So our celebratory week(s) is in full swing, and like all of you I'm sure I'm looking forward both to participating and seeing what others produce.

Though I'm feeling a bit of the commitment-phobe and haven't *officially* signed up for anything, I plan on writing some fic. Eventually.
Of course, part of this is deciding what I want to write, since I've been thinking about it and started coming up with a lot of ideas, and some of them I know I just couldn't possibly finish!

So, since I wanted to do a little something special to help kick off the festivities, I decided to give you guys this, a little exclusive just for our wonderful D/D comm. Kind of silly, a bit pointless, but I hope you all get something of a kick out of it none the less -


Three Alternate Universe Tales I Will Not Be Writing

(Except For How Obviously I Did, At Least A Little)


Job Security
Dominic, DeWitt, Topher, 348 words, pg-13
“As ever, I must express my gratitude for your efforts demonstrated in this report, Mr. Dominic.”

Ms. DeWitt beamed at him graciously from behind her desk.

“I daresay this House would not be able to function half so efficiently without you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he returned. “I like to think I’m just doing my job.”

She nodded, still smiling faintly. “Well, I’ll just leave you to it, then.”

He nodded back in acknowledgement of the dismissal, and then turned to take the elevator down to the Dollhouse’s underground facility.

His lingering good mood faded as he stepped out and noticed Topher in the imprint lab, holding a wedge up as he examined it.

He stormed over. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“Oh, hey, Dominic! I was just-”

He didn’t give the other man a chance to explain; he snatched the wedge out of his hand.

“Can’t you see I’m working?” Angrily he gestured at the nearby desk, indicating the objects spread across it. “You can’t just come in here and start poking through things when I’m not around!”

“Sorry,” Topher overemphasized, eyes rolling. “I didn’t think I could hurt anything just by looking at it.”

“Well, obviously you could.” He snorted and gave a condescending sneer. “Don’t you have a Lamaze breathing class to teach the Actives or something?”

“Tai Chi,” Topher muttered, defensive. “It’s called Tai Chi.”

“Whatever. Why don’t you go do it, and get out?” He punctuated this last point by grabbing hold of Topher and roughly shoving him through the door.

The slighter man took the hint – once on the walkway he headed quickly in the other direction, giving a single cursory withering glare over his shoulder.

He took no notice of Topher, however, having already turned his back and returned to his equipment.

Giving a short impatient sigh, he brushed some invisible lint off his black turtleneck and straightened his glasses. Then he sat down at his desk, brought up the program on his computer and started clicking.

He had a lot of imprints to build today. Best get started.

Intra-House Relations
Dominic, DeWitt, Topher, Caroline, 794 words, pg-13
He was in the midst of passing back essays – he’d paused to sternly eviscerate one particularly unfortunate subject as he brandished her heavily red-inked parchment before her, practically reducing the girl to tears; not that that was his fault, a fifth year should know how to spell “grindylow” by now, for god’s sake – when it happened.

There was a loud bang, the whizzing and crackling inherent to magical fireworks. He jumped, then whirled around, finding himself facing air full of spinning rosettes and dancing stick figures in the midst of an explosive, sparkling display. In their seats the students quickly overcame their surprise, bursting into delighted laughter and applause.

He watched the airborne spectacle with a sour look.

“Very funny,” he barked, his voice quickly causing the smiles to drop and laughter to silence.

With an aggressive wave of his wand he dissipated the annoying display – the students struggled to repress their sounds of disappointment.

Eyes raking across the tabletops, he spotted one boy trying to furtively stuff firecracker wrappers inside his satchel.

“Brink. Why am I not surprised?” he snapped, causing the student to look up, nervously wide-eyed. “On your feet.”

The boy in question gulped, but hauled himself up, fidgeting slightly as he stood behind his desk at attention.

“Yes, Professor?”

“And I suppose you have a brilliant excuse,” he began sarcastically, “some incredibly reasonable explanation for how setting off fireworks in the middle of a lesson would be considered acceptable behavior?”

“Um…” Topher Brink paused. He shrugged. “Boredom?”

His classmates failed to fully stifle their giggles.

He drew a breath, feeling his shoulders hunch and his face darken with rage.

“Maybe if you put half the effort you did into your homework as you did into being a smartass, I’d be more inclined to believe you’re the genius you so often claim to be,” he growled. “Seventy-five points from Ravenclaw.”

The room filled with groans; the class had already had plenty of points deducted for various reasons by him already.

They were still grumbling among themselves as they gathered their Defense Against the Dark Arts texts and filed out the door. He watched them go with his arms folded across his chest.

“Think he just wants to get Professor DeWitt even madder at him,” he overheard one of the students mutter.

He grimaced as he considered it.

It was a bad week for House relations. Tensions had been running high ever since the Slytherin-Ravenclaw Quidditch match. (Slytherin had lost by fifty points because – what the hell, Hooch? Way to show blatant favoritism there.)

Ever since, he’d noted his Ravenclaw students going out of the way to cause trouble in his classroom. He wasn’t even Head for his former House but, well, some loyalties ran deep. The abysmal match had made him just as grumpy as everyone else.

Of course, it probably only came off like he was being the unreasonable one, taking his temper out on Ravenclaws. Just what he needed, because that wasn’t going to make Adelle DeWitt, the Head of Ravenclaw, like him any more than she did already.

It was no secret the formidable Transfiguration teacher was hoping to take over after the current Headmaster, who was growing more senile by the day, so it would benefit him to be on her good side.

So far, though, on that account he’d had little luck.

His thoughts were interrupted as for the second time that day he heard a magical explosion – this time from out in the corridor.

He hurried toward the source of the commotion. By the time he arrived, he found a pile-up of third years: Gryffindors and Ravenclaws facing off, with Slytherins and Hufflepuffs cheering on from the sidelines. Cursing, he drew his wand and prepared to enter the fray.

“What is going on here?”

The sound of DeWitt’s voice rang loudly in the corridor, her steps echoing imperiously as she strode forward, black robes swishing at her feet. He found himself frozen, watching, along with the rest.

When no one answered, DeWitt began staring into faces in the crowd. “Well?” she demanded.

One dark-haired girl met her eyes defiantly. “Just a little harmless fun, Professor.”

DeWitt met her with a frown of icy disapproval.

“You should know better, Miss Farrell,” she stated. “Sixty points from Gryffindor. Now all of you, get to where you belong.”

She started to move off, her eyes glancing across him standing there. “Professor Dominic,” she greeted.

“Professor DeWitt,” he returned, aiming for cordiality.

But with a brief impersonal nod she walked right by him, radiating an aura of downright chilly aloofness.

In her wake, he let out a weary sigh.

He didn’t know why he’d bothered wondering if she’d known about the points he’d deducted earlier. Of course she did.

Whiskers
Dominic, DeWitt, 586 words, pg-13
Laurence let the front door to his apartment fall closed heavily, tossed his keys onto the nearby counter, and started shrugging out of his coat with a sigh.

Long day at work, and they’d only be getting longer. The Agency had just completed the tail-end of a massive undercover sting – which meant he had debriefing and reams of paperwork to look forward to.

He hung up his coat and loosened his tie with a weary grimace.

There was a meow from the sofa. His cat leapt down and walked past his feet, the soft fur of her tail swishing as she brushed it against him.

“Hey there, girl.” He smiled. “Let me guess: you’re hungry.”

He mashed up the wet food in her dish with a fork and carried it over to the coffee table, setting it down in front of him as he sank back into the couch.

The cat quickly leapt up to examine her dinner. She gave it a sniff before settling in to take dainty bites.

Laurence chuckled. “You are such a snob,” he said fondly, stroking her back. She purred with approval, rubbing against his hand.

Leaving her to finish eating, he got up and went to his computer - where he sent an email to his brother telling him he was going to have to cancel on the blind date he’d set him up with, again.

Fact was that his work didn’t leave much time for a social life. Or any life at all, really.

Laurence firmly reminded himself that he was not lonely. He liked his job. He was good at it. He worked hard and felt the reward of knowing it.

So what if there were things he was missing out on? Big deal. Not everyone needed everything.

Resting his chin in his hands, he could feel his eyelids start to droop.

He decided to shut his eyes for just a moment.

But when he opened them again, he wasn’t sitting in his computer chair.

He was on the sofa, stretched out flat on his back with no memory of how he’d gotten there. Everything seemed hazy, sluggish. He felt unusually warm.

The most disconcerting part however, was the strange naked woman that was straddling him.

He began, alarmed, “What in the-”

“Shhh,” she stopped him with a serene and confident smile.

Stroking her hands along his chest, her nails digging in just slightly, she arched her back, allowing him a better view. He stared up at the smooth pale perfection of her body, the dark tresses that framed her shoulders in waves, all his words caught in his throat.

“Look at me,” she commanded, and he did. Her eyes were drowning pools of emerald. He couldn’t break her gaze if he tried. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“I…”

She started rocking her hips, grinding against him.

“Oh god,” he groaned, body instantly reacting.

“This is what you want,” she repeated, breathy. She leaned forward, lips parted inches from his face, the warmth from her mouth falling across his skin. “Master.”

Laurence jerked awake at his computer with a startled sound.

He sat there in complete bewilderment, blinking rapidly as he tried to get his bearings.

What the hell was that? Where had that dream come from?

There was a loud meow.

Turning his head he found the cat curled up on one end of the sofa cushions, watching him. He stared at her, bemused.

“Adelle?”

She gazed back at him steadily. Her green eyes sparkled.