Percy Jackson and the Heir of Slytherin [Book 2]

15) Filch's Office

"Why do I keep getting sick," I mumbled, taking the potion from Madam Pomfrey. Normally, it cured people instantly but made them smoke from the ears. As a demigod, I didn't have to deal with that problem, because I just drank a bit of nectar with some stuff in it.

"You're immune system was probably weak even before the snake. The venom probably damaged your already weak system. I imagine you'll get sick a lot," Madam Pomfrey said, frowning slightly. She was probably remembering that night. It had been a bad night.

"Anyway, I want you to watch your temperature. I've given you more nectar than I would prefer, but you're immune to my regular potion. Have someone check for you, just in case," she winked. She knew I'd have Draco check for me.

Even though I'd been a little sick, Cedric still had us practicing with Oliver. And Oliver practiced in the rain.

Harry and I walked through the castle, heading towards the staircase that would separate us.

There we ran into someone. Nearly Headless Nick, Gryffindor's Ghost, was staring out of a window and mumbling about measurements.

"Hello, Nick," Harry said.

"Hello, hello," Nearly Headless Nick said, turning to look at us. He wore a tunic with a ruff, and that concealed the fact that his head was almost completely severed from the rest of his body.

"You look troubled, Young Potter," Nick said, folding a letter and putting it in his pocket.

"So do you," Harry replied.

"Ah," Nick waved a hand, "a matter of no importance... it's not as though I really wanted to join... thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements'."

Despite his happy tone, he looked extremely bitter.

"But you would think, wouldn't you," he exclaimed, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh—yes," said Harry, cause he couldn't say no.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it all had been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However..." Nick shook his letter open and read angrily:

"We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted completely with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horse-back Head-juggling and Head Polo. It is with greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore."

Nick stuffed the letter away, "Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Nick breathed heavily, even though he couldn't breathe, and said, "So — what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"

"No," Harry said. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly—"

Harry was interrupted by a mewing. I looked down and saw Mrs. Norris, the horrid little cat that belong to Filch, the school's caretaker (janitor, but we aren't allowed to call him that, because it hurts his feelings).

"You'd better get out of here, boys," Nick said. "Filch isn't in a good mood. He's got the flu and some third-years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five; he's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place..."

"Right," I said, immediately backing away from the cat with Harry. We weren't quick enough. Filch jumped from a tapestry to our right, wearing a scarf and a purple nose.

"Filth!" He shouted, looking at the mud we were dripping on the floor. He glared at us. I sneezed. It was great.

"Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, boys!"

I sneezed again and we started following after Filch. His office was small and didn't have any windows. It smelled kinda like fish, which made me really sad. There were filing cabinets pressed on the wall, and Harry looked spooked when he read the papers in them. Stupid English. Long chains hung from the ceiling hung behind his desk.

Filch muttered furiously while searching for a piece of parchment, "Dung... great sizzling dragon bogies... frog brains... rat intestines... I've had enough of it... make an example... where's the form... yes..."

He spread a long piece of parchment across the desk in front of him, pulling out a quill and scribbling on the page, "Name... Harry Potter. Crime..."

"It was only a bit of mud!" Harry said. I sneezed again. I was starting to get tired. The flu seemed to still be getting to me. Maybe because of practice.

"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" Filch shouted. "Crime... befouling the castle... suggested sentence..."

Before Filch could finish, there was a loud bang. The oil lamp hanging from the ceiling shook.

"PEEVES!" Filch bellowed, throwing his quill against the desk. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"

Then he ran out of the room.

I didn't like Peeves much. On the first day of last year, he tried to stab me and my Hufflepuff friends. That was when I met Luke for the first time.

Harry sat down in a large, moth-eaten chair and patted the space beside him. I squeezed in and rubbed my eyes, still feeling tired.

Then, I placed my head on Harry's shoulder, and fell asleep pretty fast.

My friend came over today. I mentioned him ages ago, so I just called him A. We played on my Xbox for awhile, ate some pizza, watched Kung Fury, played ping-pong, then played Minecraft. All in all, it was a pretty good day. Now his hair is longer than mine. He likes his hair longer, I like mine shorter. If I could get mine shorter, I would.

He just left so I'm posting this now. I would've posted a bit earlier if I hadn't been busy. I'll see you all on Saturday, and I hope you had a... Thesaurus Thursday? What's a good word that starts with th?