“Out of my way, you dirty Squib!”

Argus, having run into the short temper of Amycus Carrow before, stepped out of his way as a Hufflepuff student was dragged through the corridor by the surly professor.

It was a common sight in the halls of Hogwarts, and for the most part, Argus didn’t care. He knew what the new lot thought of him: that he was a ‘dirty Squib’. For the most part, though, he steered clear of them and they left him alone, which suited everyone just fine. He did what he was told and reported every student infraction to the Professors Carrow, and at times, he would hang around outside the Dark Arts classroom and let himself enjoy a good, old-fashioned disciplinary session, with lots of screaming.

God, he’d missed the screaming.

For the first time in his entire tenure as caretaker at Hogwarts, students walked the halls with fear in their eyes, terrified to break the rules and even more so of what would happen to them if they did. Except for a few. Some of them, a small group of dissidents, decided that it was their personal mission to make him miserable, but he would catch them. He would catch them and make them wish they hadn’t.

Sneering in delight, Argus picked up Mrs Norris and stroked her fur. She understood how hard his job was and what he had to go through every night because of those arrogant, barely human, little twits. No one else ever did.

With a grunt, he set Mrs Norris on the floor and said, “On we go, my sweet. McGonagall’s got a mould problem in the sixth-year classroom. I’ve got a good idea who’s behind that one.”

* * *

Little cretins!

Irma glared at the pile of books left for her to re-shelve, half of which were still open and upside down, creasing and desecrating the spines. She simply couldn’t understand why those little trolls couldn’t simply close the book after they were done and put them in a neat stack. Not even she would expect them to have the decency to return them, and it wasn’t as if they could be bothered to put them in the right spots, anyway.

The stacks of volumes were much higher that day, which meant that one of the professors must have set an essay on an obscure subject. Judging by which ones were the most askew, her guess was Professor Binns. She quickly sorted them by which bookcase they belonged to and then by shelf. It could have been done with magic, but spells weren’t the most careful of assistants when it came to things as fragile as books. Instead, she would take small stacks at a time and re-populate the gaps in the martinet rows of tomes.

“Oi!” Irma heard bellowed. She ignored it, as they were not within distance for her to discipline the little monsters and her arms were full, but after the hail was repeated about three times, she realised that, whomever this rude person was, they meant to catch her attention. Irritated that her work had been interrupted, she set the stacks in order on the top of the next shelf and went to find her obnoxious guest.

It was Dark Arts Professor Carrow, a Hufflepuff student in one hand and a book in the other. “I caught this one with what looks like a library book. Is this one of yours?”

Irma took the proffered volume and inspected it: Goblins Ahoy: Sea-Faring Goblins of the Fourteenth Century. Bookcase Twenty-Two, Shelf Three. “Let me check.”

Quickly, she moved to the appropriate spot where that particular work in her collection should have been, and it was indeed missing. Replacing it, Irma went back to Carrow and said, “Yes, Professor.” Glaring at the student who had dared to illicitly abscond with one of her rarest books, she said icily, “That book was definitely unlawfully removed from the library. This one is not allowed to be checked out.” Meeting Carrow’s eyes, she said, “I trust this miscreant won’t go unpunished.”

A glimmer flashed in Carrow’s eyes. “Oh, no, Madam Pince. This one will get exactly what he deserves.” And with that, he removed the little book-nicking beast from her sight.

She liked the way things were done now. The students were no longer willing to wantonly destroy school property for their puerile amusement. She had half a mind to start reporting them for destruction of school property every time they creased the corner of a page. That would teach them to treat their resources with a little bit more respect.

With only a few more books to re-shelve, Irma finished up and locked the library, ready to head off to bed. There was a new shipment of Dark Arts reference material that needed to be catalogued the next day, so she needed plenty of rest.

* * *

He was in a mood for it tonight. Argus could tell by the look on Carrow’s face that the little whelp he was hauling around had it coming. It had been a few days since anyone had been to the Dark Arts office for punishment, and damn it all, Argus was in a mood, too.

With that, he diverted from his intended destination of the Transfiguration hallway and made his way toward the second floor, instead. Not expecting anyone else out, though, it was no wonder that Argus nearly ploughed over someone on the stairs, who turned out to be a rather sleepy Irma.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Madam,” Argus said. “All right then?”

Stifling a yawn, Irma said, “Think nothing of it, Mr Filch. I’m rather distracted myself.”

In all the years they’d worked together, Argus couldn’t remember the last time that he’d spoken to Irma. In fact, he wasn’t entirely certain that he’d done so at all. Her voice was rather nice, and he liked how neat and tidy she was, both in her personal appearance and her library. Most of the teachers left him to clean up their messes, but not her. And it was with genuine interest that he said, “Oh? Long day?”

“Indeed,” she said, seemingly surprised that he held any interest in her day. “I just received a new shipment of books to catalogue, and to top it off, Professor Carrow brought it to my attention that some little heathen had taken one of my books out of the library.”

Argus didn’t realise at first that they had interacted with the same Carrow, but once he did, he asked, “Hufflepuff boy? ‘Bout this high?” He indicated chest height.

“That would be the one,” Irma said, unintentionally scowling at the memory of the would-be thief.

Snorting, Argus said, “Carrow’s taking the little blighter to the Dark Arts room right now for his punishment.”

A satisfied smile crept across Irma’s face. “And rightly so. That book is a rare antiquity, and that horrible child had it stuffed under his smelly little arm like he owned it.”

Though Argus didn’t much care for books, he understood her annoyance. This was his school, and these were his halls; those wand-waving little pests had no regard for others’ property or any sort of tidiness.

But then an idea struck him. “Madam, would you care to, er, listen in?”

“Listen in?” Irma said, not understanding what he meant.

Grinning smugly, Argus explained. “For a bit of extra tutoring, Professor Carrow has the students that are behind in class work practise their spellwork on anyone in detention.” He closed his eyes and relished the memory of the sound in his mind. “If you’re interested, I’m heading down there now.”

“And it’s that Hufflepuff boy, you say?” Irma asked. “The one who stole my book?”

Argus nodded, and Irma’s lips curved into an arc of delight. “Why Mr Filch, I would be delighted.”

Blushing furiously, he said, “You can call me ‘Argus’ if you want, Madam.”

“Please, Argus, call me ‘Irma’.”

* * *

“Your cat is lovely, Argus,” Irma said, not sure of what she should talk about with her newfound friend. She could scarcely recall ever talking to him past a few muttered acknowledgements, but as a pet owner herself, the company of a small, furry companion was invaluable and hence a point of conversation.

Beaming, Argus said, “That she is. She’s such a good cat, sniffing out rule-breakers. My best friend, she is.”

Irma nodded in understanding. “My dog, Mr Corbie — he’s a toy poodle — can sniff out any library book. He can even tell which books belong in the Restricted Section and which ones are in the General Section.” She sighed at the thought of her faithful friend.

“Right smart pooch you have, then,” he said.

They’d reached the top of the staircase by then, taking them to the second floor hallway, which housed the Dark Arts classroom. Irma looked around, feeling like she was visiting it for the first time. “I haven’t been up here since I was a student. It looks so different now.”

“That’s ‘cause Carrow had me take down some of the old portraits. Said he didn’t want old, dead Mudbloods staring at him as he walked by.” He looked meaningfully toward the wall, where the evidence of its former inhabitants still rested. “Dead pissed off they were, too. The Fat Lady didn’t much appreciate her Violet being taken away, but serves ‘em right, the lushes.”

And just like that, they were there. Irma could hear Carrow shouting at that boy — something about lack of respect for the rules and knowing what would happen when they were broken. Previously, only Professor Snape had held such high regard for policy and good behaviour, and it was nice to know that, with the venerable Snape as Headmaster, more teachers were showing these children something worth knowing: discipline.

Outside the door, they waited for the punishment to come to fruition. Still tired, Irma Summoned the bench from down the hall. They sat, anticipating the night’s events and listening to Carrow coaching another student on how to properly cast the spell he was practising. Such a wonderful tutor, she thought. Hardly anyone ever took the time to properly drill students on how things should be done, let alone had the practicality to have it double as detention.

When the first anguished cry came from the Dark Arts office, Argus pulled a thermos out of his bag. “Tea?”

“I’d love some,” Irma said, feeling her cheeks warm. Had she known that Argus was so clever and considerate, she would have found any excuse she could to chat with him before then. His company was delightful.

Another scream rent the air as he poured the beverage into the twist-on lid that doubled as a cup, which he offered to Irma. Inhaling the steam, she said, “Smells like PG Tips.”

“Don’t drink anything else,” Argus said, loudly enough to be heard over the bellowing student, as he sipped straight from the thermos. “Just a hint of sweet.”

“Exactly,” Irma said appreciatively. It was how she took her tea, as well.

They sipped on in silence for the duration of the pained wailing and through a bit of the sobbing that followed it. But, as they both knew, all good things come to an end eventually.

“I should probably be getting back to work,” Argus said, a hint of regret in his voice.

Nodding, Irma said, “And I have an early day tomorrow.” Lifting herself from the bench, she leant over and stroked Mrs Norris’s head. “Goodnight, puss.”

As the cat purred in reply, Irma gave Argus a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you for the nice evening, Argus. We really must do this again sometime. Good night.”

“Good night, Irma,” Argus said to her as she made her way back to the stairs with an uncharacteristic spring in her step.