Hogwarts was boring over the summer.

Well, to be honest, Hogwarts was boring most of the time (except that brief, brilliant few weeks when he had full rein of mischief...) but over the summer, especially, there was no one to taunt.

There was always Filchy, of course, ickle Squib that he was, but these days there was danger of Filch getting killed (or so his Blood-Stained Lord of Evil had told him) and that was no fun. Hogwarts without Filch would be like. Like. It didn't bear thinking.

No, Filchy needed watching, but messing with him wasn't the same anymore, and the faculty was always rushing off to do Important Things that he, Peeves, Could Not Possibly Understand, because he'd never been alive, had he, he was just some manifestation of teenaged hormones, angst and mischief and horniness and he Wasn't Real and wasn't even a Real Ghost (as Nearly-Brainless Nobody was fond of rubbing in) and that left him with the only the animals.

And the animals were boooooooorrrrrrring.

Well, there was always pelting baby owls at the squid.

A few hundred years ago, in a fit of pique, he had named the squid Mathilda. The current incarnation was Mathilda's many-times great-grandchild, of course, and not necessary even female, but the name had stuck. Mer-Mathilda, he called her, and The Mollusk of the Lake and Tentacled Tildy and he tossed the little featherballs at her, squealing happily.

"Octo-owl away!!!!" and the squawking bird would get stuck to one of her legs, and be drenched, and she'd have to pull up on shore to unglue it, and she absolutely *hated* dry land.

"Ooooh," he said, peering at her from between his legs. "Mathilda the Massive!"

She gave him a baleful look from her one visible eye, and he cackled merrily.

Until the day His Lordship barred him from the Owlry.

"The Headmaster needs his couriers, Peeves."

"But, your Baron-ness." He knealt at the Baron's feet, raising large, soulful eyes that greatly exceeded the size of his stomach (he was without form, and therefore good at rearranging his face).

"Begone," The Baron said. "You tire me."

And that was that, because the Baron knew how to entrap him, and an eternity with no one to torment was not to be born. Of course, as far as he was concerned very little was worth bearing, but the fact remained--the owls were right out.

Which left him with Mrs. Norris (not to be touched, as Filthy Filchy needed her), and Fawkes.

The Headmaster *was* away...

He slowly crept through the wall, holding his metaphorical breath lest the gargoyle awaken and blow the alarm. Safe on the stairs, he scarpered up, grinning, and burst into Dumbledore's office.

There he was, small, ugly, picking at ashes and easily grabbable. Easily grabbed, easily carried, and off to the lakeshore again...

"Oh, MathILDA! Squishy Squishy Squi-ID! Look what IIIIIIII've got!"

He reared back, and threw, and with an ungainly squawk that wouldn't make anyone feel better, Fawkes went tumbling through the air and into Mathilda's clutches.

Peeves rolled over and over, grinning--this was too good. Too, too good. Mathilda would practically kill herself trying to save the little fireball, and--and--

"What are you doing?"

She glared at him, stroked Fawkes on the head with the upper-side of one tentacle, and drifted with him under the lake.

Fawkes.

The Headmaster's pet.

The Headmaster's pet *bird*.

Under. Water.

...

...

...

This was bad.

Peeves took a deep (metaphorical) breath, and plunged himself under the surface. He passed a grindylow, too startled to grab at him, and kicked deeper, deeper. A passing merman shook his spear (137 years ago Peeves had spent four months meticulously wrecking their village. Apparently they had yet to forgive him--merpeople were so picky.) Deeper he went, his incorporeal legs tireless, and... there! She had Fawkes in her nest, and she was. Rocking him?

"What are you doing, you Stupid Cephalopod?"

"Glub," said Mathilda. "GlubGlub Glub."

"I don't care. You can just go get yourself a squid mate, and leave Dumbledore's baby alone."

"GlubbyGlub."

"He is not! Look, he's newly hatched and everything. All. Ugly."

"SQUAWK!"

"Sorry," Peeves said--an angry phoenix was a force not to be reckoned with--"and--hey! How can you talk underwater?"

"Squawk squawk squawk."

"Well, yes, but that's 'cause my vocal chords don't require--you're not distracting me. We need to get you back on land, young man. Now."

"Squawk."

"No, you are not staying. What would his Headmonster say, hm? Hmmmmmmm?"

"Squawk," was the sulky reply.

"Right," Peeves said. He pushed up his non-existant sleeves and grabbed Fawkes by the tail.

The Phoenix immediately began flapping his wings and squawking, and Mathilda batted him away with a tentacle.

"He's a BIRD!" Peeves shouted. "You can't keep a BIRD, you bloody idiotic spawn of Cthulu!"

Four eyes glared at him.

"Fine!" He threw up his arms. "Fine. *I* don't care. LIVE here. HAVE your freakish cross-species romance. Ignore the world. Leave me bored all. summer. long. No one to play with, no one to make laugh, all by myself. FINE!" He pouted, and started to swim away.

A single tentacle tugged gently on his ankle.

"No," he said. "I'm leaving."

"Glub?"

"LEA-VING. You know, like Fred and George left. Going away. Departing. Deserting. Abandonin--stop it. Stop *pulling*! Mathil--ow!"

Crossing his arms grumpily, Peeves settled in to the mass of Mathilda's tentacles. Fawkes rubbed his arm.

"That doesn't make me feel better," he snapped.

"Squawk."

"Well, you don't have to *stop*."

Fawkes laughed--not that birds could really do that, but then, Peeves didn't really exist so he wasn't about to quibble--and settled on his lap. Mathilda wrapped herself around them, and patted them on the head.

Maybe the summer wouldn't be boring after all, Peeves thought, and let them make him smile.