Interlude for a Longer Piece

The soup had been good, Argus Filch decided, but not worth the trouble it had cost.

*

Argus Filch was not having a good morning. While he had had extensive experience with cat scratches, he had not been aware of the rather sizeable damage an irate newt was capable of at seven o'clock in the morning when faced with a hissing cat and after having been stuffed into a broom closet all night. He also hadn't accounted for how difficult it would be to actually procure a tank from Severus Snape, who was apparently completely unmoved by the horrors of close encounters of the newt kind.
He had had to settle for a toilet.

It wasn't a permanent arrangement, Filch reassured himself, pushing the door to his room open and dropping the toilet bowl in the corner with a thud. He took a step back and considered the latest addition to his décor. White. Chunky. Hideous. It looked like a toilet bowl-which, of course, it was.

He considered the long green thing under his bed, wondering vaguely how he was supposed to keep it in a toilet bowl until his owl-order tank arrived.

'Maybe I could just kill it…' But no, Rubeus would be crushed. Filch crouched down beside the bed and made what he hoped were calming chirping noises.

'Here Puppy! Good Puppy! Does Puppy want a nice toilet?' He crawled over to the toilet bowl and splashed his hand in the water. The newt blinked at him lazily, as if totally unimpressed by this display.

Filch growled. 'Alright, you lousy crawler, don't make me do this the hard way.' The newt blinked at him again and Filch's eyes narrowed. 'Come here you rotten reptile! I didn't saw this thing off and drag it down two flights of stairs to have you turn up your nose at it!'

The newt began to slowly crawl out from under the bed. Filch blinked at in surprise.

'That's right, Puppy,' Filch smiled-or tried to smile. 'Just get in the tank you pile of antiquated dinosaur bones,' he encouraged.

The newt blinked its large, watery eyes at him; Filch's repugnance for the creature thawed an infinitesimal degree.

'Come on, Puppy,' he breathed.

The newt turned and waddled out the open door at a surprising speed. Filch felt his heart turn to ice. The newt disappeared around a corner of the hallway and Filch sat down in front of his door, looking out after it.

'Poor dear thing got away from me, Rubeus. Got stuck in some of my chains-Puppy never had a chance. Why did she run? I think she missed her Mummy.'

An ugly expression twisted itself across Filch's face. 'And I've got a lovely recipe for newt soup, dear.'

*

Catching the newt had presented many difficulties.

*

Argus Filch was also learning that newts should never, under any circumstances, be cornered. The putrescent purple slime the creature had managed to unearth from the school plumbing system was ample incentive for the lesson. As was the fact that it was now dripping from Argus Filch's hair, clothing, and cat.

'C'mon,' Filch muttered under his breath. He tried circling around the creature, which simply eyed him warily. He tiptoed to within a metre of the creature smiling what he hoped was a disarming smile. He lunged for the newt's tail.

*

He came to with a round, furry weight on his chest and a rough tongue lapping at his face. The large yellow eyes of Mrs. Norris blinked at him.

'Did it get away?' Filch demanded of the cat.

If cats had had eyebrows, this cat would have raise one. Mrs. Norris stepped delicately down onto the slime-covered floor and padded away down the hall.

*

That it had required research was simply ridiculous.

*

Madam Pince gave Filch an odd look as he edged his way along the library shelves. He gave her a curt nod and turned back to the shelf for Care of Magical Creatures. Negative Reinforcement and Why it Doesn't Work Well With Streelers… Never Underestimate Your Puffskein… Newt-Handling.

Filch dragged the book onto a nearby table and flipped to the index. Allergies, Mating habits, Subduing, 179, see also Loss of limb, Loss of life.

*

And then there was Rubeus.

*

"Ah, Argus, wasn't expecting ter see yeh till tonight." The great whiskery face beamed down at Filch and he received a great slobbery kiss somewhere around the left ear before being admitted to Hagrid's hut.

"I need limburg, Rubeus. Do you have any left over from your last batch of fudge? It's for," he scowled at the endearment, "Puppy."

Hagrid's face lit up. "I knew yeh'd get along alright." He shuffled among some bruised cauldrons, producing at last a large brown paper package tied with slightly string. He dropped it into Filch's arms, who staggered slightly beneath its weight.

Like sex on a bad day, Filch thought as he trundled back to the castle stumbling slightly and wrinkling his nose at the smell of the cheese. Why had the man apologized for its being underripe? It smelled worse than Hagrid's underwear on a Thursday.

*

And he certainly hadn't counted on the dungbombs.

*

The acrid smoke cleared, leaving behind wisps of putrid green and orange in its wake. Filch was in the midst of describing the process of flaying and the varying views to cannibalism taken by wizards when the monster came wobbling around the corner, apparently stupefied by the fumes. He debated briefly between continuing his allegory for the terrified first year who seemed to be spoiling himself and newt-chasing.

The newt blinked stupidly around, nostrils sniffing. Then the skin over its bulbous, lamp-like eyes began to quiver. Filch recognized the expression from the book on Newt-handling; it was generally accompanied by bold red lettering and the words:

"RUN LIKE HELL!"

Filch ran, or tried to. As he took his first step backward, his ankle twisted around the furry form of Mrs. Norris and his already crooked nose further crooked itself against the stone floor. He tried to crawl backwards, half-immobilized by the sight of the oncoming newt.

The newt blinked at him and sniffed again. It turned to the trembling student and clamped its mouth around the ankle, which was dripping slightly with urine.

In the hospital wing, Filch remembered that newts took offense to the smell of human excrement.

*

Dumbledore had been most helpful. He had laughed.

*

Filch tried to keep a straight face as he informed Hagrid that the newt had been put down as a menace to the school. Hagrid blubbered, his shoulders heaving with great, rumbling sobs. Filch patted his arm gently and found himself pulled into an awkward embrace as Hagrid's tears slowly abated.

Face pressed against Hagrid's coat and a large hand stroking his back, Argus Filch wondered if he had been cruel. Probably, he decided. But Hagrid needed to learn not to give monsters as gifts.

*

But the real kicker, Filch concluded, was the Hagrid had made something edible.

*

Argus Filch stirred the pale broth with the tiny model newt Hagrid had sent with it to help Argus through the grieving process. Somehow. Filch watched idly as the brown tail went round and round, knocking every so often against the spoon. There came a soft snuffling sound from beneath the bed. Filch scowled and crawled onto the floor.

"You'd better not forget that there's a cauldron waiting for you in the kitchens if I change my mind about this."

Puppy blinked up at him and fastened her mouth onto the toilet bowl.