Chapter 1
It was a lonely, solitary job, being caretaker of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All day, every day, Argus Filch's purpose in life was to sweep the deserted corridors of the castle with no one but a cat for company.
He would be sweeping the corridors when those filthy little students would saunter past; often whispering or sneering- even though he would have his back turned, he would know their high pitched laughter would be at his expense.
What Filch despised the most about the despicable children who would roam around and dirty up his corridors was the fact that they would practise magic- right in front of his face. He knew they would only do it to spite him; surely they got enough in those magic classes of theirs, they don't need to practise it in the corridors too.
The mess he could just about deal with- but every time he would see a little brat casually flicking their hand, expelling coloured sparks from their wands, he would be taken back to when he was 11 years old- desperately aiming older brothers wand in the air and almost begging it to do something- anything to stop the undeniable shame and disappointment in his mother's face or the anger in his father's eyes as their nagging suspicions of what their son was, grew in their minds.
Growing up, witches and wizards would steer clear of Argus Filch- almost as if they were fearful that being a squib was contagious. Even his own family would try and contain his being a squib from the outside world, ashamed when they would have to explain to witches and wizards who would call at their house or see in Diagon Alley why his son wasn't in Hogwarts.
Children now are as cruel as they were back then- mocking and teasing and jeering until Filch became to hate all people, only allowing himself to feel affection for his only friend, Mrs Norris.
Well, there was one exception.
When most people looked at Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, they would see a wise, perhaps slightly eccentric old man. Filch would see much more than that. He would see the kind hearted, good spirited man who gave him a job, the only person who trusted him and seen him as more than a bitter old squib with a crazy obsession for his cat.
Filch would see the quirky, cooky wizard, wise beyond his many, many years, with a deep chuckle that send shivers down Filch's spine, and piercing eyes, deeper than the dark lake. He wouldn't see a grey old man; he would see the handsome wizard that Dumbledore once was, shining through his flowing beard and countless wrinkles.
Every time Dumbledore would smile and request that Filch clean up a mess in the Ravenclaw tower or would order Peeves out of the charms classroom after he himself had tried for at least an hour, Filch would feel a great warmth inside his heart and would be put in a great mood for the rest of the day, a great mood which could not even be deterred by Peeves or even the peskiest of students.
Filch would feel all of this every time he thought of Dumbledore, and yet he knew he could never let his feelings be shown. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of all time, the best headmaster Hogwarts had ever known, the kindest heart that ever was- and Filch was a man who cleaned a school, incapable of the simplest of spells, a disappointment to his family. Plus, Dumbledore has many female admirers. Although many looked up to Dumbledore and respected him as a person and for the work he had achieved, Filch would see the many women that would come to visit Dumbledore in his office- often flustered and looking at Dumbledore with a mixture of awe and longing.
When Filch would see a woman from the ministry of magic visiting Dumbledore to discuss things which, Filch thought, could easily be explaining in a short letter, his face would burn and his hands would tighten on whatever he was holding, hissing with fury and making small veins pop up on his head. Filch felt they were only interested in Dumbledore because they were amazed at his brain and starstruck at his fame, not because they knew and understood the person underneath all of that, like Filch did.
What would make Filch feel better, almost smug, was that Dumbledore would seemingly never notice, and neber return the attention of his romantic admirers. He would actually almost seem uncomfortable with the flirting, if he noticed it at all. Filch would gain some satisfaction in imaging the stupid women that threw themselves at him, realising it would never happen, and they were chasing after something amazing, something they could never catch. Filch smiled.