Chapter 102: Filch
Sean didn't recognize the intruders—second years, he guessed—but that didn't stop him from effortlessly deflecting their poorly aimed jinxes. Between Sean's counter-spells, Mrs. Norris's enraged hissing, and the menacing shape of a half-transfigured boar (Sean's own creation, ready to charge from the shadows near his feet), the young vandals were trapped, terrified and confused.
After a few moments, Sean, satisfied they had learned their lesson, silently stepped aside. The boys, overjoyed, scrambled for the exit, one of them stammering a garbled promise never to return.
Sean nodded.
Filch's office was a disaster. The stench of the Dungbombs was overwhelming, and foul sludge coated the walls and filing cabinets. Mrs. Norris, no longer hissing, rubbed against Sean's leg and nudged him toward a blank section of the wall. With a faint rumble, a hidden fireplace was revealed, likely concealed to protect it from exactly this kind of student mischief.
Sean moved closer, grateful for the warmth. He stroked Mrs. Norris's head again.
[You have gained the affection of the Kneazle-part Magical Beast (Mrs. Norris) to the Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
[Magical Beast Affinity: Kneazle (Mrs. Norris): Befriended (70/90)]
[Apprentice-level Magical Creature Affinity will unlock the Apprentice-level Title in the field of Magical Creatures.]
As the panel chimed, Sean raised his wand to begin cleaning, but a figure burst into the room, his voice cracking with fury.
"Filthy! Vile! Disgusting!" Filch yelled, his eyes bulging, his jowls trembling. "Slime everywhere! A complete mess! I'll report this to the Headmaster, I will!"
Sean felt a sinking feeling; this was going to be difficult to explain. But when Filch's wild eyes landed on him, the caretaker's rage faltered, replaced by confusion. Mrs. Norris leaped gracefully onto Filch's shoulder and purred.
"Sean... Green?" Filch stammered.
"Yes, Mr. Filch."
"Ah. Right. I mean... good. Thank you, Green..."
Sean nodded, relieved. Mrs. Norris had clearly communicated his innocence.
"Go on, Green, hurry along..." Filch's anger resurfaced, redirected at the escaped culprits. "I'll catch them!" he snarled, grabbing Mrs. Norris and dashing back into the corridor.
When he returned moments later, his face was a mask of twisted resentment. Sean, watching him, felt a sudden, sharp understanding. Filch's job was to maintain order in a castle full of magic-wielding, chaos-inducing teenagers. Dealing with Peeves's poltergeist activities, the Weasley twins' fireworks, and random Dungbombs... all without a single drop of magic himself... it was an impossible, soul-crushing task. His bitterness was a byproduct of his own powerlessness. Where else would a Squib find work?
Sean silently put away his wand and left the office, leaving Filch staring, dumbfounded, at the now-spotless room.
"Sean Green?"
Sean turned. Filch had followed him into the corridor. The wind howled, rattling the windows, and Filch's voice was barely a rasp.
"It's raining out," Filch said, his voice gruff. "Wet... and cold. Wear something warm, Green."
"The weather will clear up, Mr. Filch," Sean replied gently.
For a Squib longing for magic, this half-life wasn't a reward for suffering, nor would it end in grand, operatic fashion. It would just... end. Sean kept his own expression neutral, his voice quiet. He knew better than to flaunt his own magical gifts, his own happiness, in the face of such quiet pain.
He was long past curfew, but Filch made no move to report him. Mrs. Norris just purred, still nibbling her fish.
"You saw... the office... the fireplace..." Filch stammered, unable to form the words of thanks. He'd hated them for so long, the magical ones. They either looked down on him or pitied him. He preferred their hatred. But tonight...
"Oh, I heard you learned a new spell, Green?" he grunted, changing the subject.
"The General Counter-Spell, sir. Finite Incantatem. It stops other spells."
"Ah. Good. Very good..." Filch mumbled, turning back to his office. He paused, then reappeared, holding a shabby, grey, but thick-looking scarf. "Here," he thrust it at Sean. "The scarf, I mean, if..."
Sean, who was indeed shivering, took it gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Filch."
"Yes, well. Don't mention it."
The weather only worsened. Sean's thin school robes were no match for the penetrating cold. If he were to stand before the Mirror of Erised now, he'd likely see himself in a thick, warm jumper.
He found himself spending more and more time by the fireplaces. Hermione even asked if he'd lost something in the chimney.
The Staff Room.
Professor Flitwick beamed as Sean hurried past the two talking gargoyles at the entrance. "Ah, Mr. Green! Your Finite Incantatem seems to be progressing well!"
Without a word, Flitwick flicked his wand, sending a jet of water shooting from its tip.
"Finite Incantatem!" Sean countered instantly, neutralizing the spell. Since his practical demonstration against Seamus, Flitwick had taken to "testing" him with these semi-duels. Sean had grown accustomed to the surprise attacks, and his reflexes had sharpened considerably.
"Excellent, Mr. Green! Excellent!" Flitwick chirped. "Now, the Disillusionment Charm is extremely difficult. Are you quite certain you're ready to learn it?"
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