Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Danny Phantom. Bobstin is of my own creation.
Bobstin Turling was not an unusual wizard. He graduated from Hogwarts with a well-rounded mixture of Es and Os, he had a few close friends who would drop by whenever they wanted to chat, and he recently retired from his position as Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. All in all, Bobstin was a very sensible, if not flappable, man. He never found himself on the wrong side of the law. On more than one occasion, people have even seen him chatting merrily with house elves.
His hobbies, however, tended to raise a few eyebrows. Bobstin was an avid collector of muggle photographs. Days on end, the man would spend hours brewing and rebrewing the simple potion required to infuse regular photos with enough magic to make them move. He had hundreds hanging up in his home—countless more were stacked on chairs and shoved in overflowing filing cabinets. Dozens of black and white photographs littered the floor, a thicker layer than the carpet beneath, its color long since forgotten by Bobstin—he considered his collection much more important.
His favorite part, the man had to admit, was watching the photographs' subjects come alive for the first time. Reactions were extremely varied. Sometimes the muggles wouldn't react at all, waving or laughing just as they were when the photo had been taken. Other times, Bobstin's photographed subjects seemed aware of the strangeness of their situation, literally breaking the fourth wall as they discovered they could move because of magic. Photos with people of the latter ilk tended to be less accurate in their portrayal—instead of shaking hands or holding up some important object for the photographer to view, most subjects regarded him with anger or fear. Some tried to bang their fists against the invisible wall separating them from his world; others, upon seeing the few wizarding photographs and paintings Bobstin owned move into each other's frames, attempted to copy the wizarding photographs' actions, only to bang their heads against their paper's edge. It took sone getting used to; sometimes the photo's occupants remained rebellious, hiding behind their backgrounds or refusing to stop screaming at him (even though they were virtually silent). Others would grow somewhat mellow, casting horrified glances at their fellows who never seemed perturbed in the first place. A few sometimes decided to accept their situation and move on, waving or smiling at the camera just like their oblivious counterparts, though with a more aware glint in their greyed-out eyes.
Yes, it was a very entertaining hobby. Over the years Bobstin managed to collect all sorts of photos, everything from sporting events to yearbooks to newspapers to historical photographs. For some reason, though, the potion required to bring his photos to life never worked on color photographs. Bobstin suspected the potion itself to be at fault, and when he was not at work or jovially catching up with old friends, he was tinkering with the recipe, testing photo after photo in between black and white sessions. It was his dream to be the first wizard to successfully animate a colored photo—he would be a legend in the wizarding world to introduce color photography to his counterparts!
Currently, Bobstin was developing more photos. He had taken the liberty of buying several dozen from a muggle store just down the street (their money wasn't so hard to decipher). Now with his hands busy with routine engraved into his movements for years, Bobstin let his thoughts mull over possible ingredients he could alter for the potion. It was invented while wizards and muggles alike still had black and white photographs. All potions were created with exact perimeters—he just needed to figure out which ones were limiting the potion to only black and white photos. It was wonderfully confusing and complex, and it kept his mind sharp as his hands worked monotonously with the photos. Only when he finished developing them did Bobstin take a good look at their occupants, allowing his interest to translate onto his newest additions to his collection. The magazine he bought earlier this morning was some sort of historical summary, the pages half-filled with blocks of text he didn't bother to read. Muggle history wasn't too interesting to him. Bobstin was far more captivated by the photos, watching their occupants stretch and yawn as though waking from a deep slumber. Which, in a way, they were.
His eyes drifted over an image of a man in a puffy white suit, who was slowly climbing down a ladder onto what looked like a white desert. Flipping to the next photo, he observed a darker man whose face filled the image. He was speaking to a large assemblage with passion, his eyes fixed forward as he pumped his fist into the air, his other hand tightly gripping the podium he stood at. The next photo featured a small man with a tiny mustache and slanted haircut who looked at Bobstin suspiciously. All around him were men with their right arms raised, stiff and respectful. Ignoring the next one, which only showed a large oval ballon of some sort that appeared to be on fire, Bobstin shuffled to the next to last photo, taking notice of two men standing side by side with exhausted, but triumphant looks on their faces. Behind them was a large metal object with long, thin arms covered in cloth, and a spinning metal pinwheel on the front of the metal object. Bobstin was about to put his newest photos away when he paused, looking closer at the last image in interest. A third figure was suddenly visible standing behind the two men. Bobstin's eyes widened. The figure had a pale face and hair, and his clothes were very strange considering the two men he was behind. They way the men were acting, they didn't even realize the figure was there. Bobstin watched, dumbfounded, as the figure looked directly into his eyes and cracked a mischievous grin. It lifted a pale finger to its mouth, eyes actually glowing, and suddenly vanished.
Bonstin was in shock. He dropped the other photos, tightly clutching this one as the young man appeared again as though out of nowhere, gave him a knowing grin, shushed him, and proceeded to vanish again. This happened several times in a loop before Bobstin realized how badly he was shaking. Still clutching the photo, he stumbled to his sitting room, fumbling for a parchment and quill.
The minister had to know about this.
If I ever decide to write a full-length crossover, this may become the prologue. Otherwise, I like it as a stand alone oneshot...thoughts? ^^