Sean didn't recognize them, but he guessed they were second-year wizards. That didn't stop him from undoing their mischievous little jinxes one by one. With Mrs. Norris hissing at his side and a Transfiguration boar ready to charge, the young wizards were stuck—neither able to advance nor retreat.
Sean watched their panic, knowing they'd remember this lesson. Silently, he stepped aside from the door.
The young wizards were overjoyed. One boy, trembling, swore he'd never come back.
Sean nodded.
The scene inside the office was shocking. A stench spread five meters out, walls were smeared with mud, and a cabinet had somehow been toppled.
Mrs. Norris stopped hissing and rubbed against Sean's face, leading him to a wall. With a faint rumble, a fireplace appeared.
It seemed hidden to keep young wizards from tampering with such an essential feature.
Either way, it warmed Sean right up.
He patted Mrs. Norris's fluffy head.
[You've earned the affection of the magical creature Kneazle (Mrs. Norris) at an expert level, +50 proficiency]
[Kneazle (Mrs. Norris): Nearly Bonded (70/90)]
[Apprentice-level Magical Creature Affinity unlocked, granting the title of Apprentice in the Magical Creature Domain]
As the notification chimed in his mind, Sean raised his wand, but before he could cast a spell, someone appeared—a figure with a thick, checkered scarf wrapped around their head.
Mr. Filch shouted, furious:
"Filthy messes everywhere!"
His eyes bulged, his double chin quivering.
"It's a disaster! I'll report this to the headmaster, mark my words!"
Sean felt a bit tongue-tied, but thankfully, Filch paused when he saw Sean's face. Mrs. Norris leapt onto Sean's shoulder, and Filch stammered, "Sean Green?"
"That's me, Mr. Filch," Sean replied.
"Oh, uh, I mean… thank you, Green," Filch muttered.
Sean nodded. Mrs. Norris must've had a special bond with Filch, or he'd have been in trouble for sure.
"Let's go, Green. Move along," Filch growled, still fuming, and stormed off with Mrs. Norris to chase the culprits.
When Filch returned, Sean saw his twisted, resentful expression. For a moment, Sean understood Filch's bitterness a little better.
Filch was Hogwarts' caretaker, tasked with keeping the ancient castle spotless. But imagine managing a bunch of magic-wielding, energetic teens—Peeves's pranks, the Weasley twins' fireworks, students tossing Dungbombs everywhere—without a drop of magic yourself. It was a maddening job.
His anger and harshness? Probably just a byproduct of that impossible task.
But outside Hogwarts, where would a Squib like Filch even find work?
Sean quietly pondered this, pocketing his wand and leaving Filch's office. Behind him, Filch stood stunned, staring at the now spotless room.
"Sean Green?" Filch's voice called out.
Sean turned. Filch had followed him.
"Mr. Filch?"
The castle's stone floors were cold and hard. As a bitter wind tore through the corridor, stinging Filch's throat, he looked into Sean's bright green eyes.
"It's raining out there. Wet, windy. Dress warmly, Green," Filch mumbled, his lips trembling.
"It'll clear up soon," Sean said with a smile.
For a Squib who longed for magic, this cramped life didn't end with rewards for suffering or some grand, operatic finale. It just ended.
Sean kept his expression neutral. He knew that laughing too loudly with his magic might stir someone else's pain.
Unknowingly, he'd broken curfew, but Filch didn't seem to care. Even Mrs. Norris just purred, munching on a dried fish.
"You saw the office… it's got a fireplace," Filch said, struggling to say thanks. He'd always resented those with magic.
He didn't like them—hated them, even—because magic had never done him any favors. Wizards either looked down on him or ignored him. He'd rather be hated than pitied.
But today, something felt different. He… hoped.
"Oh, I heard you learned a new spell, Green?" Filch asked.
"Finite Incantatem, sir. It stops other people's spells," Sean replied.
"Ah, good. Very good," Filch muttered, heading back to his office.
Suddenly, he paused, grabbed a wrinkled scarf, and returned.
"I mean, the scarf… if you…"
Sean, shivering in the night's chill, gratefully took it.
"Thank you, Mr. Filch."
"Of course, no trouble," Filch replied.
---
The weather was getting worse, and Sean was definitely feeling the cold. Hogwarts uniforms came with a wool sweater, but one thin layer wasn't enough against the biting wind. His clothes were too old, too worn.
If Sean stood before the Mirror of Erised now, he'd probably see a thick, warm sweater.
So, he relied on fireplaces more than ever. Hermione sometimes wondered if he'd lost something in one, given how often he lingered by them.
In the staff room, by an ugly wardrobe stuffed with teachers' robes, Professor Flitwick beamed as Sean dashed past two talking stone gargoyles.
"Your Finite Incantatem is coming along nicely, Mr. Green," Flitwick said cheerfully.
He flicked his wand without a word, and a thick stream of water shot from its tip.
"Finite Incantatem!" Sean countered, waving his wand. The water vanished. Ever since he'd quickly stopped Seamus's botched Aguamenti in class, Flitwick had taken to testing him with these half-duel challenges.
Sean had gotten used to the professor's sudden spells. It had sharpened his practical spellwork, too. He could now read Flitwick's wand movements and know which spell was coming—and how to stop it with Finite Incantatem.
"Very impressive, Mr. Green! But the Disillusionment Charm is quite advanced. Are you sure you want to tackle it?" Flitwick asked in his high-pitched voice.