CHASER 3: Rook: Write from the perspective of someone other than a student who lives in Hogwarts: a ghost, a house-elf, a teacher, a portrait, the Sorting Hat, etc.
Optional prompts: (dialogue) "What makes you so sure it was me?"; (word) royalty; (dialogue) "If I had a Knut for every time I heard that—" / "—You'd still be poor."
Word count: 1120
Disclaimer: I am not JK so I don't own author rights to the HP series
Trolling
I stalk angrily through the corridor, my tail agitatedly swishing from side to side as I crinkle my nose at the terrible smell. Someone, some ignorant wand-wielding maniac, has let a troll into my domain. I would bet my claws it was that funny fellow.
He is mad enough, considering that he thinks smelling like garlic and wearing a turban is inconspicuous. That's a bit too weird, even for the human wand-wielders.
Finally, freedom. I stand in an open window overseeing the lake, taking deep breaths of the fresh water-logged air. The rain is almost over for now. Cleaning my fur, I consider my options. I need more information on this fiasco. And there is only one viable place to get it. Well, two, but I'm not really in the mood to deal with a flaming chicken and its delusions of grandeur. Which means I'm off for the Not-cat's den.
Usually, I avoid the Not-cat. She is strange. I can understand her even when she is speaking the gibberish that two-leggers are so fond of using and she always smells like a cat and sometimes looks like one but never really is a cat. It is confusing but useful for information gathering.
When I'm finally in sight of her office, I hear her arguing with the crow-like man, Rook. I normally avoid that one too. I understand what his work is here; he teaches the young wand-wielders as most adult humans here do. He is amusing to watch with the young; the way they scramble out of his way is always uplifting. Too bad he always smells like a greenhouse and butchery combined.
I stay in the shadows and listen. I have to concentrate because even when they are loud, I still have trouble picking up their meaning. Humans are pretty hard to understand; they often say the most nonsensical things, and then I can only sense the meaning if it is my human or the Not-cat.
It seems they are arguing about the young ones. The ones that stood up to the troll. Oh. So the troll is being removed from the grounds right now. That's good. The two of them are lowering their voices as they stop arguing about the younglings, so I creep closer until I stand right behind Rook's legs. I try not to let the stench of blood distract me.
"What have you found?"
"A very angry and awake Cerberus."
"Unsurprising; the distraction wasn't exactly subtle."
"Indeed," he says and shifts his weight entirely on one of his legs. Apparently, the blood I'm smelling is his.
"Would you care for a drink, Severus?"
Rook has not responded verbally, but as they are beginning to move in, I hurriedly sneak in too before the doors are closed. The Not-cat raises an eyebrow at me. I pay her no mind and head towards the fireplace.
"What really has you in such a foul mood?"
"A mountain troll almost killing three first-years and then said students lying about it to our faces isn't enough?"
"And I suppose your limp has no bearing on your mood?"
"Please, it doesn't even hurt."
"So, the thing that made you feel the need to check up on the stone's defenses doesn't figure into it, either?"
"Quirrell can't be trusted and it doesn't seem that Albus is going to listen to me anytime soon. But you could say the date got to me."
She handed him a glass with amber liquid.
"Yes, you aren't alone in that. If my hair did not go gray from Potter Senior, I have a feeling it will from the Junior."
"Why did you let them get away with lying to you like that?" he asks and it makes me want to meow in frustration at this turn of conversation, but the heat is so nice and the carpet so soft that I can't quite muster the energy.
For a time, the Not-cat looks into her glass, then she looks at Rook. "I don't remember seeing Miss Granger at the feast or those three ever having a civil conversation. It didn't seem right. The worst thing they did was not listen to us and wander into a danger. I suspect even that was because none of us thought of the students that were not attending the feast. It did not seem right to punish them—"
She cut herself off from finishing that sentence by downing her glass. Rook eyed her warily. My eyelids closed and I drifted off to sweet sleep, sure that this will not happen again.
*HP*
The moon is high in the sky when I wake up. I stretch my limbs. The hearth behind me has gone cold. The hallways outside this den are sure to be chilly, but the move will be worth finding a warmer spot to nap in. Some where I can demand food in the morning. I paw outside the den through the weird patch in the doors that the Not-cat's haunts and my human's den all have.
I stalk through the hallways. Soon my human will finish patrolling and he is a great pillow. He also doesn't cause such mayhem as that obstinate colour-blind human that thinks my territory is his. The feather-brained fool thinks keeping a Cerberus in my territory is good idea. I thought no one could sink lower than that, but no! He has to go and prove me wrong. Really, what sort of chicken-lover keeps a stone that attracts trolls in a place meant for younglings?
Just as the aggravation makes the chilly corridor with its unreasonably cold floor seem stifling, I hear voices. I know these voices well. They mean trouble. I hiss angrily and stalk towards them. They notice me; of course they do. Their — for wand-wielders, unusual — acumen is one of the reasons why they can cause such mayhem.
Even as they decide on strategical retreat, they can't stop bantering.
"Seems like you got stalker," laughs one of the Terrible Two.
"Me! What makes you so sure it was me? You are the prettier one!"
"Which means I don't get stalked by crazy cats that think they are royalty but by pretty hot chicks."
"You wish."
"Nope, that is fact. What I want is to give Mrs Norris a good kick."
I hiss angrily. These younglings are unbearable.
"If I had a knut for every time I heard that— "
" — You'd still be poor. There isn't even that many Gryffindors brave enough to share that sentiment out loud," a familiar voice cuts him off. I purr in contentment. My human is here and given how worn out he looks, he'll go play pillow for me as soon as he finishes rearing these two troublemakers.