Bella and the Chamber (Book Two)

Chapter Seventeen

Surprisingly, I didn't feel sorry for Mrs Norris. That thing had it coming. However, as soon as Malfoy mentioned Mudbloods, I saw red and was about to pounce on him until Harry grabbed my shoulders and yanked me to him stopping me. 

Doesn't Malfoy know NOT to piss off hungry and tired women? It's like a death sentence!

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout and my shuffle, Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror. I looked down, Harry's arms were still wrapped tightly around me.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?" he shrieked.

And, like always, his popping eyes fell on me and Harry. Darn it. Why us?

"You two!" he screeched and I flinched. "You two! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you both! I'll-"

"Argus!"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene and I sighed, relaxing into Harry's arm. Harry responded by holding me tighter. Dumbledore was followed by a number of other teachers, in seconds, he had swept past me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione and detached Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You too, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Swan, Miss Granger"

Aaaannnndddddd we're done for.

Yay...

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free-"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said.

The silent crowd parted to let us pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As we entered Lockhart's darkened office, there was a flurry of movement across the walls; I saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. Idiots. Yup, I just called a bunch of paintings idiots. Problem? The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. The four of us shared tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching. I was gripping onto Harry's hand for dear life.

The tip of Dumbledore's nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris's fur, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was sniffing her. But he was actually looking at her closely through his half-moon glasses, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind us, half in the shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: it was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around us all, making suggestions. But I could neither of us were listening.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the Transmorgrfian Torture. I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her..."

Is anybody believing this douche?

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs Norris, his face in his hands. Much as I hated Filch, I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him, through not nearly as sorry I felt for myself. If Dumbledore believed Filch, I would be expelled for sure. 

And I like it here!

I don't find trouble!

Trouble finds me!