Ron's hip secondhand clothes, Elkins' anti-LOLLIPOPS propoganda in FLIRTIAC

[Tabouli]

No: HPFGUIDX 36367

Uncmark:
> Noone enjoys buying secondhand. It's a necessity!

Ah, but no, Unc... surely you've encountered the hip, alternative "shop at thrift shop" mentality?  Certainly in Australia there's been a backlash against the uncool new clothing industry among groovy young things who could easily afford to buy new clothes, but style themselves as left wing rebels who *choose* to shop in the Salvation Army and op shops for authentic 1970s nylon shirts and dresses, and 30 year old corduroy or sheepskin jackets and so on.  Among certain circles wearing new clothing is tantamount to bulldozing a cathedral to build a shopping mall.

I did an Arts degree... I was *surrounded* by such people!  I'd walk in to parties full of 1970s geometric printed nylon with press-studs and musty leather jackets, and feel like a braindead yuppy consumer because I was wearing (gasp!) *new* clothes, bought in an actual *new clothes shop*!  Lining the pockets of evil corporations, no less!  I once tried, for a bit, to do the op shop thing, but I just can't do it.  I have a friend of this type who is, unusually for this type, actually too poor to buy new clothes, but she always manages to look great through judicious secondhand shopping (unlike a lot of them, IMO); I just don't seem to have the eye.

See, what Ron needs is a taste of "alternative" Muggle Arts student attitude.  If only he mingled a bit with the right set in Edinburgh (assuming Hogwarts is there-ish) he'd realise that he is in fact *superior* to the shallow lowbrows manipulated by amoral profit-driven advertisers into wearing (sniff) *new* clothes, and would reattach the lace onto his dress robes and wear them with ironic pride.  "This is an authentic 1890s piece I picked up for ten sickles at the Brotherhood of St Lawrence", he could declare, sniffing disdainfully at Malfoy's oh-so-prententiously-Sloaney Yves Saint Merlin black velvet...

(Sadly, of course, it seldom works like that.  People who are poor enough, or have large enough families to *have* to wear secondhand clothes are apt to be those who simply *hate* it, and get new stuff the second they can afford it.)

Having kindly provided Ron with a way of Taking Pride In His Clothing, Captain Tabouli sits back in her deck chair, inhaling the fresh ocean breeze.  She is just about to call in the LOLLIPOPS band for a round of sea shanties when her handsome young cabin boy comes rushing over, gesticulating so wildly he forgets to salute.

"Captain! Captain!" he cries, flapping his hands in a way that reminds her of an owl she once knew (Pigeon, wasn't it?), and gesturing frantically to port.  "The FLIRTIAC dinghy is under threat!  It's *Elkins*!  She's threatening to cut the dinghy's ties with the mother ship, something about a triangle..."

Captain Tabouli's nostrils flare.  She rises ominously to her feet, and marches to the port side of the ship, where FLIRTIAC has been moored since LOLLIPOPS embarked.  The newly renovated dinghy looks rather bigger than she remembered.  In the past, FLIRTIAC was moored close to the mother SHIP, huddling in shadow at her side, but she now seems to have drifted away slightly, out into the sun.  If she shades her eyes against the light, Captain Tabouli can admire the dinghy's figurehead, a stylised young woman with the head of a dust-coloured cat.  Today, however, she is appalled to observe something new about the figurehead, something... unauthorised.

Captain Tabouli reaches into her pocket and whips out her telescope for a closer look, and her jaw drops at Elkins' audacity.  Graffiti!  A slogan, spraypainted shamelessly on the figurehead, as if it were a subway wall!  It says "Snape 4 Mrs Norris 4 eva"!  On the side facing LOLLIPOPS, no less!  The cheek of it!  Shaking with rage, Captain Tabouli bellows to her crew to winch in the dinghy, descends down the purpose-built ladder into FLIRTIAC's bow, and starts searching.  Seconds later she notices something breathing under a pile of oars, and drags out a grinning Elkins by the scruff of the neck, a spraycan falling from her pocket with a clatter.

Elkins, despite a persistently disrespectful attitude towards the Good Ship LOLLIPOPS (the seashell incident is an indelible blot on her file), has long been a sponsor of the Daring Dinghy FLIRTIAC.  As Captain Tabouli tends to have her hands full with the main Ship, she has, in the past, been generous enough to overlook this and allow Elkins on board the dinghy for general maintenance and the occasional spin around Theory Bay.  This, however, is not to be bourne.

"What," says Captain Tabouli in a soft and menacing voice, "is the meaning of this?  I take time out from LOLLIPOPS to renovate FLIRTIAC, adding a stylish Kittygro design and five new canons, deftly explaining why Snape and Filch are buddies within the framework of Filch's Lover Is Regretting Transformation Into A Cat... and *what thanks do I get*?"

Elkins smiles winningly at the bristling Captain, protesting that she *likes* the Kitty-gro twist, finds it an admirable addition to the FLIRTIAC artillery.

"You've sold me on it!" she cries, with an innocent look.  "But only if I can 
turn it into a love triangle.  But surely that's perfectly okay with you.  Right?"

"A love triangle," hisses Captain Tabouli, her eyes boring into Elkins', "between Filch, Mrs Norris and SNAPE??  Do you remember who *built* that dinghy, Elkins?  It was ME!  The founder and Captain of the Good Ship LOLLIPOPS!  And do you remember what the central premise of LOLLIPOPS is?  The mast from which all her sails fly?  The keel on which her entire framework is *BUILT*?"

Elkins pauses to consider, then raises one eyebrow, goading the Captain into shrieks.

"SNAPE LOVED **LILY**!" shrieks Captain Tabouli, spraying Elkins with spit in her rage.  Not daring to wipe the captainly saliva from her face, Elkins tries vainly to plead her case, reminding the Captain that in her very own Kittygro theory, she postulated that Snape was devoting hours of research to curing Mrs Norris.

"Ah...but why?" pleads Elkins.  "*Why* does Snape devote all of those hours of research 
to curing some Squib's muggle-born girlfriend?  Just because she was 
once, like Snape, an ally of Dumbledore?  Just because of his regard 
for Filch?  Just because he feels a little guilty about helping to 
invent the Kitty-Gro?  Just because he's a Great Big Softie when it 
comes to doomed romance?  Naaaaah.  No, it's *obviously* because he was in love with her himself!  And 
furthermore, he still is."

The Captain dumps Elkins on a stack of lifejackets in digust.

"I," snaps Captain Tabouli witheringly, "have *five* canons in favour of my version of FLIRTIAC, and a veritable *army* of canons aboard LOLLIPOPS.  So what have *you* got, eh?  What straw-sized canon have *you* scrounged out of the barrel to defend this blasphemous theory of yours?"


"The smirk!"  declares Elkins brightly. "That little smirk on Snape's face when Filch is overcome 
with grief over Mrs. Norris' petrifaction in CoS.  One thing that 
Kitty-Gro utterly fails to explain to my satisfaction is why on earth 
Snape would be suppressing a *smile* there."

"But if Filch is his romantic *rival,* you see," Elkins goes on, "then it makes a bit 
more sense.  Snape knows perfectly well that Mrs. Norris has merely 
been petrified, not killed, and that her condition is both painless 
and reversible.  That Filch does not himself realize this is indeed 
rather pathetic.  Snape bothers to suppress the smile because he 
really does have some affection for Filch.  But what he's really 
thinking there is: A man like this could surely never hold her.  She 
will be *mine!*"

"*Pah*," replies the Captain rudely.  "There's a far more obvious reason for that smirk.  Think about it.  Both men suffered cruelly in the war against Voldemort.  Both intervened to rescue their beloved from the Dark Lord's clutches, both dabbled in the seedy, sinister world of espionage and sought refuge with Dumbledore.  Snape turned spy to save Lily's hated husband and child in a supreme act of self-sacrifice; Filch gave Mrs Norris (the spy that loved him) affection and support and doubtless collaborated in her daring secret mission to inform Dumbledore about Evil Mr Norris' movements.  But then what happened, eh?"

"Tragedy struck for both our heros," sighs the Captain, removing her hat and placing it over her heart.  "Filch, of course, lost Mrs Norris to the Kittygro Cocktail, brewed by Snape's own hand, and carried her feline remains tearfully to the protection of Dumbledore, who commanded Snape to find a cure, to right his terrible wrong in brewing so evil an elixir.  Tragic, of course, but not, to Snape's mind, anything like the torment he himself has suffered.  Snape's sacrifice was far greater - not only did he endure the pain of protecting his hated rival James and son, he suffered the agony of failure and bereavement, for not only did Voldemort get to the Potters despite his best efforts, he also *killed* Lily, because she was strong and moral enough to give her life for her son... who had the cheek to *survive* and then Attend Snape's Potions Classes!  Snape's lover is not a potentially retrievable cat, but dead dead dead!"

"Hence the smirk, you see.  Sure, he and Filch have a mutual empathy there, built on the shared pain of lost love, espionage and hiding behind Dumbledore's robes.  Snape is Filch's only confidant and help in the deepest sorrow of his life.  All the same, unbeknownst to Filch, the fact that Mrs Norris is still alive fuels Snape with a terrible resentment.  Even as he comforts Filch, and feels an affectionate kinship for him, Snape curdles inside to think that the old fool thinks that *he* has suffered.  Moreover, Snape, with his far heavier burden, swirls stylish black *rings* around Filch in the coping stakes.  None of this shrieky hysteria for Snape: *he* has emotional control (most of the time).  *He* has not only survived his pain, he has taken up a senior teaching position at a prestigious school and maintained a modicum of panache and dress sense.  Hence, when he sees Filch coming undone over Mrs Norris' petrified body, he can barely suppress a smirk.  Snape's secret resentment feels vindicated, his comparative emotional control in the face of greater grief amply demonstrated.  Maybe he should work a bit harder on that Decatifying Potion after all.  Perhaps in a couple of years he might suddenly have a breakthrough..."

Me:
> We only know how (Filch is) described *now*, after years 
> and years of anguish over his feline beloved have turned him cruel 
> and hysterical. . . .Perhaps as a younger man he was dashing and
> devoted!

Elkins:
> Erm.  Well, really, if we go by the Kitty-Gro FLIRTIAC timeline, then 
it can't have been more than fifteen years, can it?  I don't really 
know if I believe that to be quite enough time to turn someone young 
and dashing into...well, Filch.<

Ah, but I didn't say "young", I said "younger".  Let's say he was a well-preserved fifty, a handsome, middle-aged gentleman with a swirl of distinguished grey in his still-flourishing hair, unbowed by half a century of Squib Marginalisation.  The mature, sympathetic ear the abused, paranoid Mrs Norris (spying and living in the enemy's bed is enough to make anyone paranoid) had craved for oh so long.  Here, at last, was a man she need not fear because he had No Magical Powers!  Here, at last, was a man she could *guarantee* wasn't going to put Eavesdropper Charms on her cushions, or suddenly Apparate into her laundry with an army of Death Eaters.

Of course, he couldn't protect her, either, but she was a Modern Career Woman, and didn't want any of that macho tripe.  No, what the sad, childless Mrs Norris secretly craved (in some shameful corner of her heart) was a SON.  Someone hurt, and vulnerable, to whom she was omnipotent and strong, someone who needed her, someone who would give her the unconditional, trusting love of a boy for his mother, someone whose innocent tribulations touched her heart.  (What better than a Squib, rendered eternally childlike by the absence of magical powers?)  This tendency was instilled in Mrs Norris at birth in accordance with the Potterverse law of Name Determinism by her Muggle parents, who named her after that paragon of caring for others... Florence Nightingale.

How Filch adored Mrs Norris.  She was his rock, a replacement for the mother who scorned him for being a Squib.  He blossomed in her arms, filled at last with magic, the magic of Love.  When the Kittygro potion stole her from him, it was as if the very foundations of his life had been taken away.  He was a broken man, nay, a *destroyed* man.  He turned to drink, letting his once distinguished crowning glory grow long and ragged, letting his cheek grow stubbled, his teeth turn the rotted yellow of a wizard consumed with grief.  He begged Snape to brew some more Kittygro Cocktail, so that he could join his beloved, and when Snape refused (for your own good, Argus), he tried for several months to immerse himself in her plight by living off dead mice and cat food, clawing the furniture, and sleeping in a basket by the fire.

Eventually, a concerned Snape summoned Dumbledore, who gently removed the catnip mouse from Filch's lips and gave him a proposal.  Our old caretaker's just retired, twinkled Dumbledore, and I've been thinking we should hire a couple to replace him, a dynamic duo experienced in espionage who can roam the corridors and collaborate in the undoing of rule-breakers and wayward students.  So what do you say, Argus and Mrs Norris?

And so began Argus' career as Hogwarts caretaker, in which he and Mrs Norris could once more be as one, fighting the forces of evil together.  In time, the reek of mice on Filch's breath faded away and his hollow, stubbled face began to fill out a little, but faced every day with the painful sight of his feline beloved, he never fully recovered, and grew ever more haggard and twisted with bitterness.  By the time Harry arrives 15 or so years later, Mrs Norris is thin and grey, and the formerly handsome Filch is the ugly, creepy old man we know him as today.  Fifteen years of self-neglect and not *caring* whether you live or die can be very hard on a man that age, you know.

Elkins:
> I mean, we all know that the new female DADA professor is *always* the
one who finally manages to break through poor dear Sevvie's nasty old
shell and win his warm and squishy heart, right? <

Hmmmm.  Of course, if Snape suddenly has a research breakthrough and restores Mrs Norris to be the DADA teacher, we might be able to forge a compromise here.  After Lily's death, Snape had vowed never to set foot in the treacherous world of Romance again.  He vowed to live the rest of his days in brooding solitude, with his potions and swirling black capes, in a dungeon called Heartbreak Hotel.  However...

...after all those years of listening to Filch's resented ravings about Mrs Norris, Snape feels something stirring within him as he gazes upon the golden-eyed face of the woman he has saved from a furry fate.  Moreover, Mrs Norris herself is rather dismayed at Filch's change from distinguished and dapper to shrieking male crone.  Fifteen years as a cat have taken the edge off her maternal instincts and love of the powerless.  Now that she has beed rescued by a powerful wizard, she is beginning to see that a liaison with a talented Potions Master has many attractions that a romance of compassion with a Squib does not.  One night while Filch is shrieking after Peeves, she slips into Snape's dungeon with a token question about Dark Potions, and they get to talking, about the Kittygro Potion, about Snape's inside knowledge on Mr Norris from his days as a spy, about what Filch has become.  Lily and Filch drift far away from their minds, as the candles burn lower and lower...

Tabouli.

Tabouli.


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]