"A Bit o' Magic" (Argus Filch, Mrs. Norris)
Author: lash_larue
Prompt/Prompt Author: "The Caretaker and his cat have lived together for years, but now one or both of them are reaching their time." -- miss_morland
Title: A Bit o' Magic
Characters: Argus Filch, Mrs. Norris
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4750
Summary: See prompt.
Author's/Artist's Notes: I hope this works for you, miss_morland, I do think it avoids crack, at any rate. My thanks to T for rendering this at least legible.
"A Bit o’ Magic"
Argus Filch loved Christmas.
It was not so much the spirit of the season, nor the few gifts he exchanged. It was neither the feast nor the merriment that he relished. Nor was it the dinner invitations that some few of the staff were accustomed to giving him over the holiday, although he did enjoy the meals.
It was the absence of the students, the bulk of them any road, that made this time of year special to him. It was the blessed quiet of the castle, the opportunity to savour the snow for its beauty rather than curse its slushy death on the floors of Hogwarts where its interment fell to him and his mops, that brought the rusted remnants of a smile to his craggy face.
And so it was that he was out in the snow, breathing deeply of the crisp air untainted by the smell of cleaning solutions and enjoying bearing only the slight burden of his walking-stick when he heard a ruckus by the edge of the forest.
“Wild dogs, most like,” he muttered, but as they might pose a threat to the school’s livestock he headed towards the snarling and growling. If it was something beyond his powers he would at least be able to give a warning. Hogwarts was his home, and he was its caretaker and knew his duty.
He found two disreputable looking beasts worrying something on the ground near the base of a tree while a third scratched furiously at the tree’s roots. The animals were gaunt, and while he was not without sympathy for a creature in want (for he had known want himself) he felt an obligation to drive them away for they really were near the poultry pens.
“Away wi’ yer, yer mangy curs!” he roared, punctuating his command with a flung stone that bounced between them. The pair fled into the forest, taking the object of their dispute with them. The one by the tree stuck steadfastly to its excavations.
“Beat it, I said! Gerrof and begone!” It took a rather better placed stone and a sharp poke of his walking-stick to drive this one away. It did not occur to Filch that he was in danger from the beast; it was not over large after all, and he actually relished the feeling of giving free reign to his anger for a change.
After this troublemaker had been sorted, Filch knelt down to see what had occasioned such diligence on the part of the vanquished. There was a small hole under one of the larger roots, and after a moment he saw a faintly glowing pair of eyes.
“Yer can come out now, they’re gone,” he said to the eyes.
The eyes seemed to hold a different opinion on the matter, however, and withdrew as far as they could.
“I can’t say as I blame yer,” Filch told them, “yer’ve no cause ter trust me, ‘ave yer now? But yer can, I’d ‘arm no beast wi’out cause.” He backed up a bit and waited.
He did not really expect the creature that owned the faintly glowing eyes to come out, and when after a few moments it did not, he stood and bid it farewell.
“Best o’ luck to yer then,” he said, and he turned towards the pens to check on the poultry and to inform Hagrid of the visitors. He did however look back after a time, and see something small and grey emerging slowly from the hole.
“A kitten,” Filch muttered, “and minus a mum, I reckons, seeing all that blood an’ fur on the snow.” Without conscious thought, he turned back to the tree. He got close enough to see a bloody spot on the kitten’s leg before it saw him and scurried lamely back into the hole.
“Yer can’t leave the wee beastie all alone out ‘ere, Argus me lad, it bein’ Christmas an’ all,” he ordered himself.
Filch often talked to himself during his time alone, as he seldom had anyone else to converse with. One could not talk with students, one could only try and enforce the rules and point out the infractions and endure the taunts. There were some of the staff that he had a cordial relationship with, hence the seasonal dinners, but they had nothing in common beyond Hogwarts, and so conversational topics were somewhat limited.
In any event, he found himself a congenial partner for social intercourse, as he seldom disagreed with him.
So it was that he was soon stretched out on the ground and reaching into the hole beneath the tree root.
The kitten objected to this intrusion on its sanctuary, and while Filch’s hand was as tough and calloused as a man’s could be, it suffered a bit of damage before he could at last get a good, if mutual, grip on the kitten. The tiny thing had its teeth fastened in his thumb and its claws dug in wherever they could find purchase, whether skin or fabric.
“Yer a rum ‘un, I’ll give yer that,” Filch admitted through gritted teeth.
It hurt, but Filch was struck by the valor of the kitten, and, moved by its helpless loneliness, he was very gentle with it.
“Yer can let go now, lad. Ol’ Argus won’ ‘urt yer, an’ yer need a bit o ‘elp wi’ yer leg, yer see.” He slipped his hand, kitten and all, under his coat and set off for the castle, glad that Professor McGonagall had her usual company for the holiday.
In a few minutes he was knocking on the staff room door, and Professor McGonagall herself opened it.
“Happy Christmas, Mister Filch, and why is your jacket moving?” she greeted him.
“Beggin’ yer pardon professor, but does Professor Grubbly-Plank ‘appen ter be ‘ere? Only I’ve got a wee beast what needs a bit o’ care, yer see,” he asked uncertainly.
“Do come in, Mister Filch,” Grubbly-Plank called out, and McGonagall stepped aside so that he could. “What sort of beast is it?”
“It’s a kitten, mum, beggin’ yer pardon. I went ter drive some stray beasts away from the poultry an’ found ‘im ‘idin’ in an ‘ole. I’m afraid the beasts did fer ‘is mum.”
“Let’s see him then,” she said, and Filch withdrew his hand from his jacket.
The kitten was still firmly attached, although it had withdrawn its teeth. It regarded them all, wide-eyed and trembling.
“Cush now, little one,” Grubbly-Plank crooned in a high, soothing voice, “let me have a look at you, if you please.”
The kitten tightened its grip when she gently tried to take it from Filch.
“I suppose it will be best for you to come along with us then, Mister Filch. I’ll see what we can do for your young friend. I’ll be back as soon as we have the kitten sorted, Minerva. I trust you don’t mind?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.
“No, I don’t mind, I suppose it could be a relative,” McGonagall replied with a similar expression.
Grubbly-Plank led the way to the infirmary, and Filch sat in a chair by one of the beds with his adornment firmly in place.
“The wound on its leg doesn’t look serious, Mister Filch, I’ll just put a bit of ointment on it. I need to examine it more thoroughly, of course, but I don’t like scaring it more by forcing it to loose its grip. I could give it a bit of sleeping potion, but…” she hesitated.
“But what, professor?”
“It’s a bit risky, small as the kitten is, and it doesn’t seem to have been eating all that well,” she told him.
“Well ‘e’s got ter go ter sleep sometime, dunnee? I’ll jus’ ‘old on ter ‘im till ‘e does.”
“A bit of peace and quiet might be just what the poor thing needs, yes. I’ll check back in a bit, and you can push the call button if you need me before then. Can I get you anything?”
“A glass o’ water, if yer please, mum,” he replied, “an’ p’raps a towel er summat like.”
She fetched him a glass of water and a pitcher and placed it by him on a table, then handed him a towel. She also gently spread some ointment on the wound, as well as the scratches she could reach on Filch.
“Call if you need me, Mister Filch,” she said by way of parting.
Filch settled back in the chair, cradled hand and kitten against his chest and covered all with the towel. Through all of this the kitten had stared mutely, still quaking in fear, and Filch could feel the frantic flutter of its heart.
Slowly, the warmth and the fatigue began to overcome the terror, and the staring eyes would drift closed only to snap back open. Filch remained still, feeling the warmth of the tiny thing against his heart, and he thought back to when his mother had come to him in the night to comfort him when bad dreams troubled him.
“Hush-a-bye, don’ yer cry, go ter sleepy, little baby,” he sang softly in a tenor voice gone rusty from disuse,
“When yer wakes, yer shall ‘ave, all th’ pretty little ho- mousies. Black ‘uns an’ grey…”
Had he heard the singing, Flitwick would not have offered Filch a spot in the chorus. He would however have been moved by the tenderness of the rough man as he sang to the tiny kitten.
Perhaps it was this tenderness, or the warmth and secure hold, or the steady beating of Filch’s heart against its own, or perhaps it was simply exhaustion, but the staring yellow eyes closed, and the sharp little claws retracted, and the frantic heartbeat slowed, and the kitten slumped fluidly onto Filch’s chest.
He looked down at the sleeping creature, and a small smile softened the craggy face. Slowly, gently, he stroked the little head with a calloused finger and was rewarded with a soft purr.
This tableau was unchanged when Grubbly-Plank returned.
“Gone to sleep, has it then?” she whispered.
“Aye, ‘e’s all tuckered out, I imagine. Bit of a rough day for the littl’un,” Filch answered her.
“Quite. They sleep soundly at that age, I expect that we can take a better look now. I shall disturb it as little as possible. If you don’t mind serving as an examination table, that is, Mister Filch.”
“Carry on then, professor,” he replied, and Grubbly-Plank shifted the towel aside and gently flexed the legs and neck, her experienced fingers probing for any damage.
“Nothing broken, likely more shock and exhaustion than anything else that’s the problem. The cut is minor, that leg is a little swollen as well, but the ointment will take care of any infection so it should heal rapidly.”
“Tha’s good, ‘e’s a plucky lad, I’d ‘ate ter see ‘im crippled,” Filch allowed.
“The kitten will need a good bit of care for a while, though. Fortunately it’s old enough to wean, so there will be no need for a bottle as long as it will eat. I expect that its mother was already doing that. Have no fear, Mister Filch, I shall find a good home for the wee beastie,” she said kindly. He looked up at her sharply, his face closing down into its accustomed expression.
“No need. I’m caretaker ‘ere, I reckon I can take care of ‘im right enough. Part o’ my job, innit? I mean, ‘e’s sort of part of ‘Ogwarts in a way, innee?”
“I’m afraid you can’t take care of ‘him’, Mister Filch,” Grubbly-Plank informed him with a smile.
“An’ jus’ why is that?” he asked stiffly.
“Because the kitten is female. You have a little girl, Mister Filch.”
“Imagine that,” Filch said softly, and the smile crept back onto his face as he resumed stroking her.
“She’ll need a warm place where she can feel secure; I can give you some of the proper food for a kitten. No table scraps, mind, at least until she is grown up, and the less the better even then. No milk or cream, either, she’s not a calf; and she will need access to fresh water at all times. I assume that you will be keeping her in your rooms?”
“Aye, it’s quiet enough down there, and safe. I’ll fix up a basket fer ‘er ter sleep in,” he told her.
“It will be chill in the dungeons this time of year, if you like I can put a warming charm on some towels,” Grubbly-Plank offered.
“It’s best fer folk w’at as no magic not ter be countin’ on it, professor. We’ll make do well enough wi’ the fire an’ a ‘ot water bottle, I expect,” he countered.
“I’m sure that you will. Have you ever had a cat companion before, Mister Filch?”
“We ‘ad one that came ‘round a bit when I was a lad. Me da’ did’n like ‘im in the ‘ouse, though,” Filch told her.
“Well then, let’s just go over the things you shall need to know about your new young friend, shall we?”
Filch listened carefully to her. He had seen the way that she had with animals, and trusted her advice and judgment in the matter.
The rest of the holiday was spent in settling the kitten; he made frequent trips to his rooms to check on her during the day. Fear gave way to suspicion, suspicion to caution, caution to wary trust, until the time came when she clambered eagerly up his pants leg while he sat before the fire and kneaded his lap before curling up on it purring contentedly.
Filch eventually dozed off by the fire with her, well contented himself.
~~~
It was the summer break, and Professor Grubbly-Plank commented on how well-grown and healthy the kitten was while she checked on her.
"I'm a bit worried abou' next term, Professor, all those cats the students bring, I mean, she's growin' up, like, an'..." he confessed, red-faced.
"I quite understand, Mister Filch, and you are right to be concerned. There is a simple spell that will spare both of you that worry. Should you decide in future that kittens would be appropriate, I can reverse it easily enough," she assured him.
"Thank you Professor, but Mrs. Norris and I are plenty of company for one another. We've gotten right comfortable together, we have."
"That is plain to see," she agreed. "However did you come up with that name for her? I have to say that I'm glad you didn't name her "Puff", or some such thing, though."
The name had been the suggestion of Madam Pince, who was no fan of cats, deeming them self-centered creatures concerned only with their own comforts and convenience. Filch had consulted with her on what to name his cat, as he had a very high opinion of her literacy.
"I don't wan' to give 'er no common sort o' name, beggin' your pardon. She's a right fine lady, for a cat, I thinks," he had told her. The smug look on the face of the kitten enthroned securely in Filch's arms had suggested the name to Pince, and thus she was yclept “Mrs. Norris”.
Filch was right about Madam Pince’s literacy, but ignorant of her spleen. However, if Mrs. Norris took exception to the name, she never showed a sign of it.
“It come from a book,” Filch answered Grubbly-Plank.
“Well whatever her name, she’s a fine kitten, and will grow to be a fine cat. You have done well by her, Mister Filch,” she told him.
“Thank you Professor, we’ll be off now,” Filch gave her a short bow and left.
“The man is besotted,” McGonagall said as she stepped up beside Grubbly-Plank and curled an arm around her waist.
“Aye, he is. That's as it should be, one should be properly besotted by one’s cat, or what’s the sense having one?”
“None that I can think of, Wilhelmina, none that I can think of,” Minerva replied, her eyes sparkling with amusement and a bit more besides.
The break saw much of Filch and Mrs. Norris exploring the castle together, Filch showed her secret passages and the places where students liked to hide. Mrs. Norris, while not understanding why her human was so interested in these kinds of places, nevertheless committed them to memory and found many of them to be useful for getting from place to place within the castle. She even delighted him by leading him to a secret passage that had been unknown to him, her keen senses detecting the slight draft and the smell of damp earth that it brought to her nose.
~~~
When the students arrived for the autumn term, Mrs. Norris was Filch’s shadow, and soon enough she had learned to spot other things that would interest him, whether a student out after curfew or some other violation. By Christmas break the students had learned to be wary of the grey cat that ghosted through the halls, who seemed to have the ability to conjure Filch out of thin air whenever they were up to a bit of mischief.
Professors McGonagall and Grubbly-Plank had invited Filch to dinner over the holiday, and of course they had no objection to Mrs. Norris accompanying him. In Filch’s rooms Mrs. Norris had her own place at the table on a chair that Filch had made especially for her use, but she made do with a place on the floor with good grace on this occasion.
“I hear from some of the students that Mrs. Norris is a stickler for the rules, Mister Filch,” McGonagall said over dessert.
“Aye, she ‘as a sharp eye, right enough. Comes an’ fetches me when she spots any rule-breakin’. She’s a great help, Mrs. Norris is.” He cleared his throat. “I was wonderin’, Professor Grubbly-Plank, do you think she might ‘ave a bit o’ kneazle in ‘er? Only she’s so smart an’ all, allus seems ter know when I might need ter know summat, I mean.”
Grubbly-Plank did not think so, frankly, but it was nearly impossible to tell if were only a bit, and the hope on Filch’s face was so plain that she decided not to express the doubt. She did, however, stick strictly to the truth.
“Difficult to say with any certainty, but kneazles do breed freely with domestic cats, and there are certainly kneazles in the forest here. And while I can’t say how much or how little kneazle blood she may have, there is no doubt in my mind that there is magic in her, Mr. Filch.”
Filch grinned.
“Aye, and I know it,” he said happily.
“Magic in her?” Minerva asked when their guests had departed.
“How else do you explain the change in the man since she came to him?”
The change was not apparent to the students, who grew to despise the cat as much as the man, but at the end of the day man and cat basked in the glow of one another’s companionship. Filch felt the trials, the insults, and the impositions all slip away. Mrs. Norris so clearly loved him and trusted him that her presence soothed him as nothing else could.
As for Mrs. Norris, Filch was hers, and she was resolved to care for him as he did for her. He was her companion and helpmeet, and she watched over him in the night, curled by his side when she was not out attending to her duties around the castle.
~~~
The years only deepened the bond, and when Mrs. Norris had been petrified Filch had nearly gone mad with grief and rage. He was a shadow of himself by the time she was cured, and it was some time before he allowed her to resume roaming freely about the castle. Even the students were relieved to see her again, for Filch had been an absolute terror ever since the incident.
Mrs. Norris remembered nothing of the attack, but she knew that her human was distressed and sought to reassure him as best she could.
In the end they worked through it together.
They weathered the war together as well, and Mrs. Norris labored tirelessly to help rid Hogwarts of the influx of vermin in the aftermath. Even Madam Pince appreciated her efforts to keep the mice from ruining her precious books.
By this time Filch and Mrs. Norris were as much a part of Hogwarts as the winged boars at the gates.
They had their routine, every morning Filch would set her place at the table, placing the proper portion of the proper food on a china plate that he had from his mother. Mrs. Norris would politely eat while Filch sat across from her and sipped his tea. Her breakfast done, Mrs. Norris swept off to patrol the castle while Filch took his own breakfast in the great hall. She waited for him in the same place every day, and if she had found anything requiring his attention she would lead him to it.
Mrs. Norris rarely made a sound; she was always able to communicate with Filch with no more than a look, and this silence merely enhanced her reputation. The cats and rats and toads that the students brought to school all deferred to her, and even the owls did not tease her as they did some of the other pets. At least not since the time that some student’s Eagle owl had swooped down to scare her and received a lovely set of stripes for his trouble. Cats were normally a natural prey for large owls, but Mrs. Norris was a glaring exception, she could hear them coming and never failed of a welcome.
It was at the end of the day that their time really began, and Filch would set her place at the table, and lay out his own supper that he got from the kitchen and dine with her in peace and content. She had better manners than the bulk of the students, and Filch much admired her delicate ways.
After dinner he would do the dishes and take his seat, by the fire if there was one, put his feet up on the ottoman, and spread a light blanket over his legs. Mrs. Norris would leap lightly onto his lap and settle in facing him, her eyes on his face. Filch would then tell her of his day, or read to her, or simply sit and stroke her and listen to her purr.
No matter how hard the day had been for either of them, this time always saw them content and happy as they each basked in the tender regard of the other.
Sometime shortly after curfew they would patrol the castle together for a while, seeking out miscreants, and then they retreated behind a securely bolted door and took care of their respective ablutions. Filch would sink gratefully into his bed, and Mrs. Norris would butt his chin with her head before curling up beside him.
Sometime in the night Filch would lay his hand on her, or she would burrow against his side, or both.
It was a most satisfactory arrangement for them both.
~~~
Then came the time one morning when Mrs. Norris missed the leap to her chair, she clawed desperately at the seat, and Filch hurried to aid her.
“Think nothing of it, my sweet, we all have our off mornings,” he soothed as he stroked her.
Right after breakfast he went to McGonagall’s office and enquired after Professor Grubbly-Plank.
Seeing his face, McGonagall floo-called her immediately, and she came through at once.
“How long has she been with you now, Mister Filch?” Wilhelmina asked when he had described the morning’s event to her.
“More’n twenny year now, Professor,” He answered in a low voice. Wilhelmina exchanged a glance with Minerva.
“I see, well, I had best have a look at her. Where will she be, do you think?”
“In my rooms, I closed her door when I left,” he confessed.
“Good idea, lead the way, Mister Filch,” she said.
Mrs. Norris was waiting reproachfully just inside the door.
“Hello, my old friend,” Wilhelmina greeted her, and Mrs. Norris butted her shin. Wilhelmina was the only human other than Filch that Mrs. Norris acknowledged, and Wilhelmina was conscious of the honor. “Let’s have a look at you, then,” she said as she stooped to pick up the cat.
Grubbly-Plank set her down on the table and Mrs. Norris quietly allowed her legs to be flexed and her body to be gently poked and felt.
“Really, Mister Filch,” Wilhelmina said gently, “she is in remarkable condition for a cat of her years. You have done well by her, but I am afraid that she is simply getting old.”
“Aye,” Filch nodded, “and so are we all, I reckon. Is she in pain, do yer think?”
“No more than you or I, I shouldn’t imagine. No doubt her joints ache a bit; she has a touch of arthritis, only normal at her age. I can give you something to put in her food that will ease her a bit, if you like.”
“I’d be grateful, Professor. I don’t like to think of her ‘urtin’ if I can ‘elp it any,” he answered, his eyes glistening.
“I think that after all this time you should call me Wilhelmina. I have seldom seen anyone take such good care of an animal companion, and I should be proud to call you my friend.”
“As you say then, Wilhelmina, Argus it is to you an’ yours, and Mrs. Norris and I are likewise proud to have you as a friend. Yer’ve stood by us through the years, you have,” Filch said, extending his hand to her.
She grasped his hand in her own that was scarcely less work-hardened than his.
“Would you and Mrs. Norris join Minerva and me for supper, Argus?”
“We should be honored to,” he replied.
“How is she?” Minerva asked when Wilhelmina returned.
“It won’t be long now, I'm afraid. I only hope that he can handle it when she goes, I’ve never seen a bond so deep between a human and a cat.”
“Never?” Minerva said with a small smile.
“Never,” Wilhelmina confirmed, and Minerva embraced her.
Filch was pleased to see that they had set a place at the table for Mrs. Norris, and the dowager feline allowed Wilhelmina to lift her and set her in the place of honor.
This time Mrs. Norris dined on lamb as they all did, and she accepted it as her due.
“You must be prepared, Argus,” Wilhelmina said quietly to him as Minerva stroked Mrs. Norris on her lap, “cats often leave when their time comes.”
“I’ve ‘eard that, but Mrs. Norris would never leave me, though I thank you for your concern, Wilhelmina,” he replied.
“Very well, Argus. Don’t hesitate to call me if you think she needs me.”
“You’re a grand lady, Wilhelmina, a grand lady indeed. Professor McGonagall is fortunate in her friends.”
“As is Mrs. Norris,” she returned, and she kissed his rough cheek.
Filch turned crimson.
He carried Mrs. Norris home, and settled her on the bed where the rich supper had her soon asleep.
In the morning Mrs. Norris walked up the ramp that Filch had labored on late into the night to her place at the table as if she had done it every day of her life.
Weeks passed, and Mrs. Norris ventured out later in the day, and did not roam as far as was her habit. Filch noted this of course, but did not comment on it to her.
Filch also made no comment on the tabby cat that began to shadow Mrs. Norris on her wanderings, although he was deeply grateful to her for doing so.
Then came the night when Mrs. Norris stood at the bottom of the ramp leading up to the bed, staring at it. She let out one of the few mews that Filch had ever heard, and he gently lifted her and settled her on the bed, lying beside her. Mrs. Norris curled up and stared into his eyes.
“Hush-a-bye, don’ yer cry…” he sang softly as he stroked her head, and at last her eyes closed, and as he listened to her purrs he whispered softly to her…
“Good night, my sweet, yer the only bit o’ magic that were ever mine...”
Prompt/Prompt Author: "The Caretaker and his cat have lived together for years, but now one or both of them are reaching their time." -- miss_morland
Title: A Bit o' Magic
Characters: Argus Filch, Mrs. Norris
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4750
Summary: See prompt.
Author's/Artist's Notes: I hope this works for you, miss_morland, I do think it avoids crack, at any rate. My thanks to T for rendering this at least legible.
"A Bit o’ Magic"
Argus Filch loved Christmas.
It was not so much the spirit of the season, nor the few gifts he exchanged. It was neither the feast nor the merriment that he relished. Nor was it the dinner invitations that some few of the staff were accustomed to giving him over the holiday, although he did enjoy the meals.
It was the absence of the students, the bulk of them any road, that made this time of year special to him. It was the blessed quiet of the castle, the opportunity to savour the snow for its beauty rather than curse its slushy death on the floors of Hogwarts where its interment fell to him and his mops, that brought the rusted remnants of a smile to his craggy face.
And so it was that he was out in the snow, breathing deeply of the crisp air untainted by the smell of cleaning solutions and enjoying bearing only the slight burden of his walking-stick when he heard a ruckus by the edge of the forest.
“Wild dogs, most like,” he muttered, but as they might pose a threat to the school’s livestock he headed towards the snarling and growling. If it was something beyond his powers he would at least be able to give a warning. Hogwarts was his home, and he was its caretaker and knew his duty.
He found two disreputable looking beasts worrying something on the ground near the base of a tree while a third scratched furiously at the tree’s roots. The animals were gaunt, and while he was not without sympathy for a creature in want (for he had known want himself) he felt an obligation to drive them away for they really were near the poultry pens.
“Away wi’ yer, yer mangy curs!” he roared, punctuating his command with a flung stone that bounced between them. The pair fled into the forest, taking the object of their dispute with them. The one by the tree stuck steadfastly to its excavations.
“Beat it, I said! Gerrof and begone!” It took a rather better placed stone and a sharp poke of his walking-stick to drive this one away. It did not occur to Filch that he was in danger from the beast; it was not over large after all, and he actually relished the feeling of giving free reign to his anger for a change.
After this troublemaker had been sorted, Filch knelt down to see what had occasioned such diligence on the part of the vanquished. There was a small hole under one of the larger roots, and after a moment he saw a faintly glowing pair of eyes.
“Yer can come out now, they’re gone,” he said to the eyes.
The eyes seemed to hold a different opinion on the matter, however, and withdrew as far as they could.
“I can’t say as I blame yer,” Filch told them, “yer’ve no cause ter trust me, ‘ave yer now? But yer can, I’d ‘arm no beast wi’out cause.” He backed up a bit and waited.
He did not really expect the creature that owned the faintly glowing eyes to come out, and when after a few moments it did not, he stood and bid it farewell.
“Best o’ luck to yer then,” he said, and he turned towards the pens to check on the poultry and to inform Hagrid of the visitors. He did however look back after a time, and see something small and grey emerging slowly from the hole.
“A kitten,” Filch muttered, “and minus a mum, I reckons, seeing all that blood an’ fur on the snow.” Without conscious thought, he turned back to the tree. He got close enough to see a bloody spot on the kitten’s leg before it saw him and scurried lamely back into the hole.
“Yer can’t leave the wee beastie all alone out ‘ere, Argus me lad, it bein’ Christmas an’ all,” he ordered himself.
Filch often talked to himself during his time alone, as he seldom had anyone else to converse with. One could not talk with students, one could only try and enforce the rules and point out the infractions and endure the taunts. There were some of the staff that he had a cordial relationship with, hence the seasonal dinners, but they had nothing in common beyond Hogwarts, and so conversational topics were somewhat limited.
In any event, he found himself a congenial partner for social intercourse, as he seldom disagreed with him.
So it was that he was soon stretched out on the ground and reaching into the hole beneath the tree root.
The kitten objected to this intrusion on its sanctuary, and while Filch’s hand was as tough and calloused as a man’s could be, it suffered a bit of damage before he could at last get a good, if mutual, grip on the kitten. The tiny thing had its teeth fastened in his thumb and its claws dug in wherever they could find purchase, whether skin or fabric.
“Yer a rum ‘un, I’ll give yer that,” Filch admitted through gritted teeth.
It hurt, but Filch was struck by the valor of the kitten, and, moved by its helpless loneliness, he was very gentle with it.
“Yer can let go now, lad. Ol’ Argus won’ ‘urt yer, an’ yer need a bit o ‘elp wi’ yer leg, yer see.” He slipped his hand, kitten and all, under his coat and set off for the castle, glad that Professor McGonagall had her usual company for the holiday.
In a few minutes he was knocking on the staff room door, and Professor McGonagall herself opened it.
“Happy Christmas, Mister Filch, and why is your jacket moving?” she greeted him.
“Beggin’ yer pardon professor, but does Professor Grubbly-Plank ‘appen ter be ‘ere? Only I’ve got a wee beast what needs a bit o’ care, yer see,” he asked uncertainly.
“Do come in, Mister Filch,” Grubbly-Plank called out, and McGonagall stepped aside so that he could. “What sort of beast is it?”
“It’s a kitten, mum, beggin’ yer pardon. I went ter drive some stray beasts away from the poultry an’ found ‘im ‘idin’ in an ‘ole. I’m afraid the beasts did fer ‘is mum.”
“Let’s see him then,” she said, and Filch withdrew his hand from his jacket.
The kitten was still firmly attached, although it had withdrawn its teeth. It regarded them all, wide-eyed and trembling.
“Cush now, little one,” Grubbly-Plank crooned in a high, soothing voice, “let me have a look at you, if you please.”
The kitten tightened its grip when she gently tried to take it from Filch.
“I suppose it will be best for you to come along with us then, Mister Filch. I’ll see what we can do for your young friend. I’ll be back as soon as we have the kitten sorted, Minerva. I trust you don’t mind?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.
“No, I don’t mind, I suppose it could be a relative,” McGonagall replied with a similar expression.
Grubbly-Plank led the way to the infirmary, and Filch sat in a chair by one of the beds with his adornment firmly in place.
“The wound on its leg doesn’t look serious, Mister Filch, I’ll just put a bit of ointment on it. I need to examine it more thoroughly, of course, but I don’t like scaring it more by forcing it to loose its grip. I could give it a bit of sleeping potion, but…” she hesitated.
“But what, professor?”
“It’s a bit risky, small as the kitten is, and it doesn’t seem to have been eating all that well,” she told him.
“Well ‘e’s got ter go ter sleep sometime, dunnee? I’ll jus’ ‘old on ter ‘im till ‘e does.”
“A bit of peace and quiet might be just what the poor thing needs, yes. I’ll check back in a bit, and you can push the call button if you need me before then. Can I get you anything?”
“A glass o’ water, if yer please, mum,” he replied, “an’ p’raps a towel er summat like.”
She fetched him a glass of water and a pitcher and placed it by him on a table, then handed him a towel. She also gently spread some ointment on the wound, as well as the scratches she could reach on Filch.
“Call if you need me, Mister Filch,” she said by way of parting.
Filch settled back in the chair, cradled hand and kitten against his chest and covered all with the towel. Through all of this the kitten had stared mutely, still quaking in fear, and Filch could feel the frantic flutter of its heart.
Slowly, the warmth and the fatigue began to overcome the terror, and the staring eyes would drift closed only to snap back open. Filch remained still, feeling the warmth of the tiny thing against his heart, and he thought back to when his mother had come to him in the night to comfort him when bad dreams troubled him.
“Hush-a-bye, don’ yer cry, go ter sleepy, little baby,” he sang softly in a tenor voice gone rusty from disuse,
“When yer wakes, yer shall ‘ave, all th’ pretty little ho- mousies. Black ‘uns an’ grey…”
Had he heard the singing, Flitwick would not have offered Filch a spot in the chorus. He would however have been moved by the tenderness of the rough man as he sang to the tiny kitten.
Perhaps it was this tenderness, or the warmth and secure hold, or the steady beating of Filch’s heart against its own, or perhaps it was simply exhaustion, but the staring yellow eyes closed, and the sharp little claws retracted, and the frantic heartbeat slowed, and the kitten slumped fluidly onto Filch’s chest.
He looked down at the sleeping creature, and a small smile softened the craggy face. Slowly, gently, he stroked the little head with a calloused finger and was rewarded with a soft purr.
This tableau was unchanged when Grubbly-Plank returned.
“Gone to sleep, has it then?” she whispered.
“Aye, ‘e’s all tuckered out, I imagine. Bit of a rough day for the littl’un,” Filch answered her.
“Quite. They sleep soundly at that age, I expect that we can take a better look now. I shall disturb it as little as possible. If you don’t mind serving as an examination table, that is, Mister Filch.”
“Carry on then, professor,” he replied, and Grubbly-Plank shifted the towel aside and gently flexed the legs and neck, her experienced fingers probing for any damage.
“Nothing broken, likely more shock and exhaustion than anything else that’s the problem. The cut is minor, that leg is a little swollen as well, but the ointment will take care of any infection so it should heal rapidly.”
“Tha’s good, ‘e’s a plucky lad, I’d ‘ate ter see ‘im crippled,” Filch allowed.
“The kitten will need a good bit of care for a while, though. Fortunately it’s old enough to wean, so there will be no need for a bottle as long as it will eat. I expect that its mother was already doing that. Have no fear, Mister Filch, I shall find a good home for the wee beastie,” she said kindly. He looked up at her sharply, his face closing down into its accustomed expression.
“No need. I’m caretaker ‘ere, I reckon I can take care of ‘im right enough. Part o’ my job, innit? I mean, ‘e’s sort of part of ‘Ogwarts in a way, innee?”
“I’m afraid you can’t take care of ‘him’, Mister Filch,” Grubbly-Plank informed him with a smile.
“An’ jus’ why is that?” he asked stiffly.
“Because the kitten is female. You have a little girl, Mister Filch.”
“Imagine that,” Filch said softly, and the smile crept back onto his face as he resumed stroking her.
“She’ll need a warm place where she can feel secure; I can give you some of the proper food for a kitten. No table scraps, mind, at least until she is grown up, and the less the better even then. No milk or cream, either, she’s not a calf; and she will need access to fresh water at all times. I assume that you will be keeping her in your rooms?”
“Aye, it’s quiet enough down there, and safe. I’ll fix up a basket fer ‘er ter sleep in,” he told her.
“It will be chill in the dungeons this time of year, if you like I can put a warming charm on some towels,” Grubbly-Plank offered.
“It’s best fer folk w’at as no magic not ter be countin’ on it, professor. We’ll make do well enough wi’ the fire an’ a ‘ot water bottle, I expect,” he countered.
“I’m sure that you will. Have you ever had a cat companion before, Mister Filch?”
“We ‘ad one that came ‘round a bit when I was a lad. Me da’ did’n like ‘im in the ‘ouse, though,” Filch told her.
“Well then, let’s just go over the things you shall need to know about your new young friend, shall we?”
Filch listened carefully to her. He had seen the way that she had with animals, and trusted her advice and judgment in the matter.
The rest of the holiday was spent in settling the kitten; he made frequent trips to his rooms to check on her during the day. Fear gave way to suspicion, suspicion to caution, caution to wary trust, until the time came when she clambered eagerly up his pants leg while he sat before the fire and kneaded his lap before curling up on it purring contentedly.
Filch eventually dozed off by the fire with her, well contented himself.
~~~
It was the summer break, and Professor Grubbly-Plank commented on how well-grown and healthy the kitten was while she checked on her.
"I'm a bit worried abou' next term, Professor, all those cats the students bring, I mean, she's growin' up, like, an'..." he confessed, red-faced.
"I quite understand, Mister Filch, and you are right to be concerned. There is a simple spell that will spare both of you that worry. Should you decide in future that kittens would be appropriate, I can reverse it easily enough," she assured him.
"Thank you Professor, but Mrs. Norris and I are plenty of company for one another. We've gotten right comfortable together, we have."
"That is plain to see," she agreed. "However did you come up with that name for her? I have to say that I'm glad you didn't name her "Puff", or some such thing, though."
The name had been the suggestion of Madam Pince, who was no fan of cats, deeming them self-centered creatures concerned only with their own comforts and convenience. Filch had consulted with her on what to name his cat, as he had a very high opinion of her literacy.
"I don't wan' to give 'er no common sort o' name, beggin' your pardon. She's a right fine lady, for a cat, I thinks," he had told her. The smug look on the face of the kitten enthroned securely in Filch's arms had suggested the name to Pince, and thus she was yclept “Mrs. Norris”.
Filch was right about Madam Pince’s literacy, but ignorant of her spleen. However, if Mrs. Norris took exception to the name, she never showed a sign of it.
“It come from a book,” Filch answered Grubbly-Plank.
“Well whatever her name, she’s a fine kitten, and will grow to be a fine cat. You have done well by her, Mister Filch,” she told him.
“Thank you Professor, we’ll be off now,” Filch gave her a short bow and left.
“The man is besotted,” McGonagall said as she stepped up beside Grubbly-Plank and curled an arm around her waist.
“Aye, he is. That's as it should be, one should be properly besotted by one’s cat, or what’s the sense having one?”
“None that I can think of, Wilhelmina, none that I can think of,” Minerva replied, her eyes sparkling with amusement and a bit more besides.
The break saw much of Filch and Mrs. Norris exploring the castle together, Filch showed her secret passages and the places where students liked to hide. Mrs. Norris, while not understanding why her human was so interested in these kinds of places, nevertheless committed them to memory and found many of them to be useful for getting from place to place within the castle. She even delighted him by leading him to a secret passage that had been unknown to him, her keen senses detecting the slight draft and the smell of damp earth that it brought to her nose.
~~~
When the students arrived for the autumn term, Mrs. Norris was Filch’s shadow, and soon enough she had learned to spot other things that would interest him, whether a student out after curfew or some other violation. By Christmas break the students had learned to be wary of the grey cat that ghosted through the halls, who seemed to have the ability to conjure Filch out of thin air whenever they were up to a bit of mischief.
Professors McGonagall and Grubbly-Plank had invited Filch to dinner over the holiday, and of course they had no objection to Mrs. Norris accompanying him. In Filch’s rooms Mrs. Norris had her own place at the table on a chair that Filch had made especially for her use, but she made do with a place on the floor with good grace on this occasion.
“I hear from some of the students that Mrs. Norris is a stickler for the rules, Mister Filch,” McGonagall said over dessert.
“Aye, she ‘as a sharp eye, right enough. Comes an’ fetches me when she spots any rule-breakin’. She’s a great help, Mrs. Norris is.” He cleared his throat. “I was wonderin’, Professor Grubbly-Plank, do you think she might ‘ave a bit o’ kneazle in ‘er? Only she’s so smart an’ all, allus seems ter know when I might need ter know summat, I mean.”
Grubbly-Plank did not think so, frankly, but it was nearly impossible to tell if were only a bit, and the hope on Filch’s face was so plain that she decided not to express the doubt. She did, however, stick strictly to the truth.
“Difficult to say with any certainty, but kneazles do breed freely with domestic cats, and there are certainly kneazles in the forest here. And while I can’t say how much or how little kneazle blood she may have, there is no doubt in my mind that there is magic in her, Mr. Filch.”
Filch grinned.
“Aye, and I know it,” he said happily.
“Magic in her?” Minerva asked when their guests had departed.
“How else do you explain the change in the man since she came to him?”
The change was not apparent to the students, who grew to despise the cat as much as the man, but at the end of the day man and cat basked in the glow of one another’s companionship. Filch felt the trials, the insults, and the impositions all slip away. Mrs. Norris so clearly loved him and trusted him that her presence soothed him as nothing else could.
As for Mrs. Norris, Filch was hers, and she was resolved to care for him as he did for her. He was her companion and helpmeet, and she watched over him in the night, curled by his side when she was not out attending to her duties around the castle.
~~~
The years only deepened the bond, and when Mrs. Norris had been petrified Filch had nearly gone mad with grief and rage. He was a shadow of himself by the time she was cured, and it was some time before he allowed her to resume roaming freely about the castle. Even the students were relieved to see her again, for Filch had been an absolute terror ever since the incident.
Mrs. Norris remembered nothing of the attack, but she knew that her human was distressed and sought to reassure him as best she could.
In the end they worked through it together.
They weathered the war together as well, and Mrs. Norris labored tirelessly to help rid Hogwarts of the influx of vermin in the aftermath. Even Madam Pince appreciated her efforts to keep the mice from ruining her precious books.
By this time Filch and Mrs. Norris were as much a part of Hogwarts as the winged boars at the gates.
They had their routine, every morning Filch would set her place at the table, placing the proper portion of the proper food on a china plate that he had from his mother. Mrs. Norris would politely eat while Filch sat across from her and sipped his tea. Her breakfast done, Mrs. Norris swept off to patrol the castle while Filch took his own breakfast in the great hall. She waited for him in the same place every day, and if she had found anything requiring his attention she would lead him to it.
Mrs. Norris rarely made a sound; she was always able to communicate with Filch with no more than a look, and this silence merely enhanced her reputation. The cats and rats and toads that the students brought to school all deferred to her, and even the owls did not tease her as they did some of the other pets. At least not since the time that some student’s Eagle owl had swooped down to scare her and received a lovely set of stripes for his trouble. Cats were normally a natural prey for large owls, but Mrs. Norris was a glaring exception, she could hear them coming and never failed of a welcome.
It was at the end of the day that their time really began, and Filch would set her place at the table, and lay out his own supper that he got from the kitchen and dine with her in peace and content. She had better manners than the bulk of the students, and Filch much admired her delicate ways.
After dinner he would do the dishes and take his seat, by the fire if there was one, put his feet up on the ottoman, and spread a light blanket over his legs. Mrs. Norris would leap lightly onto his lap and settle in facing him, her eyes on his face. Filch would then tell her of his day, or read to her, or simply sit and stroke her and listen to her purr.
No matter how hard the day had been for either of them, this time always saw them content and happy as they each basked in the tender regard of the other.
Sometime shortly after curfew they would patrol the castle together for a while, seeking out miscreants, and then they retreated behind a securely bolted door and took care of their respective ablutions. Filch would sink gratefully into his bed, and Mrs. Norris would butt his chin with her head before curling up beside him.
Sometime in the night Filch would lay his hand on her, or she would burrow against his side, or both.
It was a most satisfactory arrangement for them both.
~~~
Then came the time one morning when Mrs. Norris missed the leap to her chair, she clawed desperately at the seat, and Filch hurried to aid her.
“Think nothing of it, my sweet, we all have our off mornings,” he soothed as he stroked her.
Right after breakfast he went to McGonagall’s office and enquired after Professor Grubbly-Plank.
Seeing his face, McGonagall floo-called her immediately, and she came through at once.
“How long has she been with you now, Mister Filch?” Wilhelmina asked when he had described the morning’s event to her.
“More’n twenny year now, Professor,” He answered in a low voice. Wilhelmina exchanged a glance with Minerva.
“I see, well, I had best have a look at her. Where will she be, do you think?”
“In my rooms, I closed her door when I left,” he confessed.
“Good idea, lead the way, Mister Filch,” she said.
Mrs. Norris was waiting reproachfully just inside the door.
“Hello, my old friend,” Wilhelmina greeted her, and Mrs. Norris butted her shin. Wilhelmina was the only human other than Filch that Mrs. Norris acknowledged, and Wilhelmina was conscious of the honor. “Let’s have a look at you, then,” she said as she stooped to pick up the cat.
Grubbly-Plank set her down on the table and Mrs. Norris quietly allowed her legs to be flexed and her body to be gently poked and felt.
“Really, Mister Filch,” Wilhelmina said gently, “she is in remarkable condition for a cat of her years. You have done well by her, but I am afraid that she is simply getting old.”
“Aye,” Filch nodded, “and so are we all, I reckon. Is she in pain, do yer think?”
“No more than you or I, I shouldn’t imagine. No doubt her joints ache a bit; she has a touch of arthritis, only normal at her age. I can give you something to put in her food that will ease her a bit, if you like.”
“I’d be grateful, Professor. I don’t like to think of her ‘urtin’ if I can ‘elp it any,” he answered, his eyes glistening.
“I think that after all this time you should call me Wilhelmina. I have seldom seen anyone take such good care of an animal companion, and I should be proud to call you my friend.”
“As you say then, Wilhelmina, Argus it is to you an’ yours, and Mrs. Norris and I are likewise proud to have you as a friend. Yer’ve stood by us through the years, you have,” Filch said, extending his hand to her.
She grasped his hand in her own that was scarcely less work-hardened than his.
“Would you and Mrs. Norris join Minerva and me for supper, Argus?”
“We should be honored to,” he replied.
“How is she?” Minerva asked when Wilhelmina returned.
“It won’t be long now, I'm afraid. I only hope that he can handle it when she goes, I’ve never seen a bond so deep between a human and a cat.”
“Never?” Minerva said with a small smile.
“Never,” Wilhelmina confirmed, and Minerva embraced her.
Filch was pleased to see that they had set a place at the table for Mrs. Norris, and the dowager feline allowed Wilhelmina to lift her and set her in the place of honor.
This time Mrs. Norris dined on lamb as they all did, and she accepted it as her due.
“You must be prepared, Argus,” Wilhelmina said quietly to him as Minerva stroked Mrs. Norris on her lap, “cats often leave when their time comes.”
“I’ve ‘eard that, but Mrs. Norris would never leave me, though I thank you for your concern, Wilhelmina,” he replied.
“Very well, Argus. Don’t hesitate to call me if you think she needs me.”
“You’re a grand lady, Wilhelmina, a grand lady indeed. Professor McGonagall is fortunate in her friends.”
“As is Mrs. Norris,” she returned, and she kissed his rough cheek.
Filch turned crimson.
He carried Mrs. Norris home, and settled her on the bed where the rich supper had her soon asleep.
In the morning Mrs. Norris walked up the ramp that Filch had labored on late into the night to her place at the table as if she had done it every day of her life.
Weeks passed, and Mrs. Norris ventured out later in the day, and did not roam as far as was her habit. Filch noted this of course, but did not comment on it to her.
Filch also made no comment on the tabby cat that began to shadow Mrs. Norris on her wanderings, although he was deeply grateful to her for doing so.
Then came the night when Mrs. Norris stood at the bottom of the ramp leading up to the bed, staring at it. She let out one of the few mews that Filch had ever heard, and he gently lifted her and settled her on the bed, lying beside her. Mrs. Norris curled up and stared into his eyes.
“Hush-a-bye, don’ yer cry…” he sang softly as he stroked her head, and at last her eyes closed, and as he listened to her purrs he whispered softly to her…
“Good night, my sweet, yer the only bit o’ magic that were ever mine...”