The Courting Process
Summary: And thus began the epic romance between Argus Filch and Arabella Figg.
Pairings: Filch/Figg.
Warnings: Filch/Figg.
A/N: I had to write this. I just had to. And although the story's premise is fairly ludicrous, I tried to take it seriously. It makes sense! They're both old, Squibs, and share a mutual love of cats! Crack pairings have been made with less! Really, now that I think about it, this could practically be canon. Alright, enough justifications for a mildly disturbing pairing. On with the story!
"The day that Argus Filch met Arabella Figg was a day like no other. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and for once, Peeves hadn't pulled off anything. Argus knew in his heart that today was a special day."
Peeves hadn't done anything all day.
No water balloons, no suspicious boxes that exploded, not even a small army of talking rats.
His skin crawled in disgust as he remembered that last one; he had tried valiantly to battle off the revolting creatures, while the students screamed and ran off, forgetting their wands. Stupid kids. Why was magic given to those unworthy of it, and those who would treasure it received none?
His hands were clenched around the rag that he was holding. He shook his head to clear it of that last thought and continued to wipe the surface of the suit of armor in front of him. There was no use dwelling on something like that.
Argus knew that today was going to be a bad day.
He could feel it in his bones. Something bad was going to happen. He grumbled as he polished the armor again. He didn't need to clean it; it wasn't even dirty. Really, all it needed was a quick rub.
He could see his face reflected in the chest plate. He scowled at himself, the wrinkles on his forehead sinking even lower. Just then the armor moved, with no care for the man polishing it. Head connected with metal in a deafening clang, and Argus let loose a few choice words that could have gotten him into trouble, had there been any students around to hear him.
He clutched his head, cursing stupid magical suits of armor and stupid magical headmasters with their stupid magical trials for stupid magical Boys-Who-Lived.
With one final glare at the deceptively still-looking armor, he gathered up his supplies and shuffled down the hallway.
With the Headmaster busy at that Potter boy's trial, Argus was left alone again. The other teachers would arrive in a few days, to finalize lesson plans or whatever it was that stupid magical teachers did. Until then, he had the castle to himself.
He had always loved summers spent at Hogwarts. No snot nosed brats waving wands about, tramping muddy shoes through the castle, no, it was just him and Mrs. Norris. His footsteps echoed in the corridor.
He truly did love the calm, the quiet, the loneliness…
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Peeves was close by. He was able to sense the annoying poltergeist; he didn't need magic.
Just then, he heard a crash and yowl. Mrs. Norris! He knew Peeves had been up to something!
He saw a figure crouching over his poor Mrs. Norris. Not Peeves then, some other malicious being. With a shout, he launched himself at the person who dared to hurt Mrs. Norris.
-x-
"The moment that he saw her, he fell madly in love with her, and she with him. It was not because of their appearances – no certainly not – but because they found in each other a kindred soul."
Arabella Figg was tired.
It had been a long day. She was only a Squib and even though Dumbledore had assigned her to watch over Harry Potter, she knew that he had hoped that nothing would happen that would require her to step in.
Testifying at that sham of a trial had worn her out. She had been happy to do it; her testimony came with the double benefits of helping Harry Potter and rubbing it in Fudge's incompetent face. It was rewarding to see Harry's look of relief as he realized that she had managed to save him from being expelled. He was a good boy; Arabella remembered how even though she knew she had bored him senseless with stories and pictures of all her darlings, he was always so polite.
He was a nice lad (a bit dim at times, but he was well-meaning, and hey, heroes couldn't have everything), but she did wish that he wasn't such a central figure. Her job would have been so much easier without all of the hullabaloo that came with being The Boy Who Lived. Then again, she probably would never have met him if that were the case. Oh, there she was going off on tangents. She seemed to be doing that more and more as she got older.
Thinking about 'what if's' had never done her any good before, and she wasn't about to start now. Arabella had learned a long time ago that while some things could be changed (the number of cats that she owned: currently, seven), some things couldn't (the amount of magic that she had: absolutely none), and she was content with her lot in life.
Truly, she was glad to do her part, even if that required coming into contact with Dark creatures like Dementors. She just needed a little bit of time to recover and then she would be on her way. When Headmaster Dumbledore had offered her a place in Hogwarts to relax for a few weeks, she jumped at the chance, after ensuring that someone would take care of her babies while she was gone.
That Hagrid was such a dear, and so good with animals too. He would be able to protect her darlings from any harm, though she warned him that Snowy might get snippy with him and that he shouldn't take any cheek from her. He didn't dismiss her concerns either, and promised her that he would look after her babies like they were his own. A heart of gold, he had.
Arabella had been to Hogwarts before, so after quickly letting her know that the other teachers would be along in a few days, Dumbledore left her to her own devices. It appeared that he had some urgent business to attend to. Arabella didn't know what kind, but she knew from the look on his face that it was important. Great men like Dumbledore, always rushing around.
At least it gave her more time to explore before supper. She had always loved seeing Hogwarts and cherished each visit. Her first stop was, as always, the Great Hall. The roof arched into a sheet of glittering stars. She smiled when she saw it; she would never cease to be amazed at the wonders of magic and the things that Wizards could do with it.
The smile fell from her face as she remembered the great evils that were even now being done with it.
Shaking her head to clear that train of thought, she headed for the library, making a beeline for the history section. She loved history, both Wizarding and Muggle. In fact, she had once entertained fantasies of teaching at a magical school. She liked her current job crossbreeding part-kneazle cats, but oh, what she wouldn't give for a chance to teach at Hogwarts.
She spent several hours engrossed in a tome called Dark Lords of the Thirteenth Century: How They Built Up a Power Base and Their Effects on the Socioeconomic Structure of the Wizarding World. It was a fascinating read.
About halfway through her reading, a plate with a sandwich popped into existence on the table. It was followed by a glass of pumpkin juice. Her eyes were glued to the text as she ate absentmindedly, though she was careful not to leave crumbs. Irma would have a fit if she left a mess behind.
After Arabella was finished eating, she jotted a thank you note and left it on the plate before it disappeared. Now would be as good a time as any to stop, she decided. As she was making her way to the guest quarters (Hogwarts had guest quarters, who knew?) she heard a pitiful mewling coming from the next corridor. It sounded like some poor creature was in need.
She hurried in the direction that the sound was coming from and gasped at the sight. A cat was lying on the ground, unable to get up. She winced as she crouched down. Her knees ached from staying in one position for so long, but she needed to make sure that the poor dear was okay.
"There, there," she cooed at the cat as it hissed weakly. Large eyes stared balefully up at her. It really was a darling little thing.
"DON'T YOU HURT MRS. NORRIS, YOU FEIND!"
The hoarse bellow startled her and she looked up to see a man charging straight for her. In his hand he brandished a mop, like a knight out of a Muggle storybook.
She gasped and moved out of the way. The man went crashing into the floor behind her with a pained yell.
She could think of nothing appropriate to say. All that came from her mouth was a quiet, "Oh, my."
-x-
"But Filch was shy, and did not know how to start a conversation with her. So they avoided each other, yet they could not suppress their love."
The amount of times that he had run into that woman was ridiculous.
It seemed that everywhere he went, she turned up as well. He couldn't even go on an evening stroll with Mrs. Norris without seeing her.
And she always gave him this look too, a look that said she still saw him as a madman running at her with a mop, and she didn't intend to forget anytime soon. It didn't matter that he had apologized for that; she only saw him as an irrational Squib. He saw disapproval in her gaze, and that raised his hackles. Who was she to judge him? He loved his cat and there wasn't anything that she could say or do to make him feel different.
He couldn't even eat his meals in peace anymore. He usually took his meals in the kitchen (the less time spent interacting with the magical brats and their magical teachers, the better), but even this sanctuary was no longer guaranteed. Why, just yesterday he had tried to pop in for a cuppa, and there she had been, sitting all bundled up with a mug and what appeared to be a tome on magical history. She was surrounded by doting House Elves of course.
Ah, House Elves. Now there was a species that he could stand. They were invaluable to his tending of the castle, and they didn't shun him whenever he interacted with him. Although they seemed to see him as something of a kindred spirit, prolonged conversations with them left him feeling vaguely uncomfortable. They had a slavish eagerness to please wizards – how degrading – which apparently extended to him for some reason. How confusing.
He was never sure if their high regard of him was through his own merits as an expert caretaker, or simply the result of millennia of conditioning. He had a sinking feeling it was the latter.
Bah, what did it matter anyways? Argus Filch didn't need anyone to like him as a person. He never had before, so why was he starting to get all sentimental now? With a snort of disgust, he threw the cleaning supplies into the supply cupboard just off of the main hallway on the second floor. He had a moment to realize that the cupboard was now a storage room for several delicate potions experiments before he slammed the door.
Stupid magical castle changing up on him after all he'd done for it!
He heard a muffled 'boom' and the sound of tinkling glass.
Stupid magic.
-x-
"Likewise, Arabella found it difficult to approach him, so she pined for him from a distance."
Argus Filch was a rude and self-centered man. How could someone who lived among the wonders of Hogwarts be so, so…miserable?
He was exactly the kind of person that gave Squibs a bad name. He stomped around the castle, always in a foul mood, and paid no heed to the incredible feats of magic that were performed around him.
Of course, all Squibs were jealous of magic at some point. Arabella herself had gone through a stage in her youth where she had been resentful of magic and had refused to have anything to do with it for several years. Fortunately, she had eventually realized that this was just the way her life was, and she had accepted it. She'd be lying if she said that she didn't feel a flash of envy every now and then, but for the most part, she was content.
But Filch! Oh, he was a bitter, miserable old man.
And he was surrounded by young Wizarding children who were learning to use the gifts that he would never possess, while he cleaned after their messes. She couldn't help but feel like that was a bad combination. Now Arabella, it had always been her dream to work at a place like Hogwarts, or more specifically: teach. She'd never told Headmaster Dumbledore, feeling that as a Squib, her dream was foolish, but if a man with Filch's temperament could work at Hogwarts, why couldn't she?
She'd heard about his exploits from some of the other teachers. Apparently, he had managed to ruin several experimental potions a few days ago. Professor Snape had been livid. She had seen Filch on his habitual walk with Mrs. Norris and when she had attempted to subtly confront him, he had acted like it wasn't his fault at all.
Really, the only thing that stopped him from being completely insufferable was his devotion to Mrs. Norris. A man who loved his cat that much couldn't be all that bad. Surely there were some traces of kindness hidden deep inside of him.
-x-
"After a few weeks of dancing around the subject, they found themselves alone together."
The tension in the room was so thick it could be carved with a knife.
Arabella reflected that it was a good thing Filch didn't have a knife, simply because she could see how it strained his patience to share 'his space' with her (the house elves had informed her that he used to seek refuge in the kitchen when things got too stressful for him).
Nevertheless, she continued to project a serene façade as she knit. If they were just going to sit here and ignore each other then she might as well get some use out of the awkward silence. The bib she was making would look adorable on Mr. Tibbles.
As she had expected, Filch caved first, with a grudging, "Why are you here anyway?"
She was tempted to ask him to clarify whether he meant at Hogwarts or specifically in the kitchen, but she resisted the urge. She wasn't actively trying to test his patience; that was just a bonus.
"Headmaster Dumbledore has kindly offered to let me stay here for a little while," she said, pleasantly neutral.
There. Nice and simple.
Or, it would have been if she hadn't made a vague gesture that caused her hand to knock into her mug of hot cocoa. "Oh, shoot," she mumbled as the brown liquid splashed over the table and started dripping on the floor.
"I'm not cleaning that up."
"I'm not expecting you to," she retorted.
"Gonna get the House Elves to clean up after your mistakes? Can't stoop to doing it yourself? Why didn't you just whip out your wand and magic it all away, huh?"
"First of all, I never assumed that you were going to clean it up. Second, I can clean up my own messes and I don't consider it demeaning like you seem to think I do." She paused. "And for your information, I happen to be a Squib." At his silence, she sniffed and marched away, leaving a stunned man staring after her.
-x-
"Words were exchanged, revelations occurred, and love confessions were made."
A Squib? Her? No, that couldn't be true. She was too comfortable, too confident.
When he didn't say anything, she huffed and marched off, leaving him to watch after her.
All that day, he was distracted. He even went to eat lunch with the rest of the staff. The main subject of gossip was an exorcism gone awry; the new DADA professor had attempted to banish Peeves. Although Argus applauded the man's intentions, his results left something to be desired. Binns was now exiled to who-knew-where and Peeves was cackling with success.
It was a bit of a muddled issue. Binns was already dead, but the man had just gotten rid of a Hogwarts professor. Already, the other ghosts were calling for retaliation. Normally, Argus would be foaming at the mouth with this opportunity to convince the rest of Hogwarts' staff that Peeves was clearly more than just a nuisance, but lately all he could think about was that woman.
How could someone like her, someone so happy, be a Squib? Impossible.
Then again, he hadn't seen her do one feat of magic since she got here. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember ever seeing her wand. If she was truly a Squib, he had gravely misjudged her, a woman with the same affliction as him. But how did she do it then? How did she look so content with the world? And why, if not through magic, were so many of his thoughts about her?
He scowled. He'd be glad when that woman went home.
-x-
"They set about getting Arabella a job at Hogwarts, because it had always been her dream to teach in a magical school. This would also give them the chance to see more of each other and bolster their burgeoning romance."
Confronting Filch had given her just the boost of confidence that she needed to go talk to Dumbledore about the History of Magic position.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Arabella presented a rather impassioned argument about the importance of History and how it shouldn't be taught by a ghost who was well-known for long lectures delivered in such a dry way that he had practically reinvented the phrase 'boring as a stick.' She had done independent study and gotten her NEWTs in History of Magic and Muggle Studies (both Os); she was more than qualified for the position. She skirted around the 'Squib issue,' not wanting to draw attention to it. Besides, Squib or not, she couldn't possibly be worse than Binns.
Dumbledore eyes had twinkled all throughout her speech, before he offered her a lemon drop. She declined. He then informed her that her timing was perfect, seeing as how Binns had taken an unexpected permanent vacation courtesy of one muddled up exorcism.
The man responsible for all of the chaos had been fired rather quickly. As Dumbledore explained, the ghosts simply did not feel safe around the one who had exorcized poor Professor Binns. It was quite the achievement to be fired from the DADA position before classes even started.
Alas, the damage was done, and now he had to find both a new DADA professor and a new History of Magic professor. It was indeed fortunate that Arabella had come along when she did. He had been anticipating a long and grueling search for two professors, but his fears were put to rest.
Arabella gaped for a moment. "So you're saying…?"
"Consider this your trial year. I did have a temporary replacement in mind for the History of Magic position, but she would only be able to work until the Winter Holidays. If you're agreeable, I would have her teach for the first half of the year, and you'd take over the second half. This way, it gives you time to organize yourself and learn from someone more experienced. Would this arrangement be satisfactory?"
Arabella could only nod.
He beamed. If possible, the twinkling intensified. "Excellent, excellent. I'll arrange a meeting with Madam Marchbanks as soon as possible so that you two might get acquainted and come up with a lesson plan."
Arabella spent the next few weeks in a daze of school preparation.
She saw Filch a few times in the hallways, but he remained civil and distant. He was marginally more pleasant to her after the revelation of her non-existent magical abilities. Perhaps she should have informed him of her Squib status earlier. But, no. She needed to shove his assumptions and prejudices back at him if she was truly going to change his views.
She didn't know if it had worked or not, but Filch had looked abashed – if not contrite. Ah well. One step at a time.
In the meantime, she occupied herself with getting ready for her first ever year teaching at Hogwarts. Merlin, she could still barely believe it!
Dumbledore had assured her that anything she taught would likely be an improvement . That was an understatement. She had her work cut out for her, especially after she saw how much Binns had not taught his students. There would have to be a lot of revision in their lessons.
She spent the days leading up to the start of term cleaning up not only Binns teaching material, but also his office space, which was like…well, it was like a ghost had lived in it. The dust alone that coated the room could probably bury her.
She could have asked the House Elves for cleaning supplies, but they would probably be insulted that she was planning to clean up and not ask their help. She didn't feel like dealing with their reactions, should they learn that she was actually daring to clean without asking them to do it. If she had to choose between hysteric House Elves and Filch...hmmm, it was a tough call, but she'd take Filch.
His attitude towards her had improved, but lately he'd become much more surly and snappish – not that Arabella had been observing him enough to be able to tell. She didn't know why, but she felt like he wouldn't take out his anger over whatever was bothering him on her.
Though she could be entirely wrong, she thought as she stared into his enraged and embarrassed eyes.
She had opened the door to his office without knocking – which she admitted had been rude and thoughtless – and Filch had been startled enough that he hadn't put away the books that he had been reading quickly enough.
She glimpsed two of the titles. He had a whole stack of books with titles like Magic for the Magicless: A Guide to Unlocking Your Inner Powers and So You're a Squib? Thirty Tips and Techniques to Attain Magic
He flushed. Jowls quivering, he tried to hide the books, but it was too late.
"They can't save her. That's what the healers say. They've got magic, they've got the whole of Saint Mungo's at their disposal, but they can't save one little cat. Why do people like them get magic? They don't even use it right." He stared at her, his expression daring her to laugh. He was furious with her, with himself, with the world.
"I mean, so what if I buy books like this? I don't care if people say they're all tricks. One of them is bound to help eventually. And besides, it's none of their concern. They have no reason to laugh at me. It's not funny, is it?"
"No," she murmured. "It's not."
And without stopping to think about what she was doing, she pulled the unresisting man into a hug.
-x-
"And thus began the epic romance between Argus Filch and Arabella Figg. The end. …What? Why are you two looking at me like that?"
"You can't be serious."
"Oh, I am. Every word of that was true, I swear."
"Mum, when we asked you to tell us a story about Hogwarts, we didn't mean something like that!"
"Yeah, that's so gross! I mean, Filch and Professor Figg? Together? They're so old!"
"Hush, Lily."
"But Aunt Hermione – !"
"You wanted a story and you got one."
"We want a better one!"
"I'm not staying up all night, and neither are you. Lily, your father is Flooing in tomorrow to pick you up. I want you well-rested. You too, Rose. Try and get some sleep. It's called a sleepover for a reason. Goodnight, girls."
"Goodnight, Mum."
"G'night, Aunt Hermione."
A/N: Yeah, I don't know. This is crack, people. Don't take it seriously.
But review anyway?