The Missing Portrait

                                    

                                          
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.