This was written for the competition "Crack or serious" by Alyssalui. This is my entry for "crack to serious" with the prompt: When no one is looking and all the students are asleep, Argus dresses up in Dumbledore's long purple robes (complete with pointed hat and white beard) and sits in the big chair in the Great Hall. 'whoosh', 'twinkling' made as angsty as possible. :D

Oh my sweet torment,
No point in fighting, you start again
I'm but a meaningless being

-Translated lyrics of "Derniere danse" by Indila

Argus Filch was not a man of many words. With his job, who needed them? His usual repertoire consisted out of a snarky "What are you doing?", "What mischief were you planning?" "STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" and "My dear, dear Mrs. Norris". Argus was much more a man of deeds. They said more, things that words couldn't. While he often said mean and vile things, his deeds showed who he really was. He caught the correct students, and they got punished. He did his job as a caretaker well.

That job as the caretaker of Hogwarts was probably the best thing out there for a Squib like him, but still, the unfairness of it all was sometimes overwhelming.

Albus Dumbledore shoved him around, liked to look down on him from behind his half-moon-glasses - or was this all just in Argus' mind? Dumbledore had always acted friendly, but he acted friendly around everyone. He had to, of course. And he performed his act very well. Argus did not quite know what to think about the Oh So Great Albus Dumbledore. He wasn't sure if Dumbledore was as arrogant as he thought him to be or if he should, in fact, be deeply ashamed because Albus Dumbledore was in reality a truly kind soul who actually gave him a chance nobody else would have given him.

But there was one thing Argus knew for sure: that he would have been a million times happier if he had been in Dumbledore's place. One of the greatest wizards of all times since Merlin, Headmaster of Hogwarts and former Surpreme Mugwump at the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. From all the teachers and other staff members at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was the one who mattered most in the wizarding world, while Argus was the lowest of lowest, the piece of scum he always took delight in accusing the students of being.

The truth was, not even one of those irritating, snotty, bothering students - not even the one with the least magical skills - was worse off than him. He just knew that they secretly laughed at him. Poor, unmagical Argus Filch, the lunatic whose best companion is his old cat. That was why no one must discover his secret ritual, otherwise he would never be able to shake his image as the laughing stock of the school.

With a big part of his saving money, he had bought the same sort of purple starry robes Dumbledore always wore, along with a matching pointed hat and fake beard. He had carefully locked them up in a big closet in his room that was the only part of it that he actively kept moth-free.
Tonight, he opened the closet and took his attire under his arm. His steps were unaudible like mouse feet, like dust falling on the floor.

When he opened the door of the Great Hall, he sighed. Nobody in sight. Why would there be? But still, he always checked first. Just in case.
Everything was safe, so Argus grabbed a chair to lay his attire on. First, he put the long purple robes on. They were really exclusive, with golden, embroidered stars. It was funny how Dumbledore's measurements would have been close to his own, if he hadn't been struck by rheumatism. He used to be tall as well, before that terrible illness permanently froze his posture into a hunching one.

Argus grabbed the fake beard and put the elastic around his ears. Looking in his pocket mirror, he adjusted it until the beard looked somewhat natural. From out of one of the large robe's pockets he pulled the spectacles case with the half-moon glasses. They had been hard to find because they were out of fashion. Argus had paid the man behind the counter of the Muggle glasses store a lot of extra money to import them from France or something. But in the end, it didn't matter. He possessed them now, and he carefully put them on his nose.
Lastly he put the hat on his head and strode, triumphantly, towards Dumbledore's empty seat and sat down on it like it was a throne.

Argus smirked. Tonight, he was the ruler of the wizarding universe, and nobody could take that away from him. But it wasn't so much the idea of power that enthralled him. It was more the idea of limitless possibilities given back to him - possibilities that were slayed one by one as he grew up, until there had been not one left - not one! - and he had to be happy with living the life others assigned to him.

Dumbledore thought he was being merciful, but in fact, it was Filch who was merciful of him by performing all his nasty tasks without complaining. He wiped away a tear with one of his stiff, malformed hands. Maybe he didn't need this performance, after all. He shook his head. No.

It was the only way to escape the misery of what he was - of what he had become and everything he hadn't become. Argus Filch imagined how his eyes were light blue and twinkling like Dumbledore's. How he was able to muster genuine interest in those around him. When he realised it was time to go back to his bed again, he gracefully rose from his throne and as he walked down the Great Hall, his long robes swishing behind him, he swore he could hear the voices of imagined students in his mind - whooshing not from contempt, but from awe this time.

When, back in his room, he hid his secret in his closet again, put on his pajama's and laid down sighing and groaning from backache, it was only the warmth of his purring sweetheart that kept him sane.