Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “Well, I am glad that all is well. How are your classes going? I heard about Professor Snape's lesson on Swelling Solution yesterday.” Harry's breath left him for a moment. “Apparently, the lesson was simmering along as intended but came to an abrupt and explosive end.” The twinkle in his eye hinted to Harry that Dumbledore was amused.

Harry tried to keep his face as neutral as possible. “Yes sir. That was a bit of a shock.” Afraid that Dumbledore could, somehow, see a memory of the Filibuster fireworks forming in a cloud above his head, he tried to change the subject. “Oh, Professor, I've been curious. How are the mandrakes coming along? Mr. Filch is even more impossible since his cat has gone stiff.”

As soon as the last word had left his mouth, Harry could feel his ears turning red. He had spoken out of nervousness. He didn't wish to talk badly about a man who was already in pain; the words seemed to have just spilled out of his mouth.

Polite but blunt, Dumbledore responded. “There is a saying, Harry, 'Don't judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins.' Personally, I would rather evaluate someone that is free of shoes altogether; maybe on a warm beach somewhere. Dumbledore's blue eyes smiled at Harry over the top of his half-moon glasses. “But life rarely presents a choice in those cases. Does it? In any case, I believe it would take more than two moons to do a sufficient job. Don't you think?”

Harry was unsure how to respond.

Dumbledore got back to the point. “Take Mr. Filch for instance, perhaps you can imagine growing up in a world were you are different from everyone around you?”

Dumbledore was referring to Filch being a Squib, growing up in a wizarding family but not possessing the gift of magic himself. Harry could tell by Dumbledore's knowing look that the old headmaster was drawing a parallel from Mr. Filch's situation to that of his in the Dursley's home.

The headmaster continued, “Before lending his services to Hogwarts, Mr. Filch was employed at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. There, he met a slender witch who was a very accomplished healer on the second floor; that's were they deal with magical Bugs and Diseases. She had been widowed at a young age. Her late husband and his mates had been experimenting with a new charm when he died. If I remember correctly, it was meant to turn one's wand into a broomstick. The wand would remain unchanged, except the bristles that would sprout out from its base. In the event that a person might need to fly in a pinch, it was an intriguing idea for a spell. Sufficed to say a twiggy dogwood wand is no mach for 250 pounds of wizard. Likewise, with a broken wand and no broomstick a 250 pound wizard is no match for an altitude of 500 feet either.”

Dumbledore got up from his desk. He began to move about the room as he continued the story. “After a long time of grieving and, at times, being furious with her careless late husband. The young witch finally created a new kind of normal for herself. The healer was ready to love again. She became fond of the shy young man that cleaned up around the hospital. She was a capable witch, but had a soft spot for those whom, some would view as broken; a common trait among healers. The young lady gained his trust and his heart. Argus returned the sentiment. In those days, he was known to smile and even whistle as he went about his chores. The young lady was glad to find a man that was so conscientious and responsible. Young Argus was very particular, even then, about observing the norms and rules as he perceived them. The pair was beginning to talk about marriage when she got sick.”

“The talented young healer had been given a patient with a special case. No one at the hospital knew what the illness was, nor how to treat it. The patient had come from a farm. She lived alone except for the animals that occupied her barnyard. All of the creatures, both magical and otherwise, had been tested for signs of the ailment. It was determined that the sickness neither came from, nor could be passed on to animals. Unfortunately, that was the extent of their knowledge on the disease. After a very short time, the patient died. The healer, however, was beginning to show signs of carrying the same unknown sickness. Since the earlier case progressed so quickly, she knew that she didn't have much time.”

“She and Argus had intended on growing old together. The young witch had an idea. For a chance to pursue this scrape of hope she needed to tell him something; a detail about herself she had intended to keep secret. There was no longer time for secrets. She told young Argus about her abilities as an animagus. She went on to explain that the sickness didn't affect animals and, if she transformed, she would be able to live as long as she could have expected to as a healthy woman. Though they could no longer be lovers, they could still be together. She wouldn't be able to change back into the girl he fell in love with unless a cure was ready. As a human, her time was almost up.”

For a moment, Dumbledore peered into Fawkes' ash strewn cage. As he continued, it looked like he was telling the newborn fledgling a bedtime story. “Her cousin Poppy, our dear Madam Promfrey, had just accepted a job as healer at Hogwarts. Poppy had told her about our opening for the position of caretaker. The ailing young woman told Argus that she fancied the idea of exploring the corridors of a castle in her feline form. After all, the job was one in which they could spend all of their time together. And that is what they have done all these years; until recently.”

Harry felt the way Gilderoy Lockhart had looked after being blasted by Snape at the Dueling Club lesson. He was stunned, his thoughts felt fuzzy. Mrs. Norris was a witch? An animagus! Harry wondered, briefly, what she would have to say if she were ever able to return to her original form.

The headmaster lifted his spectacles with one hand, and wiped his dampened eyes with the sleeve of the other. After a tired stretch, he pulled a sleeping cap from a pocket in his dressing robes and, showing Harry to the door, bid him goodnight.