12 Dec. for @ravenclawsquill

“What the blazes is going on out here?” Argus said, ripping the blankets back and stomping out of the bed. “Mrs Norris, what has got into—”

He stopped abruptly as Hogwarts turned the torches on for him—at least the bloody castle had never looked down on him—Mrs Norris was curled up on top a collection of Argus’s clothes. She’d pulled the towel from the bathroom for a fluffy base and piled Argus’s pants and undershirt from yesterday on top. 

She blinked up at him as the light came on, and immediately started purring. 

Argus’s heart skipped several beats. Then he remembered himself and fell to the floor, his knees creaking but he barely noticed. 

“Mrs Norris,” Argus breathed.

She purred louder, looking very pleased with herself, and Argus couldn’t blame her. He’d had no idea. There were six or seven little balls of fluff snuggled up to her tabby tummy, making such a high-pitched ruckus, but Argus couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I thought you’d just been taking too many midnight trips to the kitchens,” Argus whispered.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he raised his hands. “Sorry, sorry, love. I just—you were pregnant this whole time?”

She flopped back and gave a small “Mrew” he took as “Obviously.”

Argus’s eyes were filling with tears. He could hardly believe it. He was a father! Or a grandfather! To be fair, Argus wasn’t sure most days if Mrs Norris was his baby or his wife. She certainly kept him in line like a wife, always yowling at him when he forgot to eat and running to Poppy for anti-nausea potions when he was starting to get Magic Sickness again—it wasn’t easy being a non-magical person in such a magic-heavy place.

“Can I touch them?” he asked. 

Mrs Norris blinked sleepily at him, gave an affirmative meow. 

Beaming, Argus carefully reached in and took one of the kittens not nursing—he’d hate to interrupt anyone’s first meal—and carefully, carefully ran a gnarled finger along its little spine. It uncurled, stretched out tiny little feet, wobbled its head a bit. Argus glanced at Mrs Norris to make sure it was okay and then carefully scooped it up.

He brought it up to his face so he could see better, and then frowned. There was something—

“Mrs Norris,” Argus said hesitantly, looking at the kitten’s scrunched orange face. “You didn’t—?”

She gave him a steady look.

“You did not!” he whispered. “With the Granger chit’s half-Kneazle?! He’s not good enough for you!”

She growled and he winced. “You’re right. You can make your own decisions.” He looked back down a the kitten again, and saw that it had Mrs Norris’s nose and the shape of her stripes. “I suppose Granger’s cat is rather smart, after all. Can’t really argue with adding more Kneazle back into the line, I suppose. At least you didn’t do anything with that Smith boy’s rude Manx. I’ve never met such a self-righteous cat before.”

Mrs Norris meowed in agreement. 

Argus looked back down at the kitten cupped in his old hands. It had already fallen asleep again, and was Argus imagining it, or was it purring, too? 

“I’m so proud of you, love. You’ve made some wonderful little babies here. Anything you need—anything at all—I’ll take care of it. You want some sweet cream? Some leftover turkey from dinner, maybe?”

She purred and Argus hopped up, grabbed his dressing gown and slippers and hurried from his quarters. There were always a few house-elves awake, no matter the hour, and several jumped up to help Argus as soon as he told him what he needed and why.

“Babies in the castle!” Petta, Argus’s favorite elf, squeaked. “Mz Norris a mummy!” she told the others. They all cooed and rushed to help, plying Argus with bowls and bowls of cream, fluffy velvet cat beds in a variety of colors, and a small playpen they’d found in some secret elf hidey-hole.

“So Mz Norris can have a breaks,” Petta informed him, as she pressed the playpen into his already overflowing hands.

Argus carried his haul back to his quarters, but Mrs Norris and all her kittens were fast asleep. Argus whispered to Hogwarts to keep the cream fresh for her tomorrow, and pulled his duvet and pillows to the floor. He lowered himself, creaking, to the floor, and fell asleep with one wrinkled hand resting on Mrs Norris’s chest, her purring breaths lulling him to sleep.