Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: I don't even know where the idea came from, it might have been an Instagram post about a Harry/Sorting Hat fic.
Warning: This is a slash fic so if you are not comfortable with that don't continue.
Harry Potter leaned over to his friend Ron Weasley and whispered, "I'll be gone tonight but don't follow me. I'll be fine." Ron nodded and didn't think anything of it. He went back to staring at Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum longingly.
That night, Harry snuck out of his dorm and headed for the Trophy Room. He could hear his partner in crime pacing. He entered the room and saw Argus Filch waiting for him.
Twenty minutes later, Harry emerged from the room. His clothes were rumpled and his hair was wet with saliva. Filch left a minute later, also disheveled.
The next morning, Harry entered the Great Hall. He glanced around for his friends but they were nowhere to be seen. Harry sat down but was startled when Draco Malfoy walked up to him and started laughing.
"Where's your precious Filch?" he asked. Harry looked at the ground. Uh-oh, he thought.
"We have a video of you and Filch. It's all over YouTube now," drawled the irritating blonde.
"Oh," said Harry. He saw his life slipping before his eyes. What could he do? Filch would hate him now. Dumbledore appeared beside the table, followed by Buckbeak and Dobby, who was carrying the Sorting Hat.
"Can I see you in my office, Mr Potter?" asked Dumbledore. Harry nodded and followed him out of the hall.
"You and Filch? I was not aware of that," Dumbledore said. They had arrived in his office.
"I'm sorry sir, I can explain," Harry mumbled.
"No need," Dumbledore reassured him, "He has tricked us all. Last week, Minerva McGonagall found us in the Trophy Room. And Winky walked into Filch's office while he was with Dobby. I myself found him in a relationship with the Sorting Hat."
"A two-timer," grumbled the Sorting Hat.
"More of a four-timer," Dobby corrected.
"The thing is Harry, he's made his rounds to every boy in the school. Which is why we have elected you to be the one to fire him," they all said in unison.
"No," said Harry, "I don't fire the ones I love."
Epilogue (Fifty Years Later):
"Do you remember the time Dumbledore tried to fire you?" asked Harry. He was sitting in his living room of the house he shared with Filch. Filch did not reply. He had died some thirty years earlier but heartbroken Harry chose to forget that he died.
"Four-timer, my butt," whispered Harry as he pulled Filch's body into his arms for a hug.
A/N: I'm so sorry.