1
"I have decided that Crookshanks should stay at Hogwarts when we are visiting Australia, and that Filch should look after him," said Hermione.
"You must be be mental!" Ron told her. "I have already told you, I am totally over Crookshanks. I even nearly like him. And leaving him with that manky git! You might as well get Kreacher to look after him."
"Ron darling - this is one of quite a few things that are not all about you. Now just listen to me. We can't possibly take him to Australia with us: they have a six-month quarantine. And before you suggest that we Apparate him there, you might consider the effect cats have on Australian wildlife." "You're right there," Ron interrupted. "He'd be dragging kangaroos and koalas to the back door and meeowing his noisy head off at five in the morning."
"Anyway, Ron, Hogwarts is Crookshanks' home now. He stayed there all last year with Ginny while we were off Horcrux hunting, and he really likes it there. He has a good track record at Animagus-spotting, as you well know, and Animagi are perhaps the biggest threat to Hogwarts security..."
Ron's mind drifted as Hermione's voice droned on. He had never liked Crookshanks, it was true. He knew that Hermione would find some other cause to champion. Something Ron disliked, through prejudice as much as anything: animals, house elves, goblins, Squibs like Filch, Muggles... Ron shuddered at this last thought and instantly felt a deep shame - Hermione was Muggle born. Was Ron, himself a Pureblood, turning into a bigot like Malfoy?
Ron remembered how he had felt when Malfoy had called Hermione a Mudblood. No, Ron was no bigot. He had much to learn, though. Crookshanks, elves, Australian wildlife... "I'll get to like them when I get to know them," Ron thought. Hermione has so much to show me. What was she banging on about now? The Maurauders Map? Mrs Norris and Peter Pettigrew were visible on it, when Neville's toad and all the owls weren't. Animagi? Ron groaned inwardly. Can't she drop it? I told her, I'm over Scabbers. He got my best mate's parents killed. She was coming to a conclusion now, at last... Just nod and smile...
"So you see Ron, I have every reason to believe Argus Filch would take the utmost loving care of Crookshanks."
Ron nodded and smiled. He rememberd to say those three important words: "You're right Hermione."
2
Hazel rinsed her mouth and watched the red-stained water flow down the basin plughole. She noticed the gleam of the bathroom mirror but averted her eyes: she had long known to avoid mirrors. Norris was still thumping around downstairs, effing and blinding enough to attract the Muggle police yet again; Hazel knew his skillful use of Confounding meant there would never be any help from that quarter.
What was that? Some sort of car or motorbike was blasting up the early-morning street. The usual Muggle boy-racers were all in bed at this time of the day. Standing on the toilet bowl, Hazel peered out the small window. One of those great silver three-wheeler bikes, like that Billy Connelly on the telly had, but who, or what, was driving?
It's Hagrid! Let Norris stand up to that, she thought bitterly. Then, fear for Dumbledore's giant friend, as she knew her husband would stop at nothing: his opponent's size was immaterial.
"Get yer coat, Mrs N! Taxi's here!" she heard Hagrid's rustic voice. Clinging a raincoat over her nightie, Hazel looked at the bedside cupboard. Personal treasures? Smashed, sold, stolen...there was nothing left here that she treasured. Only dreams of the possible, the never-happened, the could-have-been. She spat once more in the basin and wiped her mouth on a clean towel.
A pink, rather weak-looking Shield charm emerged from the tip of the silly little lady's umbrella Hagrid was brandishing. Where on earth did he pinch that? Old Mrs Longbottom's place? As Hazel slipped out the front door, she heard the living-room dor burst open behind her. As she dodged behind Hagrid's Shield Charm, she saw Norris raise his wand.
"Oho, the lady's leaving! Must be the third time this month! You Sqib slag. Get me a packet of fags while you're out, won't you dear?"
"Shut it, Norris," Hagrid warned.
"Fancy a duel do you, freak?" the drunken man leered.
"Eh, well I'm not too crisp at Magic, as yer know, Norris, hand-to-hand's more my line. It seems whatever way we chose, we'd be unevenly matched in a duel. But it's not a question of duelling now. Yer outnumbered."
"Outnumbered my arse. You don't mean this filthy Squib?"
"Er, no, I meant the other 'filthy Sqib,' as yer put it, standing behind yer with a Muggle shotgun pointed at yer neck."
"Don't fucking move that wand hand, Norris," Argus Filch barked.
Norris froze, but he did not lower his wand, still aimed at Hazel behind the Shield.
"Ha. Argus Filth - Hazel's taste in rescuers is interesting." Norris sneered. "Well, you lot have plenty in common: two Squibs and that bloody freak."
"Crap, Norris," Filch retorted. "Your wife's no squib, as you know well. You've strangled every last drop of magic out of her with your cruelty. She's twice the magician you'll ever be."
"Ah, and I suppose you're twice the man I'll ever be. You can't claim to be much else, Filth."
With these words, something crossed Hazel's face. Norris saw a warmth he had not noticed for so many years...Hazel was blushing, maybe even smiling...
Norris's voice lowered to a menacing growl: "I told you what I'd do if you ever... Avada kedavra!"
There was a blinding green flash and, in the very same instant, a tremendous bang. Hagrid raised his left arm over his eyes and toppled back out the front door as shotgun pellets and little bits of Norris's neck vertebrae and flesh pattered harmlessly like raindrops on the Shield charm. Lying in the road, Hagrid saw Filch with a stunned expression on his face, still holding the Muggle gun... Where was Mrs N? Hagrid leaped to his feet. "WHERE IS SHE!" Surely the Shield was strong enough... But Hagrid knew, bitterly, that his skill with Charms was seriously lacking.
"Where is Hazel?" echoed Filch. A dreadful recognition of what had happened was dawning on his face. "Oh, Hagrid, what have we done? HAZEL..." Argus was convulsing, his knees collapsed, he was groaning, vomiting in grief.
"Oh shit! Muggles!" Hagrid groaned. Looking up and down the street, there was movement as thirty or more curtains twitched.
"Oh Hazel," Filch whimpered, as Hagrid helped him up. They had to get out of there.
A siren wailed nearby. How long could they spend looking for Hazel? The Killing Curse didn't make people Disapparate, did it? Hagrid was racking his brain, trying to recall stories of Unforgivable Curses. Perhaps the Shield...
Hagrid gunned the bike's engine as Filch clung to his shoulder, still trying to hold the shotgun, still whimpering, "Hazel, my Hazel..."
"Leave the gun, Argus. We don't need that. The Ministry'll be here any sec, and the Muggle police."
"Get this thing up above the houses, Hagrid, we need to find Hazel!"
"I can't, Argus. All them Muggles. We're in enough trouble with the Ministry already."
A Muggle police car swerved around a corner, taking a position right behind them, siren shrlling.
"Oh, confound those Muggle police," Filch groaned.
"D'yer really think I should Confound them? I don't like ter try," Hagrid said, looking back, pointing with his umbrella.
"Not what I meant. Better not," said Filch, who seemed to be coming to his senses. "But I can stop Muggle police, without even using magic."
Filch twisted, brandishing the shotgun at the car's windscreen. The car lurched to the left, rode up the back of a parked car, and rolled on to its side doors.
"Blimey, Argus, you didn't Confound it - you Stupefied it! Good as any wizard!"
"Why are you turning around?" asked Filch.
"Look," Hagrid pointed. Two more Muggle police cars were coming towards them. "I need a good take-off run. And it will give us another chance to see if Mrs N is there. No point worrying about the Statute of Secrecy now!"
"Oh Hazel, my Hazel, where can you be..."
Hagrid gunned the bike back up the street toward Norris's place. No sign of Mrs N, and no Muggles staring now; probably hiding from us, Hagrid thought. The bike began to lift as he reached takeoff speed. What was that in the middle of the road? Move, puss! A Cat. Asleep? Dead? Hagrid swerved the bike, the left rear tyre grazed the top of a parked car and they soared into the sky.
3
"The Wizengamot finds Argus Escherichia Filch not guilty of murder, ruling that he was justified in attempting to prevent the commissioning of an Unforgivable Curse by Zymergus Uxorpugnus Norris. Mr Filch should note that this ruling is not binding on the Muggle criminal justice system, and that this court will not assist him in the event of any application of Muggle law to this case. Mr Filch is sentenced to a ten year ban on use of Magic, a sentence that no doubt he will not find onerous." Muflled sniggering from one corner of the court room was stifled as heads turned to glare.
"In the matter of Rubeus Hagrid's breaches of the Statute of Secrecy, the Wizengamot finds his actions justified in attempting to rescue a witch from domestic violence.
"In the matter of Hazel Felicia Norris, the Wizengamot rules that she died by Killing Curse, and that a death certificate shall be issued."
"Objection!" There were gasps as heads turned again to another corner.
"Well, Albus, what? You are not going to lecture us about Love again, I trust."
"No body: no murder, no death. It's quite straightforward."
"We've gone over that. Nobody can survive the Killing Curse, well, appart from the Potter boy. But this case isn't like that. Have you anything new to add?"
"We can't rule out the chance that Norris Transported her."
"Merlin's bollocks, Albus! We did Prior Incantatem on the wand. The only spell issued was a Killing Curse."
"But an Animagus..."
"You can't possibly suggest Hazel Norris was an Animagus. She couldn't Transfigure her way out of a paper bag. Sit down, Albus. This case is closed."
4
Nobody knows how Hazel got from the south of London to Hogwarts Castle. When she arrived three months later, she looked more like a soggy slipper. Argus Filch nursed her to health with fish from the Lake and warm whisky, refusing any help from Madam Pomfrey. Dumbledore seemed pleased that Filch had adopted a cat. "She'll be a great help keeping Hogwarts free of rats," he said.
5
As glass and stone showered through the Great Hall, Argus Filch crept back to his room. Curses and hexes flashed over his head, charring the walls where they hit. He knew what he had to do. This was his home, had been for years now, if anything was worth dying for, this was it...
Filch reached behind the filing cabinet. He bent the shotgun: the second shell was still in the barrel from all those years ago. He grabbed a box from the top drawer, shells spilling as he shoved it in his pocket. His furry companion hopped off her chair, tail bristling. "Come on, Hazel. Let's do it for Albus!"
6
The Death Eater laughed. "That Muggle antique! You think you can threaten me with that? Expelliarmus!"
The gun did not move. "Only works with wizards, arsehole!" said its holder. "Now, drop that wand!"
"Brave boy, Squib. Nice try. Avada Kedavra!"
The shotgun clicked as Filch squeezed the trigger. In the very same instant, Hazel leaped. There was a massive flash of light. For a moment, Argus Filch thought he saw the beautiful curve of a womanly hip silhouetted as the hallway blazed green. The Death Eater lay dead, and blood and cat fur covered the walls. Argus Filch dropped the useless shotgun and reached to his forehead, where the heat of a million white-hot needles seemed to be etching his skull...
As Argus Filch lay, dazed, the battle raged with muffled cracks and explosions in distant parts of Hogwarts Castle.
Now he understood everything Dumbledore had tried to tell him. It was love that had saved him. Love - the deepest, most powerful magic of all.