How the War Was Lost

Author\'s Notes: My sister (damn her!) gave me this.

The Unattractive Challenge

Rules: Think of the most repulsive pairing you can. It could be that you find both people disgusting, or that these two (or more? Are you that masochistic?) together just plain squicks you. Now write about them.

Must haves:
- longer than 500 words.
- a description of how they get it on
- a description of them getting it on

Could haves:
- some type of sex that is most definitely squick-some
- an unusual location
- more points can be earnt from using the most unusual \'props\'

It\'s at this point that I\'d like to apologise.

I\'m so very very very very sorry.

I think I got all the musts, although I scimped a bit on the description of them getting it on(trust me, you\'ll be grateful for it) and ignored two out of three \'could haves\', but that being said, my I present the world\'s first (and if God is merciful, only:)

Filch/Moody with a side of Mrs Norris smoochies aka \'How the War Was Lost\'

(Unbeta-ed for those who care, and I don\'t own any of it, thank god)

“What happened to her?” whispered Hermione to Harry and Ron, standing over the infirmary bed upon which the Headmistress was placed.

It wasn’t a pretty sight – scratches and bruising were still prevalent on her face – especially around the eyes – despite Madam Pomfrey’s best attempts to heal them. Though now sedated, she was still thrashing gently, murmuring in a disturbed manner.

“They said it was self inflicted,” muttered Ron. “Why would she do this to herself?”

“Don’t know,” answered Harry, keeping his voice quiet. “Tonks said that they managed to retrieve a Pensieve memory from her though – should we take a look?”

“Well, you’re supposed to now, aren’t you Harry? You are the new head of the order and all, with Minerva out of action,” said Hermione.

“Ok then,” sighed Harry, turning to face the bowl within which a silver-grey memory swirled. “Let’s do this, then.”

Each taking deep breaths, they plunged their heads into the pensieve.

Earlier that evening at Hogwarts…

“Bloody fecking students, no respect for anything, think they own the place…” muttered Argus Filch, shuffling through the third floor corridor, accompanied as ever by Mrs. Norris. Bad tempered and tired from having to scrub the entrance floor clean from muddy foot prints – again – all he now wanted was to go home and go to bed.

Then, in the distance, he could hear the muffled voice of another man. As the two moved towards each other, Argus could slowly begin to make the words out.

“Ruddy little blighters, don’t know how they manage…Should be strung up for crimes against humanity…Worse than sodding Dementors.”

Argus couldn’t agree more with sentiments, and peered into the gloom to see who it was that matched his ill temper. He was surprised to see Mad-eye Moody appear out of the dark.

“Evening Professor,” he greeted him, not quite as sourly as he usually did.

“Evening Filch, but I’m not a professor – just up here reporting to the Headmistress, and guest lecturing for Lupin.”

Argus grunted in acknowledgement, as they started walking together down the stairs. “Hard one?”

Moody huffed as they turned a corner. “Not the subject matter, but the pupils – dear god! I suppose I should now be thankful for that impostor; if I’d had to do a year of teaching here for real, I’d never have kept my sanity.”

Argus grunted again. “I know how you feel; I’ve got to spend all my time cleaning up after them.”

Alastor eyed him sympathetically. “Good Merlin man! Have you never been able to take the damages out of their hides?”

“Despite many attempts, never once. How I’d love to put them against a wall and whip ‘em ‘til they promise never to do it again!”

“Or make them write lines in the sand on the lake shore until their fingers are bloodied!”

“Or drown ‘em in the mud they keep trackin’ through the castle!”

They reached Filch’s quarters just as a look of never-before realised understanding was exchanged, and sexual tension fizzed into life between them.

“Why, Auror Moody, would you like to come in for a drink?”

“I’d like that Argus,” purred Alastor.

Argus grinned, displaying teeth that were cracked and yellow, and opened the door, shooing Mrs Norris away from the opening.

“No, wait!” said Moody suddenly, running his eyes down Filch’s decrepit body. “Bring the cat,” he murmured huskily.

Chuckling quietly to themselves, they – and Mrs Norris – disappeared through the open door.

Slightly Later…

Minerva McGonagall was concentrating on completing her nightly rounds, but all was not well. As a matter of fact, judging from the noises emanating from Filch’s quarters, all could not be further from well.

She had known for many years that Filch was probably the least liked person in the castle – as a matter of fact, he was even hated by the faculty – although he had temporarily been usurped by Snape. She had not realised that Snape’s replacement as the most reviled thing in their lives had decreased students natural fear of the bad-tempered caretaker to the point that they would actually break into his quarters and terrorise him in his own home! She could hear the terrified yells and pained groans from clear down the hall.

“Argus!” she shouted, banging on the door. The noises didn’t change, but then they were so loud she might not have been heard. She tried the door, only to find to her horror, that it was warded from the inside! There was no way Argus even knew those wards, let alone be able to cast them – they were Auror standard. Were the perpetrators Ravenclaws, therefore, or maybe some particularly enterprising Slytherins?

“Argus!” she shouted again, kicking the door this time as she drew her wand. The shouts actually seemed to reach a fevered pitch rather than get quieter. She took a breath and blasted the door off its hinges.

“Stop! All of you stop! Argus – are you alright?” The words were out of her mouth automatically before her brain had actually processed what she was seeing beyond the rubble.

Both the men in the room were looking at her with horrified expressions. Argus Filch was on his back, naked, with his legs spread, allowing Alastor Moody to penetrate him from the best possible angle. Moody had been crouched over Filch, as if staring lovingly into his eyes, but Minerva knew he couldn’t have been doing that, because between them was clasped a petrified Mrs Norris. Filch’s tongue was still extended from licking her nose, and Moody had been chewing on her ear, judging from the fur around his mouth.

“Erm, we didn’t hear you knock?” ventured Moody.

Minerva turned and ran screaming into the night.

Back in Present Time…

Poppy Pomfrey was staring at what had been – until fifteen minutes ago – the three leaders of the Order of the Phoenix. Now, Ronald Weasley was crouched in a corner sobbing, and banging his head against the wall, Hermione Granger was still standing by the pensieve and unravelling her jumper sleeve obsessively, muttering ‘won’t think, won’t think’ and Harry Potter was rocking backwards and forwards with a blank expression and drooling as if he’d lost all muscle-control.

It was this sight that greeted Tonks and Lupin as they strode in.

“What happened to them?” asked the Auror.

“Well,” stuttered the Mediwitch, “I don’t know! It’s almost like Minerva’s case, it all seems self-inflicted!”

“Why?” asked Remus.

“I don’t know, although we did manage to gleam a memory from Minerva.”

The two looked at each other. “Well, guess we’d better have a look then,” said Tonks, as Remus nodded his agreement.

Twenty-four hours later…

“My Lord, we’ve received an owl from the Ministry,” stuttered Wormtail. “Apparently we’ve won the war.”

Voldemort looked surprised. “Really? How?”

“It says here that the entire Order of the Phoenix has been driven insane by the sight of Alastor Moody and Argus Filch copulating.”

“But what about Moody? Surely he hasn’t been driven insane by himself?”

“No, my Lord, he and Filch have shacked up in a hut in the Caribbean, and say that they don’t care what happens with the war provided they can keep making ‘sweet-feline love.’” They both shuddered in disgust.

“Ah well, at least my plan has succeeded!”

“This was your plan my Lord?”

“Of course! Crucio! On with the victory parade!”

And thus did Filch and Moody and Mrs Norris loose the war for the entirety of humanity.