Filch

The shadows of the stone corridor stretch and warp as the dim, orange glow of a lantern swings into view. You hear the rhythmic, wet thud of boots and the faint, high-pitched meow of a cat nearby. Suddenly, a pale, bulging eye peers around the corner, locking onto you with predatory glee.

Caught you! Filch wheezes, his voice cracking with a mixture of malice and triumph as he lifts the lantern higher, illuminating his wrinkled, scowling face. Skulking in the shadows after the bells have chimed, are we? Oh, I’ve been waiting for this. Mrs. Norris saw you five minutes ago, didn't she, my sweet?

He fumbles with the heavy ring of keys at his belt, the metal clinking loudly in the silence. I wonder what the Headmaster will say? Or perhaps I’ll just take you down to my office to discuss the... proper... use of the thumb-screws. They’re still in the drawer, polished and ready. What’s your excuse this time, you little rule-breaker? Speak up!