The Marauders: Year Seven Part One

Protection

"PEEVES! YOU ROTTEN, STINKIN', FILTHY POLTERGEIST!" Filch's voice was echoing up that staircase from the entrance hall late that evening, after all the students were in bed (or should have been, at least). Mrs. Norris sat on the floor looking down through the banister to watch as her owner waved a soaking mop after the semi-transparent, giggling ghost, who had poured a whole bag of flour over the caretaker's freshly cleaned floor. She let out a chirp as somebody came up behind her and stroked her back - turning to look, she found Albus Dumbledore smirking down at Filch's displeasure below.

"I've always found his antics with Peeves most entertaining," Dumbledore said quietly, "And I see now that you do, as well, Mrs. Norris."

The cat's eyes glowed at him.

Dumbledore stood up and nodded her adieu and moved on down the hallway, leaving Filch to it. He pretended not to notice a pair of Ravenclaw third years, whose toes were peeping out from behind the curtains as they shivered and whispered to one another to be quiet, lest they get caught out of bed. He smirked, recalling many days of walking past hiding Marauders, usually James and Sirius, in these very halls. He would have enjoyed playing with their heads and pretending to have heard a noise and give them a bit of a scare by looking about for a moment or two... Pretending not to know exactly where the noise had come from... but tonight he had far too important a mission to take the pause.

"I can't stand them. Especially the young ones... They're full of questions and interruptions and... laughter..." Garm sneered and rubbed his temples, reclining across a chaise in the DADA's office quarters.  A fire blazed in the hearth and Frek sat at a little table beside it, building a muggle jigsaw puzzle, moving pieces with waves  of his wand - a gnarled, stubby thing made of alder, with a knot in the wood and carved with a cross-hatch pattern at the helm. "As though their bleeding lessons matter."

"'sposin' we get everything all squared aways, then soon 'nuff their lessons will matter, though, won' they Garm?" Frek asked. "Back to the old ways with'em all then, won't it? When trivial things was important?"

Garm sighed and closed his eyes. "Let's all look forward to that for sure."

"Don't you wants to be successful, Garm?" Frek looked up from his puzzle.

Garm didn't reply. Even if he'd intended to - he didn't have the time to before there came a knock upon the door. Frek jumped up and hurried over to answer it. Garm didn't even move - and probably wouldn't have done - until he heard Frek say, "Messer Dumbledore sir, to what's do we be owin' the pleasure?" At the mention of Dumbledore, Garm sat up and spun about on the chaise to look.

Sure enough, Albus Dumbledore was coming in the room, a friendly smile on his face, even as his eyes took in the already messy office. "Glad to see you've made yourselves at home," he said, looking about at the empty teacups and gilly water bottles that littered the room, sitting on every available surface, it seemed. The second seat at the table contained a stack of over twenty muggle jigsaw puzzles that belonged to Frek, and Garm's werewolf tooth necklace hung in a bell jar on the mantel beside a box made of dragon bone that contained floo powder. "To be honest, I was a bit afraid I might come to check on you and find you'd flown the metaphorical coop." Dumbledore stood before the fireplace, his eyes taking in the string of teeth.

Garm replied, "And why would we do that?"

"Well, students -- they can be a bit trying. Particularly this year's current batch of seventh years." Dumbledore smiled good naturedly.

"Yeah," Garm replied, "Except I've always just found myself craving constant interactions with brainless, sarcastic little gits." He stared deadpanned at Dumbledore, then added, "Besides that, rather enjoying some of the... er... fringe benefits."