silence Slughorn, inclining his head towards the young Gryffindor who had lead his even younger troops with so much more skill than he would have ever suspected. "Is there something you need, Commander?"
"Professor Slughorn is right, Sir." The response, quiet and weary though it was, still held a disconcerting air of rebuke. "It's not humane."
"Absolutely! They're --"
Never before had Shacklebolt seen a Professor silenced by a single look from a student, but never before, either, had he seen a student give such a look. "Auror Shacklebolt's right, too. They need to see what happened," Longbottom gestured out the broken windows, "but half of them are relatives, and I wouldn't ask anyone to go retrieve the bodies of their own parents. Not after what we did to some of them."
There was a rather nasty hint of pride in the last, but Shacklebolt let it go, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "You sound like you have a suggestion, Commander?"
"Yes, sir," he held out the list. "It's actually what I was coming over here for. Madame Pomfrey needs help. The life-threatening cases have been evacuated already, but St. Mungo's was never meant to handle a battle's worth of casualties. We have a lot of people in a lot of pain, and just getting them water enough to be half-comfortable with all this dust is --"
"Of course!" Slughorn interrupted enthusiastically before he could even respond, giving a bow that was deeper than Shacklebolt would have thought his prodigious belly would have allowed. "All my fifth years and up, I think - they've started Healing Spells, at least - and the little ones for water-bearers. Far from the house that ran, let Slytherin be remembered as Angels of Mercy!"
With another bow, he turned on his heel and hurried off, and though he knew he wasn't supposed to hear it - and certainly not agree - Shacklebolt couldn't avoid overhearing the addendum that Longbottom added under his breath. "Angels of Mercy...who ran."
Prompt: Dobby acting as a spy for the DA. Should be his point of view. Interior monologue only. (Suttonwriter)
Terrible, terrible Professor Carrow! Uses the Unforgivable curses on the first years! Oooh, Dobby is so angry, Dobby is shaking! The dust, it will STAY on your lamp, you bad man, Sir! And it is thick enough to SEE! Oh, Dobby will not clean your room good, he will not, but he has promised to tell Neville Longbottom what he sees, and he most certainly will! Dobby will tell that Professor Carrow does not take his belt out of his trousers when he leaves them on the floor! Poor little first-years! Dobby will tell that Professor Carrow wears the same underpants as his -- Oh NO! Dobby will tell even worse! DOBBY WILL TELL THAT PROFESSOR CARROW WEARS THE SAME SOCKS ON BOTH FEET FOR TWO DAYS!
Prompt: Romilda Vane…a taste of her own medicine. (Teesh_ee)
"Oh, don't be so stupid, Millie! You brewed it, and you've certainly made the rest of us drink it often enough!"
"I can't!" Romilda groaned miserably, screwing her face up in disgust as she pulled away from Vicky's offered flask as far as her bruised and battered body would allow. "I'll throw up, I really will."
"What is it again, Ginny?" Vicky cast a smug little smile towards the older girl, then fell into an obvious mimicry of Romilda's Gypsy-accented voice. "Medicine isn't supposed to taste good, it's just good for you?"
"I'm pretty sure that's it," Ginny agreed innocently. "In fact, I think she called me a baby when I said I was gagging."
"Fine!" Romilda huffed indignantly, squeezing her eyes shut as she opened her mouth like a very put-out baby bird. "But if I throw up, I'm in no condition to clean it up!"
"Don't worry, Millie," Ginny chuckled, "you're fantastic at potions. You'll be just fine to handle a mop in no time!"
Prompt: "I really can't think of a worse plan than yours." (Queen_bunny)
"We bust out o' here and hex him hard's we can, then run like buggery!" Seamus' frantic whisper was barely more than a hissed breath, and it didn't need to be. Neither of them were very big, but the storage closet was even smaller, and the amount of space already taken up by brooms and buckets barely allowed the two Gryffindors to squeeze inside if they were willing to be poked in several places and get extremely friendly with one another.
Not that Lavender would normally have minded being extremely friendly with Seamus Finnigan in a broom closet, but they were typically bigger ones used for such purposes, and they typically didn't have Severus Snape standing outside of them. They could still hear him pacing, and she licked her lips, feeling cold sweat trickle down her back as she wondered just how good her concealment charms really were at making doors look like walls.
She shifted, trying to move away from a particularly unfortunate mop that was responding to the contact by trying to clean her right breast. "You're mental! That's not a plan, that's suicide! It's Snape!"
"Come up with a better one, then!"
"Fine!" Lavender rolled her eyes, resigning herself to being molested by cleaning supplies. "I really can't think of a worse plan than yours."
"Stay in here until we miss curfew."
There was a long pause, and they could hear a tapping now that sounded far too much like someone testing stones from the other side of the door-wall. The mop had moved down the side of her body to her hip now, and as she swatted the strings away from her bum, Lavender had a sudden idea. "Seamus," she whispered eagerly, "are you up for another?"
"Another what?" he asked suspiciously.
"Crucio, probably." Some part of her knew that it was wrong that they had gotten so casual about the curse that had so horrified her at the beginning of the year, but even though she couldn't see it in the darkness, she knew that his answer came with a genuinely uncaring shrug.
"Not keen for it, but aye."
"Good. Put your hands on my arse and kiss me."
It was amazing how quickly he managed to comply in the tight space, and for a few seconds, she let herself forget their situation, reveling in the heat of his talented mouth before she had to pull away. "Okay," she whispered a little breathlessly, "now let's make some noise, and then we're caught, out, hexed, and he won't even bother searching our pockets."
For the briefest moment, she felt his arms stiffen in hesitation, but then there was a soft, warm chuckle against her lips. "Just as stupid, it is, but ah, points for style!"