Author's Notes: Written for the Defence Against the Dark Arts class for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Forum.

You will be writing a romantic or tragic scene that takes place in a DADA class or classroom. This assignment must be under 5k and incorporate the prompts 'first,' 'text,' and 'kitten.'

)O(

Argus Filch crept into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with as much stealth as he could manage (which, admittedly, was not much), and was relieved to see Dolores Umbridge there.

She was sitting at her desk, hands folded before her and head bowed. Someone who did not know Dolores might have thought that she was lost in contemplation, or perhaps even praying, but Argus knew better. He could see the way her knuckles were white from how tightly she was gripping her hands together, and though her head was lowered so her mouth was obscured, her cheeks were visibly sucked in, so she could only have been pursing her lips very tightly.

Mrs. Norris rubbed against his legs and mewled softly, urging him forward. At the quiet noise, Dolores's head snapped up, and for a moment, he saw her tightened lips and furrowed brow before her face relaxed into a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"I wasn't expecting you," she said sweetly – no pleasantries, but he knew better than to expect those from her. Though her mouth was turned up, he was distinctly aware that she was, in fact, glaring at him, and he shuffled forward with his head down slightly, trying to seem unassuming.

"Wanted a word with you, Professor," he said.

Dolores's lips twitched into a tense frown for the briefest of seconds, but she hitched her smile back on again, and tilted her head. "Well, then?"

He'd written it all out beforehand, written down everything he meant to say to her, but now that he was actually looking at her, all the text disappeared from his mind and he was left staring blankly at her as he searched desperately to recall how he had phrased the things he wanted to tell her.

Mrs. Norris bought him a moment by leaping up onto Dolores's desk and digging her claws into a stack of essays. Dolores looked down at her, and for the briefest of moments, she looked quite genuinely affectionate. Mrs. Norris might not have been one of the perfectly groomed kittens that adorned the walls of Dolores's office, but she was a cat nonetheless, and Dolores did like cats.

That was enough time for Argus to remember the words that he had planned to say. "Professor," he said again, and she looked up at him expectantly, while scratching Mrs. Norris behind one slightly ragged ear. He took a deep breath, and it came out in a rush. "I wondered if you might put in a good word for me with the Minister."

Dolores blinked at him, clearly unmoved – but that didn't mean anything, nothing to worry about.

"Why ever would I do that?"

Argus deflated. He tried not to let it show.

"I'd sooner work for your Minister than for Albus Dumble–" he began, but Dolores cut him off serenely.

"I didn't ask why you would ask me to do that, Filch. I asked why I would do it. What reason could I possibly have for recommending you to the Minister?"

He looked at her, dumbfounded. What sort of question was that? His only answer was one that he knew she would find foolhardy, laughable.

She stood, stepped around her desk, and approached him slowly and deliberately. He was a good deal taller than her, and felt very ungainly when she stood before him and looked up at him.

"Argus," she said sweetly, too sweetly, "I do hope that you haven't gotten it into your head that I am fond of you."

The words stung like cat's claws digging into his heart.

"'Course not, Professor."

"I am very glad to hear that. As I am sure you are aware, my first and only loyalty is to the Minister."

He shouldn't have been surprised. No, he wasn't surprised, for even when he had indulged in wishful thinking, he had never really believed that Dolores Umbridge might care for him. Hoped it, certainly. But not believed it.

"'Course, Professor," he muttered, and kept his eyes on Mrs. Norris, who had settled herself quite comfortably on Dolores's stack of essays and was watching him with unimpressed, judgemental yellow eyes.

)O(

Fin