Pass the Snog

Argus Filch sat in his office, his legs propped up on his desk. His cat Mrs. Norris sat comfortably on his lap, and he stroked it. He looked around the room, sighing with discontent and grumbling to himself. An old clock ticked menacingly on the wall, teasing him.

"Serves me right for getting involved with a student," he said to Mrs. Norris. "Bloody girl's gone and given me a curse. Filthy students, always going around hexing this and cursing that." Mrs. Norris meowed in agreement.

He grimaced. How in the bloody hell was he supposed to find someone to snog? Students and teachers alike made it a point to avoid Filch at all costs. Nearly everyone in the entire building despised him (the feeling was mutual, of course). He hadn't the foggiest idea of where to go looking for someone who would even come close to willing to let him snog them.

As if the fates had been listening (although what fates could possibly be bored enough to want to listen to Filch and his cat?), there came a knock at his door. Severus Snape slithered in his head, looking dark and moody as always.

"Filch," he said in an unfavorable tone. "I need slug repellant." His nose wrinkled in disgust. "Students have been playing pranks in the dungeon halls."

Filch nodded vaguely, sliding Mrs. Norris off his lap and walking across the room. He grabbed a purple spray bottle and carried it over the door. He inspected Snape for a moment before handing him the bottle, contemplating. "Say, Snape..." he said, trying to sound casual.

"Don't bother," said Snape as he rolled his eyes. "I've already had the Snog. And even if I hadn't gotten it yet, not in a million years would I let you snog me." He snatched the slug repellant from Filch's hands.

"Er... I wasn't..."

"Riiiiight." Severus slammed the door in Filch's face, leaving the custodian alone in the gloom of his office yet again. Filch noted to himself how unrealistically quickly gossip spread through the school. Mrs. Norris pranced beside him and meowed.

"You're bloody right I'm screwed," he grumbled to the cat. He shoved his hands in his pockets and paced around the room. He bit his lip in thought, looking up at the clock in dread every few minutes. He sighed. "Maybe a walk would do me good..." He grinned at the prospect of running into students who were up to no good, and punishing them mercilessly.

He creeped ominously through the halls with his cat by his side. He tried to push the inevitable curse that was about to be upon him out of his mind. Much to his dismay, he found no students to pick on. He did, however, notice something of interest. He saw Professor McGonagall, taking a moment to gaze at a case of Quidditch trophies. Surely McGonagall hadn't gotten much snogging lately... maybe she was just desperate enough to help Filch in his situation. He straightened his coat, and licked the palms of his hands to slick back his hair. He coyly slithered up to McGonagall. (Wait, now, and take a moment to truly picture this: Filch.... slithering. Mad, isn't it?)

"Good day, Professor," he said in his smarmiest voice. He stepped closer to her. "You know, I saw you standing here... and, coincidently, I happen to be standing here, too, so I thought maybe..."

McGonagall gasped suddenly as she realized what he was getting at. "Argus Filch!" she snapped, as if speaking to one of her students. "Don't you come an inch closer! If you bring that cursed snog any nearer to me, I'll turn your cat into a rutabaga!" She turned with a huff and briskly walked away.

Filch sighed again and continued on his walk. "It's hopeless," he grumbled to himself. (This man does alot of grumbling, no?) As he neared the corner, he began to detect an intoxicating smell, like cheap perfume. He was less than surprised to see Professor Trelawney turn the corner, twirling her hands around in that creepy mystical way she does.

"Ah... good afternoon, Argus," she said in her misty voice.

"Er... Hello, Professor," he said, trying not to make eye contact. "Don't you have tutoring right now?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Why yes, Argus, I do. But as I was helping my students gaze into their crystal balls, I suddenly sensed an unholy disturbance in the cosmos."

Filch scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Er... did you now?"

Professor Trelawney nodded gravely. "Indeed I did. I saw that you were in immediate danger, and I hurried here to help!"

"Well, as you can see I'm just fine, so... you can leave now." Professor Trelawney, however, only stood there looking mystical as always. "No, seriously... you can go."

"Argus, my dear Argus, do not resist the powers of the universe. Forces are at work here that we dare not presume to understand!"

"Er... what?"

"You can't possibly expect to defy the all-knowing fates!"

"Huh?"

Professer Trelawney sighed and threw up her hands. "The Snog, man," she spelled out for him, dropping the omniscient tone. "I've come to relieve you of the Snog."

"Oh... Oh!" It dawned on him. He looked over at Professor Trelawney and wrinkled his nose. "Forget it. You're bonkers. I've told you at every staff Christmas party, and I'll tell you again... I'm never snogging you!" He stepped back slowly but firmly, sending her the message but at the same time trying not to make any sudden movements.

Trelawney grinned seductively (Again, take the time to picture this: Trelawney... seductive) and approached the retreating custodian. "Oh, now, Argus... you mustn't refuse me. Fate has brought me here when all others have shunned you. You have only mere moments before the Snogging Spell takes over, and I'm your only hope." She backed him up into a wall and stared at him with her creepy bug-like eyes. "So what's it going to be?"

Filch sighed in desperation as he weighed his options. Be cursed and deal with a horrible affliction for a year, or swap spit with Lady Heebie Jeebies. "I hate this bloody school," he muttered, as he dove in for the gooey wet lips of the divination teacher. Mrs. Norris turned her little cat head, unwilling to witness such horror.