Mrs. Norris Goes Walking Options

[evlpez]

Argus Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, is a busy girl. Write a short post, picking her up from her location in the previous post and taking her through a few moments in her life. Don't kill her or signal the end of the world. The next writer should be able to continue from the end of your post.


Mrs. Norris smelled something unusual wafting under the door of her and Argus' chambers. It was early morning and they'd only just come back to their chambers to rest until their afternoon duties. It had been a relatively quiet night, but not the sort of time she'd spend laying about like other cats, doing nothing. She had a duty to Argus and even to the castle to work those corridors at night, searching for any rule breaking or security breeches.

She was used to smelling breakfast from the kitchens at this time. In fact, she'd just come from the kitchens where the little ones had given her some liverwurst and strawberry jam on toast for her shift's end dinner. She wasn't expecting this smell. This smell was something she'd expect to smell inside Horace's classroom, or even in his office. It was too strong to be something that belonged out of there.

Argus was snoring already, bless him. It was up to her to look into things. She sighed and rose from her bed, exiting their chambers through a secret passage under a tapestry, which seemed to move in anticipation of her passing.

[zymurgy]

To her surprize, it was Snape who, as usual, was stirring some sort of sludge in a cauldron.

Not as usual, however, was the fact that it smelled pleasant. The smell was undefinable, with the appeal of catnip, fresh fish and Argus all rolled into one, but somehow empty of any actual scent of its own.

"Mrreeew?"

Snape turned to scowl at her. Also not as usual, his face brightened almost imperceptibly when he saw her. He turned from the cauldron and let the stirring rod schloop to one side as he squatted on the floor. He snapped lightly making a clicking noise to beckon her forward.

"Mrow?"

Perhaps the smell had gone to his head, she decided. Or, perhaps, whatever that undefinable wonderful something was, he had decided to let her have some. She advanced cautiously and nudged his hand.

He patted her awkwardly, reaching for something behind her. Like lightning, he grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and nipped out a whisker with a pair of tweezers.

With a howl of pain she clawed at him with little success as he held her away from him at arms length, dropping her whisker into his sludge with his other hand.

"On your way, madame," he said mockingly, setting her on the floor.

She scurried off, furious. If Argus only knew!