Unnecessary disclaimer: I do not own HP or any of its characters.
I had a little difficulty picturing Argus' life as a child, and more importantly, a Squib, in a wizarding family, because most of the time I was thinking of his grouchy older counterpart, but hey, nobody wants to read about my struggles as a fanfiction author, so let's just skip that.
I wrote this because I felt bad for Filch and how everyone disregards his misery as a Squib and hates him just 'cause he's spiteful and angry most of the time. I mean, imagine how it must be for him, first growing up in a world of magic and wonder, then finding out that you can't use magic, then working in a magical school for wizards and witches (mostly kids that detest and make fun of you), so close to that world, yet so miserably far.
Read & review, please!
"Mrs Filch, it's a boy," a Healer informed her kindly, and she did a silly little dance deep inside her heart. It was a boy- her new-born baby was a boy. He was going to grow up to be a wonderful wizard and bring pride to the family, she knew it.
"Please, call me Celia," she said kindly, two dimples forming on her face as she smiled. She wondered vaguely if her baby boy would inherit her dimples.
"Have you decided on a name, my dear?" her husband asked tenderly, his hand laying softly on her arm.
"How about… Argus?" she suggested softly, smiling at the look of her husband's messy hair and attie- no doubt he had fallen asleep in the chair outside her room.
"Isn't Argus a king in Greek mythology or something?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.
"I wouldn't know," she said off-handedly, though she had searched through hundreds of baby names. "So, do you like it?"
"Argus is good," he said, looking up at the ceiling and grinning. "Argus would be wonderful."
A four-year-old boy watched curiously as his father took the Floo network to St. Mungo's with his mother. It had been an almost daily occurrence, but this time his father seemed a whole lot more anxious and frantic, and his mother was screaming a lot more than 'normal' too.
He waited patiently in the living room with his toy broomstick, knowing that his father would eventually remember that he had another son as well, and that son was being left unattended in a living room with a large fireplace (out of which they had just left).
"Argus!" Right on time too, Argus observed, letting his father drag him to the fireplace and Floo him to St. Mungo's. Argus didn't like traveling by the Floo network, because it made his head woozy and the world spin like a top, but he didn't complain. Argus was the exemplary child, the one that mothers pointed to and said "you should be more like that!" at.
"Where's Momma?" he asked politely, but he already knew that he wouldn't be allowed into the room. He watched as Healers bustled to and fro, in and out of the room with some funny-looking instruments, observing the bone-over-wand badge on their robes.
"Am I going to have a little brother?" he asked excitedly, willing the world to stop spinning and for his heart to stop thumping so painfully. His father appeared to be in shock, as was normal in this case, so Argus left him alone and wandered up to the tea-room.
He had memorized the floors at St. Mungo's ever since that time where he had accidentally stumbled into the Emergency room and saw a man with a bone sticking out of his skull. It wasn't a very pleasant experience, so now Argus only went to and fro from the waiting room to the tea room.
He liked the cakes in the tea room, but he mostly only ventured there to talk to a girl with sleek blonde hair that appeared to be about six or seven. She had been diagnosed with a fatal wizarding disease, and as she had cheerfully told him, was due to die in about two weeks. She was fascinatingly optimistic about this, and Argus watched in awe as she chattered on about the Healers here and her family and how desperate they were to save her.
His mother gave birth to his younger brother as he was listening intently to a story about how Healer Jones had tried to Vanish a screaming patient's leg after several steak knives had embedded themselves in it.
"Mum, will I grow up to be a great wizard?" the now nine-year-old boy asked, his eyes full of wonder and amazement as he watched the Quidditch players zoom past on their Silver Arrows, a new broomstick rumored to be the quickest in existence.
"Of course, dear," she replied quickly, her smile both forced and hollow. He notices this, but does not care to mention it. The dimple-filled smiles directed in his direction had been increasingly fake ever since his lack of any accidental magic incidents had been noted by the family.
But Celia was a lot more observant than people tended to give her credit for. She noticed the slight slouch in her son's posture, the ever-so-tiny frown forming on his face. For Salazar's sake, he wasn't even past his tenth birthday and she could already spot signs of worry lines!
She frowned, and pulled Argus up into her lap. Being a scrawny kid, she could still hug him comfortably from behind, albeit a little awkwardly.
"You'll be an amazing wizard," she whispered into his ear, hugging him tightly and willing herself to forget all the times he fell two feet down from his toy broomstick, when he lay on the ground, bruised and scratched, unable to bounce right back up.
"Just like Dumbledore, that Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts! He discovered the twelve uses of Dragon Blood- I bet you'll be a Transfiguration prodigy just like him, or a potioneer!" she giggled, immersed in fantasizing as she tickled Argus on his stomach. He laughed, a cheery tinkle that made her smile every time he did it.
"You really think so?" he asked, grinning ear-to-ear. He didn't inherit her dimples, and he certainly wasn't a very handsome child, but when he smiled, his eyes gained a certain gleam that made everyone putty in his hands- though he never made use of his adorable smiles very often. She couldn't deny him the happiness he so deserved, could she?"
"Of course I do, Argus," she whispered softly in his ear, hugging him tight as a Seeker swished past. "You'll be the most greatest wizard in wizarding history."
But mothers lie. It's in the job description.
They waited up anxiously, the four of them, a birthday cake sitting uneaten on the table between them, waiting for the precise moment his birthday would arrive.
The day had started off innocently enough, with eggs and bacon and meaningless chatter, but none of them could deny that they had been waiting for this very moment, the clock ticking slowly towards the looming figure of twelve.
An owl hooted outside, and Argus wiped the sweat on his hands onto his brand new birthday robes. He hadn't shown any signs of magic, but his mother had promised he would be a great wizard one day, and his mother never lied, did she?
He was ten, and he was going to be eleven in just five... four... three... two...
The clock struck twelve, and he stared at the grandfather clock blankly, wondering if the Hogwarts letter had been delayed. A thunderstorm? he wondered. A problem in the owlery? It all seemed horribly anti-climatic, the four of them standing there in the kitchen with sweaty palms and an ebony black grandfather clock.
His father coughed and turned away from him. His mother sat by the table and let out choking sobs. He was confused. Why were they so upset? What was wrong? What had happened to his Hogwarts letter?
His eight-year-old brother looked down at his feet, the usual charmingly handsome smile gone from his face. He looked sad, and Argus wanted to comfort him, but he didn't even know what was wrong, so he just frowned. He sat on a stool and felt hopelessly small in the big, tough world.
The cream on his birthday cake began to melt. Tomorrow, the whispers would start.
Argus did not understand why Victoria, a ten-year-old kid from one of the wizarding families the Filches were related to, now refused to speak to him. His parents had told him he wasn't a wizard, but that was ridiculous. Jean and Celia Filch were both highly qualified wizards, so he would be a great wizard as well. After all, that was what his mother had told him, and his mother never lied.
"Don't talk to me!" Victoria screamed in her shrill, ten-year-old-kid voice. Argus had been pestering her since she had arrived at his home. Her parents were talking intently and seriously to his parents about grown-up stuff, which was hopelessly boring, but she remembered what her parents had told her this morning.
"Don't talk to that Argus kid," her father had said gruffly, her mother nodding sternly in the background. "He isn't good for you."
"Why not?" Argus asked, the seventy-ninth time he had asked in this day alone. Boy, that kid was stubborn.
"You're a Squib, you pestering little idiot!" she screamed, huffing as she turned her blonde curls away from him. Her parents had told her how unworthy a Squib was of her time. They might even be worse than filthy little Mudbloods, her parents had said. Well, this Argus kid, no matter how many times she had played happily with him in the past, was definitely not worth her time, with his crooked nose and disproportionate eyes (though admittedly his smile was nice).
"What's that?" Argus asked, tilting his head to a side. It sounded like squid, he thought.
"That means you can't do magic," Victoria said, shifting as far away as possible from him. "You aren't one of us."
Argus was offended. Of course he could do magic! Couldn't he? His birthday had been three days ago, and the Hogwarts letter still hadn't arrived. His parents seemed depressed most of the time, and they had even told him themselves that he couldn't perform magic. Was it true then? Could it be true that Argus was the odd one out here?
He had never shown signs of magic since birth, he pondered, scratching his chin for an imaginary beard. But his brother had been hiccuping sparks and bouncing off the walls like a balloon since he hit seven. Did that mean that he was to be excluded from the wonders of the wizarding world, so soon after having been introduced to them? For a boy of such young age, he was already starting to feel the panic and despair of life's unfairness.
"Why aren't you talking anymore?" Victoria asked despite having vowed never to go near that Argus kid ever again. In her defense, he had been sitting on the floor with his left eye twitching nervously for the past two minutes, and he was freaking her out. Fortunately (for Victoria), her parents soon stormed out of the living room (looking quite disgusted, she wondered if they had argued with Argus' parents) and swooped her up.
"What did I tell you about talking to that boy?" her father demanded, shaking her slightly. She began to sob uncontrollably. Her parents had never shook her or look so angry before.
"I didn't… t… talk to him!" she wailed. "He… he… talked to me… first! It's not my fault!"
Her father's eyes softened, and he picked her up. Casting one last swooping, disgusted glance at the Filch family, he left the hall. Argus could still hear his boots marching loudly to the front door and slamming it shut.
He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, and frowned. For some reason, he felt like he would be hearing the word Squib a lot more often now, after his eleventh birthday.
"What are you doing?' he asked his brother, who appeared to be glaring at his toy broomstick. So much had changed since the night of the melting cake (which was what Argus had started to call it). People stopped visiting at his home. Whenever they went to Diagon Alley, people hissed Squib-lover at his parents and nobody seemed to want to meet his eye. One wizard in a long green robe actually kicked him as he passed. Argus had a large purple bruise on his stomach as proof.
"I'm trying to get this broomstick to move with my mind," his brother proclaimed grandly, before returning to his task.
"You won't be able to do it," Argus decided, frowning. "You aren't smart enough."
"How would you know?" his brother snarled, his eyes becoming angry slits. "You're a Squib." Already, the whispers in the streets were beginning to affect his cheery, happy-go-lucky brother. Because of his older brother, he had been shunned, his cookie snatched, his bag shoved open and its contents spilled. He was no longer charming, adorable Nathan Filch, who old ladies cooed over and people gave cookies to. He was Nathan Filch, brother of a Squib, sulking and crossing his arms in the corner.
Argus frowned and was about to retort when his mother stuck her head in. Her eyes were bloodshot red, so he guessed that she and his father had fought again. They had argued countless times since his birthday.
"Mr Hendrikson is here," she said softly, not even bothering to force out a smile. She never seemed to smile anymore. Black bags stood out prominently beneath her eyes on her deathly pale skin. Argus could no longer clearly remember the times when his mother had put on an ear-splitting dimpled grin.
Mr Hendrikson was a tutor shunned by the wizarding world due to the fact that: a. He was a Squib, and b. His students were mostly Squibs. He was intelligent and by far the best tutor available, but most families didn't want him anywhere near their children, and even if they did, he could only teach them till they reached the age of eleven. Thus, his mostly Squib students.
Brought back to reality by a sharp nudge in the ribs from his brother, Argus nodded obediently and went out of the room. As he entered the study where the aging Mr Hendrikson awaited, he could already hear his parents resuming their "discussion" (read: argument). They had been at odds since his birthday. They loved him and all, but they had conflicting thoughts about what would be the best for Argus.
"We can't protect him all of his life! Sooner or later, he's going to need to face the real world, and I'd rather he do it now when we're by his side encouraging him!" a masculine voice shouted, presumably his father.
"What real world? What do you want us to do? He'll be shunned by his own society!" he could barely decipher his mother's voice as Mr Hendrikson told him kindly to flip open his textbook. It had acquired a rather hysterical edge. As Argus read through the history of some great wizard distractedly, he couldn't help looking up at the ceiling and wondering desperately, Why me?
Life was looking bad for eleven-year-old Argus Filch. People might say that it was so bad it could only get better, but that's a pretty crap statement. Life was only going to get a lot, lot worse.
Disclaimer: "But mothers lie. It's in the job description" direct quote from John Green's "Abundance of Katherines", a book I have read and re-read so many times the lines are imprinted in my head. I bet you were all momentarily fooled that I was a good writer. P:
Anyway, thanks for reading. This is going to be rather short, so let me just explain it right now. It might just have two chapters, since I was thinking about a chapter on his childhood and a chapter on his adulthood, but it might split into three, so stick around. Chapter(s) to come soon, I'll update as soon as possible.
Peek preview of next chapter:
Argus tore open the wrapping excitedly, his heart soaring. It was by far one of the best days ever in his life. He looked down in the box, and grinned in delight as he scooped up the present within. A little black kitten with a pink bow tied around her neck was looking up at him, its head cocked to the left with an innocent, adorable look. He cuddled her happily.
"I'm going to call you…" he trailed off, thinking of all the wondrous possibilities this kitten could offer. "Mrs Norris."