**The Curious Case of Mrs. Norris**

Prompt: Harry Potter fanfiction snape asks filch how he got Mrs Norris

Severus Snape stood in the dimly lit corridor of Hogwarts, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. It was a quiet evening, the usual chaos of students gone for the day, leaving the castle in a rare moment of peace. It was during such tranquil times that Snape found his thoughts drifting to the oddities of Hogwarts—some of which, he realized, held untold stories of their own. One such mystery revolved around Argus Filch and his peculiar pet, Mrs. Norris. As he walked, the scent of old books and dusty potions lingered in the air, and he contemplated the various potions he could brew to relieve his students of their incessant loudness. But rather than losing himself in thoughts of cauldrons and ingredients, he pondered how Filch had acquired Mrs. Norris, the ever-watchful feline with an air of almost supernatural awareness. It was said that Mrs. Norris had a knack for appearing at the most inconvenient times, often catching students in the act of mischief. Her unblinking stare was a specter in the shadows, and her loyalty to Filch was unwavering. Intrigued by the mystery surrounding the cat, Snape decided to seek out Filch in the detention classroom, where the caretaker often lurked. As he descended the stairs leading to the dungeons, Snape could hear the faint sound of scratching—Mrs. Norris was undoubtedly weaving her way across the old stone floor. There, in the flickering light of a single hanging lantern, stood Argus Filch, his disheveled hair sticking out in several directions as he half-heartedly wiped a table with a tattered rag. The sight of him sent a thrill of amusement through Snape, who was grateful for the occasional distraction from his more serious meditations. “Filch,” Snape called, his voice echoing in the empty space. The caretaker looked up, shifting his glare from the half-cleaned desk to the shadowed figure of the Potions Master. “Professor Snape,” Filch replied, sounding both surprised and wary. “What brings you here? Shouldn’t you be brewing something sinister in your laboratory?” Snape arched an eyebrow, an expression that often made his students quail. “I have no interest in brewing potions at this moment. Rather, I wish to inquire about your… companion.” He gestured with a slight flick toward Mrs. Norris, who sat poised on a nearby windowsill, surveying her domain with those piercing, golden eyes. “Mrs. Norris, you mean?” Filch’s eyes softened, and for a moment, Snape could almost see the flicker of something resembling affection in the man’s usually sour demeanor. “Ah, she’s a fine creature. Best cat in the world.” “Best cat, you say?” Snape replied, his tone skeptical. “What is her origin? How did you come to acquire such an astonishingly keen observer of Hogwarts?” Filch’s expression morphed into that of deep reflection. He placed his hands on his hips and sighed, as if the weight of his memories was tangible. “It’s a tale,” he began slowly, “that goes back many years. You see, she was just a stray then, roaming the streets of Muggle London. I found her one cold winter’s night, frail and lost but with a spark in her eyes.” “A stray cat?” Snape echoed, intrigued despite himself. “And you decided to bring her to Hogwarts?” “Aye, it wasn’t exactly my intention,” Filch admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I took her in, fed her, and before I knew it, she was following me everywhere. It was like she had decided I was her human. And then, one day, she just sat up and watched me as if to say, ‘Now you’re mine.’” Snape found himself smiling, a rare occurrence that caught even him off guard. “And what convinced you to allow a stray cat to accompany you in a castle filled with underage witches and wizards?” Filch grinned sheepishly, a sight that was both unsettling and strangely endearing. “Well, being a Squib in a school for magic can be quite isolating. Mrs. Norris was my comfort, my companion. I needed someone who would be on my side, even when the students were up to their usual mischief. With her by my side, I felt I had a fighting chance against the likes of Potter and Weasley.” “Ah, yes, the Weasley boy,” Snape replied, a glimmer of annoyance flashing through his dark features. “Not the brightest, I dare say.” “None of them are,” Filch said fervently, an unexpected camaraderie blooming between the two men. “But Mrs. Norris? She’s sharper than any of those little rascals. It’s like she senses trouble before it even happens. I couldn’t go without her now.” Filch’s earnest expression stirred something deep within Snape. Perhaps it was the recognition of solidarity—a connection birthed from years of being misunderstood and witnessing chaos unfold around them. He had spent years as an instructor, often seen as the villain in the eyes of the students, and here was Filch, sharing a similar plight. “And what happens if she were to—” Snape paused, searching for the right words. “If she were to disappear?” A cloud of despair washed over Filch’s face. “Don’t even say that! I couldn’t bear it. She’s more than a pet; she’s family.” He glanced fondly at Mrs. Norris, who had shifted her gaze to him, her tail flicking with acknowledgement and affection. “As peculiar as your bond may be,” Snape said, his tone regaining some of its usual sharpness, “it is, I suppose, admirable in its own right.” He straightened, preparing to leave. “Just ensure that she continues her duties as guardian to your precious Hogwarts.” With that, Snape turned to make his way back to the dungeons, a sense of warmth lingering in his chest. Moments like these were rare, and though he might never fully understand the depth of Filch’s relationship with the cat, he realized that in a world often filled with chaos and misunderstanding, even the unlikeliest of bonds could thrive—be it between a disgruntled caretaker and his ominously watchful cat, or between a skeptical Potions Master and a man defined by his solitary existence.