Hogwarts' Spy

Ah! Unexpressed love offers such a charming spectacle! A man and a woman, their bodies nailed by secret. Their hands searching feverishly for the smallest contact between each other, innocently. Their gazes condemned to hold each other only for an instant.

She observes him, notes of each and every feature of his face so it can survive, intact, untouched, in her thoughts. With his eyes heavy with desire, he looks at her; her voice resounds in his head and makes him vibrate to the depths of his being.

They are both obsessed with each other's gestures. They can think of nothing but feeling their lips meet at last, feel the other's breath on their cheek, feel the other's on their back, on their waist, in their hair, feel an insisting hip, feel a strong embrace, and think of nothing but the other. Feel, feel!

Nevertheless, they both stay where they are. Their glances kept down by the fear that one might read the other's thoughts, see the other's temples beat wildly under the pressure of a heart that is struggling to break free. Struggling so hard that it seems about to explode, this black stallion that rises on its hind legs proudly and emits a long neigh. And, each like the other, they tell themselves, "Has he heard it?" "Has she heard it?"

"Calm down, calm down!"

They must be extraordinarily strong-willed to restrain themselves. Love is a wild animal that imposes its desires and wills. Everything in their gestures, their glances, their hands that look for each other, everything in them expresses their love; a love so great that it has a hard time coming out.

But fear dominates hope. All that lacks is a sweet melody. One like the other, they know how to play it. Just a little "I love you" and all restraints could become useless.

No more sighs, please... you are wasting precious time...

Madam Pince put down the piece of parchment she was holding hastily. The crippled sound she had just heard echoed in the nervous clutch of her hand. Her heart knocked hard against her chest and she felt as breathless as if she had stored a heavy book on an upper shelf in the Restricted Section. These shelves were too high, in her opinion... and the books far too precious to be thrown about with unreliable spells.

But her mind was not on books at the time. Not precisely. She had just heard something. It was only a few minutes past curfew; a student might have come back to retrieve some forgotten item or beg for a much needed book. Rows of shelves blocked her view; she could not see the main door.

"Is anyone here?" she asked, her stern voice reverberating drearily off the over-packed shelves.

Silence. And despite it, Madam Pince still felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of her neck that kept her convinced she was being observed. Or not alone, at the very least. She got to her feet and proceeded towards her desk, feeling uncomfortable but resolute to carry on her last chores before retreating to her private quarters. She first checked that her registry was in order and, satisfied, picked an impressive pile of books and parchment rolls that had been abandoned by students on their way out. With a last look at the still well closed main door, she put the pile on a trolley and started dispatching each precious bundle in its designed cradle (usually formed by two of its congeners).

Little by little, her original fretfulness dissipated as she walked the familiar streets and alleys of what was, in part, her Dominion. She was sometimes able to appreciate the presence of students during the day, despite what they obviously thought. In these moments, it was a pleasure for her to see maturing minds come to appreciate the value of knowledge, to integrate it and make it part of their own. Even broaden it, in some very privileged cases. But most of the time, their constant whispering -whether it was pulsating with excitement, fear, panic, exhaustion, hurry and who knows what else- charged the air with an energy she found very irritating. And of course there was the fact she had to guard the venerable pages like a hawk to prevent any ink-filled quill (or fingers) from violating their spotlessness.

The teachers were another story. They knew how to respect the books themselves, but many had a hard time respecting their contents. They were prone to request her help in finding a very precise -and usually rare- reference for their own precious endeavors, and she was overly glad to oblige. But then, inevitably... their eyes found what they were looking for and, sooner or later over a year's course, tore a haughty huff from their lips. Professors Snape and Sprout were particularly fond of that "technique". They were quick to criticize other people's work and findings, and equally quick in putting forward one of their own. When they were both in the Restricted Section at the same time, that phenomenon reached epidemic proportions once it acted as a conversation starter.

Fortunately, none of them are here tonight, she thought, climbing up a ladder to store several Herbology books. I can enjoy the silence, for once!

Nonetheless, that silence got broken a few minutes later by a hissing sound coming from the floor. Looking down, Madam Pince saw a shabby-looking cat that glared at her with malevolent eyes. Her lips firmly pressed together in a resolute expression, she went down the steps bravely.

If that cat thinks she can keep me away forever, she thought grumpily, she does not know Irma Pince!

Just before she stepped on the floor, the cat took a few careful steps back and sat down, still looking at the older witch with a superior air. The librarian gave her a defiant glare and, after a few seconds of that strange visual duel, sighed deeply.

"This is ridiculous," she murmured softly. "It has been going on for too long, don't you think?"

The cat's tail slashed the air from left to right, its fur muffling the swishing sounds it made. Staring at her most impertinently, she did not seem willing to honor that question with any answer whatsoever.

"We should be friends," continued the witch, crouching down and extending a hand towards the animal. "I'm sure we could find a way to be friends, you and I. Come closer, will you?"

She scratched her nails playfully against the floor, snapped her fingers a few times, and made several sounds with her mouth, but to no avail. The cat refused to move and looked at her as if she was challenging the witch to take a step forward and walk in what she seemed to claim as her new territory. Tired of having no success, the librarian bent forward cautiously and attempted to scratch the cat behind the ear. She regretted it instantly; in one swift movement, the cat hissed again and lashed out at her. Her attack left several thin red marks that began to drip down the witch's inner wrist.

"Enough!" snapped a gravelly voice from above their heads, stopping the animal at once. "Go patrol the rest of the castle this instant, you bloody old spinster!"

"Oh, Argus, do you need to be so harsh with her?" said Madam Pince, rising to her full height and trying to gather the pieces of her scattered composure. "She only followed her instinct..."

"Instinct or not, I don't like her hurting you; it's the third time this month!" replied the man, taking out a relatively clean handkerchief from his pocket.

"Really, it is just a scratch."

Thank you for caring, Argus, she thought, shivering slightly as his rough hand took her wrist and pressed the handkerchief against the small wound with surprising delicateness.

"What brings you here at this time of the evening? Have you finished the book I lent you already?"

"No, not yet," he replied, his hand lingering on the witch's skin. "I want to take my time; like the story, though. Bl-... really interesting."

"I am glad you like it. So what brings you here?"

"I thought you might need a hand to, you know... finish putting the books back on the shelves... check for hiding students in the library."

"I am done with the books, but I have not made my last tour. We can go together if you want."

"It's never good for a woman to be alone like that in late evening... not in times like this."

That tour in question was not much of a stroll, really, for the library's row made it rather sinuous. But the caretaker and the librarian had started making it together a while ago and, with the passing years, it had become a routine they were both fond of. A routine they hesitated to call a formal rendezvous but, given its lack of use on the practical level -and the fact that Filch never failed to show up- really started to sound like one.

"Have you found any lost items today?" he asked, almost ritually, as they started walking between the study tables.

"Not this time, Argus," she chuckled. "You will leave empty-handed."

"Right."

He had shaven just before he came; she noticed it when she risked a side-glance in the intersection of two rows. The smell of his aftershave was a bit too strong and it burned her nostrils, but she tried to appreciate the effort all the same, just as she appreciated that, for a few months, his hands had been deprived of any stains or dirt his tasks usually produced during the day.

"Oh, wait! Silly me," she stammered uneasily, coming to a full stop. "I did find something this evening. A piece of parchment."

"Anything on it that might lead us to the scu-... the person who left it behind?" he asked in his best Auror-like tone.

"There is nothing incriminating on it," she protested. "Nothing worthy of a punishment either," she quickly added.

"Better leave it here, then," he replied, sounding bitterly disappointed. "Whoever wrote this will come looking for it tomorrow or later."

"I guess... any news from the castle?"

And Argus began telling the witch about his day as usual. Except that this time, Madam Pince was not the great listener she generally was. Though he reported everything he had witnessed during the day in great detail (and there were many things to report, for if the castle's inhabitants did not always pay attention to him, the reverse could not have been more false), her thoughts were all turned to the parchment... and its contents.

Retrieving the item from her pocket, she wondered if a man like Argus Filch would appreciate that kind of prose. He came off as a harsh person, even like a blunt brute when he caught students doing some mischief, but there was another side to him. She was just beginning to grasp and explore it. People simply cannot be one-faced: Professor Flitwick, for example, was a man of soft and gentle temper who sometimes rented dark books about the bloodiest Goblin wars nevertheless. Maybe the caretaker could see the images and messages comprised in that short text.

After all, it had hit home for her. Once she had begun reading it, she had read the rest avidly. Maybe it would do the same for him... even act as a conversation starter that would lead them on paths radically different from those Professors Snape and Sprout used to choose in a similar situation.

"... so Professor Slughorn let the girl go without giving her detention, but I was the one who had to clean the mess all the same!" he grumbled half-way in his report.

"I am sorry to hear that," she said distractedly, unfolding the parchment before her eyes.

"You know what it's like... but there's no mess that's not my match here!" he replied, giving her a genuine yellowish smile.

"About that parchment we discussed earlier... I read it, as I told you. It's some kind of literary essay and I found it... inspiring."

"What's it about?"

"Erm..." she began, blushing for a good reason this time, her eyes stuck on the word "love" on the parchment for some inconvenient reason. "About quite a few things, really..."

"Like what?" he insisted, trying to peek over the edge of the document.

"You know... about two people... a man and a woman..."

Why is it so difficult to put into words? she thought, almost afraid to look up. It is all in there, just give it to him! He will understand!

"Go on..."

"Right," she gasped, feeling definitely hot despite the cool air of the castle. "It is about two people, and what happens... well..."

"Has it got some action going on?" he asked, his eyes shining with hunger.

"I'm sorry, w-what?" asked the librarian, blinking rapidly.

"You know... action... someone getting murdered or something..."

"Oh, not really," she answered, disappointment falling over her like cold water dripping down her back. "Not at all. In fact, it is quite the opposite."

"Not sure I'm following you, Irma..."

"I'll put it very simply for you!" sneered an ironic voice from above their heads.

Looking up, they both saw Peeves; he was floating next to the upper shelves with a mutinous expression on his face. Taking off his hat ceremoniously, he wrapped his arms around an imaginary lover and started kissing the empty space with unleashed passion, sticking and swirling out his tongue in a most obscene manner. With all the sound effects that could possibly be produced under the circumstances.

"Peeves! You dirty pig!" shouted the caretaker, his face turning as red as his companion's had turned livid. "Sod off!"

"There's no stopping Peevsies' kissies!" he chanted, bouncing up and down on the shelves, much to Madam Pince's horror.

"Get off or I'll make ya!" growled Filch, bouncing on his feet in rhythm with the poltergeist, arms slashing the air above his head.

"I'm sure Romeo here wouldn't have any problem doing it, you know," continued the ghostly pest. "He's been practicing with your books for months before going to bed every evening! Mmmmmwah! Mwah! Smooch!"

"Get off and fight like a man, you bloody... white-arsed... friggin'..." barked Filch, showing worrying signs of wanting to climb up the shelves.

"Sure I will, Argustine," giggled Peeves, plunging down. "But not without this!"

In a flash, he snatched the piece of parchment from Madam Pince, who could do nothing but gasp angrily in protest. She had watched with rising panic as the books wobbled precariously from the poltergeist's careless taunting and had almost forgotten about the piece of parchment in the loosened grip of her hand.

"Let him go, Argus," she intervened. "It is just a piece of parchment!"

"It was your piece of parchment," he declared, the comical solemnity of his voice matching his totally rigid stance. "At least until its owner is identified. It's personal now! I'll bring it back to you, Madam, dead or alive!"

To which Peeves replied by blowing sonorous kisses to the air before he blew a raspberry at them and flew through the opening of the main door. The irate man ran right behind him without saying goodbye. Peeves kept him running; even though he would have had no trouble getting rid of the aging caretaker, he fully enjoyed the opportunity to look at him getting out of breath while trying to retrieve the piece of parchment.

First, he led him all the way down the main corridor on the fourth floor, and then proceeded downstairs. Filch followed, muttering dirty insults and murderous invectives under his breath that would have made Professor McGonagall blanch. Peeves kept singing silly refrains and bouncing along the staircases, always keeping a safe number of stairs between them. Then, half-way between the second and first floor, Peeves sat on the banister and waited for Filch to reach his level, balancing his feet above the emptiness below.

Just when the ragged breath of his favorite living toy resounded behind him, he turned back and waved the parchment right under the man's nose. He swooped down on it, of course, but the poltergeist was faster. Alas, had such entities been made of more solid matter, Filch would have been stopped in his attempt. The stone banister fit that description marvelously, however; it hit the unfortunate man right in the stomach. Peeves simply back-flipped off the banister and, imitating the sound of a Muggle plane falling down, he landed two stairs below.

Filch stumbled his way down to the ground floor, more infuriated and even more resolute to get Madam Pince's parchment back. Peeves bounced past the dungeons staircase, blowing kisses each time he hit the ground, all the way down the corridor. He passed the two gargoyles that were guarding the staff room's entrance and was struck by a sudden idea. He flew through the closed door with the intention to have Filch collide with anyone he would find in there. He already smiled excitedly at the image of the grumpy caretaker being stuck explaining why he was chasing after a romantic essay through the whole castle (for Peeves also fully intended to read it out loud the minute Filch would join the party and claim it). However, once he found himself inside, Peeves realized two things.

One: the only person in the room was someone he definitely did not dare to tease, and two, Filch's labored breathing was nowhere to be heard in the corridor. He had probably lost his trail. Crossing the room quickly, he flew through the opposite wall and kept going forward until he reached the Great Hall. Surely the racket of the tables and benches piling up in some kind of post-modern work of art would attract Filch's attention and disclose his current location to him. In his eagerness to resume his favorite hobby, nonetheless, Peeves forgot the parchment completely.

It lay on the floor, in front of the staff room door, knocked off the poltergeist's ethereal hands seconds before during his haste to fly inside.

~*~