Argus Filch, dressed in a brown ancient wizard's robe similar to Hagrid's as his caretaker's uniform, appeared in the doorway huffing and puffing. He clearly treasured this staff uniform; it had been ironed stiff and neat, because it was proof that he had a connection to Hogwarts.
Ever since Mister Handy had arrived, many cleaning tasks no longer needed to be done by Filch himself, which also allowed him to maintain a more respectable image than his former grease-stained appearance. Only Mrs. Norris, whom he held in his arms, was still just as scrawny as ever, though her fur was a little glossier than before.
After they entered the room, Little Hand, in front of them, twisted its fingers again and hopped back to the table, settling back into its original spot, looking as if climbing stairs really could tire out an Undead Creature like it.
Filch had clearly almost never been to the Headmaster's Office either. The furnishings here and the portraits on the walls made him look even more constrained than when he ran into Allen elsewhere. He lifted his cat in both hands and held her up before his chest, as if raising a hat to show respect to the master of the room, and only after receiving a look from Allen did he walk stiffly forward, stopping while there was still some distance between him and the headmaster's desk.
Filch, who suffered from arthritis, spoke while doing his best to bend at the waist and bow. "Headmaster Harris, my respects..." He glanced at the young Witch sitting in front of the desk, then raised his head and said somewhat ingratiatingly, "Headmaster Harris, may I ask what I can do for you? Have you changed your mind? Has this Witch done something wrong? Do you need me