Lupin's face tightened with tension, but he quickly composed himself, remembering he was a professor now. He clapped Argus on the shoulder. "It's fine. I'm here—Filch won't arrest you. Just say I asked you to help sort my homework."
Before Argus could respond, Mrs. Norris and Filch hurried over. Mrs. Norris led the way, Filch trailing with a lantern that cast flickering shadows. His heavy footsteps and sour expression turned the corridor into something out of a nightmare.
Lupin stepped forward, blocking Argus. "Mr. Filch, still on patrol this late?"
Filch squinted, recognizing the old troublemaker from his student days. Not fondly. "You? What are you doing up instead of sleeping?"
A typical professor might get a curt nod and be on their way, but Lupin? Filch's lip curled. Back in school, Lupin would've bolted, but a decade in the real world had toughened him.
"Sending a student back," Lupin said calmly. "Slytherin helped with homework tonight. It's late—I didn't want any misunderstandings, so I escorted him."
"Homework?" Filch snorted, his face twisting into a sneer. He didn't buy it. Lupin had been a notorious rule-breaker; no doubt he was covering for some night-prowling kid. Maybe he'd just stumbled on them and was spinning an excuse. Hmph—how did a guy like that land a teaching post? Not like Mr. Grindelwald from last year, now he was proper.
Lupin rubbed his temples, a headache brewing. Barely a professor, and already snagged on the same old problems. A late-night snack run with a student, and bam—busted.
"Mr. Filch, honestly, we were just grabbing a bite... helping with homework."
"Hmph!" Filch leaned in, ready to unmask the culprit. Even if he couldn't nab them now, he'd remember the face for next time. Old scores would wait.
"Meow!"
Mrs. Norris purred contentedly. Filch panicked, assuming harm, and lunged to pull Lupin away. "Mrs. Norris—my Loris... Mr. Grindelwald?"
Argus emerged from behind Lupin, cradling Mrs. Norris. He flashed a warm smile. "Good evening, Mr. Filch."
"G-good evening, Mr. Grindelwald! I just... um..." Filch stammered, straightening up. He dreaded offending the young wizard.
Argus set Mrs. Norris down gently. She mewed in protest and leaped onto the railing.
"My fault entirely, Mr. Filch," Argus said. "I needed a rare plant for experiments—one that only blooms in the Forbidden Forest at night. Professor Lupin was kind enough to join me."
He paused, eyes earnest. "I'd appreciate your discretion."
"Of course!" Filch puffed up, as if entrusted with state secrets. A flicker of pride lit his eyes at the trust.
"You should head back, Mr. Grindelwald," Filch added. "Spotted Professor Snape upstairs. He'd dock points if he caught you. Take this way—avoids him entirely." He jabbed a finger down a side corridor, eager to guide.
Argus thanked him with a nod and hurried off. He knew Filch's type well: stuck at the bottom rung in Hogwarts, Squib or not, lording over first-years for scraps of respect. Galleons meant little; it was trust that mattered. A simple white lie had Filch hooked, feeling like part of the inner circle.
Lupin watched, dumbfounded, as Filch fawned. The caretaker every kid dodged now showed Argus deference— even pointing out safe paths up close. Was this the same Filch who'd hounded them in school? Nostalgia hit hard.
After seeing Argus to the Slytherin common room, Lupin trudged back to his office.
...
In his dormitory, Argus mulled over Filch's tip: Snape upstairs, wandering late. Had his words rattled the Potions Master so much? Couldn't even wait till morning to snoop? Thoughts churning, he drifted off.
Next morning, classes resumed as normal. Two days later, on the full moon, Lupin vanished again—requesting leave. Oddly, Snape, never one to miss, did the same. They skipped two lessons, including the dreaded Potions. Hogwarts buzzed with chaos.
Under Argus's guidance, Patronus Charm practice boomed. Even the Great Hall space Dumbledore lent him overflowed, straining resources for drills.
To keep order and gauge Hermione's progress, Argus put her in charge of scheduling and oversight. She shone, whipping the timetable into shape swiftly.
"Argus, I need to talk—something serious," Hermione said after weekend classes, lingering as others filed out. Her voice trembled.
"What's up?" He eyed her fidgeting.
"About Professor Lupin... doesn't he seem... off?"
"Off how?" Argus read her hesitation. With her sharp mind and months of exposure, she'd pieced it together—clues he hadn't planted, just overlooked.
"His monthly absences... always full moon. And he returns exhausted, pale."
"Like the symptoms in our books?" Argus prompted.
She nodded. "Exactly. It matches..."
"A werewolf," he finished softly. "Have you considered that's what he is?"
---
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