Imagining Mithral (G; Argus; 230 words): Mrs Norris is not the only woman in Argus' life.
Sunday was his day, and Argus would scour the lesser-travelled caverns and crannies of the dungeons looking for treasure. There was a storeroom he knew of that was filled with wondrous things: barbaric-looking weapons, dented armour, chain mail, and something he thought of as the "Lady Warrior's Mithral Sheath."
It was a fine thing, the sheath: a chain-mail tunic of finely wrought, gleaming rings that sparkled like gems in the sunlight—well, in the shafts of light coming from far above; Argus had never removed the precious thing from the dungeons. It had been amongst male tunics of the same material, but those shirts were heavy and dull-looking, some even corroded and falling to pieces. The Lady Warrior's sheath—Argus could picture her, strong, tall, and powerful, with flowing black hair and flashing blue eyes, in his mind's eye—was in perfect condition, and so delicate that it was see-through.
Yet no one ever bested you while you were wearing this, he thought, holding up the sheath. Not even in Moria was there ever anything more wonderful!
Argus loved the dungeons. They were so much a part of the castle's history, holding stories so long-forgotten that he had to reinvent them amongst the artifacts of an earlier, more war-like time, but he didn't mind. Sundays were for him, for his explorations and books, and they were why he never even considered leaving Hogwarts.