Up the Duff

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Hermione Granger sat in Minerva McGonagall’s office with her kneazle curled up on her lap and glared fiercely at a darkly scowling Argus Filch.

“These might not even be Crookshank’s kittens.” Hermione sniffed haughtily. “Who knows where that harlot of a cat has been?”

Argus’ mouth worked up and down, but for a moment no sound came out as his face turned red as a beet; then he exploded spectacularly. “Ere’ you callin my cat a slut?” Filch screamed as his eyes bulged in his head.

Minerva rubbed her temples. Her head was really starting to throb and the yelling wasn’t helping any.

“I call them like I see them.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Everybody knows she waves both those tails at everything that moves.”

Argus made a strangled, choking noise in the back of his throat.

“Enough Miss Granger!” Minerva spoke up before Filch could actually have a stroke. “There is no call for that!”

Hermione stubbornly stuck her chin out, but remained silent as the Headmistress glowered at both her and Argus Filch.

Fire whiskey, Minerva decided; was thoroughly evil. “It will be simple enough for Poppy to do a paternity test on Mrs. Norris.” She said from between gritted teeth. “Until we know for sure I forbid either one of you from saying a word to the other or I will expel you both!”

“Um’ not a student.” Argus muttered.

“Don’t think that will stop me!“ Minerva hissed as she swiveled her head between them. “Do I make myself clear?”

Hermione reluctantly nodded. “Yes Headmistress.”

“Argus?”

“I suppose.” Filch grudgingly said.

“Fine.” Minerva motioned to both of them. “Be off with you then.”

The two hostile cat lovers stood and slowly made their way out of the room. Minerva buried her throbbing head in her hands and sighed. Reaching into one of her desk drawers she grabbed the vile of hangover potion that she always kept there in case of emergencies and gratefully swallowed it down.

The Headmistress stood up from her desk and crossed to exit the room as soon as her head stopped pounding. She was almost through the door when she noticed a raspy chuckle coming from one of the portraits hanging all over the walls of her office.

“You know.” The former Headmaster snickered nastily. “Drinking in the office is frowned upon Minerva.”

Slowly McGonagall turned and faced the animated painting of her former boss. “Albus..” She said purposely. “Shut the fuck up.”

Slamming the door behind her Minerva stomped out of her office and down to the infirmary.


By late evening Bellatrix Lestrange was at her wits end. Throughout the day she had been as mean, nasty and down right rude to Dobby as she could possibly be, and still he did nothing but make big cow eyes at her and follow her around the kitchen with an adoring look permanently plastered on his face.

The other house elves hadn’t failed to notice either. Apparently Dobby was considered quite a catch by the other female house elves and now they were all sending her jealous and angry looks.

Even worse, the kitchen suddenly seemed to be packed full of butterbeer. Everywhere Trixie turned it seemed like one of the amber colored bottles was just under her nose. Like she would fall for that again.

Bellatrix wrinkled up her nose. So butterbeer made house elves slobbering drunk and horny. How in the hell was she supposed to know that? It wasn’t as though she had ever bothered to talk to one other than ordering it around.

Trixie sighed and picked up the loaded tray of treacle tarts in front of her.

“Oh no’s!” She heard Dobby squeak and then he was beside her. “That be much too heavy for Trixie! Dobby will take it!” He snatched the tray from her hands and was gone before she could even protest.

Trixie cringed under the scorching looks she was getting from the other lady elves and slunk off to a corner to pout. This was really too much. She was going to have to murder Dobby in his sleep if he didn’t stop being so sickeningly nice to her.

Bellatrix shifted in place and heard the *clank, clank* of glass hitting glass as she moved. Her mouth fell open as she stared down at the bottles of butterbeer that had somehow joined her in the corner. Did he take her for a fool?

She sighed loudly. It really would feel good to have one about now. Trixie stared down at the enticing beverages as her mouth started to water. Surely.... One couldn’t hurt?


Down in the infirmary it had finally been determined by Poppy Pomfrey after many hours of waiting, that Crookshank’s was indeed going to be a proud papa.

“I told yer so.” Filch said pompously.

Hermione grimaced. “I-I suppose I owe you an apology.” She stroked Crookshank’s soft fur. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Aye.” Filch nodded. “Aye. Ye were dead wrong.”

The bushy headed brunette bristled. Even if she totally was, Hermione Granger would never enjoy hearing that she was wrong.


Trixie smiled in her sleep as something tickled along her rather large earlobe. She stretched and wallowed in the warmth and coziness of her bed. Soft breath puffed against her neck and ear.

Rodolphus was cuddling with her, she thought dreamily. How sweet.

Bellatrix came wide awake with a start and a gasp. Rodolphus Lestrange might be many things, but sweet was not one of them, and her former husband NEVER cuddled.

Already sick to her stomach with dread Bella rolled onto her back, and found herself once again staring into the peacefully sleeping face of Dobby.

Her piercing shriek shattered nearly every glass in the kitchen.


TBC....