Squib Apprentice
a Harry Potter fan-fic
by Ozma
a story about Filch's early days at Hogwarts
Chapter Three: Hagrid
Everything really belongs to J.K. Rowling
"Don't try to shift *all* the cursed snow at once, Filch!" Pringle
snapped. "You'll be of no use to me with a broken back."
The old caretaker moved briskly as he flung a small shovel-full of
snow off to the side of the path that we were digging.
"Pace yourself, boy. This stuff's the worst sort of snow; dense
and wet. Lift only a bit at a time."
The sun hadn't yet risen, but the Castle grounds seemed lit by a
pale, ghostly light. It was the beginning of December, and nearly two
feet of snow had fallen during the night.
The Professors and the students were presumably still asleep in
their beds. But Ogg, the groundskeeper, Hagrid, Ogg's apprentice, a
contingent of house-elves, Mr. Pringle and I were all hard at work,
digging out paths to the greenhouses and to the groundskeeper's cottage.
The students would not have to tramp through two feet of snow to reach
their morning classes.
The old man was right, it was easier for me to lift less snow at a
time. But then I felt more conscious than ever of being the slowest
worker.
Mr. Pringle was using a small levitation spell to lighten the
weight of his shovel. The fifteen house-elves who'd been recruited from
the kitchens were working in a warm swirl of magic that made my nose
itch. Their bright little shovels moved rapidly and tirelessly. Ogg, a
short, burly wizard, had put a Heating Charm on his shovel.
Hagrid wasn't using any magic, but he didn't really need to, I
thought enviously. The boy worked as rapidly as the house-elves, with no
signs of growing tired.
When I first saw Hagrid, at a distance, I assumed that he was a
grown wizard. It was only when I saw him close up that I realized how
young he is. Surely, he couldn't be any older than fourteen or fifteen.
I'd wondered why he wasn't at school with everyone else his age. He
certainly wasn't a Squib! The magic in him was obvious.
When I'd dared to ask Mr. Pringle about Hagrid, the caretaker
hadn't said very much.
"He's a bad one!" Mr. Pringle had muttered darkly. "Don't
associate with him, Filch. Not any more than you have to."
This was easier said than done. Hagrid and I often took our meals
in the Castle's kitchens at the same time. The huge boy was friendly and
talkative. Thus far, he'd been undiscouraged by my monosyllabic answers
to his attempts at conversation.
*******
Sweating underneath my layers of clothing, fingers blistering, I
gasped for breath as I tried to keep up with the others. I barely had
enough energy to take offense at the sympathetic look I saw on Hagrid's
childishly-rounded face.
I scowled. I didn't want anyone's pity! Maybe I wasn't huge and
strong. Maybe I couldn't do any magic, but I wasn't useless...
Suddenly, my shovel seemed to weigh less. Wide eyed, I turned to
look at Mr. Pringle, who had his wand clutched in one gloved hand.
"Thank you, sir..." I panted.
To be honest, I was more worried than grateful. In the months
since I'd first come to Hogwarts, I'd learned that the caretaker was not
an especially powerful wizard. He was adept at using what magic he had,
but the flow of his powers tended to fluctuate widely. At the moment,
keeping the Levitation spells on both our shovels was a strain for him.
I could feel it.
Mr. Pringle was always saying that he wasn't a well man, and that
looking after me would be the death of him. Gradually, I'd realized that
it was just something he liked to say. I didn't want it to be true...!
But, the stern look on Ogg's craggy face kept me from refusing Mr.
Pringle's help. The groundskeeper was perhaps the caretaker's only
friend. Ogg knew Mr. Pringle's touchy pride, even better than I did.
*******
The last path that we completed was the one that led out to the
groundskeeper's cottage at the edge of the Forest. When we'd finally
finished, the house-elves (clad in warm, fluffy Hogwarts' bath towels,
which fit them like winter cloaks,) vanished almost instantly. The whip-
crack sound of their en masse departure sounded very loud in the crisp
dawn air.
Mr. Pringle and I leaned on our shovels. Both of us sighed. Hagrid
was still bright-eyed and energetic. Ogg was studying Pringle with
understated concern.
"Care to come in for a wee drop?" The burly man asked the old
caretaker in his gravelly voice. "We can have the lads put the shovels
away, eh?"
Pringle allowed himself to be persuaded.
*******
Carrying Pringle's shovel and my own, I stumbled after Hagrid as
the huge boy strode easily along the path that we'd dug away from the
tool shed. My arms, shoulders and back were aching.
"Alrigh' there, Filch?" Hagrid asked, cheerfully.
"Fine!" I gasped. "Never better! It's a pity that we were finished
so soon. I was just getting started. Could have gone on shoveling for
ages longer..."
"Glad ter hear it..." Hagrid said. The hint of mischief in his
voice really should have warned me. But, the snowball he flung at me
came as a complete surprise.
"Stop that!" I snapped, brushing snow off my coat.
Hagrid's reply was to fling another snowball at me. The boy wasn't
throwing as hard as he obviously could. It was a clear invitation to
play.
Foolishness, I thought, irritably. We had a busy day ahead of us,
filled with work to do, and neither one of us had breakfasted yet. I
didn't know about him, but I was cold, wet and weary. I really didn't
have time for this childish nonsense...
Then, his next missile smacked me in the face. I suddenly
discovered new reserves of energy. Dropping the shovels, I leaned down
and quickly gathered a handful of snow. The battle was joined.
Yelling like a pair of first year brats, we alternately chased and
pelted each other with snowballs. It had been ages since I'd played like
this. I'd forgotten how much fun it was.
"Yeh missed me!" Hagrid shouted, gleefully, as one of my snowballs
sailed over his head. "How could yeh miss? Aren't I a big enough
target...ooof!"
My next throw had scored a direct hit.
Whooping, Hagrid picked me up and rubbed snow in my hair. Since
he'd been kind enough to give me a lift, I was able to retaliate by
shoving a handful of snow down his back. Shrieking, he released me.
We'd scrambled off the path, chasing each other along the edge of
the Forest. Hagrid could move more easily through the deep drifts than I
could, but I was still able to hit him plenty of times. The boy was
right, he was a big target.
Stumbling backwards to dodge an attack, I tripped over something
behind me and went sprawling on my back into the snow.
The `something' that I'd fallen over was growling.
I heard Hagrid bellow "NO, BOB!"
Something that looked like a large, long-legged dog was leaping at
me. Stumbling through the snow, Hagrid caught the creature before it
could bite.
"Easy, Bob... it's alrigh'... yeh saw us having fun an' yeh just
wanted ter play with us, didn' yeh?"
He set the creature down, still holding it tightly.
"H-Hagrid...?" I said in a very tiny voice, staring at the beast's
sharp teeth before gazing into its intelligent yellow eyes. "That's not
really a wolf... is it?"
"'Course not!" The boy said.
Thank Merlin, I thought.
"Bob here is a werewolf!" Hagrid told me, brightly.
*******
"Filch...? I took Bob back ter the Forest. It's alrigh'. Now, say
something, will yeh?"
Hagrid had collected the shovels and locked them in the tool shed.
All the while, I hadn't moved from my place in the snow.
"Talk ter me, Filch!" Hagrid said, crouching next to me.
"How...?" I whimpered. "How could that have been a werewolf...?
There's no moon at all, let alone a full moon..."
"Bob's not a human who got scratched or bitten. He's one of the
four-legged werewolves. I've known him since he was cub. Playful, he is.
Friendly too, at least if yeh don't go tripping over him."
"Are you telling me that you PLAY with that... thing? One bite,
one little scratch, and y-you'd...!"
"Bob's never bitten or scratched me," the boy said, earnestly.
"And, I know enough ter stay away from him during a full moon!"
"Hagrid," I cried, my voice rising. "You go into the Forbidden
Forest to play with werewolves?! Don't you know how dangerous that is?
You're not even *allowed* in the Forest! Mr. Pringle..."
"The Forest is off-limits ter the students. I'm staff." The boy
sounded as if that made everything all right. "Pringle don't like it
much, but he can't punish me now."
"You're howling MAD!!" I wailed. "Surely your Mum and Dad must've
told you never to play with werewolves!!"
"As a matter o' fact, they didn'," Hagrid answered, a bit sharply.
"Are yeh alrigh' now, Filch? Are yeh coming in ter breakfast?"
"NO!"
"Suit yerself, then. But, if yeh ask me, I'm not the one who's
howling mad! Wasn't me who spent the past ten minutes just sitting in
the snow, was it?"
After the huge boy had stumped off along the path to the Castle, I
finally picked myself up.
Cold and trembling, I stumbled along the path to the
groundskeeper's cottage.
I didn't want to tell on Hagrid. Nevertheless, someone had to, for
his own good.
*******
Groundskeeper Ogg let me in when I banged on his door. Two big
mugs were resting on his scrubbed wooden table. But Ogg was alone.
"Apollyon's gone back to the Castle," Ogg said, in his gruff way.
"S-So has H-Hagrid." My teeth were chattering. Being in the
cottage, which had a warm, cheerful fire going, made me realize how
terribly cold I was.
Ogg helped me tug off my wet coat. He put it to dry over the back
of a chair near the fireplace. I stood close to the fire, shivering.
The hut was warm and tidy, everything in its place. Ogg's bed was
neatly made up, as was Hagrid's huge cot.
"Is something wrong, lad?" Ogg asked.
******
The groundskeeper had rinsed out a mug for me. Sipping at
something that burned its way down my throat, I told him about Hagrid
and Bob-the-werewolf.
"Well?" I asked. "Mr. Ogg, what are you going to do to him? He
could be torn to pieces wandering around in the Forest like he does! He
really ought to be punished! Mr. Pringle would...!"
"Poor Apollyon," Ogg said. "He's just as glad that trying to keep
Hagrid out of the Forest isn't his headache any longer. I'll have a word
with Hagrid myself. Tell him to make sure that his ...friends don't
follow him onto the Castle grounds, ever, even in the wee hours of the
morning."
"That's ALL you're going to do?" I cried, appalled. I'd already
suspected that Ogg was much too soft-hearted to punish his apprentice.
"Talk to him? It doesn't matter if he's staff or not, Hagrid's only a
boy!"
Ogg looked as if he thought that the difference between Hagrid's
age and mine was negligible, which made me feel rather indignant.
"You could at least write to his parents!" I said.
"I can't, lad. They're ...gone. Professor Dumbledore, the
Transfiguration Master, is the closest thing that Hagrid has to a
guardian. I'll speak to him."
I felt a flutter of fear in my stomach. I'd gotten Hagrid in
trouble with a Professor! The Professors scared me even more than Mr.
Pringle did.
Well, it was no more than Hagrid deserved, I told myself. Served
him right, really. Someone certainly ought to take that boy firmly in
hand. I had no reason to feel guilty about this. None whatsoever!
"Mr. Ogg?" I asked, apprehensively, as my conscience gave me a
twinge anyhow. "The Transfiguration Master... he won't have Hagrid sent
away, will he? If his parents are dead, where would Hagrid go?"
"No, Filch. Don't fret. Hagrid won't be sent away."
*******
Hagrid was pale, red eyed and silent the next morning at
breakfast. He poked aimlessly at his porridge, without eating it.
Presumably, Ogg had spoken to the Transfiguration Master, and then the
Professor had punished Hagrid.
The poor boy looked as if he'd spent the entire night weeping his
heart out. What had the Transfiguration Master done to him?
Telling myself to *never* make Professor Dumbledore angry at me, I
discovered that I didn't have much of an appetite for breakfast either.
"It was for your own good..." I told Hagrid, as firmly as I could.
It was very hard for me to listen to his desolate sniffling, even if
he'd only gotten what he deserved. "Werewolves should stay in the
Forest. And you should stay OUT of it."
"Professor Dumbledore already tol' me everything that needed ter
be said," Hagrid muttered, without looking at me. "The Professor is a
great man, Filch, but yer a GIT. I've got nothing ter say ter yeh."
"Fine!" I snapped. "You're an OAF. I've got nothing to say to you
either."
With a show of unconcern, I ate my breakfast, even if I wasn't
hungry. Then I stormed out of the kitchen.
End of Chapter Three
Author's Notes: This is the last fully formed idea that I had for a
chapter. I was going to end the story here, but I decided to leave it
open ended in case of future ideas. (Who knows, maybe I'll give in to
the temptation to show Filch encountering Minerva and Tom Riddle.)
Four legged werewolves: Rowling mentions werewolves living in the
Forest, and Tom Riddle describes Hagrid as "trying to raise werewolf
cubs under his bed." To me, this suggested the existence of four-legged
creatures, as well as the sort of Werewolf that Remus Lupin is. (Young
Remus was quite definitely a boy, not a cub.) Presumably, humans can
become infected by Lycanthropy when bitten or scratched by either sort
of werewolf.
Spark-Chick: Thank you!!
The Amazing Maurice: Thank you for your kind words on all of my
stories!! (Ozmarathon? Wow, I'm honored by the term!!)
Rabbit and Jinx: Thank you!! Yes, Pringle is Filch's role model. It
would definitely have been scary to be a student when it was permissible
to beat kids for breaking the rules.
I'd imagine that there's a lot of overlapping between the house-elves'
job and the Caretaker's job. The Castle is huge, and it would take a lot
of work to keep it all clean and everything running smoothly.
Larania: Thank you!! I think of Peeves as being made of psychic energy,
but also as being very much his own "person." He definitely has an ego
and his own wants and desires. Not being invited to the Feasts clearly
hurts his feeling terribly.
He's been at the Castle long enough to be Noticed. Providing an outlet
for the loose psychic energies of the students would be considered a
necessary and useful function. (Not that Peeves is aware of what he's
doing. He's not, ordinarily, an introspective creature. He's just having
fun.)
aniwda: Thank you!!
Gramarye: Thank you!!
Alchemine: Thank you!! I love the image of Peeves drunk on out of
control magic energy!! This is exactly how I see him.
Saphron: Thank you!! Pringle tries to be what he considers "fair."
In the first book, one of the ghosts (I think it's Nearly Headless Nick,
though the speaker isn't identified,) says, in answer to the Fat Friar's
remark that they ought to "give Peeves a chance" and let him come to the
Welcoming Feast, "haven't we given Peeves all the chances that he
deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even
a ghost..." This was the line that got me thinking about Peeves' nature.
Sarah: Thank you!! My take on Dippet is that he's traditional and kind-
hearted. Peeves was in the Castle for centuries before Dippet's time.
Dippet is aware of Peeves' function. If Peeves was to be exorcised,
another Poltergeist would soon manifest. But Peeves has been the
Castle's Poltergeist for centuries. He's traditional. Therefore, Peeves
stays.
Dippet was moved by Filch's parents' situation, and by their fears for
Filch. Dippet hoped that Pringle would be able to work with the boy and
teach him to be useful. When Filch actually turned out to be a good
worker, Dippet was pleasantly surprised, since he was expecting to have
to hire a second apprentice to take over the job when Pringle retired,
while keeping Filch as a permanent assistant.
Jelsemium: Thank you, Pardner!! Hmmm. Argus meeting Mrs. Norris, eh?
I've had several ideas about that, but none have actually flowed for me,
yet. I'm leaving this story "open" so anything's possible.
a Harry Potter fan-fic
by Ozma
a story about Filch's early days at Hogwarts
Chapter Three: Hagrid
Everything really belongs to J.K. Rowling
"Don't try to shift *all* the cursed snow at once, Filch!" Pringle
snapped. "You'll be of no use to me with a broken back."
The old caretaker moved briskly as he flung a small shovel-full of
snow off to the side of the path that we were digging.
"Pace yourself, boy. This stuff's the worst sort of snow; dense
and wet. Lift only a bit at a time."
The sun hadn't yet risen, but the Castle grounds seemed lit by a
pale, ghostly light. It was the beginning of December, and nearly two
feet of snow had fallen during the night.
The Professors and the students were presumably still asleep in
their beds. But Ogg, the groundskeeper, Hagrid, Ogg's apprentice, a
contingent of house-elves, Mr. Pringle and I were all hard at work,
digging out paths to the greenhouses and to the groundskeeper's cottage.
The students would not have to tramp through two feet of snow to reach
their morning classes.
The old man was right, it was easier for me to lift less snow at a
time. But then I felt more conscious than ever of being the slowest
worker.
Mr. Pringle was using a small levitation spell to lighten the
weight of his shovel. The fifteen house-elves who'd been recruited from
the kitchens were working in a warm swirl of magic that made my nose
itch. Their bright little shovels moved rapidly and tirelessly. Ogg, a
short, burly wizard, had put a Heating Charm on his shovel.
Hagrid wasn't using any magic, but he didn't really need to, I
thought enviously. The boy worked as rapidly as the house-elves, with no
signs of growing tired.
When I first saw Hagrid, at a distance, I assumed that he was a
grown wizard. It was only when I saw him close up that I realized how
young he is. Surely, he couldn't be any older than fourteen or fifteen.
I'd wondered why he wasn't at school with everyone else his age. He
certainly wasn't a Squib! The magic in him was obvious.
When I'd dared to ask Mr. Pringle about Hagrid, the caretaker
hadn't said very much.
"He's a bad one!" Mr. Pringle had muttered darkly. "Don't
associate with him, Filch. Not any more than you have to."
This was easier said than done. Hagrid and I often took our meals
in the Castle's kitchens at the same time. The huge boy was friendly and
talkative. Thus far, he'd been undiscouraged by my monosyllabic answers
to his attempts at conversation.
*******
Sweating underneath my layers of clothing, fingers blistering, I
gasped for breath as I tried to keep up with the others. I barely had
enough energy to take offense at the sympathetic look I saw on Hagrid's
childishly-rounded face.
I scowled. I didn't want anyone's pity! Maybe I wasn't huge and
strong. Maybe I couldn't do any magic, but I wasn't useless...
Suddenly, my shovel seemed to weigh less. Wide eyed, I turned to
look at Mr. Pringle, who had his wand clutched in one gloved hand.
"Thank you, sir..." I panted.
To be honest, I was more worried than grateful. In the months
since I'd first come to Hogwarts, I'd learned that the caretaker was not
an especially powerful wizard. He was adept at using what magic he had,
but the flow of his powers tended to fluctuate widely. At the moment,
keeping the Levitation spells on both our shovels was a strain for him.
I could feel it.
Mr. Pringle was always saying that he wasn't a well man, and that
looking after me would be the death of him. Gradually, I'd realized that
it was just something he liked to say. I didn't want it to be true...!
But, the stern look on Ogg's craggy face kept me from refusing Mr.
Pringle's help. The groundskeeper was perhaps the caretaker's only
friend. Ogg knew Mr. Pringle's touchy pride, even better than I did.
*******
The last path that we completed was the one that led out to the
groundskeeper's cottage at the edge of the Forest. When we'd finally
finished, the house-elves (clad in warm, fluffy Hogwarts' bath towels,
which fit them like winter cloaks,) vanished almost instantly. The whip-
crack sound of their en masse departure sounded very loud in the crisp
dawn air.
Mr. Pringle and I leaned on our shovels. Both of us sighed. Hagrid
was still bright-eyed and energetic. Ogg was studying Pringle with
understated concern.
"Care to come in for a wee drop?" The burly man asked the old
caretaker in his gravelly voice. "We can have the lads put the shovels
away, eh?"
Pringle allowed himself to be persuaded.
*******
Carrying Pringle's shovel and my own, I stumbled after Hagrid as
the huge boy strode easily along the path that we'd dug away from the
tool shed. My arms, shoulders and back were aching.
"Alrigh' there, Filch?" Hagrid asked, cheerfully.
"Fine!" I gasped. "Never better! It's a pity that we were finished
so soon. I was just getting started. Could have gone on shoveling for
ages longer..."
"Glad ter hear it..." Hagrid said. The hint of mischief in his
voice really should have warned me. But, the snowball he flung at me
came as a complete surprise.
"Stop that!" I snapped, brushing snow off my coat.
Hagrid's reply was to fling another snowball at me. The boy wasn't
throwing as hard as he obviously could. It was a clear invitation to
play.
Foolishness, I thought, irritably. We had a busy day ahead of us,
filled with work to do, and neither one of us had breakfasted yet. I
didn't know about him, but I was cold, wet and weary. I really didn't
have time for this childish nonsense...
Then, his next missile smacked me in the face. I suddenly
discovered new reserves of energy. Dropping the shovels, I leaned down
and quickly gathered a handful of snow. The battle was joined.
Yelling like a pair of first year brats, we alternately chased and
pelted each other with snowballs. It had been ages since I'd played like
this. I'd forgotten how much fun it was.
"Yeh missed me!" Hagrid shouted, gleefully, as one of my snowballs
sailed over his head. "How could yeh miss? Aren't I a big enough
target...ooof!"
My next throw had scored a direct hit.
Whooping, Hagrid picked me up and rubbed snow in my hair. Since
he'd been kind enough to give me a lift, I was able to retaliate by
shoving a handful of snow down his back. Shrieking, he released me.
We'd scrambled off the path, chasing each other along the edge of
the Forest. Hagrid could move more easily through the deep drifts than I
could, but I was still able to hit him plenty of times. The boy was
right, he was a big target.
Stumbling backwards to dodge an attack, I tripped over something
behind me and went sprawling on my back into the snow.
The `something' that I'd fallen over was growling.
I heard Hagrid bellow "NO, BOB!"
Something that looked like a large, long-legged dog was leaping at
me. Stumbling through the snow, Hagrid caught the creature before it
could bite.
"Easy, Bob... it's alrigh'... yeh saw us having fun an' yeh just
wanted ter play with us, didn' yeh?"
He set the creature down, still holding it tightly.
"H-Hagrid...?" I said in a very tiny voice, staring at the beast's
sharp teeth before gazing into its intelligent yellow eyes. "That's not
really a wolf... is it?"
"'Course not!" The boy said.
Thank Merlin, I thought.
"Bob here is a werewolf!" Hagrid told me, brightly.
*******
"Filch...? I took Bob back ter the Forest. It's alrigh'. Now, say
something, will yeh?"
Hagrid had collected the shovels and locked them in the tool shed.
All the while, I hadn't moved from my place in the snow.
"Talk ter me, Filch!" Hagrid said, crouching next to me.
"How...?" I whimpered. "How could that have been a werewolf...?
There's no moon at all, let alone a full moon..."
"Bob's not a human who got scratched or bitten. He's one of the
four-legged werewolves. I've known him since he was cub. Playful, he is.
Friendly too, at least if yeh don't go tripping over him."
"Are you telling me that you PLAY with that... thing? One bite,
one little scratch, and y-you'd...!"
"Bob's never bitten or scratched me," the boy said, earnestly.
"And, I know enough ter stay away from him during a full moon!"
"Hagrid," I cried, my voice rising. "You go into the Forbidden
Forest to play with werewolves?! Don't you know how dangerous that is?
You're not even *allowed* in the Forest! Mr. Pringle..."
"The Forest is off-limits ter the students. I'm staff." The boy
sounded as if that made everything all right. "Pringle don't like it
much, but he can't punish me now."
"You're howling MAD!!" I wailed. "Surely your Mum and Dad must've
told you never to play with werewolves!!"
"As a matter o' fact, they didn'," Hagrid answered, a bit sharply.
"Are yeh alrigh' now, Filch? Are yeh coming in ter breakfast?"
"NO!"
"Suit yerself, then. But, if yeh ask me, I'm not the one who's
howling mad! Wasn't me who spent the past ten minutes just sitting in
the snow, was it?"
After the huge boy had stumped off along the path to the Castle, I
finally picked myself up.
Cold and trembling, I stumbled along the path to the
groundskeeper's cottage.
I didn't want to tell on Hagrid. Nevertheless, someone had to, for
his own good.
*******
Groundskeeper Ogg let me in when I banged on his door. Two big
mugs were resting on his scrubbed wooden table. But Ogg was alone.
"Apollyon's gone back to the Castle," Ogg said, in his gruff way.
"S-So has H-Hagrid." My teeth were chattering. Being in the
cottage, which had a warm, cheerful fire going, made me realize how
terribly cold I was.
Ogg helped me tug off my wet coat. He put it to dry over the back
of a chair near the fireplace. I stood close to the fire, shivering.
The hut was warm and tidy, everything in its place. Ogg's bed was
neatly made up, as was Hagrid's huge cot.
"Is something wrong, lad?" Ogg asked.
******
The groundskeeper had rinsed out a mug for me. Sipping at
something that burned its way down my throat, I told him about Hagrid
and Bob-the-werewolf.
"Well?" I asked. "Mr. Ogg, what are you going to do to him? He
could be torn to pieces wandering around in the Forest like he does! He
really ought to be punished! Mr. Pringle would...!"
"Poor Apollyon," Ogg said. "He's just as glad that trying to keep
Hagrid out of the Forest isn't his headache any longer. I'll have a word
with Hagrid myself. Tell him to make sure that his ...friends don't
follow him onto the Castle grounds, ever, even in the wee hours of the
morning."
"That's ALL you're going to do?" I cried, appalled. I'd already
suspected that Ogg was much too soft-hearted to punish his apprentice.
"Talk to him? It doesn't matter if he's staff or not, Hagrid's only a
boy!"
Ogg looked as if he thought that the difference between Hagrid's
age and mine was negligible, which made me feel rather indignant.
"You could at least write to his parents!" I said.
"I can't, lad. They're ...gone. Professor Dumbledore, the
Transfiguration Master, is the closest thing that Hagrid has to a
guardian. I'll speak to him."
I felt a flutter of fear in my stomach. I'd gotten Hagrid in
trouble with a Professor! The Professors scared me even more than Mr.
Pringle did.
Well, it was no more than Hagrid deserved, I told myself. Served
him right, really. Someone certainly ought to take that boy firmly in
hand. I had no reason to feel guilty about this. None whatsoever!
"Mr. Ogg?" I asked, apprehensively, as my conscience gave me a
twinge anyhow. "The Transfiguration Master... he won't have Hagrid sent
away, will he? If his parents are dead, where would Hagrid go?"
"No, Filch. Don't fret. Hagrid won't be sent away."
*******
Hagrid was pale, red eyed and silent the next morning at
breakfast. He poked aimlessly at his porridge, without eating it.
Presumably, Ogg had spoken to the Transfiguration Master, and then the
Professor had punished Hagrid.
The poor boy looked as if he'd spent the entire night weeping his
heart out. What had the Transfiguration Master done to him?
Telling myself to *never* make Professor Dumbledore angry at me, I
discovered that I didn't have much of an appetite for breakfast either.
"It was for your own good..." I told Hagrid, as firmly as I could.
It was very hard for me to listen to his desolate sniffling, even if
he'd only gotten what he deserved. "Werewolves should stay in the
Forest. And you should stay OUT of it."
"Professor Dumbledore already tol' me everything that needed ter
be said," Hagrid muttered, without looking at me. "The Professor is a
great man, Filch, but yer a GIT. I've got nothing ter say ter yeh."
"Fine!" I snapped. "You're an OAF. I've got nothing to say to you
either."
With a show of unconcern, I ate my breakfast, even if I wasn't
hungry. Then I stormed out of the kitchen.
End of Chapter Three
Author's Notes: This is the last fully formed idea that I had for a
chapter. I was going to end the story here, but I decided to leave it
open ended in case of future ideas. (Who knows, maybe I'll give in to
the temptation to show Filch encountering Minerva and Tom Riddle.)
Four legged werewolves: Rowling mentions werewolves living in the
Forest, and Tom Riddle describes Hagrid as "trying to raise werewolf
cubs under his bed." To me, this suggested the existence of four-legged
creatures, as well as the sort of Werewolf that Remus Lupin is. (Young
Remus was quite definitely a boy, not a cub.) Presumably, humans can
become infected by Lycanthropy when bitten or scratched by either sort
of werewolf.
Spark-Chick: Thank you!!
The Amazing Maurice: Thank you for your kind words on all of my
stories!! (Ozmarathon? Wow, I'm honored by the term!!)
Rabbit and Jinx: Thank you!! Yes, Pringle is Filch's role model. It
would definitely have been scary to be a student when it was permissible
to beat kids for breaking the rules.
I'd imagine that there's a lot of overlapping between the house-elves'
job and the Caretaker's job. The Castle is huge, and it would take a lot
of work to keep it all clean and everything running smoothly.
Larania: Thank you!! I think of Peeves as being made of psychic energy,
but also as being very much his own "person." He definitely has an ego
and his own wants and desires. Not being invited to the Feasts clearly
hurts his feeling terribly.
He's been at the Castle long enough to be Noticed. Providing an outlet
for the loose psychic energies of the students would be considered a
necessary and useful function. (Not that Peeves is aware of what he's
doing. He's not, ordinarily, an introspective creature. He's just having
fun.)
aniwda: Thank you!!
Gramarye: Thank you!!
Alchemine: Thank you!! I love the image of Peeves drunk on out of
control magic energy!! This is exactly how I see him.
Saphron: Thank you!! Pringle tries to be what he considers "fair."
In the first book, one of the ghosts (I think it's Nearly Headless Nick,
though the speaker isn't identified,) says, in answer to the Fat Friar's
remark that they ought to "give Peeves a chance" and let him come to the
Welcoming Feast, "haven't we given Peeves all the chances that he
deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even
a ghost..." This was the line that got me thinking about Peeves' nature.
Sarah: Thank you!! My take on Dippet is that he's traditional and kind-
hearted. Peeves was in the Castle for centuries before Dippet's time.
Dippet is aware of Peeves' function. If Peeves was to be exorcised,
another Poltergeist would soon manifest. But Peeves has been the
Castle's Poltergeist for centuries. He's traditional. Therefore, Peeves
stays.
Dippet was moved by Filch's parents' situation, and by their fears for
Filch. Dippet hoped that Pringle would be able to work with the boy and
teach him to be useful. When Filch actually turned out to be a good
worker, Dippet was pleasantly surprised, since he was expecting to have
to hire a second apprentice to take over the job when Pringle retired,
while keeping Filch as a permanent assistant.
Jelsemium: Thank you, Pardner!! Hmmm. Argus meeting Mrs. Norris, eh?
I've had several ideas about that, but none have actually flowed for me,
yet. I'm leaving this story "open" so anything's possible.