Argus Filch was leaning over the tiny wash basin in his quarters, squinting into a darkened mirror, peering around the crack that criss-crossed the glass. In his hands, he held dental floss and he was carefully sliding the mint-flavored string between his right canine and the next tooth, his tongue licking stuck out in concentration as he worked. Mrs. Norris sat on the back of the counter, looking up at him, her tail twitching as she oversaw her owner's morning grooming habits.

Suddenly, there was a loud rapping at the door of the office his quarters were connected to.

Filch grumbled and shook his head, rolling his eyes into the mirror as he worked at tugging the floss this way and that. "Bleedin' poltergeist," he muttered in frustration, "Dunn't even know its too damnded early to be startin' in already."

Mrs. Norris purred her agreement.

The rapping at the door continued on - persistent and unyielding.

"Crusted biscuits," muttered Filch in annoyance, and he slammed the roll of floss onto the was basin counter and walked out to the office door with frustration clear in the gait of his steps. He wrenched it opened and declared, "When the Bloody Baron hears about this, Peeves, it'll be the blasted exorcist for you!" But the entity leaning against the frame of Filch's door was not Peeves after all but --

"Ayyy Filch, I am sorry to say that no exorcist will be able to rid you of me!" James Potter was grinning at him, all teeth and glasses and silky smooth hair that hung windblown over his forehead. "I do apologize."

Filch scowled at him. "Usually I'm rid of you brats when you graduate," he grumbled.

James's eyes twinkled, "Ah yes that's the usual sort of brat that you manage to be freed of that way. I'm not the usual sort, see. I'm a Marauder." He winked.

Filch muttered something under his breath and James laughed, rather certain that whatever Filch night have said it was likely not something very appropriate.

James stood upright, launching from the door frame. "Seriously though, I've got to talk to you about an important matter and you're the only man for the job, I'm afraid."

"What have you soiled now?" Filch grouched.

"Soiled!" James chuckled, "You're quite mean, Filch." He paused and when Filch hadn't invited him into the office to talk or even so much as shifted his weight in response to James's jovial tone, he continued on, "It's about restoration of a portrait - once a magical portrait's been harmed, you're the only one I know of that might know how to go about repairing it."

Filch had four things that were the great thrills in his life: First was anything to do with Mrs. Norris at all. Second, the way the Great Hall looked when he'd just finished polishing the stones and it hadn't been muddied up by the bleeding students yet. Third, the thrill of catching trouble-making students out of bed and right in the midst of making mischief - though a large portion of this had already been taken away due to Dumbledore taking away Filch's right to choose the punishments that he felt best fit the crime. The Fourth great thrill was the satisfaction of restoring a moth-eaten portrait to its living state. It was the closest thing to magic that Argus Filch ever got to perform and it was done with great care.

"A portrait you say?" He murmured, narrowing his eyes and looking James over. "What portrait?"

"Can't we talk in private?" James asked, glancing up and then down the hallway.

Filch scowled.

"Aw c'mon Filchy."

"No touching the chains," Filch said, laying down rules for James when he stepped into the office.

"I wouldn't dream of it - that was Sirius who likes the chains," James answered, smirking.

Filch scowled all the harder at the mention of Sirius Black. "And no getting into the drawers, no stealing anything out of them, no funny business."

James criss-crossed his fingers over his heart and held up two fingers in a scout's honor.

Filch eyed him, then reluctantly took a step backward, allowing James into the room.

James ducked past the old caretaker and into the all too familiar office. He sank himself directly into the chair that had been the one he'd occupied more often than not while waiting for Filch to fill out his complaint cards against him. Felt funny being in there without having been caught red-handed to something, though.

Filch shut the door, Mrs. Norris slipping between his ankles and rubbing herself against his legs as he watched James sit with a bit of suspicion. He moved around the chair the Marauder sat in and sat at his own desk, sinking into his chair.

"How've you been?" James asked.

Filch studied him more, then said, "Alright."

"Excellent! Me, too," James declared. "Remember Lily Evans?"

"Poor girl - innocent until the likes of you and your f-ffff-f-friends corrupted her," Filch said, struggling to say the word friends.

James grinned, "And then she got even better."

Filch shook his head. "What about her?"

"I married her, just as I said I would," James said with pride, "And we're pregnant."

"How wonderful for you," Filch murmured darkly, scowling hand petting Mrs. Norris, who lay on his knee just under the desk.

"I'm fairly excited about it," James replied.

Filch hesitated a moment and when James didn't speak, he asked, "What portrait?"

"Oh yes, the portrait!"

"Who's it a portrait of?" Filch asked.

"Well now see," James said, "Before I go and tell you that, I've got to have your word that you won't be telling anyone else about this - er - commission that I'm about to give you, alright? It's terribly important and I don't particularly want anyone..." (Dumbledore, he thought darkly) "...hearing about it."

Filch looked intrigued and offended equally.

James raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" FIlch wondered.

"Just... it's very important is all."

Filch looked James over, his blood shot eyes beaded as he considered.

"It's alright if you can't do it," James said, shrugging, "I know restoring a magical portrait takes a great deal of work and it must be extra hard to do when you're --" he stopped here, tilting his head just a bit with an air of arrogance and the ghost of a smirk, "-- not magically inclined, shall we say?"

He felt mean saying it, but he knew it was just the goad he needed.

Filch's eyes lit up with anger, "What are you suggestin' you little --"

"Only that you might be too busy," James replied flippantly.

Filch snapped, "I ain't too busy to do my job!"

"Well technically --"

"I can do it! Give it here. Give it here!" he held out his bony hands and they shook with anger as he snapped his fingers.

James's eyes sparkled. He reached into his coat's interior pocket, where he'd put the rolled up portrait for safe keeping, right close to his heart. "Well that is quite a relief to see you so enthusiastic about assisting me and --" he patted his coat, but the portrait wasn't there. He pulled open the jacket and looked down to confirm that the pocket was indeed empty - and even pulled the small pocket hole a bit to peer inside. It was usually meant for a wand, but he'd tucked his wand into the leather holster that clipped to his suspenders rather than the pocket in favor of putting Regulus in the safety of the pocket...

It wasn't there.

The portrait was missing.

James felt his skin go hot and cold all at once and he shrugged his coat off, patting himself and the coat down, searching, letting out little huffs of frustration as he looked through the folds of the fabric and even double checked that the portrait wasn't in the scabbard at his hip - perhaps he'd made an error and tucked it there instead of his wand, he thought, maybe he'd left his wand at home? But no the wand was where it ought to be. Everything was where it ought to be - everything except the portrait of Regulus Black.

"Well??" pressed Filch.

James shook his head, "I - I must've - must be dropped somewhere, I --" his brows were cinched with worry and he jumped up from the chair, forgetting about Filch altogether in his rush of panic, and even as Mrs. Norris's tail puffed with irritation at James's anxiousness, he got up and rushed from Filch's office, intent on tracing his steps through the castle.

Filch stared, gape-mouthed, after him. He looked at Mrs. Norris. "Well, my sweet," he murmured, "Probably a filthy prank anyhow. Probably some joke parchment from Zonkos or other rubbish no doubt!" He scowled and got up and slammed his door shut, returning to his mirror and taking up his dental floss once more. He was just about to jut the ribbon between his yellowed teeth once more when there came a great crash in the corridor outside his office and a great, high-pitched cackle, followed by peals of laughter.

That Wally Grant was at it again.

"Curses, the lot of 'em," Filch snarled and he chucked the dental floss into the sink basin, rushing to the door of the office, grabbing his mop as he went, planning to use it as a weapon to smack that bleeding poltergeist - and possibly the students if he could catch up with them before they disappeared like smoke.

James meanwhile had returned to the entrance hall of the castle and was recreating every move he'd made from the moment he'd stepped through the door, muttering to himself about who he'd seen and what motions he'd made.

Here, this is where he'd come in the door - and he'd paused to look at the house points standing (very proud to see Gryffindor in first) and then he'd waved to James Zimmerman who'd been just inside the Great Hall at breakfast... Yes then he'd turned 'round and been greeted by some Hufflepuffs that were coming up from the stairs just there... Up these steps... He paused at the top landing to go over the greeting he'd given the D.W.O.

Then there had been a Ravenclaw boy that had been running while looking down into his bookbag that had tripped and fallen and James had bent to help him up. Poor boy had gone nearly to tears as his parchments had gone flying from his bag in a great cacophony of flying paper. Dexter had waved his wand and made them all into birds that flew back into the boy's bag and Oliver had clapped heartily and announced that Dexter was brilliant at such charms. It really had been a good charm, James thought.

Now he wondered if there'd been some way that Dexter's charm had drawn the portrait from his pocket somehow? Maybe Regulus's portrait had become a bird that flew into that Ravenclaw's bag? James turned back and rushed down the stairs, returning to the Great Hall, where most of the students were still just starting their breakfasts.

He scanned the Ravenclaw table but didn't see the boy any where.

At the Gryffindor table, Dexter had replicated the spell and parchment from Wally or Oliver's bags were flying about over the lunch. Other students around the three were marveling over the paper birds and the amount of control that Dexter had on them and the boys were laughing as people that were not Dexter shouted whoa and Dexter was flushed, pleased to be the center of attention.

James hurried up, "Oi, Oliver."

Oliver tore his gaze from Dexter's birds and grinned, "Hey James! Are you joining us for breaky, then? Push up Zim," he added, jabbing an elbow at Zimmerman to try at making space for James beside him at the bench.

"No, I've already eaten and I haven't the time anyway... Look, I think I dropped one of my own parchments and it might've been turned to a bird and gone with that kid from the stairs. What's his name?"

"You mean Declan?" Oliver asked.

"Sure, where's he gone to, d'you know?"

Wally turned and craned his neck toward the Ravenclaw table, so did Oliver.

"That kid's weird," muttered a couple of the Gryffindors near by.

"Weird?" James asked.

"Where IS Deccy?" Wally asked, looking at Oliver, "He ain't at the Claw table."

"He always says weird stuff," Zimmerman said, shrugging. "Makes jokes that don't make sense."

"Making up songs and the like," added Macy from across the table.

"Yeah, we always tease him he should be a writer," Dexter said.

"He's very good," Oliver pointed out. "I read one of his papers on Divination the other day and I was nearly convinced of his findings." He laughed.

Wally shrugged to James, "He must've got off to the dorm. We have Transfiguration with him though first so I'll ask after your papers and bring them to you on the pitch, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Oliver said excitedly nodding.

"Alright," James agreed.

"What's it he has anyway?" Wally asked.

"It's a rather important drawing," James said, feeling rather sick, watching the paper birds fluttering around the table with all their creases and folds. "Just see to it that it's not damaged anymore than it might've already been, please."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" Wally shouted.