Saturday night was raucous.
Everyone back from Hogsmeade brought their leftover excitement into Hogwarts. Nights like this kept Mr. Filch busy—always on guard against troublemakers, especially those two outrageous red-haired wizards. Thanks to them, he'd grown to dislike any red-haired student on sight.
As Filch wrapped up for the day and headed to his dim caretaker's office, Sean passed by, having just finished an Adept batch of Swelling Solution. In his notebook, above the Potions section, he'd jotted his recent progress in Charms:
The Quieting Charm was now Adept; Finite had hit Expert. Sean no longer needed to speak to swat Justin's Levitation out of the air. Professor Flitwick had been testing his combat chops with minor jinxes; Sean dispelled them all.
When the professor escalated to weak hexes, Sean could just hold the line—though if he spoke the incantation, his Finite could cancel most hexes and even some lighter curses.
At this point, no first-year could break through his defense. Paired with Transfiguration and his spell-combination tricks, he could run circles around lower years.
Against upper years, though—who knew? So he kept pushing. Once Quieting reached Expert, he'd unlock a new Charms title and raise his aptitude—then keep layering combos to sharpen his fighting power.
The corridor was chilly and still; no sign of Mrs. Norris. Bruce had set their rendezvous a full two hours after most students returned.
"Two hours of life-or-death," he'd said.
Leon had started to spin on his heel for the castle—like Bruce was about to sprinkle Itching Powder into Zonko's shopkeeper's hat—until Bruce hauled him away huffing.
With a little time to spare, Sean heard carefree laughter from the caretaker's office. He sighed, just a little—no student hates Filch forever, but there are always students who hate Filch.
After tidying the office, Sean snapped his wand down. Thanks to constant use, his Cleaning Charm was Adept; before long he'd be flicking debris away like the professors.
Noticing the fallen wooden cabinet, he lifted his wand:
"Reparo! (Mending Charm!)"
Time seemed to run backward: cracks sealed from top to bottom, and the scattered splinters whisked themselves back into place.
It was a little bit of wonder. Sean's mouth quirked—magic still thrilled him.
Leaving without a sound, he heard a sharp mrrrow. He crouched, waiting for Mrs. Norris to hop into his arms. Maybe it was because he kept cleaning Filch's office and eased her worries—or because Justin's dried fish was very nutritious—but Mrs. Norris had put on weight. When she padded across his shoulders, she felt noticeably heavier.
[You gained affinity with Magical Creature—Kneazle (Mrs. Norris) at an Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
[Magical Creature—Kneazle (Mrs. Norris): Not yet Friendly (80/90)]
[Apprentice-level creature affinity will unlock the Magical Creatures—Apprentice title]
Just a little more to unlock his creatures aptitude. Sean pulled an apple-flavored dried fish from his bag.
Magic really did cover everything.
While Mrs. Norris purred, Filch's habitually harsh face unknotted in the lamplight for a long time. He stared down the corridor from the shadows, unable to take even one step forward. He had a carefully chosen scarf in his hands; Mrs. Norris had been purring for ages.
But he was a Squib—rare in the wizarding world, and badly discriminated against. Pure-blood families often struck them from the tree (like Marius Black); the Ministry didn't even record their births. Like the phrase damp squib, they were treated as negligible.
Most Squibs spent their lives on magic's margins—insignificant, impoverished. Their anger seemed to come from that deep place where no one hears you.
Except… for Dumbledore. He had generously given this man who longed for magic a small job. Filch cherished it all the more. He loathed rule-breakers—loathed the messes that made him fear being sacked. Those kids had magic and spent their days horsing around, smashing rules, never once imagining how much the magic-less envied them.
Except… Green.
…
Sean scratched Mrs. Norris behind the ears. With Bruce's return time nearing, he set her down and started toward the Great Hall.
Filch watched him go, then slid the scarf back into the wardrobe. He had a new sweater now… that would be enough.
The unseen, watchful gaze ebbed away. Some things are better kept buried.
There are so many lonely people in this world afraid to take the first step that, when Sean appeared holding a Fanged Doorknob, Filch's face twisted like he'd seen a troll.
"Mr. Filch, I asked a Hufflepuff upperclassman to buy this," Sean said. He fixed it to the caretaker's office door, Disillusioned the old handle, and handed Filch a bite-proof glove. Now the pranksters wouldn't be able to slip in and wreck the place.
Filch just stared as the boy tinkered, then—satisfied—Sean clapped his hands, nodded to himself, and offered a polite goodbye before leaving.
Filch still hadn't quite caught up.
To Sean, it was nothing. This budget doorknob didn't really bite—just stung long enough to teach a lesson. That way, students wouldn't lose House points, and Filch wouldn't need to scrub the office every other night.
The wind kept howling.
At the caretaker's door, Filch stood with a brand-new scarf in his arms, the hand he'd reached out with touching… nothing at all.