The Marauders: Year One | #Wattys2016

Protect Your Friend

Protect Your Friend

Argus Filch sat behind his desk, grinning horribly with broken, yellowed teeth, and stroked Mrs. Norris, who purred and swished her tail. "I've got all night, boy," he croaked, eyes glowering at Peter, who sat in the chair opposite. "Confess."

"I - I didn't mean to be out of bed," Peter stammered. "I didn't realize the time. I - I fell asleep."

"Liar," Filch sneered. "What were you doing out on the grounds?"

Peter shook his head, "I wasn't on the grounds, I --" Peter had been about to tell Filch about the tunnel (it seemed the only way out of the trouble he was in), but Argus Filch cut him off.

"Liar again!" he snapped, "I've only just been cleanin' up your footprints. Mud and water and nasty dirtiness, tracking filth all over this castle!"

Peter blinked in surprise, "But I didn't - I swear. I didn't make any messes!"

Filch's fingers moved over Mrs. Norris's fur, his clawlike fingernails scratching her skin so that her back arched and she kneaded his leg with her own claws. "You're lucky Dumbledore's stopped the practice of using the chains like I used to, boy," Filch hissed. "I'd string you up from the ceiling by your toes and we'd see how quickly you'd confess then, with the blood rushing to that great round head you've got."

Peter's eyes flicked to the chains and manacles that Filch had hanging proudly on the walls and he swallowed back nerves, cowering a bit in the chair.

"Course, if Dumbledore never heard about it, I reckon there's naught he can do to stop me..." Filch murmured, leaning threateningly toward Peter.

Peter broke. He began to sob. "No, no, don't hang me by my toes, don't hang me!" he wailed.

The grin on Filch's face widened. "Are you going to confess then, boy?"

"Yes, yes, I'll tell you anything you like," Peter cried.

Suddenly Mrs. Norris leaped from Filch's lap, her hairs on end, her golden eyes darting about the room suspiciously. Filch didn't notice the state of his cat, though, he was too busy relishing the tears that fell from Peter's eyes, wettening his face and making snot fall from his nose. "Tell me what you were doing on the grounds," Filch demanded.

"It truly wasn't me on the grounds, sir," Peter sobbed. "It wasn't me out on the grounds!"

"Then who?"

Peter said the first name that came to mind. "Remus Lupin."

Suddenly there was a terrific crash as several of the chains that hung on the wall fell to the floor, their links clanking loudly against one another, the manacles thunking loudly on the wood. Peter let out a squealing shriek so loud that one might've thought he were being tortured, and Mrs. Norris hissed, her back arched, claws protruding from her paws, her teeth bared. Filch leaped to his feet, glowering at the wall. "Peeves! SHOW YOURSELF," he yelled. "I'm in the middle of a confession, you nasty poltergeist!"

Peter shivered and cowered in the chair,

Mrs. Norris was upended, as though she had been picked up and tossed through the air. She let out a growling cry as she landed on her fours, right on top of Peter in the chair, her claws scratching at his skin. He shouted and flailed about, trying to escape her scratching and nipping. Filch's eyes were round as orbs, "You dare throw my cat! I'll have your head for this, Peeves!"

The door of the office swung open, seeming of its own accord, and Filch, boiling angry, seemed torn between finishing with Peter and going after the poltergeist. "Stay. Where. You. Are," he hissed at Peter, "I mean it, you stay where you are, or I'll have you expelled by dawn." He turned and ran into the hallway, muttering, "I'll get the Bloody Baron... Skulking 'round Ravenclaw, I'm sure he is, he'll take care of Peeves... show that poltergeist once and for all... touching my cat... out of the castle for sure..." Mrs. Norris ran after her master frantically.