4: Um… Is It Just Me, or Does This Look Wrong?

Disclaimer: These characters and the setting aren't ours. We just toy with them until they beg us to make them ours.

Chapter 4: Um... Is It Just Me, or Does This Look Wrong?

Leaving Mrs. Norris behind, Argus Filch strolled out of Hogwarts with a noticeable spring in his step that approached, but fell just short of, skipping. Nothing would get in the way of his celebration... neither Voldemort (he'd been vanquished) nor Mrs. Norris. (Filch had made it perfectly clear to her that his needs would be met from now on, too.) Nothing would stop Argus Filch from indulging himself in that which had been denied him for too long. He could already taste the Firewhisky. He smiled in anticipation.

He was a very happy man at that moment. Sure, it was wonderful that Voldemort had been put down so quickly, but Filch had a more personal reason to want to celebrate. He'd sensed a difference in himself, a feeling of raw power, a tingling from deep within. He could feel it from his fingertips to his toes. Filch now had magic. He knew it and wanted to celebrate it.

The walk to the Three Broomsticks was not far, but for the first time in his life, Filch considered the possibility of Apparating once he'd left the Hogwarts grounds. A moment later, he dismissed the idea. He would apply for lessons like everyone else and learn it properly. Rules were rules and Filch could follow them when it suited him. He decided it wasn't worth the risk of splinching, possibly nullifying the recently awakened magic within him. The very thought made him shudder.

Soon enough, he reached the Three Broomsticks, walked in and sat down with a stiff drink. He downed it easily and followed it with a second and then a third before finally saying, "Just leave the bottle."

He sat back and looked around. He'd seen it all before, but now he saw it as a wizard. He was fully part of this world now, and he grinned openly for the first time since Umbridge had given him free reign during her brief tenure at Hogwarts.

"Don't you look like the cat that got the canary, Argus?"

Filch was a little too relaxed to be startled that Irma Pince had evidently noticed him the moment she'd walked into the Three Broomsticks. She removed her cloak, laid it down and sat at his table before he had time to answer.

That settles it. This is my lucky night!

Ginny decided that a relaxed Hermione was excellent company and congratulated herself (and Fred and George) on a job well done in getting her to that point.

They had cheerfully discussed plans for the future on the way to the bath (both of them concluding solemnly that Hermione ought to be Minister of Magic one day), gossiped about mutual acquaintances (their debate as to whether or not Cho Chang had really been smart enough to merit Sorting into Ravenclaw degenerated into a flurry of catty remarks), and resolved between them, with much giggling, that the castle was an exhibitionist's dream...there was something sentient enough to watch you in almost every room and corridor.

The bathroom's resident mermaid portrait yawned and looked away as the girls undressed.

"As if you're anything special," Hermione said to the haughty portrait.

"I'll bet these won't fit in your seashells," Ginny added...airily tossing aside her blouse to show the fantasy mermaid what she meant.

Hermione looked ready to chastise her friend, until she took in the mermaid's shocked expression and burst out laughing. "That's not all she can't compare with us," Hermione said, audaciously bending over as she pulled off her knickers. The mermaid squeaked in indignation at the semi-intentional mooning and disappeared into her painted sea with a splash.

Ginny snickered. "Oh, that was brilliant!" She padded over to the taps and made a few selections, unleashing torrents of fragrant water and bubbles. The two girls splashed in merrily.

"Come here...I promised I'd wash your hair, remember?" Ginny said, splashing the water above the step next to her invitingly.

"Okay," Hermione said, still apparently a little shy despite her taunting of the portrait. She half-swam over, slumping a little to keep key bits below the bubbles. She reached over the edge of the bath to pounce on her wand and wordlessly Summoned a bottle of some scarlet liquid. "It's rather hopeless without my own shampoo," she explained, handing the bottle over to Ginny.

Hesitantly at first, Ginny worked the suds into her friend's mass of curls. After a bit, her touch grew more assured, and Hermione relaxed back against her, and back into the conversation. They both blushed slightly at the idea of being naked...and touching...but they were both girls. Where was the harm?

The professors decided to change scene when even more villagers came into the Three Broomsticks to celebrate and things began to get rowdy. Relocating into a private parlour near the back of the house afforded them quiet and discretion lacking in the common room.

"What say you all to a game of poker?" Tonks asked, with a winning grin and rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

Remus only barely managed to suppress a groan.

"Oh? I've never played," Flitwick piped up excitedly, and Remus felt the first twinges of panic rouse within him.

"Oh, let's! It's been ages since we had a proper game amongst the staff!" Hooch threw in. It was clear that she was dying to play as well. Now Remus was getting worried.

"A good game of poker is exactly what we need right now," Sprout added.

"It might even help us keep track of our alcohol levels," Poppy commented in her Matron-voice.

"The spirits are amenable to this course of action. Luck will favour us tonight," Sybill supplied with a hiccup.

A full-fledged panic it was now. He knew how these things always ended up.

"Well, count me out. I'm not that good a player, you know, and don't have much to lose anyway," Remus said as casually as possible so as not to raise suspicion.

"Nonsense," Minerva said brusquely, conjuring a deck of cards. "I remember all those rumours about that poker ring the Marauders managed in Gryffindor Tower on weekends. Boys playing against girls. No proof was ever produced of course, but it was said that once someone was down to their last Knuts, pieces of clothing were acceptable stakes," the Headmistress said with a shrewd look at him.

Now he could no longer keep that groan in or the blush from his face as every head whipped around to stare at him incredulously.

Thank you very much, Minerva, Remus thought a bit sourly.

Thankfully, most were too stunned to comment. Until...

"Remus, you old dog! How come you never told me anything about that?"

He suppressed another groan. Because I always lost, Nymphadora...

"Well, those rumours are greatly exaggerated. Really nothing inappropriate..."

"Ah, ah, Remus! What about Mister Linley?" McGonagall asked, sending a knowing look his way.

Damn.

"Well, that was..." He stopped himself and sat back down, slightly disgruntled and avoiding everyone's gazes. "Whose deal is it?" Even if the change of topic was totally obvious, he would not answer any questions on that one.

"Mine," Hooch said with quite the interested gleam in the eye. McGonagall gave over the cards, and Hooch dealt them out, five cards a player, while the others took out their money bags to settle their contents on the table in front of them.

"So, how does one play poker?" Flitwick piped up again, and most players smirked. The thought, Easy game, ran through everyone's head.

Draco decided it would be a sensible precaution to ensure that Harry didn't loose track of him on the way to the Prefects' bath. So, he started to leave a trail.

His jumper went first, since he was quite warm by this point, anyway. What to take off next? Decisions, decisions...

He finally settled for slipping off his shoes. It wasn't very alluring, but they had to go if the trousers were going to. And he had every intention of getting to that point. A quick glance over his shoulder...

"Oh, God," Draco whimpered. He didn't care that he was whimpering. It was totally justified.

Apparently, Harry had decided to follow his lead and had unbuttoned his chocolate-stained shirt... all the way down... and it was untucked, and wide open, and son of a goddamned bitch, but Harry had filled out really, really well in the four years since the challenge in the lake at the Triwizard Tournament! And his tie was still mostly TIED and hanging down to the top of Harry's trousers. Where his thumbs were hooked into the tops of his pockets, so that his hands just sort of rested on his hips...

"Not bad, then?" Harry asked, with his head sort of tilted to one side, looking a little curious, a little cautious, but mostly, gloriously, unselfconsciously HIMSELF, just the way he'd looked in Madam Malkin's eight years ago, except several million times hotter.

Draco wanted to shriek, "Are you KIDDING? Not bad? NOT BAD?" But he couldn't do that, because his knees had become water and he was shaking and the air in his lungs was sort of holding him up right now; so if he said anything, he'd keel right over, he just knew it. He settled for nodding and whimpering again.

Now Harry did look a little self-conscious, and it was SO bloody endearing, how he ducked his head and tried to smooth that glorious mess of hair. "Hermione thought I should work out a bit...you know, for endurance and everything. Got sort of rough, that whole year we were searching for the Horcruxes."

Draco nodded and squeaked, decidedly dazed as he turned to continue their trek. The cold air on his legs didn't cool the rest of him in the least. His only coherent thought was something along the lines of Thankyouthankyouthankyou, Granger. I will neverneverneverneverNEVER call you a nasty name again. He could hear tantalizing whispers of fabric dropping behind him, but didn't dare look.

Finally, oh, precious door to the bath! Draco stammered the password, quivering with anticipation. He turned to make sure Harry had caught up, and they sort of ran into each other, stumbling a little and laughing. Swept up in excitement, Draco grabbed Harry by one hand and that insanely sexy loosened tie, and pulled him through the open door, still giggling.

Ginny turned at the sound of the door opening, expecting Harry. She did not expect Draco. She certainly did not expect Draco with no trousers, and if she had, she would not have expected her first thought to be, 'Damn, he has nice legs.' And in the remarkable event she had foreseen any of that, she never in a million years would have expected to see Draco, sans trousers, giggling, and pulling Harry into the room by one hand and his tie. There wasn't much else to grab at the moment, since tie, boxers, glasses, and the arm-strap dueling holster Ginny had gotten him for his birthday, were all Harry still had on his body.

"Eeep!" Hermione squealed, disappearing up to her nose in bubbles.

Draco stopped in mid-unbuttoning. "I didn't realize we'd have so much... company."

Harry unstrapped his wand from his arm, shrugging. "I told you, Ginny and I come as a set...oh! Hello, Hermione," he said a little awkwardly. Seeing Ginny's slightly sheepish grin, he recovered and managed a little smile of his own. "Enjoying yourselves?"

Hermione sort of squeaked and blushed, her eyes bulging a bit like Luna's as they bounced back and forth between Harry and Draco. Ginny didn't blame her. Those two were well worth looking at, and she felt warmth spread out from her face at the idea of looking at them... maybe actually doing... something.

"Hermione's going to wash my hair," Ginny said, inspiration striking her. "Why don't you two have your fun, and we'll sort of meet in the middle or something, after?" She settled back against Hermione (who had cautiously risen until her shoulders were almost out of the water).

"Right," Harry finally said. It came out a little strangled; Ginny wasn't sure if it was because her breasts had gently floated above bubble-level (at least, she was pretty sure they had, judging by the slight chill) or because Hermione had just leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth. Maybe it was a little of both.

"I suppose we can have a little fun for ourselves now we don't have to baby-sit Draco for a while. What's to eat?" Vince moved over to the nearest refreshment table, his friend at his heels.

"Ugh, seafood. Anything else?" Greg shuddered as he looked at the barely touched plates of shrimp, winkles, roll mops and gravalax laid out on the table. He'd had a bad time after eating a bucketful of oysters once and only ate fish if it was battered and surrounded by chips. Vince poked around between the dishes and held up a limp lettuce leaf that had been used as a garnish. Greg sighed. "Why do they insist on serving this stuff? I mean, who eats it?"

"Apart from the Squid, you mean?" Vince joked, prodding a finger at the pickled herring. A grin spread across his face, and he looked up to find a similar one on Greg's face. He grabbed the seafood while Greg descended on a small group of sixth-year boys who were discussing the use of Arithmancy to determine the best chat-up lines, nearby.

"Come on, you lot. Fancy a trip down to the Lake?"

It had needed surprisingly little persuasion to convince four of the boys to join them in 'taking a little snack to the dear old Squid', although one of them, Randolph Carter, looked as if he wasn't quite in the same reality as the rest of them as he stumbled across the lawn, lead on by a classmate.

Reaching the shores of the Lake, they all peered out into the darkness (except for Carter, who lay on his back contemplating the stars with a dreamy look on his face). After a minute, one of the sixth year boys called out "Here, Squidy-widdy!"

Greg cuffed him on the shoulder. "You don't call it over like that, you plonker." Stepping forward, he flung a handful of shrimp into the water, then lifted his wand to produce a swirling cloud of coloured lights in the air above him that coalesced into a pulsing arrow pointing down at them. "Squid communicate through patterns of colour and light," he explained, "so this should get his attention."

Moments later, the increased lapping of the waves at their feet indicated the approach of the large aquatic creature. A sinuous limb wavered before them, and Vince stepped forward and passed it a few small shrimp. The tentacle swiftly retracted, presumably to the mouth hidden below the water. Finding the offering acceptable, both tentacles and arms came begging towards the line of boys, and more seafood was dispensed. Greg watched warily as one appendage gently explored him as it looked for more treats, and on impulse he held a couple of shrimp in his teeth. The tentacle gently probed upwards, found the prize and carefully extracted it.

Vince stood for a moment with a grin of admiration on his face before he too offered a titbit in a similar fashion. The large arrowhead-shaped muscle gently but slimily trailed across his cheek before it wrapped itself around the fish and shot back. Seeing that neither of the larger boys had come to any harm, the others started jostling and daring each other to copy them.

Brought round by the commotion, Randolph Carter looked across from where he had been gazing beyond the stars just in time to see the Squid's sinuous limbs writhing around the boys. His eyes bulged, and he screamed. Shocked by this, his classmates jumped back, throwing the bowl of seafood in the air and letting the contents fall across the prone boy.

The Squid lost no time, its appendages flashing across so as not to lose one of the fallen treats. Picking Carter up by one leg, it gently shook him and patted him down until it was satisfied there wasn't a winkle left. It was gentle and precise in its search, but Carter seemed almost insensate with fear, yelling out gibberish as he hung there. "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" As soon as he felt the Squid release him, he went hurtling back across the lawns to the castle, his friends following close behind.

Vince turned to Greg. "What was that all about?" Greg shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps he doesn't like seafood, either," and with that the two Slytherins headed back to the castle.

Back the Entrance Hall, they reached the stairs that lead down into the Dungeons. "Y'know, we never did get anything to eat," mused Greg. "Fancy a raid on the kitchens?" It took only a moment's consideration for Vince to throw a comradely arm around his friend's shoulders, and they set off downstairs together.

Unbeknownst to Filch, Irma'd had her eye on him for some time. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight, there was a reason to celebrate. She decided to throw caution to the wind. "Mind if I join you?"

"Don't mind at all, Irma. I like a woman who can be forward."

Pince raised her eyebrows and feigned surprise. "Are you saying I'm being forward, Argus?"

Filch reached across the table and patted her hand. "I'm saying I wouldn't mind at all if you were."

Pince blushed appropriately, but was inwardly pleased. This was all going quite well. "I never knew you were so charming." Her eyes never left Filch's face.

"You have no idea." Filch grinned so wide, it was nearly a leer. His eyes dropped to her décolletage for a few seconds before he raised his glass to his lips. He reclaimed her gaze and drank. He set the glass down on the table and licked his lips. "Delicious," he commented softly. Her blush grew deeper at the ambiguity of his statement. Had he meant the whisky or her?

"What'll it be, Irma? Firewhisky good for you or would you rather something else?"

"Firewhisky would be lovely, thank you."

He poured her a glass, refilled his own and then raised his glass in a toast. "The night is young... to new possibilities!" Pince matched him glass for glass in quick gulps, refilling and emptying several others. Finally, the temptation became too much for Filch. He leaned over and placed a hand on her waist and his lips on hers. He sat back, raised another glass and commented, "I've always wanted to do that."

Pince, caught unawares, but finding she hadn't really minded his advance, was at a loss for words. A quick glance around the room assured her no one cared what they did. Her head was spinning, though she was unsure whether the alcohol or Filch's kiss was the cause. She decided then and there to let the little devil win tonight's argument. It had been far too long. "If I asked you to do that again, would you?"

"Tit for tat?" Filch smiled at her.

She laughed out loud at his choice of words. She knew him to be a very well-read man and she'd always admired his stance with unruly students. She had harboured a secret interest in the scruffy Squib and had believed she'd caught him staring at her more than once over the years. He was certainly staring at her now, mainly at her chest. "You know, I've always thought my legs were my strong point."

"Really?" His eyes stayed fixated on the same spot.

"I used to dance in my youth."

"Uh-huh."

"Have you ever danced, Argus?"

"Oh, it's been a long while, but I bet I still got the moves." His eyes remained glued to a spot several inches below her chin.

Pince giggled at the thought of Filch dancing. "Do you remember Saturday nights at the Hog's Head, oh it must be about... more years than I care to admit?"

"I remember a lass who used to get up and dance on the tabletop." He laughed.

"That was me," Pince blithely admitted with a coquettish grin.

"Okay. I'm going all-in."

"Dora, you can only go all-in if you have something left to bet, which you don't."

"Hm, you have a point."

It must have been the alcohol. That was the only possibility. He never would've said what he was about to had he been sober or at least not as drunk as he was by then already. Curiously enough, Nymphadora and he suggested it at the same time. Perhaps that was the definitive sign they belonged together. It seemed they were both as mad as a hatter after all.

"Well, you've still got your clothes."

"Hey, I've still got my clothes to bet!" they said in unison, he clapping a hand over his mouth immediately and she with a triumphant grin. It was too late, however; the others had heard.

"I knew the rumours were true!" Minerva cackled, hitting her thigh over and over again as she laughed.

"A splendid idea," Hooch said with a grin from behind a pile of Galleons.

Those with similar monetary problems as Tonks and Remus were enthusiastic about this suggestion, and those who had large stacks of Galleons in front of them were equally eager thinking what fun it would be to see the other members of staff in their underwear.

So any protests by Remus (no matter that he had actually been the one to come up with that idea) were ignored. It didn't occur to him to stop playing either, however. Everyone was playing except Sybill, who had fairly catapulted herself out of her chair at the mention of strip poker and mumbled something no one quite understood and had left swiftly. So he wouldn't fold.

And that's how things began to go downhill at a truly alarming rate.

"Never." Filch finally looked up at her and smiled in newfound appreciation for the usually staid librarian. He recalled how bitterly he'd wished he'd had a wand so he could lift her skirt up higher. As it happened, other men had the same idea and caused the little lady to show more skin that she'd probably intended. He always got an eyeful, but all the same... He wondered why he'd never recognised her in all these years, but then again, he'd rarely looked at her face back in those days.

"Oh, yes, I was a bit of a hell raiser in my day."

"What stopped you?" Filch began to wonder whether he could coax her to go back and relive a fond memory from their apparently shared youth. They continued to down drinks as they talked and reminisced.

Pince was now leaning a little against him, a position that afforded him an even better view of her chest than before. "I don't know. You get a little older, a little wiser..."

"You're never too old for a good time, Irma." His arm wrapped around her shoulders, fingertips stroking the soft bare skin. "You could dance again for me tonight! Right here! Right on this table!" He rapped the table with his free hand.

Pince sighed. "And what would you do for me, Argus?"

"Take you to a quiet spot and show you what all I've got in my bag of magic tricks." He smiled what he hoped was a fetching grin. Her initial laughter did not put him off. Far from it, it served only to embolden him. "Think about it, Irma. Didn't Dumbledore always say that music was strong magic?" He loved hearing that word now. He nodded at her, encouraging her to agree with him. "Dance can be the same!"

"What would you know of magic?" Her eyes flickered with building excitement. She was weakening and he knew it.

"I know what that kind of magic does to a man, don't you worry none!" He motioned with his eyes to the table. "One dance, Irma, for old time's sake!"

She hesitated for a moment, casting a nervous glance around the room. Then, an impish grin overtook her. In a flash, she hoisted her dress and used the chair as a stepping stone up onto the table. She smiled down at him, and then began to dance. Her moves were slow and awkward at first, but she began to pick up more speed. She moved her hips more vigorously, lifting her dress herself to avoid tripping over it. She raised it ever higher in response to the look of growing appreciation from Argus. Other patrons began to take notice and cheer her on. Her gaze remained fixed on Argus. She leaned over him, shaking her shoulders to give him a good show, when she lost her balance and tumbled on top of him. Both ended in a crumpled heap on the floor, laughing uproariously.

Pince attempted to stand, but was stopped by Filch's strong grip around her waist. He pulled her closer. Their eyes met. Pince lowered her head towards his, their lips finally finding each other. The first kiss was brief, almost hesitant, but was followed by others of increasing duration.

"Hey, get a room!" A strange voice rang out of the crowd.

Filch whispered, "I know just the place we can go."

"Is it far? We could get a room here, it's just upstairs!"

"This place is better! It will be far more private. Just you, me and my little bag of magic tricks!" He stood and offered her his hand.

Pince giggled from the effects of the whisky and Filch's kiss, not to mention the promise of what she knew was coming. She allowed him to pull her to a standing position. She steadied herself against him as they headed to the door. "How can you do magic, Argus? You don't even have a wand!"

With his free hand, Argus patted the wand he'd pocketed from the fallen Death Eater. "Ooh, I think you'll be more than impressed with my wand, Irma!" Together, they stumbled their way to the Shrieking Shack and walked inside.

Filch grasped the wand, feeling its energy, raised it and spoke, "Lumos!" The wand tip lit, casting long shadows around the dark room. Filch stared at the wand, then looked at Pince.

Pince was open-mouthed. "You, you have a wand? And you can do magic?" She was breathless with excitement.

Filch set the glowing wand down and approached Pince. He wrapped his arms around her and whispered huskily, "And that's not all I can do..." He led her to a dark corner. Her giggles were soon silenced by his kiss... a kiss she eagerly returned.

Severus continued his patrol, doggedly ignoring the lascivious images the Hat had conjured for him. As he passed a door, he heard a thumping and faint cries. He tried to push open the offending door. Once... twice... then realised his mistake and pulled. A pile of people crashed to the floor, and he saw Fred and George Weasley trussed up like a roast. "Runs in the family, I see," he said to them, bleary eyes trying to focus. "Typical decadent pureblood antics," he noted as he sauntered away, his voice drifting down the corridor. "Detention forever, you malcontents." Fred and George just stared at his diminishing figure.

"He didn't untie us, Fred."

"That he didn't, George."

"Praise Merlin that he didn't check our pockets."

"You're right there, brother mine. Though it might have been worth cutting him in on our patents to get out of this."

"He probably would have hexed us for the next decade, Fred."

"Yeah... no sense of fun at all."

To bet clothes! Sybill Trelawney thought indignantly. Everyone knows layers of clothing shelter the physical shell and the soul encased within against unfortunate influences, not to mention the weather. But otherwise clothes are superfluous, really, Trelawney thought, striding determinedly away from the pub.

"Underwear! Pah!" she muttered under her breath.

So much for trying to commune with spirits there. Now she would need to find someplace else.

She was determined to prove once and for all she could really do it. That she was no fraud like they all thought she was.

Certainly the alcohol in her bloodstream helped with that decision.

Maybe... Yes, that place will be ideal! she thought with a slight spring in her step, leading her to stumble a bit.

Sybill Trelawney made her drunken way along the rough path to the Shrieking Shack.

With all those angry spirits rumoured to be there, surely I can channel at least one of them!

Having waited on tenterhooks for a response from Tonks, Kingsley jumped up eagerly when he saw an owl descending towards the hall the evacuees were cooped up in. Releasing the note from the owl, which flew off quickly, he opened it, hoping for the best.

What he got was an illegible, scrawled mess.

He spent the next quarter of an hour trying to decipher the note and what he got didn't look good. Still, perhaps she was simply in a hurry? Or had his message been intercepted and this was a trick? It wouldn't do to mobilize a team of Aurors and descend on the school, only to find that the evacuees had been ambushed while they were gone.

One more owl to confirm, then, he thought, determined not to act precipitously.

A cackle of maniacal laughter echoed down the previously quiet corridor. Peeves felt quite pleased at the outcome of this most recent project, especially if said current project could cause the Headmistress to fling a few of her fitsies.

Yes, this should be just the thing to get that old biddy's knickers in a knot.

McGonagall wasn't usually such a focus of the poltergeist's ire, but she'd truly crossed Peeves a just a few hours ago. He'd simply been quietly minding his own business, placing some of the suits of armour into lewd and lascivious positions with each other, when he'd heard the definite sounds of merrymaking and mayhem starting to take place in the Great Hall. Knowing it was his duty to contribute to mayhem wherever and whenever it might occur in the castle, Peeves immediately made for the ruckus in the Great Hall. Like rats running to the Piper's flute, Peeves couldn't have resisted if he'd wanted to.

Seeing the red-headed twin menaces heading in the same direction only excited him more. Whenever those two were involved, pandemonium would be a safer bet than Trelawney wanting another sherry. There were very few beings, such as the Bloody Baron, that Peeves ever felt inclined to give his respect, but he felt absolutely no reservations about doffing his tatty hat to those two. Anarchy seemed to swirl about them, and if they were in Hogwarts again, then the party Peeves could hear brewing was sure to be quite entertaining.

He'd been so distracted by the thoughts of an evening's joyous bedlam that he'd not noticed the Headmistress exiting the stairwell from the dungeons into the main Entrance Hall. One moment he'd been doing cartwheels in the air, soaking up the ambient energy released by the over-excited teenagers, the next he'd been hit in the chest with a Vanquishing curse. He couldn't believe it...McGonagall actually hexed him! And the worst part of it wasn't just that he'd been flung to the farthest reaches of the castle, but that there'd been a timer on the curse, ensuring it'd be several hours before Peeves could hope to join in the raucous celebrations.

Dumbledore would never have treated me like that! Speaking of whom...

There was that bloody statue of good ol' Albus, commissioned by the Ministry in Scrimgeour's determination to show his 'sympathy' over the death of Dumbledore. Upon its delivery to Hogwarts, McGonagall immediately hid it away in this lonely corridor, where she believed Dumbledore's spirit could still have some peace. Peeves, however, knew better.

The man never enjoyed peace when he was alive, why should he wish it now that he's dead? And marble-white would never have suited such a dynamic wizard!

Hence, Peeves spent his exile in a munificent effort to cheer the statue up...and if it annoyed that tartan-clad banshee, then all the better.

Peeves gave into another cackle of sheer joy as he gazed upon his handiwork. "My masterpiece!"

Peeves expected that most people would quite like his latest contribution to the Hogwarts décor. Certainly the former headmaster would have to be pleased; Dumbledore always had liked discordant colours. What better hue for Dumbledore's beard than vivid purple? And surely his robe had never looked so fine as it did now, blazing a brilliant red that would even make a Weasley jealous. Brilliant pink hair provided a crowning glory. Now, if only he could arrange to be here watching when McGonagall first laid eyes on his work of art...

"Damn!" Trelawney cursed as she stumbled over a halfway upturned floorboard in the Shrieking Shack.

How inconsiderate of the spirits not to warn me. Hmph, she thought indignantly, trying to straighten one of her myriad shawls, which was stuck on a bent nail. She pulled at it sharply, ignoring the ominous sound of fabric tearing and went to look for a good spot to sit down and commune with the spirits of the dead.

Stumbling about (since her blood-alcohol was still fairly high), she finally found a good place in a corner on the first floor landing. She plumped down unceremoniously and leaned against the wall, settling down to wait.

The courtship of Filch and Pince courtesy of leniarianna.

The squid dare courtesy of DawnEB.

Shacklebolt's continuing travails courtesy of lux_astraea.

Snape leaving the Weasley twins to stew courtesy of Just_Desmond.

Teachers playing poker and Trelawney's trek to the Shrieking Shack courtesy of shalimar1981.

The striptease and any good, clean fun in the Prefects' Bath courtesy of dracontia.

The Peeves scene courtesy of Wolfmoonshadow.