The Character Gymnasium

[luinrina]

Welcome to another prompt of the Character Gymnasium. I’ve pondered for some time what to present you with, and now it’s time to send your OCs onto

The Quest

Your OC has travelled through time and finds itself in the middle of a very important historical event. The thing is: They can’t travel back to their own time if a leader of that event doesn’t give them an object with which they can travel back. How will they manage to talk to the very busy leader who is shielded by his guards?

Please bear in mind that I do not want to read much about the actual time travel but more about the historical event and what actions your OC is going to undertake to talk to the leader. It would therefore be great if the drabbles could begin with the OCs already finding themselves at the event.

Also, I would like the characters to stay in the country in which their stories play, meaning that US American OCs should experience an US American historical event and so on.


All MNFF standards apply. All entries must be in drabble forms and be 800 words or less. When rating your drabble, please keep it to 3rd-5th years and below.

When submitting, please fill out this form:

[b]Name:[/b]
[b]House:[/b]
[b]Original Character:[/b]
[b]Title:[/b]
[b]Historical event:[/b]
[b]Ratings and Warnings:[/b]
[b]Word Count:[/b] 

The winner will get 10 points, the runner-up 5.

Because of the research you might want to do, this Character Gymnasium is going to close in two weeks. Therefore, please post your entries here by 26th March.

This thread is for submissions only. Please PM any questions to me.

Also, the Character Gymnasium challenges are in no way compulsory, and although it would be better to use one OC in all challenges to explore this character’s reactions and thoughts, you don’t have to write about the same OC when you decide to participate.

Happy writing
~Bine

[inspirations]

Name: inspirations
House: Hufflepuff
Original Character: Carrie Langford
Title: Untitled.
Historical event: The Titanic
Ratings and Warnings: 1st-2nd years, death discussed.
Word Count: 647
A/N: This isn't the best it could be - hopefully I'll have time to edit tomorrow. But if I don't post it now, I know I'll forget >.<

I’m there in the midst of so much chaos. All around are people - nobility and not - shoving to get to the edge of the ship we’re all on, which is slowly beginning to move. They wave their hankies at the people I assume are just below on the dock, and blow kisses and yell good byes.

Scrambling up onto my feet, I make my way toward somebody who is hanging back from the crowd. ‘Hello,’ I say pleasantly, determined to find out where I am.

He gives me an odd look; I am wearing robes but that’s everyday wear, isn’t it? Well, not for Muggles, you could argue, and the people surrounding me are dressed like Muggles. Old-fashioned ones, too. ‘Hello,’ he says tightly.

‘Ah, I love boats,’ I say conversationally.

He glares at me. ‘The Titanic is no boat,’ he sneers. ‘She’s a ship.’

‘The Titanic?’ I double-check, sudden fear washing over me.

‘Where’ve you been for the last few hours?’ He stalks away from me, shaking his head.

I forget now about how conspicuous my black robes may or may not be. I plough forward, and then stop and sit down on a solitary sun bed, tucked away in a corner. Panicking? Yeah, that’ll get me far. I should start by finding the captain, I reassure myself. He’ll turn the boat around… or not. I know the Titanic will sink already. It’s imprinted in loads of Muggle History books, and some wizarding ones too, because ten of our kind died in the event.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to die.

Am I one of the ten? Oh, God.

Okay, let’s just find the captain, I tell myself. A pair of friendly old women meander past. I get up and follow them.

‘Excuse me?’ I say, tapping one of them on the shoulder politely. To my relief they turn around, bright smiles lighting up their content, wrinkled faces.

‘Yes, dear?’ she asks.

‘Do you know where the captain might be?’

‘In there, lovely,’ she says, indicating a door.

‘Thank you.’

I hurry towards the door - there’s the slimmest chance that the captain might turn back yet. Two men bar my way, though.

‘Sorry, miss, can’t let y’ through.’

I barge forward. ‘I need to see the captain,’ I say.

Grabbing my waist, he sets me down on the deck again. Then he repeats firmly what he said before.
‘I need to see the captain!’ I hiss fiercely.

‘Anything you need to say to the captain can be said to us.’

Clenching my teeth, I look around. Nobody’s here… nobody would know or see… I draw my wand beneath my robe and use wandless magic to cast the imperius curse on each man in turn.

‘Let me through,’ I say.

They both nod mutely and step aside for me. In my scared hurry, I barely register the guilt the casting of the unforgivable curse causes me.

The captain is sitting at a large, wooden desk and he looks up from the maps he is surveying and narrows his eyes at me. ‘What you doin’ in here?’ he queries suspiciously.

‘I wanted to ask you to turn back.’

‘Turn back?’ he scoffs. ‘No. We have a time frame for getting back. Money, girl - it would cost us. Why go back?’ He shakes his head, entertained but narked. ‘Now get outta here; I’m busy.’

‘Yes, you look it,’ I say sarcastically, looking pointedly at the mug of ale by his side.

Narrowing his eyes, he stands and walks around the desk to stand before me. With his lips pressed tightly together, he delves into his pocket and presses a coin into my palm… I feel a jerk in my stomach - a sensation like that of a portkey - and then I loose sight of the captain and am gone.

[Tim the Enchanter]

Name: Tim the Enchanter
House: RAVENCLAW!
Original Character: Dieter Heydrich
Title: The Painter
Historical event: Vienna, 1908* (see bottom)
Ratings and Warnings: 1-2 years, contains Anti-Semitism
Word Count: 798

The Painter

The Painter sat in a chair, facing the desk behind which three imposing figures sat. The Painter nervously fidgeted with a coin in his pocket as the three men inspected the canvasses.

"Hmm..." the fat one muttered, examining a painting of autumn trees beside a lake with a waterfall in the background. It had been a beautiful day when the Painter produced that picture, and he smiled fondly of the memory.

They shuffled through more of the Painter's works: portraits, still lifes, and landscapes. The three men were clearly bored by the Painter's masterpieces, and they shook their heads distressingly often. Each shake was a savage blow to the Painter's esteem, and he felt his cheer evaporate.

Finally, the fat man spoke: "Well, you seem to have some minor talent, but your paintings lack soul. You need conviction, and I cannot see it in your work. I'm sorry, but there is no place for you at the Academy, Herr Hitler."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dieter Heydrich had no idea what had happened. One moment he was reading Chapter One of Mein Kampf while absentmindedly fidgeting with his wand, the next he was irresistibly plucked out of Durmstrang in a swirl of colours and wind, and dropped in the middle of a cobbled street. Had he accidentally Apparated?

Dieter hastily walked from the centre of the road to the pavement, and took in his surroundings. It didn't take him long to realise that he had no idea where he was: all he knew that he was in some city, next to some park and some large building.

He spotted a man sitting on a park bench, and decided to ask him where he was. Dieter knew it would sound like an extremely stupid question, but he had to start somewhere. As he approached the bench, the man's features swam into view, and Dieter suddenly stopped, stunned.

It was the Führer.

There were no crowds of admirers, or soldiers to restrain them. Neither was there Himmler, Hess, or any other great men of the Movement. It was only Hitler, sitting alone and morose on the park bench.

"M-mein Führer?" Dieter stuttered in awe.

But the Führer didn't even look up.

Dieter walked closer, and noticed how young he looked. His hair was fuller, jaw sharper, and his characteristic moustache non-existent.

"H-hello?" Dieter said when he was standing in front of him. The Führer tore his eyes from the ground and looked at Dieter with a morose expression.

"Oh, hello," the Führer replied heavily. There was none of his vigour or conviction in his looks and voice, and Dieter could not help but feel alarmed by his uncharacteristic despair.

"Can I ask what's wrong?" Dieter said.

Hitler sighed and shrugged, as if to say, "why not?" He gestured to the large building across the street, and explained how all of his hopes had been dashed. The Academy of Fine Arts, Vienna, had flatly denied his admission, and not for the first time. Once finished, he looked relieved to have shared his woes with someone sympathetic enough to listen.

It suddenly dawned on Dieter - he had been sent into the past. Was this just a random act of fate, or had he been sent back for some purpose?

It was the latter. It had to be.

"Well, don't let those Jews get you down, Sir!" Dieter said with conviction.

Hitler chucked dryly. "Hmpf. I thought those men looked Hebraic..."

"Of course! You're better than them - don't let anyone tell you what you can and cannot do. You're stronger than that - you know you are, but no one would know unless you prove it!"

The would-be Führer gave Dieter a weak smile - weak, but genuine. He was surprised and perhaps amused by how much confidence the boy had in him, and stood up.

"You are one interesting kid. What's your name, son?" he asked.

Automatically and without thinking, Dieter snapped a perfect National Socialist salute. "Dieter - Dieter Heydrich, mein Führer!"

Hitler looked at him in shock, but a moment later, he burst out laughing. "'Mein Führer?' I suppose I am much more than a poor artist! But please, Adolf's my name. Just Adolf..."

Still chuckling, Adolf Hitler reached into his pocket, gave Dieter a coin, and walked away in a considerably improved mood.

Dieter watched the future Führer, amazed, until he disappeared from sight. He then looked at the coin Hitler had given him, but at that moment it glowed purple. Dieter was pulled into the swirling storm of colours and winds, and landed on his bed at Durmstrang with a thump.

He sat there, stunned for a long time. He noticed that the coin was still in his hand - what had happened was real.

Dieter smiled. He had made a difference.

Yes... very close adherence to the prompt. Oh well.

* To elaborate, this historical incident is when Hitler was rejected from the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. Perhaps if he had been accepted he would have pursued a life of painting rather than mass murder, but alas, no...

Tim the Enchanter

[Equinox Chick]

Name: Equinox Chick
House: Hufflepuff
Original Character: Martha Macdonald
Title: Leading Men.
Historical event: Queen Elizabeth I's rallying speech at Tilbury docks
Ratings and Warnings: 1st - 2nd. None
Word Count: 827 (but that includes part of Queen Elizabeth's speech approx 120 words)
Author's Note: I found the speech on Wikipedia.

Martha Macdonald didn’t quite understand how she came to be amongst this crowd. The last thing she remembered was walking towards the Quidditch dressing room for her first team talk as Gryffindor Captain. She’d been incredibly nervous because the James Potter, their star Chaser, Head Boy and last year’s Captain, was still in the team. Martha still couldn’t quite believe that she was now in charge. She’d been pacing the Quidditch pitch, trying to think up tactics when her on-off boyfriend Sirius Black had appeared.”Go away!” she’d ordered him grumpily. “I need to concentrate.”

“Aw, Martha,” he’d said and smiled at her, “don’t worry about it. Just relax. You’re the star of that team and now you're Captain. Give ‘em hell!” Then he’d kissed her and suddenly... whoosh... she was somewhere else.

Martha reached under her robes and was relieved to find she still had her wand. She looked around and was startled to see that although she was surrounded by Muggles, they all seemed to be wearing clothes that were similar to hers. Merlin! she thought. Have I gone back in time?

She turned to the woman next to her. “What’s going on? Why’s everyone here?”

The woman, who was wearing a rough sack-cloth pinafore and a white blouse, turned to her and said scornfully, “The Queen’s here. There’s trouble with the damned Spanish, again.”

“Which Queen?” Martha blurted out before she could stop herself. “Sorry, I’m not from here.”

“Huh! Scottish, are you?” replied the woman scornfully. “Good Queen Bess, that’s who I’m talking about.”

Martha wracked her brains and suddenly hit upon Queen Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen. There’d been a particularly nasty bout of witch burning under the reign of her sister Mary I, but under Queen Elizabeth this had ceased. Professor Binns used to speculate that perhaps the Virgin Queen was herself a witch. Martha edged closer to the front of the crowd. There was a procession approaching. Six men flanked a woman, with flaming red hair, who was riding a grey horse.

“Gods, Lily, her hair’s redder than yours!” murmured Martha.

The procession stopped near the water front and the crowd stopped talking. They turned their heads towards the Queen and she began to speak.

“My loving people, we have been persuaded by some that we are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes for fear of treachery; but, I do assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people.”

“Wow!” whispered Martha to her neighbour. “She’s good at speaking.”

“T’is rare we get to see her, let alone hear her,” the boy beside her whispered back, with a reproachful tone in his voice. Martha took the rebuke and kept silent.

“I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king—and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which, rather than any dishonour should grow by me, I myself will take up arms—I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarded of every one of your virtues in the field.”

A king, Martha thought. That’s what they think James is. How can I show them that I can be every good a Captain as James Potter?

In front of Queen Elizabeth stood a nobleman carrying a sword. Martha looked at him. He looked pompous -- wearing garters and pantaloons. She tried not to giggle. Then she looked at the young page boy behind the Queen. He was holding a cushion aloft, and on top of the cushion there was a silver helmet. Martha looked at it and the helmet glowed in response. She didn’t know why, but something screamed to her that she had to touch the helmet. As if in a dream, she walked forward and suddenly came face-to-face with the flame-haired Queen.

“You DARE approach her Majesty!” bellowed the man wearing pantaloons.

“I-I ‘m s-sorry, your Majesty,” stuttered Martha and she averted her eyes. “I-it’s the helmet. I-I...” She stopped and then looked directly at the Queen.

Martha gazed into the dark eyes of Good Queen Bess and saw the wisdom of ages enshrined there.

“Bring forth the helmet,” ordered Queen Elizabeth imperiously, and then she murmured something under her breath. “Portus!”

She is a witch! Martha thought.

The page boy stepped forward and at once the helmet began to glow. Martha reached out her hand; as soon as her fingertips touched it she was wrenched back to the twentieth century.

Martha strode purposefully into the dressing room. She looked at her team sitting there laughing and joking with James as the ringleader.

“I know,” she began, “that I have the body of a weak and feeble witch, but I have the stomach of a Captain and a Gryffindor Captain too.”

Carole
xxx

[luinrina]

After a longer break, we’re back for another Character Gymnasium. This round’s theme is

an embarrassing moment/situation at work

It’s the first day of your OC’s first ever work. And something truly embarrassing happens. What does happen? How does your OC react? What is the employer’s reaction? And what is the end result?

All MNFF standards apply. All entries must be in drabble forms and be 700 words or less. When rating your drabble, please keep it to 3rd-5th years and below.

When submitting, please fill out this form:

[b]Name:[/b]
[b]House:[/b]
[b]Original Character:[/b]
[b]Title:[/b]
[b]Ratings and Warnings:[/b]
[b]Word Count:[/b] 

The winner will get 10 points, the runner-up 5.

Please post your entries here by 11th May.

This thread is for submissions only. Please PM any questions to me.

Happy writing,
~Bine

[mzap]

Name: mzap
House: Hufflepuff!
Original Character: Bernadette Mattermorth (with a little of Rolf Ashton)
Title: "O Hamlet, Hamlet! Wherefore art thou Macbeth?"
Ratings and Warnings: 1st-2nd years; none
Word Count: 679
Author's Note: Bernadette is nineteen in this piece. She is an OC from Seeking a Reason. The quotes used from Shakespeare are from the following works: Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, and Henry V. I own none of it.

Bernadette trembled as she stood with her fellow actors on the stage. It was not her first time acting, but it would be the first time she would be under the guidance of both the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts and the nearby Muggle academy. The WADA students had been instructed to obey the Muggle director during the course of the collaboration.

Bernadette nervously ran her hands through her hair, scanning the script in front of her, but not comprehending a single word. She heard murmurs from nearby students saying they wanted to be the lead as Romeo or Juliet. Bernadette swallowed. She wanted the part too, but doubted she would get it.

After a heavy sigh, she looked up from the papers to the other side of the stage, where the Muggle actors were. They looked anxious as well, as they made last minute checks of their script.

“Bernadette Mattermorth, will you please come center stage?” Bernadette looked to the front of the stage to see an obese man calling out her name. She made her way to center stage; he looked to his papers again. “I see you are planning to play Juliet. I’ll have you pair up with Rolf Ashton, who is auditioning for Romeo.”

Bernadette looked to where the Muggles were and saw a boy her age walk to her. He gave a weak smile and he looked to his lines. The director then told them to flip to Act II, Scene II and Rolf was to begin.

“She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air,” he voiced with mesmerizing elegance. Bernadette felt a little intimidated.

She blushed before saying, “To be, or not to be—that is the question: whether 'tis nobler—”

“Stop. Stop. Stop,” the director called as he glared at her. Bernadette stared at her script in horror, realizing that the words she had spoken were not from the script. He spoke again. “You do realize this is Romeo and Juliet, not Hamlet?”

“Y-y-y-yes, s-s-s-sir,” she stuttered, an action that she had not anticipated. She blushed crimson and turned to her opposite actor. “I-I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry.” He gave a weak smile and Bernadette was commanded to try again. “Is this a dagger which I see before me—”

“Stop!” the director shouted, looking furious. “Macbeth, now? What are you trying to do? Make a fool out of us?”

“N-n-n-n-no, s-s-s-sir. I-I-I-I d-d-d-don’t u-u-u-unders-s-s-s-tand w-w-w-what i-i-is h-h-h-h-happen-n-n-ning,” she stuttered again. Bernadette gaped. She must have been cursed! Yes, that had to be it! Someone had tried to sabotage her audition by casting a curse that would make her say different lines and stutter. Deciding to give a signal to her fellow actors from WADA, she said, “You have witchcraft in your lips.” She clasped a hand to her mouth, realizing that she had again quoted Shakespeare instead of saying what was on her mind.

The director now looked livid. “Get out. I refuse for this play to be ridiculed by a teenager.”

Seconds later, one of Bernadette’s WADA teachers came up from behind, telling the director, “There has to be some mistake. I’m sure Bernadette didn’t mean to say those lines.” At the same time he was saying this, Bernadette felt a wand pointed at her back and she felt the curse being lifted.

“Whether or not she intended to is not my concern. She is making a mockery—”

“Give her another chance,” her teacher pleaded. Bernadette turned to look at him before turning back to Rolf, who gave a very weak smile before watching the men argue. “I know Bernadette is nothing like this. She cares far too much about the dramatic arts.”

The director gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Begin again.” The men left and Bernadette said,

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

- Mercy

[Tim the Enchanter]

Name: Tim the Enchanter
House: Ravenclaw
Original Character: Dieter Heydrich
Title: Blue Banana
Ratings and Warnings: mild profanity in English and other languages
Word Count: 699

Notes: The following drabble is NOT Dieter-canon, since I have not planned anything for his life beyond his seventh year at Durmstrang. You'll notice that his job isn't even specified. Anyway, here's my incredibly uninspired drabble!

Blue Banana

There was a knock on the door.

The man sitting on the miserable bed stood up with a start. He wore an old but well-kept suit, and sported round spectacles and a receding hairline.

“Hello?” he said, quavering slightly.

“Herr Eichmann?” a voice answered from the other side of the door. “Is that you?”

He froze. Eichmann. Not 'Eckmann.' They had discovered his true identity and they had come for him…

“Adolf Eichmann?” the voice repeated with more force, having not received an answer.

The capsule was in his fingers, and all he had to do was put it in his mouth. Before he could commit the deed, the locked door inexplicably opened and a figure walked inside.

“Don’t do that, Obersturmbannführer. I’m here to help you get out of Germany.”

Eichmann turned to face the stranger. He was young, probably around twenty years old; tall, blond, and with a square jaw. He wore a long, black travelling cloak, and he quickly tucked what looked like a smooth stick into his pockets. The stranger then proved himself to be friendly by putting his arm out straight in salute. “Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler… and may God rest his soul,” Eichmann responded, also with a salute. “Now, who are you?”

“You can call me ‘Dietrich.’ Anyway, I have false passports, documents, foreign currency…” The young man unloaded the contents of many pockets, and spent several minutes explaining the arrangements.

“This is all so… sudden, but thank you, Dietrich.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll be back in the evening with transport to get you out of here. So just stay here for the day, and I’ll be back at nineteen o’clock with the Portkey.”

‘Dietrich’ left quickly, leaving Eichmann alone in the room.

“Portkey…?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Heydrich! You’re five minutes late!”

“Sorry, Herr Steiger,” Dieter said out loud, while his brain was swearing profusely for his folly. Great job, idiot. Late on your first day!

He hurried to his cubicle and immediately got to work with some thoroughly boring paperwork. After an hour of writing, Dieter took some furtive glances at his surroundings. Nobody was watching.

He placed the banana he had bought at Solidaritäts Platz (formerly Gellert Grindelwald Platz) atop his desk, and pointed his wand at it.

Concentrate… concentrate…

He thought of a destination. He thought of a time. He said, “Portu–”

“HEYDRICH!”

Dieter jumped.

“You’re needed in Dortmund, so go assist Faust and Weber! And… WHY IS THAT BANANA BLUE?”

Dieter stuttered. “I-I don’t know, Herr Steiger. It’s probably nothing–”

“Good! Now get out of here!”

“Of course. Right away!”

Dieter got out of his chair and made a hasty retreat to the Floo. Once gone, Herr Steiger scrutinised the odd, glowing blue banana.

Then he touched it.

“WHOA!”

After a harrowing journey through a whirlwind of sound and colour, Steiger landed painfully on the ground. He groaned and got up. Where am I?

In a daze, he wandered into the middle of a street, but then he was almost struck by a charging large wheeled metal box with a man in it. “¡Boludo!”

Steiger made it to safety on the other side of the street. “¿Empanadas?” a vendor asked.

“Errr…” Steiger realised he was still holding the banana, but it had reverted to its normal colour. He was not prepared for the next person to demand his attention.

“¡MI AERODESLIZADOR ESTÁ LLENO DE ANGUILAS!” the mad Muggle said, waving a long, thin fish in Steiger’s face.

He fled for his life. “AAAHHH! Mad Muggles everywhere!”

“¿Muggles…?”

“No sé.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please don’t let him touch that banana… please don’t let him touch that banana…

Those cheerful thoughts preoccupied Dieter’s mind the whole time he was in Dortmund. He had been interrupted while making the Portkey, and didn’t want to know what would happen if it was activated prematurely, especially by his boss.

But sure enough, Dieter entered the Department through the Floo, dusted himself off, and found himself face to face with a sweaty, dishevelled Herr Steiger.

“There you are, Heydrich! How the hell did this banana of yours send me to ARGENTINA? Explain yourself!”

The entire staff was staring at him. Despondently, Dieter checked his watch: nineteen o’clock.

“Ah, Scheiße…”

Remember kids, smuggling ex-Nazis can get you in trouble with your boss!

Anyway, the story takes place somewhere around 1947-1948, shortly after the war. And let's just say that bananas are easier to obtain for wizards than Muggles at the time, because they were pretty expensive back then.

But I digress. From the books I've read and the people I've interviewed, most Germans immediately after the end of the war did not feel at all sorry about their Nazi past - twelve years of racial ideology did not just disappear immediately. One reason why denazification was so unsuccessful was that many Germans were unwilling to testify against their peers (and face retaliatory ostracism), and many anti-Nazi trials just died due to insufficient evidence. Thus, I believe Dieter helping former Nazis escape to Argentina is quite a plausible scenario.

Tim the Enchanter

[Miss K]

Well, I've got to work on this OC at some point (odds are they will be in my next story...depending on which bunny my partner and I decide to pick for the Inter-House challenge). Now seems like a good time to start since I can't seem to fall asleep...

Name: Miss K
House: Gryffindor
Original Character: Jack Ackerley
Title: A New Era
Ratings and Warnings: 3rd-5th Years, Implied Character Death, Sexual Content,and (mild) Substance Abuse
Word Count: 696

It was a beautiful morning--birds were singing and the sun was shining.

Jack Ackerley cracked open a eye and winced at the golden glow that was seeping through the rust-colored sheets he had pulled over his head. Maybe he had gone overboard in the celebrations last night. But after that harrowing election, didn't he deserve a day off? His buddies wouldn't begrudge him a break.

You're not one of the boys anymore, Jack. If you go in late, you'll have created anarchy to Scrimgeour's dictatorship--not an improvement. You promised change.

Stifling a groan, Jack rolled out of bed, kneeling next to the mattress and pressing his forehead against the sheets for a brief moment to shut out the unmerciful sun.

He walked shakily to the bathroom and stared bleary-eyed at the contents of his medicine cabinet. The lettering on the bottles' labels was blurry. Jack gave up on finding a hangover remedy, shut the cabinet and stared at its mirrored front.

He looked terrible.

A quick glance at the clock told him there was no time for a shower. Wincing as the rough scrape of a Scourgify peeled all the grime off his skin, he shrugged on a set of robes and walked to the fireplace across from his rumpled bed.

He stepped into the flames and struggled not to vomit as the Atrium spun into view. Moving quickly to Level Two, his head pounding with every brisk step, Jack nodded and smiled at the people he had never seen before, people who obviously knew that a new Head Auror had been elected.

The obvious currying of favor made his stomach curdle. He had known this would happen, had gotten a taste of the gossip and the political games during the campaign. But he needed this title to enact change in the department, and he would have to grin and bear the politicking. It would be worth it if he could make Aurors less overworked.

If Scrimgeour hadn't put you on a double night shift, you would have been alert. You could have saved them.

Now was not the time to remember. Now was the time to focus on changing what he could.

He walked to the heavy oak door he had passed each day before this, each day for seven years. Today, he stopped. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open.

Mark was slouched in the leather chair behind the desk.

"Get the hell out of my chair, Eatherton," Jack said tiredly.

"I worked harder than you did for this office. I deserve this chair," Mark quipped with a smirk. "Next thing I know, you'll be ordering us to stand rank and file like Scrimgeour did."

Jack chuckled in spite of his better judgment. His eyes felt as though they would rattle right out of their sockets.

"Say, Jack, you know you're wearing fuschia robes? I can't believe no one else mentioned it to you as you came in this morning, must be the new Head Auror badge you're not wearing...Last I recall you wearing those was Halloween six years ago."

As Jack looked down to verify that his robes were, in fact, fuschia, the bright shade threatened to drown him in memories. Rose perched on his shoulders, giggling. Eileen pressed her hands against his shoulders to smooth the creases in the fabric--he kissed her.

"The hot pink words on the back are a nice touch--should I call you 'Mark Bendover,' I wonder? Maybe I should just say 'Mr. Pimp Extraordinaire.'" Mark commented wryly.

Jack shook his head abruptly. Now is not the time. Fighting hands that wanted to tear off the robes and fling them out the window, he stood still for a moment.

"I'll just go home and change," he commented woodenly.

Mark's grin had long since disappeared. Frowning, he watched his friend rush out of the office. Sighing to himself, Mark stepped into the office's fireplace and called out Jack's address.

He doubted Jack would confide in him. But maybe his being there would help his best friend. After all, there was no one else left.

[minnabird]

Name: Minna[bird]
House: Hufflepuff
Original Character: Iona Campion
Title: Fennel and Anise
Ratings and Warnings: 1st - 2nd years, no warnings really
Word Count: 531 (I thought it was limited to 500, and cut it down to 499, but I am glad I can post the full version here.)

Iona had managed to keep a calm and cool exterior throughout the question part of the interview, despite the fact that her nerves were wound as tight as piano wire. She really wanted a job as a potion researcher, and it just so happened that there was a private firm offering spots on its research team to deserving individuals. It was the chance of a lifetime.

But now she was falling to pieces. She’d learned this potion in sixth year, for God’s sake, and it was turning pink. Pink! She knew every part of its procedure by heart. She ought not to have messed it up. And she ought to know how to fix it. She knew her potions, blast it, and this shouldn’t be happening. She added a dash of newts’ eyes, hoping it was just a lack of these that was causing the pink, even though it wasn’t the right shade.

WHOOSH!

A cloud of sulfurous yellow vapor roiled out of the cauldron in an audible rush of steam. Iona’s eyes watered as she held her breath and dashed for the door. She wrenched it open, sucked in a breath and cast a quick Venting Charm. The steam cleared and she saw the interviewer sitting peacefully on the floor, twiddling his thumbs and looking bemused.

“Sir?” she asked.

“What a fine lady beloved yellow potion.”

“Excuse me?” Iona said, sincerely hoping he was faking to see how she would handle it.

A brisk lady came bustling along the corridor. “Is everything all right, Mr. Grayson?”

“My good woman, all the wonderful. All this positive closed,” he said happily, staring at a spot on the ceiling and grinning rather foolishly.

The lady helped Mr. Grayson to his feet and said, “I think we ought to take him to St. Mungo’s. Just what did you do, young lady?”

Iona walked to the center of the room, staring at her workspace. “I don’t…wait a second.” She squinted at the surface of the table. “Fennel,” she whispered, aghast. “I didn’t put anise in, I put fennel!”

“Why would you do that?” asked the lady scornfully as she led Mr. Grayson to the door.

“Jackson—my brother—offered to fill the jars,” she said, her mind working quickly through things. “He must have filled them with Mum’s anise…which was actually fennel. I'm Muggleborn, you see, and Muggles package fennel as anise all the time. Tell them to use a Clarifying Solution—that’ll sort him.”

--

Iona sat on a hard wooden chair outside the Bibulus Hemlock Ward, her face buried in her hands. She was trying to keep herself from panicking over the possibilities of consequences.

“Miss Campion?” said a cool voice. “Mr. Grayson would like to see you.”

She went into the ward, clenching her hands to keep them from shaking.

“Hello, Miss Campion,” Mr. Grayson said pleasantly. “Ms. Blanchard has explained to me what happened while I was…incapacitated, and I must say I am impressed by how you handled the situation. In our work, we make a lot of mistakes. Being able to stay calm and use our heads to fix these mistakes is very important. Welcome to our staff, Miss Campion."

Notes: (Because I love explaining myself)
- Iona Campion is a major character in my WIP, Curiosity Killed the Cat.
- I invented the Venting Charm, but my inspiration was those air-sucking things you turn on in chemistry classrooms if there are bad fumes.
- Mr. Grayson's odd sentences were made my translating English > Spanish > Russian > English on Google translater. Blame the folks at The Writer's Guild for that plotbunny. They started as "What a nice yellow, my dear potion lady," and "My fine woman, everything is splendid. It's positively coming up roses." (The roses bit was added in so it would sound sillier).
- Mr. Grayson's name is a nod to Iona's friend Pan, whose surname was Grayson before I changed it to Laird.
- Muggles really do package fennel as anise; they're apparently very similar for culinary purposes. I stole this mixup from a story that I started to write but will never finish because it (the mixup) was too good to consign to the Recycle Bin.
- I have no idea if a Clarifying Solution would really help him, but let's just say it does.
- The Bibulus Hemlock Ward was my not-so-subtle attempt at naming the ward cleverly. Bibulus = drinking, hemlock = poison...so potion poisoning. >.>
And I'll stop boring you now.

[Russia Snow]

Right, here we go, Gosh I hate word limits! I actually think it took me longer to get it to 700 words exactly that it did to write it in the first place! Well, you know what happens when my creative juices get flowing :P Anyways here we go:

Name: Russia Snow
House: Gryffindor
Original Character: Marla Rainsworth
Title: The Nightmare
Ratings and Warnings: 1st-2nd years no warnings
Word Count: 700 (see I told you I got it exactly!)

Marla Rainsworth’s eyes snapped open. She was late, she knew it, she jumped out of bed and grabbed some clothes. Running full pelt down the stairs, she burst into the kitchen, then realised she had left her handbag upstairs. She reached for her wand, but it wasn’t there. Cursing under her breath, Marla searched her kitchen until at last she found it. She summoned her bag and dashed out of the door.

Finally Marla reached the shiny red door that lead into her new office. Bursting through it she proceeded up the stairs and into a large white walled room. There were about ten desks in the room, each covered in piles of white parchment, and with a large plastic screen at one end. “How strange,” Marla thought to herself, “I wonder what those screens are for?” Suddenly a door at the end of the room burst open, Marla span round to see four men and six women entering the room, they all stopped at the sight of her. A large man wearing glasses and a strange assortment of clothes began to walk towards her “Can I help you?” He asked in a low, voice “Erm...yes” began Marla, confused momentarily by the mans clothing. “I’m your new secretary. I’m very sorry I’m late, but I accidently overslept and I left my handbag upstairs and had to summon it, only I couldn’t find my wand…” She trailed off at the look of bewilderment on the mans face. Then one of the women stepped forward, she had dyed blonde hair and was wearing far too much make-up “If you don’t mind” she said in an annoying voice “I’m Mr Griffy’s secretary, so you, crazy wand lady, can just go home!”
“Now, Veronica, I think our friend here must have had a hit on the head. Would you like to sit down?” Marla didn’t like the tone of voice he used, she was confused “No, thanks I am fine, I haven’t hit my head. This is my first day of work.” Marla said uncertainly “I applied for this job months ago, you sent me an owl two weeks ago requesting that I start today at 7.15am and I know I’m a bit late, but please give me a chance!”
“I really think you ought to go home, all this nonsense about owls and wands…”
“No! Marla interrupted him, she tried to take a step forward, but at the same time, Mr Griffy also moved. Marla crashed into him, and sent his glasses flying, they smashed to the floor “Now look what you’ve done!” he cried “No, I’m so sorry! Here I’ll fix them,” she bent to pick the glasses from the floor and retrieved her wand from inside her bag “Reparo” she said and red sparks shot from the end of her wand. Veronica screamed “What’s wrong!?” Marla cried, now utterly bewildered. There was another cry and Marla saw that, at the use of the spell, Veronica had stepped back, right onto one of the other women’s feet, the woman’s toe was bleeding “Oh gosh! Here I can help!” Marla began to advance on the women but they shrieked and ran in all directions “Witch!!” screeched Veronica “Witch!!” Marla was terrified. There were several loud popping noises from behind her, she turned, to see ten ministry officials appear, and only just ducked in time to avoid their stunning spells. The room suddenly went silent “What the hell are you doing?!” shouted one of the Ministry men “I...I…” Marla was shaking “What were you doing in a muggle office casting spells? Are you an idiot!?” “M…muggle?” Questioned Marla “Yes! Where did you think you were?”
“I thought I was at Nimbus enterprises. I’m Mr. Broome’s new secretary” The man softened a little “That’s next door love, this is Nanbus enterprises. They make muggle chairs” Marla’s face went bright red.

One of the Ministry men escorted Marla to her actual place of work, and explained why she had been so late. Marla felt so embarrassed she couldn’t even look her new employer in the face. Luckily he was a kind hearted man, and she got to keep her job.
But Marla would never oversleep again.

I dont like the ending, but I couldnt fit anything else in!

Russia xxxxx