Snapshot 1: Freedom

Colin's fingers drummed on the camera that hung from a strap about his neck in excited anticipation. In just a few moments, the entire population of Hogwarts school would storm through the doors to the Great Hall in all their splendid and often ridiculous regalia, to celebrate the second Yule Ball in the school's history.

Professor Flitwick and Hagrid were adding the finishing touches to the Hall's decoration, and said touches were apparently generating a heated discussion. Colin snapped his camera idly at the Santa's-head lanterns overheard and at the Thaums' roadie setting up instruments on the impromptu stage, trying to eavesdrop without being caught and sent away.

He didn't have a date, but that was all right—he had his camera.

'I jus' don't know,' Hagrid was saying. 'They've got a whole lot o' magic piled in the pumpkins already, Professor; I don't think they'd be able to hold...'

'Nonsense, nonsense, man. Look, it's only a small charm. It can't possibly do any harm, and the children would be so happy—'

'All right, but if there're fireworks—'

Flitwick stamped his pointed shoe. 'That's the point, Hagrid! On the stroke of midnight—bang! Boom! Kapow!'

'I said all right! But I'm not cleaning the mess up.' The half-giant strode away to help the roadie with a massive drum kit, muttering under his breath.

'Right,' Flitwick said, positioning himself beneath the central lantern. Colin edged closer as the Charms professor raised his wand, and lifted his camera to capture the moment, whatever it may be. 'Anima media nox—incendio!'

A stream of blue bubbles, each holding a tiny red flame, spurted from the tip of Flitwick's wand and shot towards the lantern with a mean-edged speed that bubbles really oughtn't have. They passed through the left carved eye-slot, and there was series of ringing thuds as they impacted with the glass of the lantern inside—and shot back out through a hole in St Nicholas's red cap. Flitwick and Colin looked on in dismay as the spell ricocheted off the enchanted ceiling and headed back downwards, making a beeline for Colin. With a terrified squeak, he raised his hands—still holding the camera—to fend off the aggressive stream.

The bubbles thudded against the camera's casing, and...stopped. Or rather, they floated around the device as though unsure of what to do next, knocking against one another. Slowly, one melted into another, which melted into the next, and so on, until a single enormous bubble had formed around the camera. The membrane, whatever it was made of, felt sticky around Colin's hands. Then, with a schloop, it imploded into the camera.

It began to jiggle in Colin's hands, and he dropped it, trembling himself. The camera bounced against his chest for a second, then began to climb up him. No, that was wrong. The strap about Colin's neck was shrinking, and he began to cough and gargle as he fought to pull the thing off him. He tried to ignore the squeaky swearwords ringing in his ears—who were they coming from anyway? He wasn't speaking and neither was Flitwick; the poor little man was staring open-mouthed at Colin—and the pressure on his shoulders and ears, which felt suspiciously like tiny hands and feet fighting against him. The strap was twisted, tight, but he managed to edge it over his chin—his nose—with a snap it fell away, and Colin was free. Likewise the camera; it tumbled to the floor at his feet.

The swearing stopped. Colin breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, the camera seemed to unfold from the heap it had collapsed into. Two long, gangly arms and legs appeared, and it seemed to be wearing a top hat above the button. The strap had become a pair of suspenders holding up a pair of blue shorts.

'This is impossible...' Colin murmured weakly. The Camera turned to face him and the shutter clicked open.

'What's impossible? Me? Don't see what's so impossible about it. You do magic everyday, turn one thing into another and basically screw around with the laws of physics and whatnot, so why can't I gain a proper life? About time, too. I am so sick of being dragged around by you! Let's take a picture of that tree! CLICK! Let's take a picture of that table; it's got an interesting hole in it! CLICK! Look there's Mr. Famous Harry Potter himself! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! Why not take pictures of the food or some empty classrooms while you're at it? Why can't you do something interesting? You could get Ginny to pose in a sexy little satin number or take a picture of that Slytherin blonde guy who everyone thinks is sexy but never says anything because he's a damn prick! But no, we have to take pictures of normal things! You...you mediocre excuse for a wizard!'

Professor Flitwick sat down on the floor, staring. 'Oh dear.'

The doors of the Great Hall burst open. The school populace came pouring in, chattering and giggling. The Camera turned to face the gaggle, the equivalent of an evil grin gracing its shutter for a moment. Colin looked absolutely mortified.

—CLICK!—