Feathers fell in flurries like snow. Peppering the floor in a patchy eiderdown carpet. The deep brown wooden floorboards begged to be free of this offending, mass. Luckily for these floorboards help came in the form of an outraged “mew” The sound echoed round the bedroom walls. The cat screamed again. This time it was answered by the sound of wheezing and flat footsteps thumping through the office. The door to the bedroom flew open and crashed into the stone wall, juddering the door frame.

“Mew!” the cat turned it’s intelligent, lamp like eyes up adoringly at the wheezing man who was holding on to the door frame. The man’s eyes seemed to bulge in disbelief. His knuckles an odd shade of white. “Hiss” The cat laid her ears flat against her skull and vocalised the inner torment of her master.

Mrs Norris prowled around the room making a cursory inspection that would make a drill sergeant proud. Her tail ram rod straight up in the air her, hackles up, She scratched the floorboards in defiance to the mess. If Mrs Norris could talk she wouldn’t say anything. She turned her head and gave Filch a “told you so look”. This was wasted as Filch was too busy blustering incoherent words at the vandalised room. It was always the same. Every few years a group of ne’er do well students …

“Brats!” Spat filch.

… ne’er do well students would break in to Filch’s office and then somehow if undiscovered and not immersed in the potential wonders of the filing cabinet ( student records, banned items and copies of detention slips) would notice a grubby, stained door and connect the inevitable dots. Even . Mr. Filch. Had. To. Sleep. Somewhere. With the use of their …

“… magic wands, ain’t got no respect. That’s breaking and entering! When the Headmaster hears of this …”

Mrs Norris perhaps might have pointed out at this point that the Headmaster would probably hear of this before she and her kind, loving master would enter his office to tell him. Mrs Norris’s stomach growled at the thought of the Headmaster’s office, in particular of that sitting meal. The bird. “It will burn you to a crisp, my love! Burn you with fire. So we’re not to try to eat the Headmaster’s pet!” the memory of the crooning masters voice filled her head. It was the same warning given again and again.

The sound of bristles scraping the floor made Mrs Norris whip round in time to see a white shape in the corner of her eye. She pounced. Claws extended. Caught it!

“…If I’d have caught them! Who could it have been my love? Weasleys! It must have been! … Troublemakers!”

Mrs Norris spat out a feather. Her master couldn’t prove it. She yowled in protest as the broom swept towards her. Her master could have waited for the house elves to clear up but her master hated them almost as much as those good for nothing children. She rubbed against his leg purring. Both to reassure her kind, loving master that she forgave him as to say Tomorrow is a new day. She purred as he picked her up and held her to eye level. If Mrs Norris could speak perhaps she would have said. “Cheer up my love! Tomorrow is the beginning of the Christmas holidays, almost all will be going home. The castle to ourselves! Just wait till tomorrow the start of a happy holidays” If Mrs Norris could speak she wouldn’t have said that, instead she would say it with a look.

She did.