[IRMA]
When Argus Filch opened his mouth, Irma was in the habit of bracing herself to hear something unpleasant, usually a rudely phrased complaint. She prided herself on being able to take the worst verbal abuse without blinking an eye (and also on her ability to dish it right back out). But –May I borrow your copy of Mansfield Park?†She was entirely unprepared to hear that.
–As I recall,†said Irma frostily, –you are not a great admirer of Miss Austen’s work. Why the sudden interest, Mr. Filch?â€
Argus absently tickled Mrs. Norris’s ears; the cat growled at him. Irma began to wonder if someone had Confunded the man. He of all people should know to keep his fingers away from that beast. And then there was the request for Mansfield Park, when she knew for a fact he still had her Restricted Section copy of Sadistic Tortures checked out.
She had seen people acting less out of character under the Imperius Curse.
–I feel bad for what I said that one time,†Argus mumbled gruffly. –I didn’t mean to be rude, but I guess you took it that way. Was thinkin’ about it today and thought I’d give old Fanny Price another go.â€
Irma pointed her wand at his forehead.
–Hey, hey!†the caretaker cried, backing up, his eyes bugging. –What d’ya think you’re doin’?â€
–This is a trick, isn’t it?†Irma said. –You’re trying to steal one of my most treasured books! Wait, don’t tell me, it was a bet, wasn’t it? I’ll bet Madam Hooch put you up to it. She hates me. Or maybe it was Charity Burbage. She was in here asking about Muggle literature only a moment ago.â€
–Pince,†said Argus, –I reckon you are clean off your rocker.â€
He said it in an odd tone; not the condemning I’m-about-to-run-away tone most people would use, more like… admiring and appreciative.
–And you are acting like an entirely different person,†Irma fired back. –Have you been Imperiused? Confunded? Or are you one of the students taking Polyjuice Potion? I hope it’s the latter. Drinking essence of Argus Filch is probably its own punishment.â€
Now she was just being nasty, and she knew it. But to have him snap back an insult would at least restore her belief in his (relative) sanity.
He did not rise to the bait. Instead, he grinned idiotically at her.
Irma, now convinced there was something very wrong with him, lowered her wand - but only so that she could point it at him surreptitiously behind the desk. –Finite Incantatem,†she whispered, hoping that would reverse any spell he might be under.
Nothing happened. If anything, that frightening grin widened.
Maybe I should call Poppy Pomfrey, Irma thought.
Aloud she said, –I’m not letting anyone borrow from my personal collection again. Only the other day I lent my Complete Works of Shakespeare to Professor Burbage, and when I got it back, there was a page ripped out. It seems she lent it to a student so that he could write some extra credit essay, and he used the blank pages in the back to write notes on.â€
–Did I mess up your book last time?†Argus demanded, a little of his usual surly demeanor returning. –Have I ever once returned a library book in bad condition?â€
–April 1987,†Irma said promptly. –You brought back Train Your Pet Kneazle To Attack People You Hate, all damp and covered in mud. I recall describing its condition as looking ‘like it was dragged it through the Quidditch pitch and then stomped on a few times.’â€
Argus said, –It got sat on by a student who had been at Quidditch practice in the rain for two hours. I gave Mr. Mortmain three weeks’ detention for sitting on my desk, but I couldn’t dry the blasted thing off… not without….â€
Not without magic. Irma sighed. –Students,†she said, in accents of deepest loathing.
–Students,†agreed Argus in the same tone. They shared an understanding look, before Irma reminded herself that he was annoying her, and she wanted him to go away.
–Fine,†she said. –You can borrow it. Mansfield Park. But you had better treat it like it’s made of diamonds and cobwebs, Argus, or so help me, I’ll hex you into next week.â€
She went into her office and pulled the old paperback - lovingly repaired multiple times, and looking almost new except for its yellowed pages - out of its honored place on her bookshelf. She held it in her hands for a moment, wondering what in the world she was doing. No matter how much she wanted to get rid of most people, she certainly wouldn’t ever use her precious books to bribe them to leave. Why should Argus be different?
–Hmph,†she muttered. –Maybe I’ve been Confunded too.â€
She went back to the desk and handed the book over. –Diamonds and cobwebs,†she said, fixing him with a stern glare.
–Diamonds and cobwebs,†repeated Filch, backing away without so much as a thank-you. He looked a little dazed; Irma wondered if his mental confusion was progressing. She would have to mention it to Poppy later.
Diamonds and cobwebs. There’s probably a double meaning in that.
Argus stumped toward his office, intending to put Pince’s book somewhere safe before a student could make it rain in the hallway, or some other magical rubbish.
She was a good actress, Pince. If he hadn’t heard the painting talking, he’d have just gone on thinking she didn’t like him one bit. It’s her way of hiding her true feelings, the wine god had said. Pointing her wand at him like that, like even a little politeness must mean he was hexed… it was a good touch, he had to admit.
He was even starting to doubt the painting’s word. Could she really be madly in love, and still act all prickly like that? Was that what women generally did, or was it just Pince?
Argus looked down at Mrs. Norris, who was following close at his heel. –What do you think, my sweet?†he muttered. When Mrs. Norris gave him no answer, except a general sense of disdain at his inability to interact socially, he growled to himself. –Gar! Women are confusing.â€
But he looked down at the faded paperback in his hand, and he thought of Maria Bertram’s secret rebellious streak. He found himself grinning involuntarily, which lifted his mood a great deal, and had the unexpected bonus effect of scaring the crap out of a passing second year.
Classes were over for the day, and the library was swarming with students chattering (in hushed tones, or Irma reprimanded them with a glare and a mild Stinging Hex) about homework and the next Hogsmeade weekend and the Triwizard tasks and the upcoming Yule Ball. Irma still felt that it would be prudent to see Poppy about whatever the hell was wrong with Argus Filch, but if she left now, one of those dodgy-looking Durmstrang students would probably set the place on fire.
She settled for doing a few rounds with her feather duster, taking extra care to brush the cat hair off the books that Mrs. Norris shed on.
–No, it’s true, really, it is. I’m not making this up.â€
Miss Brown and the twin Patil sisters were gossiping in a nearby alcove, loud enough that anyone could overhear. Irma sniffed and was about to swoop around the corner and reprimand them when she heard her name.
–Honestly, he’s in love with Madam Pince, I swear! I know it’s true because I heard him telling his cat about it, and Mrs. Norris is the only person… cat… he ever talks to semi-nicely.â€
No one talked nicely to Mrs. Norris except…
–But what did he say exactly?â€
Miss Patil - the Ravenclaw one, not the Gryffindor one - hesitated. –I - well, I couldn’t hear very well, because I was trying not to let him see me. But I think he wanted to ask her to the Yule Ball. He was trying to talk himself into it, you know, talking to his cat to give himself courage? But in the end he talked himself right out of it. He said, ‘She’d just laugh in my face. No way she’d ever say yes.’ And when he walked away, he looked all sad, with his shoulders slumped down like this.â€
Irma couldn’t see Miss Patil’s demonstration, but she could vividly imagine the way dejection would look on Argus’s shoulders.
–Poor Mr. Filch,†Miss Brown said sadly. Then she giggled. –Never thought I’d ever say that! But I really do feel sorry for him! We all know what it’s like to have a crush on someone who’ll never look at you.â€
The three girls sighed in unison.
–Madam Pince is such a snob,†said Miss Patil (the Gryffindor). –I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say anything nice, ever. No wonder Mr. Filch thought he doesn’t have a chance. She’s probably so mean to him all the time, and all he ever did was like her.â€
Irma became aware that she had dusted the same shelf four times. She stepped back, almost tripped, and leaned heavily on a chair. Her grip on the feather duster was white-knuckled.
–It’s a shame,†said Miss Brown. –They’d be cute together. Sort of.â€
–The old library lady and the bloke obsessed with his cat,†said the Ravenclaw Miss Patil, laughing. –Hey! Speaking of cats, did I tell you that Saraswati is going to have kittens? I bet it’s Hermione Granger’s ugly old kneazle’s fault. Anyway, don’t suppose you know anyone who wants a pet kitty? Everyone I know already has an owl…â€
It seemed they weren’t going to say any more about Argus. Thank goodness. Irma, clutching her feather duster tight, fled back to her office. The look on her face must have been terrifying, because a group of fifth-year girls actually ducked as she passed.
Argus, in love with her? Trying to ask her on dates but lacking the nerve? Preposterous. Idiotic of her to even entertain the notion. As if anything those gossiping students ever said was true!
On the other hand… Argus had been acting very odd before. Could he have been trying to bring up the Yule Ball, and lost his nerve at the last moment? That would explain him panicking and asking to borrow a book he hated.
Irma shook herself. Even if it were true, so what? It wasn’t as if she would have accepted, even if he had had the courage to ask.
Would she?
Briefly, she imagined it. The Yule Ball. She could wear those dress robes she’d kept in her wardrobe all these years, robes she’d only worn a few times (to school friends’ weddings). They might need to be altered a bit, but she’d charmed the garment bag to keep the moths away. Maybe Argus would get rid of that raggedy coat of his and put on a suit. Maybe he would ask her to dance. She wondered if she still knew how.
–Don’t be ridiculous,†she told herself aloud. Such fantasies may have excited a little thrill deep in her bosom, and turned her cheeks an unaccustomed girlish pink, but this was not a storybook. This was real life, and Argus Filch was rude and grouchy and -
Hmm. In fact, he was about as rude and grouchy as she behaved to him on a regular basis.
Were those twittering girls actually right? Was she a snob? Had she been stamping on Argus’s feelings all this time, and he’d just matched her prickly temperament to protect himself?
Worse - since when had she started to care what Argus’s feelings were?
–Irma Pince, you’re losing it,†she mumbled.
–You probably are, if you’ve started talking to yourself,†the painting of Daedalus said helpfully, looking up from his perpetual task of sticking feathers onto a wing-shaped frame.
She very nearly threw a book at him, before remembering herself and carefully replacing it on her to-be-repaired stack.
Madam Pomfrey had joined Charity and Minerva in the teachers’ lounge, and was thoroughly enjoying their retelling of the day’s exploits.
–Miss Brown and the Patil sisters performed admirably,†Minerva said, with a pleased smirk. –I must congratulate Padma Patil on her ability to improvise plausible fiction on the spot. Though Miss Brown giggled so much, I thought she would give it away.â€
–But Irma bought it!†crowed Charity.
–She certainly seemed shaken,†Poppy said, grinning. –She visited the hospital wing to inform me that Argus was acting strange, but ended up asking me if she might also be under some kind of mind-altering curse.â€
The three of them chuckled gleefully as they set to plotting the next stage of their Shakespearean prank.