Sean didn't know them—he guessed they were second-years—but that didn't stop him from breaking every little jinx they cast.
With Mrs. Norris huffing warm breaths on his shoulder and a Transfigured wild boar poised at his feet, the boys couldn't advance or retreat.
Watching their mounting panic, Sean figured they'd learned their lesson and silently stepped aside.
The little wizards were overjoyed; one boy even stammered a promise never to come back.
Sean nodded.
The scene inside the office was shocking—a stench strong enough to carry five meters. Mud smeared the walls, and a cabinet had somehow been overturned.
Mrs. Norris stopped huffing, rubbed her face against Sean's, and led him to a section of wall. With a soft rumble, a fireplace revealed itself there—apparently hidden to keep students from wrecking an essential fixture.
Either way, it chased the chill from Sean's bones.
He scratched Mrs. Norris's furry head again.
[You gained affinity with the magical creature Kneazle (Mrs. Norris) at an Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
[Magical Creature—Kneazle (Mrs. Norris): Not yet friendly (70/90)]
[Apprentice-level magical-creature affinity unlocks the "Magical Creatures—Apprentice" title]
As the panel prompts chimed, Sean raised his wand—but before he could speak a spell, a man with a thick plaid scarf wrapped round his head appeared out of nowhere.
Mr. Filch, nearly beside himself, shouted, "Filthy, blasted muck!"
His eyes bulged; the flesh under his chins trembled. "Filth everywhere, everything a mess! I'll have you know I'm reporting this to the Headmaster!"
Sean had a hard time explaining, but once Filch saw his face he fell silent for a moment. Mrs. Norris leapt to the man's shoulder, and at last he stammered, "Sean Green?"
"It's me, Mr. Filch."
"Ah—yes. I mean… right. Thank you, Green…"
Sean nodded. It seemed Mrs. Norris and Mr. Filch really were of one mind—otherwise he'd certainly be suspected.
"Go on now, Green—off with you…" Filch, still seething, hurried out with Mrs. Norris to give chase.
When he returned, his face was twisted and resentful. For an instant, Sean felt he understood the man's sharpness in a new way.
His job was to keep this ancient castle clean. Imagine trying to manage the chaos caused by magically gifted, high-energy teenagers—without magic yourself: Peeves' pranks, the Weasley twins' fireworks, dungbombs tossed any old place. It would drive anyone to despair.
In a sense, his anger and harshness were byproducts of a "difficult job." And beyond Hogwarts… who would hire a Squib?
Thinking this over, Sean holstered his wand and left Filch's office—leaving Filch staring, dumbstruck, at the now-spotless room.
"Sean Green?"
Sean heard a voice behind him and turned; Mr. Filch had followed him out.
"Mr. Filch?"
The castle stone was hard and cold. A cutting wind sliced the corridor and scraped Filch's throat; all he could see was the young wizard's bright green eyes.
"It's raining out—damp, and windy. Dress warmer, Green," Filch chattered.
"There'll be good weather," Sean said with a smile.
For a Squib who longed for magic, such a cramped life doesn't end with the reward of suffering, not in operatic splendor—only in death. So Sean kept himself as natural and expressionless as he could. A wizard shouldn't laugh too loudly; it only wakes other people's pain.
Without noticing, Sean had already overrun curfew—but Filch had no mind to catch him, and even Mrs. Norris only purred around a dried fish.
"You saw it—the office—ah, there's a fireplace…" Filch couldn't say "thank you." From the start, he'd had enough of people with magic. He disliked them, even hated them; magic had never given him a thing. Wizards looked down on him—or stood above him. Better to be hated than pitied.
But today… he felt a flicker of hope.
"Oh—I heard you've learned another spell, Green?"
"Finite," Sean said. "It ends other people's magic."
"Ah. Good. Very good…" Filch muttered, and went back inside. Suddenly remembering something, he came out again with a wrinkled scarf.
"I mean—this scarf, if…"
Shivering in the night wind, Sean gratefully took it. "Thank you, Mr. Filch."
"I mean—of course. You're welcome."
…
The weather kept getting worse, and naturally, Sean kept getting colder. Hogwarts uniforms came with a woolly jumper, but one sweater wasn't enough for the cutting wind. In other words, Sean's layers were too thin—and too old.
If you'd put him in front of the Mirror of Erised just then, he would've seen a thick, oversized sweater.
So he clung to fireplaces more than ever. Sometimes Hermione wondered if he'd dropped something in there—why else be parked by the hearth all day?
Staffroom.
By a very ugly wardrobe stuffed with teaching robes, Professor Flitwick beamed as Sean jogged in past the two talking stone beasts.
"Looks like your Finite's coming along nicely, Mr. Green."
Flitwick flicked his wand—without even speaking—and a thick gush of water burst from the tip.
"Finite Incantatem!" Sean swept his wand; the water vanished. Ever since he'd cleanly canceled Seamus's Aguamenti in class, the professor had been running these half-dueling checks. Sean was used to the surprise volleys now—and they'd genuinely sharpened his combat casting. These days, the moment Flitwick moved, Sean could recognize the spell and decide how to cut it off with Finite.
"Very good, Mr. Green. But the Disillusionment Charm is difficult—are you sure you want to learn it?" Flitwick piped.
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 120 Chapters Ahead of Others!