CHAPTER 4

Minerva McGonagall was appalled at the audacity of Ronald's actions. So appalled that she couldn't bear to walk the campus in human form, knowing how obvious the fury in her cheeks must have been.

Instead she became the tabby, able to go unnoticed in the nearly deserted halls. She strutted off, sniffling slightly, halfway wishing Severus Sanpe was around to mix her up an elixir. This ruddy cold had been bothering her all week.

To think, she too could have been in Hogsmead, enjoying a fire whiskey at the tavern. All the other teachers were surely gathered in a booth at that very moment, happily regaling each other with tales of their best lesson plans.

True, Minerva wasn't exactly a social butterfly, but at least it was better than babysitting those snot-nosed punks.

In fact, there were only two people she know of that enjoyed staying behind to torture students, and one of them was at a conference in Bristol.

She fumed at the thought of Severus enjoying the English countryside before recalling that he wasn't one to appreciate nature. It helped to think of the greasy man confined to a sunless dungeon not unlike his own place inside the school.

Then there was the second person – a dark and deeply disturbed man. His soul lived in the walls themselves, feeding off the fear of wayward children. He lurked in lonely corners and crept through shadows.

Minerva was sure that Argus Filch would have been a loyal follower of Voldemort, had he not been born a squib.

Upon turning a corner she remembered what allowed his omniscience. Mrs. Norris, a cat not much larger than herself, glared maliciously.

"Shoo!" she intended to say, but it came out more like "Meow!"

"Oh my word," she thought. "I'd almost forgotten."

Minerva didn't traditionally prance about in her transfigured form, so it came as a bit of a shock when the other cat didn't obey.

"Meow!" she repeated with more authority.

Mrs. Norris appeared to understand, because she trotted quickly away.

Minerva sighed in relief – even she feared confrontation with Filch – and reached for her wand. Once more she was surprised, first by the absence of her wand, and secondly by wearing no robes in which to keep a wand.

"Well, I'll just transfigure and recall where I last had it…"

She muttered the necessary spell.

Nothing happened.

She tried again, to no avail.

"Goodness me," she thought, "this must be an adverse effect of my illness. No matter – I shall stop off at my office and remedy the situation before returning to the Great Hall."

Mrs. Norris arrived, seemingly from nowhere, with Filch at her heels.

"An' what 'ave you brought us today, Mrs. Norris? Looks like a filthy stray, it does."

Filch's cracked lips curled into a sneer.

"Argus, whatever are you staring at?" Minerva asked, and was horrified beyond description when she heard her own meowing.

The ground's keeper stalked toward her, his evil grin growing ever wider.

From his robes he pulled out what Minerva thought was a small switch. Filch pointed it directly at her.

"A wand? Argus, I thought you were a squib!"

Filch rifled through his pockets and found what he was looking for, apparently, when he triumphantly unfolded a rumpled scrap of parchment.

"I sure am glad you're here, little kitty – I been lookin' for something to practice my curses on. Nobody'll miss you, eh?"

He scanned the parchment, peeking over the top periodically to be sure that his target stayed put.

"Now then….stand back Mrs. Norris…." He raised the wand high and bellowed: "Crux…uh….bile…" Sparks fell lamely from the tip. "Jesus Christ!"

For the next spell he swatted as if at a fly, with about the same result.

"Abra….Kevlar!" After taking a moment to realize that the cat hadn't magically exploded, he turned to Mrs. Norris to vent. "God fucking dammit, Mrs. Norris! None a those bloody books've done a thing! Why am I such a failure, Mrs. Norris?"

Minerva saw what may have been her final opportunity at escape and took it. She sprinted down the hall, hoping to find someone…anyone who might recognize her.

Unfortunately, the first face she saw belonged to an unhappy caretaker.

Immediately she knew that she would not be so lucky a second time. Now Filch would either stare her to death or simply beat her with that joke of a wand.

With Mrs. Norris purring in his right arm, Filch grasped Minerva with his left. All the way to the front doors he pinched the scruff of her neck, and all the way she fought him. But her struggling did no good; with a strong toss she found herself in the grass outside.

"Wait…the grass?"

Minerva was so overjoyed to not be dead that she didn't notice the five students staring at her from above.